Farewell luxury. After bidding farewell to our comfy Ludertiz accommodation we are back on the road again headed to the sand dunes of Sossusvlei. Contrasts here we come again - sea to sand, cold to hot, luxury to the wilds. Passing through Aus - not sure why its called “Aus”…maybe Aussies built it or maybe its the fact that it lots of sand like Ausland...we see the wild desert horses that are famous in this area. Apparently they are from an abandoned castle that was built in the desert in the sands of time. A flock of them are standing idly around an old abandoned building. This makes a great photo shot. So many photos. What will we do. Whenever we look there are so many photos to take.
The 120km from Ludertiz to Aus is great. Tarred and easy, but Namibian roads are stingy in their favours. We turn off and are presented with 350km of gravel road. Eish. We purchased a tyre pressure monitor in Ludertiz to avoid us shredding a tyr, and its here that the monitor is a treat. It really takes the pressure off ;-) as I bump and slide all over sand I can see what the tyres are doing. It fascinating because the tyre that has punctured twice gets the hottest and its pressure rises the most. They were all deflated down to 190kpa and this tyre would reach 240kpa at stages. This shows why it is so important to reduce tyre pressure for gravel roads. (More Namibian tyre advice for would-be travellers in a future post) Finally, many dusty hours later we arrive at 5pm at our campsite. - Sossus Oasis. Yep, this is going to be dusty, but the good news is that each site has its own covered area with a toilet, shower and cooking area. Soon we are all setup and after the requisite braai, are all huddled in one tent getting ready for the night of blissful sleep ahead. It’s quite warm in the desert as we settle down in our tent as a soft breeze stirs outside. Inside we are setup with our fan blowing to cool us and bring the best of modern comforts to our rustic abode. However nature has an irony in store for us. As we sleep, lulled by the gentle breeze of our fan, the wind outside starts to blow like a crazy. I wake crunching dust in my teeth. Our tent is flapping like a possessed vulture and I have to venture outside braving the elements and dust - twice during the night - to try and secure our tent with rocks. Welcome to the wilds. Exciting and fun. Crunch, crunch. Aah, I'm awake. I now know what the sandman means. He's been a little too enthusiastic as not only are my eyes and mouth full of fine sand but so is my sleeping bag. The joy of the desert…now we need to find out if all this sand is worth it. Soon we are in our cars and enter the Sossusvlei Park. Impressive! When you've bounced along a dirt road for 400km to get here the last thing you expect in a national park is a tar road. But that is what we get. The park has a 50km tar road running along the valley floor - what a pleasure. Soon we are flying along the road coming to multiple screeching stops whenever the cry, “Stop!” is yelled by an eager photographer. “It's my turn for the camera”, “pass the camera this side”, “you're taking too long with the camera,” becomes the frequent “conversation” of the car as we are amazed by the beauty of the dunes and the valley floor. We finally arrive at dune 45, named so because it is 45km along the road.These Namibians are creative with their names. It reminds me of the Aussies who likewise are creative with names, calling the long road along the ocean, “The Great Ocean Road” or the blue-coloured mountain…yeah you guessed it, “Blue Mountains”…although you’ll never guess what they call their mountain with snow on it…yep, you got it again - “Snowy Mountain”. But I digress…back to Namibia... Before us towers an impressive red pile of sand marked by tiny specks - which are people walking along the narrow spine of the dune. Soon we are parked and trudging our way up the thick sand. It's hard work and I'm grateful for the people who have forded this route before us creating a slightly flat path we can follow. From the top of the dune we look down to the flat sandless valley below. It's a strange juxtapositioning that makes for amazing vistas. After all the hard work of the climb we now can draw on all the potential energy we have created - gotta love the laws of physics. And so with leaps and yelps and full-on fun we careen down the face of the approximately 200m high, five million year old sand dune. Epic! Continuing along the road we stop at another spot where a sign says “Dead Pan - 1.1km”. Sounds good to us and so we are off to discover what “Dead Pan” is. After a fairly easy walk - although no walk in the desert sand is easy, we arrive at a most eerie, surreal landscape. In fact I read somewhere that this area has been used in various movies especially apocalyptic, Western or futureverse movies. Protruding from a stark white, dry, flat pan are the carcass remains of dead trees stabbing upwards at the sky, while surrounding them are huge red dunes. The contrasts - sand - clay, peaks - tabletop, red - white creates an artist’s dream. Yet there is more to be explored. The tar road eventually gives up, as tar roads do in Namibiam and several two wheel drive vehicles are parked in the parking area. From here it's 4x4s only, and we discover why. In Mozambique style the tracks diverge and converge like a convoluted weave of strings. We slide and bounce our way along the thick sand and eventually arrive at Sossusvlei - the pan that marks the end of the river that flows every few years. Sossusvlei means The Dead End Pan and is also surrounded by huge dunes. Once more we are drawn to the challenge of climbing a beckoning sand monster for the reward of racing down its side. It's a lot of work, but the reward of the view and the exhilarating “ride” down make it worth it. Well, that was fun…it’s time to head on out of here. We leap into Pajey, pick one of the many tracks and go for it…well that is until we come to a grinding halt as Pajey gets mired in the sand. “Hmm…this is feeling very Mozi-like.” The only difference is we are now wiser and more experienced. Firstly I don't spin my wheels and get Pajey dug in. We leap out the car remove some sand from behind Pajey's wheels and in a couple of minutes have reversed our way out. “I'm closing my eyes,” says Nicky as we face the sandy hill before us for take two. Giving Pajey full throttle we fly, bounce, and slide our way with relative ease up the dune and soon we are out of the sandy area once again. Fun! We've booked to have lunch at the Sossusvlei Lodge across the road from where we are camping, and so leaving the park we head straight there. We have a hungry crew with everyone having skipped breakfast in anticipation of a good lunch. As we pull up the doors explode open and the family erupts from the car even before the dust settles. Normally I have to wait for the kids to get out of the car at view sites, but not here. Maybe we should visit more restaurants and less view sites! After eating our full, and feeling like a pod of potbellied pigs we decide to visit one more place that this area is famous for- Sesreim. It's the perfect set for a Western movie. A massive canyon has been carved by the river into the flat wasteland. From above it is almost invisible, yet as we walk down we are suddenly walking along a hidden valley that has been gouged deep into the valley floor. Huge cliffs rise on either side of us while we walk on a sandy track that occasionally boasts a river. We find a small pond at the one end of the canyon where some hardy catfish are eeking out an existence in their ever-diminishing habitat. As the sun paints the sky a dusty red we sit and enjoy our sundowners. It's hard to photograph or describe the beauty and variety of this area. It is a land of contrasts and a land of the unexpected. As I sip my red wine seated on my chair on the dusty desert floor I marvel at God's incredible artistry, and He's far from finished, as He completes today's presentation with a spectacular moon rise and a sparkling display of stars tossed across the dark canopy above. Wow! Naimbia truly is stunning!
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Desert time. Today we are heading out to explore the desert with Batis Birding Tours. At 8am a cool looking 4x4 vehicle rocks up outside our accommodation. Now that's service! “Hi, I'm Dayne,” the friendly driver says. “Welcome to our Living Desert Tour.” We are heading out to explore a portion of the world's oldest desert - the Namib desert that surrounds Swakopmond like a threatening tsunami. “Hmm?” I wonder to myself as we whisk along the streets en route to pick up another group . “What in the world can we see in a dry desert?” We've driven through and walked in this desert already on our adventures in Sossusvlei. Besides a few Oryx it's seems pretty devoid of life. Well that is besides the 202 tyre carcasses we counted from Sossusvlei to Swakopmond. To experience the desert like never before join a tour here.
And the rain came down. Lying in my tent at AiAis Campsite during the night as the storm raged seems fun until a few drips start to stray through the flimsy tent covering. This is the desert. It's the first few rain drops they've had in about a thousand years. Lucky us. Thankfully it is not too many drops and by 7am we are up, letting the sun dry the tents and getting ready to head to our next destination - Luderitz, which is 6 hours away.
Soon we are on the road again bouncing our way along the 90km gravel road from AiAis towards the Fish River Canyon. We've deflated our tyres to 190kpa to try stop our tyre loss which stands at two already. Our last visit to the canyon was brief and in the fading sun, this time we are hoping to soak it up for a little longer. Standing on the rim of the Fish River Canyon eating Oryx pie - which hereafter causes us to rename the Oryx as Pie Bucks - is both beautiful and surreal. It's quiet, vast, stunning. It's like a giant hand has carved a gouge into the earth. God must have had fun making this. We soak in the magnitude of the beauty and take it in from various spots along the rim…but soon we must move on, Luderitz beckons. Bounce, rattle, vibrate…repeat…repeat…repeat…until finally we find some paved road - joy - and 9 hours later we arrive at Luderitz. Now this is different. We are beginning to experience Namibia as a land of contrasts. From the interior to the sea, from 30c to 10c, from sun to fog. The good news is that we are not camping in Luderitiz. A BIG NOTE TO SELF: Do not camp in the winter at any place on the west coast…Brr. Glad we got that right. “I'm sure glad we're not camping,” I say to another couple who have arrived at the place we are staying at as I look at the cold fog wind blowing outside. “We are camping down the road,” they reply, “we just came here to grab a coffee”. Oops! “I’m sure it will be fun being warmly snuggled in your tent,” I try and recover. But we all know, they’ve made a bad call this time as they discover the coffee shop is closed. Double blow! Ludertitz marks a significant point in our journey. We've traveled 20,000 amazing kilometers...but there's lots more to see and now it is time to see what Namibia has to offer, and today we are heading out to explore the ghost town of Kolmanskop. “Wow this is amazing,” I exclaim….I think I’ve used that refrain too many times to count on our adventures around Southern Africa. But it is amazing. We are wondering around endless buildings that the desert has simply reclaimed. Homes, shops, a hospital, an entire village that are now filled with sand. There’s sand everywhere…the sand is in the bedrooms, in the baths, in the corridors…everywhere. As a guide leads us on a tour of the village I am in awe of the incredible level of sophistication the German diamond miners of over a hundred years ago had. The town is amazing with everything from a bowling alley to fridges made with ice to a swimming pool and a train to take people around the small town. All of this built in the middle of a desert. Incredible engineering. However maybe what is even more incredible is how quickly nature reclaims it's territory. It makes me think about how transient we are. We have an era of glory - diamonds, entertainment, modern appliances, wealth…and soon it's all just sand. It's what Solomon mused upon many years before - “Vanity of vanity, all is vanity.” Life is just sand without God. As the sun sets across the bay at the lovely accommodation on Shark Island that we are staying at, we start a braai and toast the end of the day with wine, steak and the sense of peace that settles on this little village and those who visit it.Time stands still for no-one, let’s take every moment we are given and celebrate the life we have, for just like sand, it runs through our hands before we know it. Farewell South Africa. We tasted Namibia on our “shortcut” through...and got the Namibian kiss - a flat tyre, but now we are returning for the real adventure. It’s time to see what the big deal is all about…is it just sand dunes and more sand dunes, or what? We whizz through the border with minimal pain and suffering, turn onto our first dirt road…and you guessed it! Pop goes the spare! Sigh. That’s two tyres in Namibia both within about 20km. What’s with their roads? Is it diamonds we’re driving on?
And so I'm lying in the dirt again getting the jack under Pajey on some random Nam road headed towards AiAis. Now the big decision - do we push on for 60km to AiAis on this gravel road without a spare or do 120km back and up to Granau and get the tyre repaired? After much debate we decide to go with the cautious route up to Granau. It's a careful slow drive on the plugged Cooper - which we self-repaired at the Growcery...only to discover they can't fix the tyre. Well that was a waste. We've added miles to our journey. Sigh. We now take a route towards the Fish River Canyon. There is a silver lining on this adventure. If we are fast enough - yeah sure, on a suspect tyre and no spare - we can see the sunset over the canyon. As the light begins to fade we decide to throw caution to the wind and race to make the canyon before it's dark. Hurtling along the corrugated roads at filling-jarring speeds we arrive and screech to a halt in a cloud of dust as the last remnants of the sun cast an orange glow over everything. Like banshees we erupt from the car and race to the viewing platform. The canyon beckons. We must see it. It's been so long to get here. As we reach the viewing platform, feeling like contestants in the Amazing Race, we are greeted with a massive yawning canyon and a golden river painted by the setting sun, snaking it's way far below. “Wow, that is amazing,” I say as I look at this spectacular sight in the orange remnants of the day. However our visit is brief. Before us is the next part of our Amazing Race and this may be the most trying. We have 75km of dirt road in the dark with a repaired tyre and no spare. We're in God's hands - but then we are always in His hands and everything that has happened has always worked out amazingly. The road is endless. It changes from a great condition to corrugations to passes to game crossing the road. It feels like the Comrades marathon. Endless. “We must be getting close now,” I think. “How far is left?” I ask Nicky who is studying the Maps.me app. “We are nearly halfway,” she says in a perky voice like this is good news. To me it's like a Comrades supporter saying “You're nearly there!” when you have 40km still to go! “Eish!” I reply, “I thought we only had about 10km to go!” Finally at 7pm local time we arrive. Nothing better than pitching tents in the dark while fellow campers sip beer and watch from around their crackling log fires. Note to self: Don’t arrive in the dark. The sleeping is getting better as we get used to tent life, although campers often make a noise early or decide to leave at 4am. I'm not sure what the hurry is all about. So we are up by 6am and ready for the day. With the joy of electricity we can start the day in a civilized way - two espressos. AiAis is famous for its steaming hot pools and so we pay the R10 fee for the day and are soon wallowing in them like content hippos. Returning to our campsite we decide we will make jaffels for breakfast. These have become a firm favorite in our camping as they are quick to make on the gas burner. The problem is we are not prepared for the baboon attack and the beast gets away with a whole tub of butter. Sigh. We needed that for our jaffels. The new regime is to have one person posted on baboon duty armed with the catapult. This is a serious full time job and requires acute concentration as these fellas sneak up and attack with lightening speed. The difficulties of life in Africa. “The twins climbed that when they were five,” Dedda says pointing to the huge mountain below which we are pitched. Of course we don't need much encouragement to climb mountains and are soon bounding up with a few murmuring kids in tow. It's a deceiving fella as each time we get up a peak there's another. However in about an hour we are at the top enjoying the views of the Fish River Canyon - this marks the end point for hikers on the five day trail (another note to self - we must do this). We leap, selfie, footsie, and run - all the digital records we need and then scuttle back down. The evening is celebrated with some tasty pasta, steak and campside fare. However there is a thick bank of clouds over us. We decide to have a final swim in the hot pool. Wow it's really hot now and we are well warmed up after a brief spell in the water. As we are leaving the pool lightening flickers across the sky as thunder rumbles in the distance. Hmm, this could be an interesting night. "Does it rain in the desert I wonder as I snuggle into my sleeping bag?". "The answer," as the song says, "is blowing in the wind." I hear the first few drips on the tent. I hope this tent holds out. This will be its first test... We've just spent three incredible nights in the Richtersveld. Wow. Off the grid - no electricity, no water, no signal, no fuel. Just endless epic wasteland. Now we're headed to The Growcery for some canoeing adventure on the Orange River. We bounce and negotiate our way out of the wilds of the Richtersveld finally arriving at Sendlingsdrift - which has nothing besides fuel. I stop Pajey at the petrol station so we can refuel and Nicky heads out to find out about the border crossing. When I try and start Pajey he's asleep. I pop the hood and see that not only has the battery terminal come lose with the shaking, the entire mounting for the battery has broken. On closer inspection, I see it was attached by a cable tie and that's broken. After lots of effort, I manage to get another cable tie in. And then we discover we can't open the back boot. It's been giving us hassles, but now it's impossible. With lots of energy, I eventually manage to open it. By now I'm hot and greasy and time is slipping away. We decide to take the “shortcut” via Namibia and then back into South Africa to our next destination - The Growcery. Yeah sure. Shortcut! Hours of border cursings - I meant to type “crossings” but autocorrect knew better and changed it. We finally get across enjoying the 30 second pont trip. Now open road...gravel... “I can hear a strange noise,” I say after about 30 minutes of driving. I stop the car to check it out. Joy…the back wheel is flat. So much for tough and expensive Cooper tires. Oh well we will just have to change it and move on. It's a good spot to change a tire - if there's such a thing - because the road is flat and straight. However, there's a problem. The jack won't fit under the car with the tire flat. Well, that's very clever! We try and maneuver the car but it does not work. Finally, we have the idea of trying to inflate the tire and then put the jack under. It works and while sipping warm beer for sustenance we have the tire changed and are back on our way again. Finally, eight hours later, four border posts, one battery problem, one tire problem, just before sunset we arrive at The Growcery. It's like an oasis. Green - welcoming, and it has a pub! “Where's the beer?” are my opening words. “Hi, I'm Jason,” says a smiling young guy. “Welcome to The Growcery.” I seat myself at the beautiful outdoor pub with a cold beer in hand and complete the book-in form. Jason gives us the lie of the land - “We are a green, organic establishment,” he says. “We grow our own vegetables,” he says pointing at several vegetable patches, "we recycle everything,” and he explains the process to us. The Growcery seems like an oasis in the area. Admittedly we've just come from the harshness of the Richtersveld and our Namibian adventure but it is a green oasis. Lovely grass and trees in what otherwise is a dry area. “Wow, hot showers and electricity,” I exclaim in joy. It's hard to explain this place. It's eclectic, hip, trendy, comfortable, tasteful, fun, vibey…something like that. For example the showers I was mesmerized with, they're not dark dank holes as is often the case at a camping spot. They're cleverly and trendily built with rocks and tin and are open to the sky above and even partially on the one side affording you an amazing view while luxuriating in a fantastic warm and full throttled shower. The bar area is vibey and flows onto the green grass where lights dot the lawn and bar area at night pulling in thirsty campers like moths to the flame. We've just come from camping in the sand of the Richtersveld and so when we arrive at our campsite we are again hugely impressed. Grass…electricity…water. Wow. But it's more than this. It's the layout, the details that show me the people who run this place are concerned with more than just camping but the experience of camping. An example is the welcome board at our site “Welcome to a the Growcery, Blewett Family” - It's a small touch but it's this detail that is everywhere. Another example are the amazing photo collages that decorate the walls of the toilet area, again details that make even the places where you wouldn't expect much, feel like you're at home. Our grassy campsite is partitioned off by a tasteful pole fence and has a covered kitchen area on the one side and a large fire pit in the middle, while before us we have a stunning view of the river. A fish eagle cries. The sound of Africa and a fitting welcome to our new home for the next few nights. Darkness descends and we sit sipping the requisite snifter. “Hi everyone,” a voice says behind us, “I'm Deván and I will be your guide tomorrow.” Aah, joy. The river rafting. One of the main reasons we have come here. Deván then learns all our names. Now that's impressive. Jason, who welcomed us did the same. It reminds me of the old TV program, Cheers - which had the song chorus, “where everyone knows your name.” We feel like part of the local family. We're doing the half day river rafting on the Orange River. It covers a distance of about 15km which should be nice and leisurely. We meet at 10:30, a civilized time to begin an excursion, dump some vital fluids (aka beer) in a cooler box and board the vehicle that will take us to the start. “If you get hot open the window, it's Africa airconditiong,” says Jaym the other guide on our excursion. There's already an occupant seated in the vehicle, Kayla the dog. She knows where the actions happening and she's not missing out. Soon we are bouncing our way along the dirt road towards our start. “OK everyone, these are the signals,” Jaym says as he explains the basics of river rafting to us. It's just our family and another family also with three kids but their youngest looks only about two years of age. Wow. Pretty adventurous family. Soon we are in our Ark rubber ducks and paddling sedately down the river. The river is wide and smooth and our six boats are effortlessly gliding down the river. We notice another group also on the river however they have fiberglass canoes. “I'm glad we're in an Ark inflatible, they're much safer and easier to control,” I think as I watch the other group wobble down the river. After about 30 minutes of sedate drifting Jaym stops his ark. We all bob nearby like obedient ducklings. “OK everyone. There's a rapid coming up. Follow my line. I will firstly go right...” and he explains the plan. Sounds good to me, let's get the action on. Around the corner we can feel the pull of the river as it gains speed and up ahead we can see the rapids. “Yeehi,” I shout as we bump and bounce across the rapids. They're not big rapids but they are fun. We all emerge unscathed on the other side and are soon drifting in tranquility once again. Soon we see the lead raft heading to the side and we all follow and disembark. “This is a really interesting geological area,” Jaym says. We've landed on the Namibian side of the river. The best border crossing I've done. No forms. No wait. And so beautiful. “It's a lava extrusion,” Jaym explains pointing at a huge black rock that looks like it's oozed its final hours into the river. He also points out fascinating petrified mud stones. We're back in the river and the dotted farms and cabins give way to amazing cliff formations. A herd/pack/flock...whatever of cormorants perch on the rocks observing us while high above a fish eagle soars on the thermals. “We're having a floating lunch,” Deván says as we tie our canoes together bobbing beneath a massive rock cliff. Soon the guides are laying out a smorgasbord feast on one of the canoes complete with tablecloth, cutlery and the best setting for a lunch ever - literally floating on the river. “Wow, this is good,” I exclaim as I tuck into my pasta salad, filled with fresh tomato, parma ham, basil, rocket, and more. I'm not sure if it's the organic goodness of Growcery's home grown food or the setting or both, but this is delicious and spectacular. After a leisurely lunch, we set off again getting to experience sections of tranquil rowing where we marvel at the bird life and scenery plus a few small but fun rapids. As we near the end the canoe party stretches out a bit as everyone rows at their own pace soaking in the ambiance and tranquility. That's what this place is all about. Relaxing, experiencing, enjoying, living. There's a sign hanging up in the pub area that says “Some people die at 25...but are only buried at 75” - The Growcery, the canoe adventure, is for those who are intent on living every moment of their life to the full. As Jaym said, when discussing the name Growcery, “It's not just because we grow all our own vegetables, it's about people growing through what they've experienced.” I certainly feel at least an inch taller...inside where it counts! We will be back...next time for the six-day river adventure. “Aah, now I know why this place is called the Growcery...it's the one reason they didn't mention. It's because being here grows on you. You just can't help it.” To find out more about the Growcery or Orange River Rafting check out their website!
“Quickly across the sand. Quickly across the sand. Quickly across the sand. Food. Food. Danger. A dark shadow. Something large looms over me. I immediately turn around and assume to defensive position. The object draws closer. I stand still. Soon it thinks better of it and moves away. Quickly across the sand. Quickly across the sand. Quickly across the sand.” “Have you got a full tank of fuel, water, enough food?”
“Yes,” we nod as we sign the forms to mark our entry into the Richtersveld. We’ve bounced on rutted roads for over two hours and are now touching the remotest northwest portion of South Africa. Before us the inhospitable, but alluring wonder of the Richtersveld beckons. A harsh, arid, rocky area with little water, no cell signal, no electricity, and no fuel. You carry everything you need or else you could be in trouble. Back in the car it’s as though we are holding our collective breath as we leave Senlingsdrift, the last semblance of civilisation, and plunge into the waiting adventure of the Richtersveld. After bouncing along on some more rutted tracks we notice a car stopped up ahead. “Its die halfmens,” says Nicky pointing to a strange looking cactus type tree on the side of the mountain. The legend has it that the bushmen who were chased from them homes in the north and fled here would look longingly back towards their homes. Those that did became trees - halfmens (half-people), and these trees always have an arm that faces north. We continue on the road until points out a sign indicating the “Hand of God” to the left of us. We follow the track and arrive at an amazing site. It’s as though a giant being has placed their huge hand on a rock leaving behind a massive imprint several meters in height. Wow, there’s no doubt giant’s played in this area once, as we look at the huge boulders strewn around as though they were dice. Our road soon becomes a lot more serious as it crossed over mountain passes, where we have to carefully negotiate rocks, gullies and other obstacles in our path. The vista is the epitome of aridness. Not a plant, a bush or a single living thing seems to inhabit this world. Crumbling rock mountains and boulder strewn valleys are all that exist and draw us deeper into the heart of the Richtersveld. “I hope its not too much further I say,” as I look at the time approaching 4pm. We’ve been driving since 9am when we left Springbok, our last taste of civilisation - or what people call civilisation - for a long time. Gone are the modern luxurious of wifi, water in a tap, electricity….this is about touching life, and I’m looking forward to it….as long as we don’t arrive in the dark. This is the first time since we started our adventure 9 months ago that we will be camping. We’re seasoned travellers, adventurers….but not campers. In fact we are not even sure how to put these tents up. And now we are going to be tested to the extreme, in an environment where there are no backup options. “There it is,” someone shouts, and we see what must be De Hoep campsite. Before us the wide, languidly flowing Orange river flows bringing with it life to the valley. Trees and reeds cling joyously to its side bordered by the arid, flaking, rocky mountains of Namibia across the river and equally inhospitable mountains behind us. The choice is quite simple. Camp on the river sand or camp on the river sand. So we choose to camp on the river sand. It’s soft which is a bonus but not tent peg friendly. However with some alacrity that I did not know we possessed we soon have two tents up, a log fire crackling, and a glass of wine in hand. However it’s not long after we’ve eaten our braaied work that we quickly retreat into our tents to escape the rapidly descending blanket of cold that feels like its coming from the polar icecaps…although there’s not an icecap in sight. Its just the way of the desert. It’s the chirping of the birds that wakes me from my peaceful somnolence, as they twitter in eager anticipation outside of our tent hoping for some morning crumbs from us. Soon we’re awake and sipping a freshly brewed cup of coffee and watching the sun leak its liquid golden warmth into the valley. Nothing - this is a place of nothing. There are only a few other campers here, and so it feels like we are alone. There is a certain transcendental experience in the sublime of nothing. No signal. No sounds. No people. No electricity. A funny looking beetle thing scuttles archers the ground in front of out tents. I go to get a closer look as he seems to do a six-legged dance across the soft sand. As I approach him, he turns and gives me his butt-view. “Hmm,” I wonder, “Is he going to dump on me?” I don’t take a chance and step away, and he’s off scuttling on his merry way. I just wonder what he finds to live on in this arid landscapte. “Let’s climb that mountain,” Nicky says pointing at the rock strewn, uninviting peak that rises behind us. “Sure,” I reply, ever eager to see what’s on the other side. Soon we are huffing and sliding our way up the crumbling rock peak. Its a tricky climb as care is taken where you place each foot. However we’re soon rewarded by a magnificent view of our campsite and the wide Orange River carving its path of life through the barren landscape of this unforgiving region. We’ve decided, unlike others who visit here, to not drive much. We want to luxuriate in this paradise of paradoxces. Wet and dry. Bounty and spareness. Soft and hard. Symmetry and chaos. Light and dark. Heat and Cold. These sensual paradoxes heighten our senses and have to be consumed slowly…slowly, quietly in this place of untouched beauty. And that’s how our day ends. The soft life-giving sound of the river in front us, the harsh quietness of the jagged desert mountains behind us. The flickering warmth of our long fire before us, the majesty of a million lights painted by a divine hand in the heavens above us. The tranquility of our spirit deep within us, the memory of cities and people far behind us. We’re touching the edge, and its a wonderful. ] “Nope, I’m not opening. The sun may be up, but it’s not high enough for me to open. I glance around me at everyone else and I see they are in agreement. Too early. Oh well, no rush. I will wait an hour or so and see how things look then. Yawn...”
We’ve left the luxury of Franschhoek with its mixture European charm and African hosiptality and we’re heading north. Our adventure will now take us through the idyllic Greek village like Langebaan and northward in search of flowers. Its that time of year when a miracle happens on the west coast of South Africa, the valleys and mountainsides miraculously transform into seas of flowers…or that is what we’ve been told. “Ja,” says Braam my father-in-law and resident expert on this area, “it all depends on the rains. If they come too late, or to early,” he adds, “then there won’t be flowers.” Hmmm…it sounds like a bit of hit and miss, and even as we head north in search of the mythical flower-strewn valleys we are unsure. Our first glimmer of hope is ignited as we descend the winding pass into the small village of Clan William. On the side of the road a bright array of several hundred wildflowers clustered together cause us to pull off the road and set the cameras whirring. “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s” emanate as take photos. Passing through Clan William, after loading up on some supplies at the shop we continue onto a dirt track, opening multiple farm gates on the road before we finally hit a sign that reads... “Enjo Nature Farm - Have time to dream, to think, to enjoy peace and quietness and the wonders of life - the sky, the mountains, the fresh air.” “Wow, that sounds amazing,” says Nicky, while Hannah replies, “Not really. There’s no signal!” She’s right on the signal front. We’re off the grid. In fact this next part of our journey is going to be marked by one significant feature - limited or no data connection. Something that is sure to test the girls, and me too! Minutes later we arrive at a scene from a storybook. A beautiful whitewashed farmhouse stands next to a trickling river while around it a symphony of yellow and white flowers complete the fantasy. It’s amazing. Outside the farmhouse a horseshoe bench looks over a fire pit to the river below. As darkness draws its velvet veil across the valley and a chill settles upon quickly upon the land we retreat indoors and soon are all huddled around a crackling log fire in the kitchen while the smells of dinner being prepared compete with the mesmerising effect of the flickering flames and the laughter and conversation. However there is another laughter awaiting us, who’s voice is now still but tomorrow we shall witness it’s intoxicating voice. It must be the smell of porridge coming from the farm kitchen that wakes me, and soon I’m holding a steaming bowl of porridge luxuriating in the golden paint of the sun as it wakens the valley with its welcome touch. I look at the flowers that cluster in patches all around our farmhouse. “Hey, these fellas are all closed,” I say staring disconcertedly down at their bowed heads. “They’re still snoozing.” A few appear to be peaking out at the sun from behind half open petals as if checking whether its time to wake up or not. However most are still firmly asleep. I come to appreciate that about flowers. Flowers, unlike game viewing - which I also love with a passion - have some distinct advantages. Firstly they don’t wake up in the bitter hours of the early morning. These sensible little beasts, unlike their furry counterparts, only open up when the sun is well up. And so those insomniac fuelled early risers who wake with the chickens are left staring at nothing, besides the bowed heads of the flowers. Go back to bed! Secondly flowers gather in huge batches and remain still, making viewing them easy. Thirdly flowers let you touch them, sniff them and even lie on them, unlike their beast brothers. And so we will have to wait for the sun to rise higher before these little fellas reveal their hidden secrets. “Let’s go for a walk to the dam,” Nicky suggests. And so with tummies content, we set out to stroll along the farm road towards the dam. It’s then that we see it…or hear it…or experience it. It’s the earth’s laughter. There is not really any other way to describe it. The valley is a carpet of iridescent orange, checkered with white and purple…or is that what we’re seeing. It’s almost as though a divine hand has taken a rainbow, crushed it and sprinkled it on the valley. Colours without labels. A scene without description. I can truly say, as the sign at the farmhouse proclaimed, “I’ve seen the earth’s laughter.” We find the farm dam and our swim in it's icy water looks like a reverse cam video as we enter and remerge in such haste it appears as though we’ve been plucked out by a bunjee cord. Soon we are sunning ourselves like content lizards on the peer enjoying the tranquility of this fantastical valley. “Who’s up for some food?” some intelligent individual asks, as though the question ever needs to be asked. With chorus of hearty “ayes” we decide to find the ultimate picnic spot. Faithful Pajey has driven in many amazing places during our adventures - from open freewatys, to busy cities, to snowy roads, to rugged tracks, however Pajey’s wheels have never before driven down a living , rainbow of colour. It looks like someone paved a road of flowers into the hills drawing us towards the treasure that lies at this rainbow’s end. Words should now end. These limited symbols of human design. They cannot describe this scene, nor begin to capture the experience. Might I describe it as fantacular or mesmermazing? Yet even these words fall short. We’re seated in a sea, in a carpet, in a rainbow, in a living tapestry of color. I’m sipping my beer…of course, a good brew completes this scene…and eating our lunch. This must be the ultimate picnic site. A blue canopy above, a rainbow beneath, the gentle buzzing of bees, and the gentle stir of the breeze. It’s real…the laughter, I can feel it bubbling through my soul. It’s real the laughter, I can smell it in the aroma-rich air. It’s real the laughter…I can see it on the faces around me. I’ve heard the earth laugh, and I will never be the same. Brrr, it's 9c as our car tires crunch along the gravel driveway as we head towards our booking at Grande Provence. It's a Shiraz wine and dine collaboration dinner and it sounds spectacular. We're welcomed by a huge silvery full moon rising over the mountain casting its magical light on everything as we make our way to the restaurant. Inside soft candles flicker on the tables while a crackling log fire warms the restaurant. The soft hum of chatting diners draws us in. “Hello, I'm Michael,” we are warmly welcomed. The waiter gives us a board of warm homemade seed bread with sundried tomato butter. “We probably shouldn't be filling up on the bread,” I say as I reach for another piece. I can't resist. I've just read the menu and it looks spectacular. Maybe just one more piece. The first shiraz arrives it's a 2010 Lammershoek Syrah. It's smooth with a lovely linger. Maybe it's because it's our first wine and the tastebuds are excited, but this is a great start. We kick off with a spiced butternut and saffron mouth warmer. So smooth. So tiny. So leaving me wanting more. Clink, clink goes a glass. All heads turn towards a tall, commanding figure standing near the log fire. “Hi I'm Karl the general manager of Grande Provance,” he says as we all go quiet. He welcomes us to the fourth wine evening for the year. Darren the chef then takes us through the menu in an exciting verbal journey. This is followed by the winemaker from Lammershoek telling us about both his vineyard and the wine. Now I have a problem. I want to go and visit this vineyard. It sounds stunning. Nicky is soon on Google looking to see if we can find it. Maybe... “Sir, here is your Indonesian salt cured duck...” the waiter says continuing with even more detail. All I know is it looks delicious. And as my teeth sink into the succulent duck with citrus caviar I'm enraptured. “What makes a wine great?” asks Tamsin from Hartenberg Estate who has now stood up to introduce our second wine for the evening. “It's the company you keep.” And she is right. I'm enjoying this evening with stunning company - my wife - and a group of fellow wine lovers. “It's a very masculine wine,” Tamsin says describing the 2008 Hartenberg Gavel Hill Shiraz. “Hmm...if this is masculine I'm glad I'm a dude.” Horse and carriage, love and marriage. That's what this is. The perfect pair. The barbecue sea bass with charred baba ganoush arrives on a warm stone plate. It is deliciously smoky and goes like a Siamese twin with the wine drawing out the natural smokey taste of the Shiraz. It's probably the best pairing I've tasted. While the bliss of the taste match is still doing a tango on my tongue the winemaker from Eagles Nest stands up and regales us with fascinating stories about their farm and the 2012 Shiraz we are now having. It's paired with slow braised beef brisket and once more the combo is a choreographed symphony. Finally, Karl stands up again and introduces us to our last Shiraz. “It's always a worry when you have to pair your wine to dessert,” he says smiling, “because the cream and buttery flavours mask the taste.” He tells us a great story about the guy who attempted to produce great wine by introducing weeds, then goats to control the weeds, then dogs to control the goats, then children to control the dogs...and finally birth control to control child production. Which shows simple birth control can produce the greatest vines. Just shows what you can learn about wine making at an evening like this. The dessert arrives which is scarily “sago with white chocolate creme”. Sago? For dessert? Isn't that boarding school food as Karl joked? The plating is beautiful. I take my first tentative bite. “Bounce” go my jowls. Bounce. It's sago after all. Despite the delicious topping I still think sago is best kept as punishment for boarding school kids. The diners next to us joke that the sago is big balls - sago on steroids. Well, the Shiraz was great! And serving this for dessert was indeed very ballsy. Finally Darren the chef appears together with the whole kitchen team. It's been a spectacular evening. Lovely tastes. Great wine. And as we learnt...the key ingredient...great company. Here's looking forward to the Pinotage evening. To find out about their next special wine pairing evening check out their site.
One, two, three...heaven. Or at least as close to it as possible. Backing up... “Hi Craig, welcome,” Manu says shaking my hand warmly. “The winds a bit northerly at the moment,” he says nodding towards the vaguely flapping windsock. We're at Signal Hill and below us the beautiful city of Cape Town stretches out towards the sea and the infamous Robben Island in the distance. “We need it to be more head on,” Manu the owner Cape Town Tandem Paragliding says. He then goes on to explain how we must take off into the wind. “It's not like a helicopter that creates its own wind, we need the wind to be provided.” I look at the windsock still flapping forlornly and wonder if we will fly. I'm hoping we will, but I'm all for there being enough wind to keep us up. “It looks like the wind is fine now,” we're told about 20 minutes later. Soon I'm being strapped into my gear. It sort of feels like I'm wearing a giant diaper. “Maybe it's for those who get a little afraid on the flight,” I muse sagely as I stare down at our destination far below. “Just make sure you keep running,” Manu says, “just don’t stop or sit otherwise I’ll end up on top of you.” And so it is that after just three steps I’m suddenly like one of those cartoon characters and running in the air. The ground drops away and it’s almost miraculous as we are suddenly flying. “We need to turn into the wind,” Manu says as we bank to the right along the side of Signal Hill. It's stunning, because rather than immediately heading off over the city, we fly along the side of the hill with the hillside brush flying past just a few meters below our feet. “It really does feel like I’m flying,” I say as the fresh Cape Town wind whips at my jacket. It’s an amazing feeling literally skimming above the plants below you, yet somehow you’re flying. After a minute or so…time in this heavenly place takes on a different meaning, so it could have been an hour, we bank left and the hill drops away. Moments later we’re flying above the busy Sea Point suburb below us. The packed streets, crane-active buildings, and daily life seem like a distant planet as we float softly on the gentle breeze. It’s quiet. It’s tranquil. It’s amazing. “Do you want to experience some tricks?” Manu asks as we near the Sea Point promenade. “Yeah sure!” I exclaim enthusiastically, “bring it on.” I’m loving this and the more the tranquility mingles with the thrill the better. “You don’t get motion sickness do you?” Manu enquires. Well, even if I do, I want to taste the action. “No,” I reply, “let’s do it. Even if I get sick I want to experience the fun.” And so as we glide out like a seagull with wide-spread wings over the sea, the action begins. All of a sudden Manu banks to the left and we are thrown into a spiral. Then moments later we are tossed around and spinning in the reverse direction. Or at least I think that’s what happened. All I really know is that I’m yelping with excitement as the adrenalin pumps and the stomach gets that awesome tingling feeling. Wow! Finally as the sparkling ocean screams past us just meters below, we bank once more to the left and are suddenly calmly floating down towards the grass field on the promenade. And then like a butterfly landing on your skin, we gently float and touch down on the grass. One, two, three…earth. Wow. What an incredible experience. “That was incredible,” I say as Manu packs up the gear. “Absolutely incredible. How many flights do you do?” I ask. “About one thousand a year. But then there are between three and six in the team depending on the time of year,” he continues. I can see why they’re so busy. From start to finish the experience is not only incredible, but it's professional and you feel totally safe. Minutes after we land their shuttle is there to pick us up and take us back to the top. “Ninety!” I exclaim. “Are you serious?” “Yes,” Manu replies, “The oldest person I’ve taken on a flight is 90 and the youngest is 3.” That is incredible. It truly is a sport that anyone can do. An opportunity for anyone to experience flight in a way that a few years ago we would never have dreamed possible. An opportunity to step, at least for a moment, into heaven…or at least heavenwards, where the wonder is better experienced than ever explained...because most won’t believe until they’ve been. I love Cape Town but not the traffic. The solution is the hop-on, hop-off, City Sightseeing Red Bus, and we've got tickets for the family to explore for the day. “Welcome on board,” beams Eric the bus driver as we step on board. We've boarded the bus at Sea Point, close to where we are staying. The bus makes its way along the Sea Point promenade. The sun is poking out after an evening of cold rain. It's fortunate, because this experience is best seated on the top level of the bus in the open air section. “Hey Josh,” says Hannah leaning over, “there's a kids' channel.” I plug my headphones in and see they have, besides English and a whole lot of languages, a dedicated kids' channel. It's actually very vibey and I'm listening to it enjoying the banjo and “Daar kom did Alibama oor die see”. I'm feeling young...I'm looking forward to this adventure. We arrive at the Waterfront which is where all the adventures begin and end, although you can leap on and off at will. We've decided to do the blue Peninsula tour but with a stop to do the yellow downtown tour. We love inner city experiences especially in vibey Cape Town. The kids have their headsets plugged in, tuned to the kid channel awaiting our departure. Maybe I should “grow up” and hear what the adult channel has to say. We've driven thousands of kilometers on our travels this year around South Africa, so there is something particularly relaxing to just sit on an open air bus while around us cars hoot and jostle for position. As we sit atop the bus I'm grateful for my warm jacket as the winter air is fresh but invigorating. As we weave through the city we are fed a constant stream of fascinating information from the audio feed. "Look up," the commentary says, "at about the same height as the bus you will see a balcony." Like obedient robots everyone turns and looks up. "It was from this balcony that Nelson Mandela first addressed the nation of South Africa after his release." Wow, it's so cool to drive past places which were momentous occasions in the birth of our new country. “District 6 was the birth place of Cape Town's colorful carnival,” says the dude in my ear as once again the strains of “Daar kom die Alibama” play to make the point. There is no carnival on at the moment, but a colorful array of people, from tourists to locals, fill the streets around here. It's testimony to transformation where tourist and locals mingle together in the streets. “This wine farm has the best views and the most modern wine tasting area,” says one of the bus operators as we arrive at the wine loop. Of course you have to do the wine loop - it's Cape Town. And so we hop off at Beau Constantia. It's a short stroll from the bus stop and soon we are seated in a glass enclosed tasting room perched high above the beautiful vineyards. The sun streams into our glass sanctuary warming us as we soak it and the ambiance in. “This sushi is delicious!” Nicky exclaims. And it is delicious. We love sushi but this warm crispy sushi on a cold day blended with a glass of award-winning wine is just what we need to satiate our lunch needs. The only issue is that we won't be buying any because the prices seem to match the area...fancy! After Beau Constantia we continue on to Hout Bay and decide to get off here for the requisite dose of fish smell and real harbor experience. Some locals have charmed a large seal out onto the pier with fish snacks. For a few rands tourists get to take photos and have a chat with the seal. Net in Suid Afrika (only in South Africa) #ilovesouthafrica
After strolling around for a while and eating some fish-tasting “slap tjips” the bus arrives, always like clockwork, on time. It's the homeward journey now and the bus turns around at Snoekies factory...there's no doubt what they sell here as all the kids - land lubbers they all are - cover their noses to mask the smell. It's our trip back now along the beautiful Atlantic seaboard towards our end point, Sea Point. The sun is rapidly heading towards its seaward destination and is bathing the mountain in a warm light as we travel along the bottom of the magnificent Twelve Apostles range. It's truly beautiful, and I'm almost dizzy from deciding whether to look right at the majestic mountains or left at the sun-tinted sea. Finally with the song, from the kids audio channel, “the tourists on the bus go click, click, click...” playing over and over in my head, we get off the bus. We certainly have gone “click, click, click” as we tried to capture some of the stunning and different scenes we saw on our trip. We're just in time to watch the majestic sunset back at our apartment, with a glass of wine in hand and some more...click, click, click. |
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