Travelling with Somebody. A Weekend in the Karoo - Kanniedood 4x4 Wild Camping

April 19, 2022 Posted in Review / Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries / Videos

Two’s company and three’s a crowd. Sometimes an unwelcome guest, ‘Somebody,’ causes all the ructions. Her antics make our story light and often entertaining, prompting us to smile at her mischievousness.

Our Breede Valley and the Hex River Valley are changing colour. Autumn has arrived, bringing a few winter raindrops. Easter always signals the end of summer.

I can see her rolling her eyes and shrugging her broad shoulders. Butter doesn’t melt in her puckered mouth, and her eyes shoot daggers. She tap-dances impatiently, her feet saying, “Oh, get on with it; stop making such a scene. I’m innocent.”

Tell me, who left the iron on or didn’t fill the ice trays? Who misplaced the kitchen scissors, left the loo seat up, or didn’t close the toothpaste tube? The peanut butter jar is empty, and there’s no milk in the fridge. We loathe pointing grubby little fingers. Yet. Someone did it all. Today, someone switched our lights off again. Piles of weekend laundry lie scattered across the kitchen floor.

What we hoped would be a lazy weekend in the Karoo turned into a series of mishaps, beginning with Little Miss Somebody's old tricks on departure.

In the garden, the resident Cape Robin Chat wakes up and starts chirruping at quarter to five every morning—our wake-up call. Bouncing out of bed, we switch on the kettle. Butch sets up his stationary bike, and after coffee and a catch-up with the kids, I join my gaggle of girls for an early-morning cycle or walk. On Thursday, things were a bit different. We fetched our Honey Badger from the farm, packed, and set off for a well-deserved Easter long weekend in the Karoo.

While I stocked the fridge and stowed my clothes, jackets, touques and cameras, Butch filled the water tanks and brought out the bicycle rack, which he’d removed after our last trip to have the Badger's tyres serviced and checked.

Attaching the bike rack is a two-person job, so I put down my tools and went to help. With a heave-ho, we lifted the heavy stainless-steel frame. We jiggled it into the attachment hinges, only to find one tyre arm facing the wrong way, making it impossible to fit the carrier. Someone had not been concentrating when they replaced the arms after the spare wheels had been rotated.

Off, Butch went to the tyre fitment centre to have the 50kg spare wheel removed and the arm refitted.

The bike rack came out again, but the missing bolts meant no cycling for the weekend, leaving our bikes forlornly locked and chained.

Life is what you make of it, right? We could go hiking, and I have no problem with that.

We were soon packed; we’d logged into the GPS, a new Audible book was starting, and we had steaming mugs of coffee and Daly Bread's sublime, flaky almond croissants. We were ready to roll—our first stop was the butchery in Laingsburg.

While searching for Tannie Poppie van As, the lady who produces the 'world-famous' roosterkoek from her blue gazebo on Voortrekker str on the N1, I felt local pride and excitement at the chance to share this authentic experience with fellow travel enthusiasts.

There was a queue. While we waited, I had the chance to squizz around and learn the finer details of roosterkoek baking. Her menu is short, with just three choices: cheese and grated Biltong filling, jam and cheese (traditional), and stew (not yet available).

We enjoyed our Roosterkoeke for brunch. They were delicious, and I’m sure Tannie Poppie taught the Italians a thing or two about Roosterkoek during her sojourn in Rome and later during her visit to Jan in Nice. See her Instagram page @poppievanas (4044 followers).

Our destination was Kanniedood 4x4 Wild Camping on Pieter and Micaela’s farm, Antjieskraal, north of Laingsburg. Their turnoff is after the railway bridge, where the Cape Town-Johannesburg line crosses the N1.

Focusing on Micaela's long, bronze legs caused Butch to lose all sense while negotiating the farm gate, ripping and scraping Honey Badger in the process.

Pieter and Micaela escorted us to our campsite, a sheep kraal with a small olive grove, ancient plane trees, a creaking windmill and a concrete dam. They pointed out a few routes for our morning walks.

We soon had our shade cloth pegged down and our tables and chairs out when we realised our solar panels weren't positioned effectively. We moved the truck. After an inspection, Butch decided we needed to move one metre forward. The engine ticked over; lo and behold, a dead battery - we were going nowhere.

We realised our inverter batteries were losing power. Instead of charging to 100% during the 200 km trip, we had lost 6% of our energy. Is it the alternator, our new batteries, or a connection to the batteries? We’re stumped. Someone (Old Smart Alec) asked whether we had a multimeter. We don’t; now it’s on the to-do list.

Somebody hadn’t done us any favours with these batteries since they’d been replaced in December, nor after a service or check-up in January.

Fortunately, Butch had the presence of mind to remove a fuse and tighten a cable. He adjusted the fuse slightly, then checked that the radio and lights were off. The engine started again. Phew. We could reposition the truck to maximise sunlight on the solar panels.

It was beginning to feel like Friday the 13th on a Thursday.

In the Karoo, one has coffee and Pasteis de Nata (Daly Bread) at 16h00. Butch filled the kettle while I set out our mugs and warmed the little custard tarts. That’s when the water pump wouldn’t run. Fortunately, this has happened before. We had to open all the taps. It’s a pressure thing. Soon, water was spluttering and gushing from all the taps. But...

The gas geyser refused to ignite. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll just change the gas bottles.’ Out came the ladder, and up my Precious went. Not in a thousand years did I expect to hear the following words. “Both bottles are empty,” he shouted into the wind. Someone had forgotten to replace the empty gas bottle—no problem. We can always boil water on a fire. We're great at compromising.

As they departed, Pieter mentioned the inconvenience of the lack of internet coverage where we camped, and we sagely agreed. In retrospect, we were thrilled. We could ask Micaela for help.

Karoo sunsets are a photographer’s dream. The one on our first night was going to be one for the books. I charged into the cabin to grab my phone; my tackies squelched as I ran across our mat. Looking down, I saw the carpet was sopping wet. Puzzled, we looked up, and the ceiling was dry. Lifting the carpet and skid-proof under-mat, we found the floor was wet too, but there was no water seepage—a mystery.

I returned to fetch my camera and stepped into a stream of water gushing and snaking across the floor from the geyser's compartment. Water and wood panelling don't mix.

Butch was off like a shot. With his head in his toolbox, he produced a set of screwdrivers. Over time, two clamps had loosened at the corrugations. Water was running everywhere, and no wonder we had no pressure at the taps. With a little elbow grease, he soon had the works clamped—something else we need to watch for in future.

A chilly wind brought a bank of cloud across the lush, golden grassy Karoo veld. We needed sunlight. My greatest fear was having to pack up and go home.

I was surprised by the number of flowers still visible in the veld: vygies, daisies and an abundance of grasses and Karoo shrubs.

In keeping with the Cape Malay tradition of serving Curried Pickled Fish at Easter, we loved our Pickled Snoek for lunch after our walk on Saturday. We bought these at Food Lover’s Market, based on recommendations from an independent survey. FLM was the panel’s favourite, followed by my personal favourite, Woolies, for their robust, spicy Malay Curry.

Once we’d got our heads around the fact that there would be no hot shower, no gas hob or induction plate, no air fryer, and only minimal lighting, we settled into an easy rhythm. We slept late, went for long walks, enjoyed our late brunches, and found a basin bath quite adequate. We read; Michael Robotham's "When You Are Mine" was a quick weekend read. We napped, watched the birds, listened to the windmill and some romantic Spotify tunes. I regret declining the offer to dance. Our days went by smoothly.

Butch is a traditionalist, and the one routine we both enjoy is our Friday night steak. It is his privilege to select our steak, and he enjoys choosing by age, the correct cut, thickness, and weight. Last Friday was the first time we were disappointed by the quality and freshness of his purchase from Food Lover’s Market at the Mountain Mill Mall in Worcester (I will not detail them). For supper, we had leftovers, salad, and a baked spud.

Although we are sticklers for always supporting local businesses, we’ve decided not to repeat the mistake.

This year we didn’t have the usual Easter hunt; no children were around. But I did forget where I’d hidden our stash (a senior moment). I went through all our hatches and lockers, breaking out in a nervous sweat. Of course, it was in the last place I looked. Butch was very bemused. We toasted our Hot Cross buns over the coals, golden butter dripping from our fingers.

Micaela did her best to make our stay as enjoyable and comfortable as possible. On Good Friday, they scouted Laingsburg for a 5kg gas refill. To no avail, but Pieter stocked us up with more wood for our fire.

We managed to sweep Somebody under the wet rug and welcomed adorable Hugo (pronounced You Go) into our lives—an amiable fellow. With him, you go first, you go and relax, you go last, you go carefully, you go and have the last Easter Egg, you go and shower first, you go and read your book, you go, sit with your feet up; I’ll make the coffee, and so forth. I certainly prefer him. Never have I heard Somebody say "O-la-la, you're terrific!" Have you?