Travel = Freedom.
The last 7 weeks of this journey were largely unplanned. I wanted them to be fluid, to be able to go where ever the wind blew. Studying Spanish in South America was a possibility but beyond that it was an open book. I decided to return to South Africa. Extravagance? Yes. Having pretty much kept to my budget in spite of the outright purchase of a new iphone (travel necessity I told myself, the quality of the camera in itself a valid reason) and Berkenstocks (the promise of comfortable feet) I decided to go ahead. Still awaiting Qantas regarding any possible refund for the Montevideo — Melbourne flight, the money budgeted for Spanish lessons helped cushion the blow. Yes it was a luxury, a fanciful interlude before reality interrupted this most delicious of lifestyles. Returning to Africa was also an exercise in faith and intuition, a necessary step in validating experiences and ideas formed a few months earlier, to touch base and clarify the ‘what next’ in my life.
A month back in Southern Africa. Forgette and Savannah were eagerly awaiting my return and we decided on taking a mini break in SA. Another friend’s work schedule continued to play havoc with attempts to catch up, so the week I hoped to spend with him would need to rethinking. I was commited to writing my blog, even reviewing my book, Musikana. Maybe that cute Airbnb in Parkhurst, not too far from Linden, would be a good option. It would give Forgette and Sav some space for a week as well.
So a mini break. Forgette was able to take 3 days off, plus a weekend. Sav and I did the research. Forgette, not a great lover of decision making, was happy for her strong assertive daughter and strong assertive friend to take over. The options had been narrowed down to Cullen or The Drakensberg, a 1000km stretch of escarpment with geology dating back to Gondwana land. The Draks (Sav’s colloquial reduction) offered quad bikes, zip lining, the Sani Pass and for me, Lesotho — a whole new country to add to my list. With erosion at play over the millennia, the stunning landscape was more likely to meet Sav’s desire for adventure than sedate Cullen.
Estcourt looked OK. Some nice accomodation, reasonable prices, close to adventure junkie activities. But access to the Sani Pass was a couple of hours south. Sending off a few options to Forgette, we primed her with a ‘We want to do this — Major Adventures Sani Pass day tour’. Best find somewhere near Underberg. Accomodation options included Tangle Wood House in Himeville — a whole house to ourselves with a bedroom each or another place a bit cheaper where I’d sleep on a fold out couch. Savannah looked at me with that direct no nonsense gaze of hers “Aunty Lisa, no, you can’t sleep on a couch, come on”. I was easily swayed. So it was all booked. Only later did it hit us that it would be a 7 hour drive to Himeville.
Major Adventures warned us to bring our passports and check if we needed visas for the day in Lesotho. All good, we were set. Until it came to packing of course. Now let’s keep in mind Savannah is a 19 yr old who is part of the ‘me’ generation. Outfits had to be coordinated, shoes for any occasion. Forgette, 2 days before, began fretting over what she would pack. As a long time traveller I was bemused. OK yes I do have the biggest suitcase known to man kind on this extended trip — complete with my ‘Bed of Nails’ massage mat, my spiky ball, tarot cards, medication for any emergency, enough blister band aids for an army troop, clothes for 2 seasons — and mind you I have used everything — the massage matt, spicky ball and tarot cards having been greatly appreciated by many others along the way. So with great amusement wineglasses were filled as Sav and Forgette laid out clothes for consideration. Two pairs of PJs? You’ve got to be kidding. Three pairs of shorts? And so on. To be fair the photos and recommendations for the Sani Pass did hint at snow and cold winds, and the forecast for Himeville wasn’t flash hot, so the final result was definitely inflated by weather conditions.
The alarm set for 6am we planned to be on the road before the Joburg peak. Car packed with the esky (‘cooler box’), board games and play lists, we were off soon after 7. The WAYZ app set us on route, complete with warnings of speed traps, road hazards, average speed test areas, and ‘police reported ahead’ notifications. I didn’t quite appreciate the benefit of all this till I did some of the return journey driving.
A midmorning stop for loo breaks, smoko for Forgette (she is trying to give up, the vape is just not quite the same she tells me), and food, we kept a good pace, Forgette content to keep driving. My playlist with new latino purchases, 90’s R&B and hiphop tunes, Zimbabwean tracks, hits from the last 2 decades and a few golden oldies (Joan Armatrading and Hootie and the Blow Fish) lifted us up. Then it was Forgette’s playlist — from Adele bemoaning lost lovers to other tunes that represented Forgette’s anguish for her own lost loves. We’ve all got them, those songs that take us right back, transporting us to that very moment. We now stand as vojeur to our own past pain and from this future position we lgaze with bemusement, ‘Was it really that bad’ or ‘OMG that was tough, but look at me now’. My heartbreak backtracks were Jon Secada, Seal, and a bit of M People for hope. They’re on the playlist.
The hours and miles ticked by, the sky was blue and clear, Durban lay not too far ahead. The Drakensberg peaks, the eastern part of the Great Escarpment, emerging from the green landscape, were true to the name — Drakens Mountain, Mountain of the Dragons. The Zulu and Sotho call this highest portion uKhahlamba — “Barrier of up-pointed spears”. From the Free State in the north to KwaZulu Natal in the south, the top of the escarpment is almost table-top flat and smooth. From there eroded gulleys become deep valleys, sending water west in Lesotho as far as the Orange River and on to the Atlantic, or east in Kwa Zulu Natal irrigating rich farm lands for cattle, goats and sheep or in the northern Drakensberg, maize and other crops carpeting the land as it falls to the Indian ocean. The car meandered along the winding roads past Estcourt until we finally reached Underberg, an administrative town near the Mzimkulu River valley at the foot of the 1,904 m Hlogoma Peak (place of echoes — perhaps the relentless thunder we heard over the five days?)
Underberg, a major trade centre for people coming down from the Sani Pass, had been established in 1917. We also needed to do some trade — Rand for wine and food, in that order. The bottle stores looked like the archetypal African shack selling home brewed beer and maybe a Castle. The Happy Store seemed the only place for food….. hmmm, we should have shopped in Joburg. With little on offer we grabbed rice, tomatoes, oats and a few other items. No swipe facility. I looked around. There had to be a supermarket, there is no way the white community would shop here. The guy at the till nodded his head indicating up the road, so with our few items (that were very cheap I must say) we drove on. Our first bout of hysterics set in when we saw the Super Spar supermarket, complete with bottle shop. On holidays everything seems full of light and levity.
Well stocked, we drove five kilometres on to Himeville. After educating Sav and Forgette that number one Thomas Street would be the other end to numbers 17 and 19 (ye of little faith) we found our home for the coming 5 days. Elsa, the owner, working in her garden, walked to the car and greeted us, the distinct odour of alcohol infused sweat wafting over. Her husky voice and wiry body spoke of a woman who went at it hard. She gave us a few instructions and was quite chatty as we unpacked the car, only later did we discover that the toilet in the ensuite did not flush, the fusbol had no ball, an essential light in the kitchen was non functioning, the hot tub was a plain old bath (she blamed the American website not giving her an option to state just ‘bath’), the flat screen TV was an old grey chunky box from 2 decades ago, the DSTV was not hooked up, there was an array of dvd’s but no DVD player, and more importantly no hairdryer (with my new, less than great haircut I needed a hairdryer!). There was also confusion about payment. Ultimately this was my ‘bad’ (I had not fully read booking.com’s T&Cs) but her desperation for the cash to pay her staff added to the mounting evidence that this woman had ‘a problem’.
Elsa’s rescue dog Jasper, with his lean frame and exotic eyes — one the palest blue iris, the other blue tainted with light brown, was placid and affectionate, and relished the attention we lavished upon him.
As we lounged on the expansive green lawn that fell down towards a creek, complete with mountain back drop, Sav and Forgette, who had donned their bathing suits (packed to enjoy the hot tub), posed for selfies. A bottle of Spier Shiraz opened, some chips for nibbling and as 550 kms of travel quietly crept up on Forgette, we just chilled. Supported by numerous tolls, the N3 is a good road, but the last 200 kms was a winding 2 1/2 hr trek. A meal was thrown together as the clouds began their afternoon muster, the grey intensifying as rumbles rolled down from the nearby peaks. There were flashes of sheet lightening, dramatic electrifying forks striking the landscape, and clouds hovering like a heavy curtain hiding the last full moon of this six month journey. The first had been in Tallahassee, another in Harare. Cape Town, possibly one behind the grey of a European winter, the glow of another over Patagonia. I missed the blue moon and eclipse in Buenos Aires and now the last. But the thunderous skies of southern Africa were sufficient compensation. Every afternoon the spectacle was repeated, sunny mornings giving way to the intensifying sky, hours and hours of rumbling, some days culminating in a deluge.
Himeville is a small village, a landmark en route to the Sani Pass and the uKhahlamba Drakensberg Park. It houses the regional magistrates court, police station, detectives station and a pub (so much crime in such a small place?) Unlike Underberg, there is no African township, just a few streets of middle class homes, a country club, an air field for weekend flyers, a tea room and little else. The “Old Fort” built in 1900 was the last of its type to be constructed in South Africa, and taken over by the Natal Mounted Police in 1902 as a prison, is now a museum. It, along with other solid grey square stone buildings of the area, gives the town a strong historic flavour. We chose a walk in the nearby Mkhomazi Wilderness area past Cobhan instead of museum visiting. Elsa had warned us that the ‘mother of all storms’ was heading our way, and after a lazy morning we set off a bit too late. Only a recent convert to ‘hiking’ I was the expert to Forgette and Sav’s novice status. Pools, waterfalls and San rock art the lures for a 3 hour walk amidst breathtaking mountain scenery. But the sky — spitting on us, rumbling, and darkening with every step, lead to a rethink. We’d do the shorter walk to the river and back. Sav or Forgette screeched and squawked as their hiking boots squelched in the mud. Then there were the selfies on the river rocks. Let’s just say it was a far cry from Patagonia hiking. So many laughs.
From the dry car we decided to wait out the rain. To fill in time I began a game of ’20 questions’. After a number of rounds of ’30 seconds’ (not sure if there is an Aussie version of this board game) — let’s just say Sav and I were getting a good idea of Forgette’s game plan — her ‘innocent butter would not melt in my mouth beguiling’ demeanour a well constructed front. To her credit she did win most of the rounds but I know so little about SA politics, landmarks and products, or world wide pop culture, and Sav has many years less general knowledge (does that sound like I’m making excuses?). Forgette’s tactics — well clearly in the Sharah household there was an attitude of ‘anything goes’. Growing up with three older siblings and never winning, well I place the blame for Forgette’s less than ‘chivalrous’ winning stance with Anyway, Julius and Jackie. ‘Fraudulent’ Sav would say in a Shona accent. When she beat me, Forgette showed such relish, dancing around the room euphoric. Should I take it as a compliment? After a glass of wine or two, ridiculous pantomimes as clues when the words would not flow, exclamations of disbelief “Why didn’t you say xx/ How could you not know yyyy”, frustration with the other persons ‘Umm, you know, it’s um…the ….oohhhh, that person who….”. It was hilarious and all in good fun.
Feeling like a house master I rallied the others in the morning so we would be on time for our Sani Pass tour. They are both beautiful young women, but their need to improve on nature each morning does take some time. At my age, with the SA hair cut and my tired travel wardrobe, well there is only so much you can do. We pulled up at Major Adventures to see a herd of tourists gathering around a few four wheel drives. Luckily we were to get our very own driver, David, a local Zulu guide. The laughter began as we pulled out of Underberg, ascended to a point of almost hysterics as we climbed the Sani Pass and was only marginally subdued on the drive down. Was it something in the water? The thrill of a new adventure? Not sure, for example Forgette’s ‘blond’ moment — ‘the mountain was not good for rock climbing because it had too much grass’…well perhaps you had to be there? One incident followed by another triggered belly laugh after belly laugh.
The Sani Pass is one of the most challenging passes in SA. Situated between KwaZulu Natal and Lesotho the pass was built after Godfrey Edmonds’s trek in 1948. An ex RAF Spitfire pilot, he was the first person to ever drive the pass in a vehicle, a Willy’s jeep. The pass remains a dramatic, scenic, and treacherous 4 x4 drive. Starting at 1544m, rising 1332 vertical meters to summit of 2876m, the pass has claimed many vehicles over the years due to unpredictable and extreme weather. For us, after a couple of hours on a reasonable dirt road with sufficient selfie spots, we arrived at the SA border control and presented our passports, only to have Sav and Forgette called in to confirm their permanent residence status. Onward and upward, the bulk of the Drakensberg loomed ahead, the Khomazana river valley steepening as the road gained altitude and the views became expansive. On a clear day Durban is visible. Across the valley on the opposite slope we could see a mule path. The Sotho still use this to trade in Underberg lugging basic foodstuffs and provisions back, but this original path was not considered for road construction as, south facing, it is too icy. When we began the first set of switchbacks, Forgette, sitting on the side of the dramatic drop, squealed and tensed her body, retracting from the window, reminding me of the Mount Martha drive home from Dromana when as a 5 year old I would be terrified the car would tumble down to the sea. Most of the hairpin bends were 180 degrees, our progress slow and steady as we traversed the rough and rutted dirt road lost in cloud.
We drove less than a kilometre from the Lesotho border at the Sani Top to a village where, in the thatched mud hut, a score of Dutch and other tourists sat encircling a dung fire. Well above the tree line of 2300 m, we’d seen a Sotho man further down the pass gathering firewood to sell in the village. He looked bedraggled, David commenting he probably exchanged the wood for beer. Our visit culminated in eating the tastiest fire baked bread ever, Forgette and Sav not holding back on seconds. It takes 3 hours for the bread to bake at this altitude, 30 minutes to cook an egg with a boiling point of 70 degrees celsius. The village exists purely to feed the shepherds, the women utilizing a flag system to herald what goods have been cooked for the day, no doubt the signal for beer drawing the shepherds quicker than the flag for bread.
Emerging from the Sotho village hut, Sav and Forgette, the only black tourists, with their extensions and style were as exotic as the locals. I suggested to Sav that the other tourists probably wanted photos of them, only to have a group of lonely shepherds crowd around muttering and calling out to Forgette. David translated. The shepherds were interested in Sav. The local bride price being 25 cows, I suggested we’d hand her over for 100. They were clearly taken by mother and daughter who stood perplexed, bemused and ‘feeling like celebrities’. The shepherds pleaded with them to return the next day. Now let’s get this in perspective. The shepherds were thin, dirty, wearing earth covered cloth over tattered clothes. They lived rough on the plateau. Originally from lower lying areas of Lesotho, they spend 8 months of the year at Sani Top, herding sheep and goats. As the cold sets in, on bitterly cold nights they shepherd their animals into their warm smoke filled huts. The animals suck the oxygen from the air and this is how many shepherds die we are told, their life sacrificed due to the bond they establish with their charges. So 8 long months without women. While some of the local girls will rebuke their mothers’ stern confines, I asked David about homosexual relations, not from a natural inclination or preference but out of necessity. “No, beastiality is the preference”, he replied straight faced. Sav, no shrinking violet and no innocent, asked ‘how’ this was done. “Let’s save that chat for later Sav” I answered, didn’t think we wanted that conversation in front of David! Hmmmm, Ok then, so the shepherds were enthralled by Forgette, Sav, sheep, goats…..you do the math.
Lunch at the Sani Pass Hotel. We were blessed with clear skies and sunshine (so much for the layers we brought to ward off the cold). A Savannah dry, a good burger, and a photo shoot under the pub’s sign ‘Highest Pub in Africa’. As Forgette approached the bar for a photo a guy, another guide, casually walked up and stood beside her. She and I looked at each other, mystified. He posed and then left. We continued with photos of each other, with David and then a random woman, Indian looking but not a local, who asked to have a photo with Forgette. The day was becoming curiouser and curiouser. As we ate and chatted, our hysterics filled the pub, other diners gazing with appreciation at our sonorous belly laughs and good humour. And the guide just kept looking! Later, outside, we took more pics, Sav and Forgette poised on a rock ledge with a stunning backdrop. I could see the guide slowly wandering over. OMG! I instantly transformed into a paparazzi, clicking away, capturing every moment. Sav withdrew, bent over double in hysterics. Forgette, an angelic soul, stood and listened as he requested her phone number. We teased her later, she gave him her actual number. Mind you, he never asked for her name! What a day! David who had been chatting with the guy joined our amusement, and on the drive down quizzed Sav as an older brother or uncle would about her boyfriend, also named David. We were pretty confident that all the guides envied David that day, two African beauties and so much laughter.
Subdued for the descent, we sat quietly drinking in the view now changed by the afternoon light. The lowering sun played with basalt and sandstone outcrops, and folds of green draped over mountains fell to the valley now transformed into a carpeted landscape, the only interruption crystal clear water rushing over river stones making its way to the Indian ocean.
Plans to be active on our last day gave way to more naps, reading Trevor Noah’s amazing biography, petting Jasper, and just relishing being lazy. Sav had considered bike riding and approached Elsa who, at 10 am was drunk again (still?). Not that falling over drunk, but befuddled and muddled drunk, ‘not able to keep a thought straight in her head’ drunk. Later she was chatting to 2 guests come to see the house ‘which was empty’. Elsa asserted to Sav that we were vacating that day. Sav replied “I’m pretty sure we’re booked till Sunday” and came to confer with me. Double checking our booking I awaited Elsa but she never approached. Later that day she came in tears announcing to Forgette she would not be around Sunday as her sister was in hospital with rabies, she’d just been bitten by a dog. On the day we arrived Elsa had indicated she’d be away Fri (or was it Thurs, I think it changed mid sentence) til Sunday clarifying with us where to leave the key. But every night she was there. Anyway we waited and watched as the hours ticked by on the Sat arvo, awaiting her ‘rush’ to the hospital. Her car remained in its place, with its door ajar all afternoon. She requested some of the outdoor chairs a few hours later as she had a consultant and others visiting (a home visit?). Forgette asked about the sister, Elsa calmly brushing aside the enquiry as she walked away with the chairs. Later again she knocked to tell me, as she puffed on her fag, that she would be staying at her mother’s that night, her sister didn’t have rabies but had had some sort of tetanus response to the dog bite (her words), oh and she’d be taking Jasper. Hmmm, OK. (Poor Jasper)
Early evening we realized we had only a half a bottle of wine left. I cooked as Sav and Forgette set off at the relatively late hour of 6pm to find alcohol. The SPAR closes early in Underberg we discovered. She did the rounds of a few ‘restaurants’ (where one or two tables awaited guests) and purchased the most expensive wine of her life — a bottle of Spier sold at restaurant price. Sav insisted on a final round of 30 Seconds after which we looked around — it was our last night, we needed another drink. The Himeville Inn had only one car our front. Perhaps everyone walks? It was akin to stepping into a small country pub at home. A few local whites weathered by the climate and lifestyle sat out back. A group of three black guys stood around a tall round table, unashamedly gawking at us. The bartender said ‘last orders’, so Sav had a Savannah Loco (cider with a touch of tequila), Forgette had a single Tanqueray and I got the double. The hilarity continued as topics floated in and out. Who would Zipline the next day? The call that day from the Sani Pass guide where, after asking if she had a boyfriend or was married and telling her were his village was, he still failed to ask Forgette her name. We talked of Shona men (how frustrating they are) and Congolese men — Sav’s boyfriend the son of a government minister in the DRC, to ultimately discussing which Sex In the City character we each are. The lights dimmed and it was time to head back. The next day was a long drive. Luckily it had been last orders.
Setting off on time, we wound our way back to Estcourt turning off towards Bergville. It was quite a detour, all so Sav could get her adrenaline fix. Approaching the Northern Drakensberg, the landscape seemed less rugged, impressive but not as dramatic and we were glad we’d made the trek all the way to Himeville. Following the WAYZ app we eventually arrived at our destination, All Out Adventures. Reluctantly paying for a Zip line experience, all rigged up but still on the ground, a twinge of nerves pulled at my gut. I have never done anything like this in my life. The extent of my adrenaline seeking was an occasional carnival ride, one roller coaster experience, and a day of white water rafting on the Zambezi. My adventure seeking has been through travel, many risks and adrenaline experiences but not of this nature. As we began the 25 m ascent up the spiral staircase, the nerves jangled a little more, ‘just don’t look down’ I told myself. Sav’s bravado diminished with each step and at the top she pleaded for someone else to go first. “No, we’re here because of you, you have to do it first Sav” Forgette and I responded, our own confidence left at the foot of the stairs. As one guide zipped across the flying fox on a test run (to show us all was in working order) and position himself to manage the other end, the other guide went through the procedures (quite quickly I thought). Sav was hooked up and ready to go. Ah, if it were only so easy. With encouragement from us all, despite her quivering legs, with the ultimate promise by the guide that he would go across with her, ten minutes later she finally let fly (solo — the guide gently pushing her forward) with blood curdling screams and her mother’s resonant laughter. Forgette was next, a quicker process but her nerves eliciting repetitive promises from the guide he would not let her go till she was ready, steadying herself for a prayer, then with deep breathes, a quivering ‘oooh’ and a plaintive squeal, she was off. Her screams were interjected with laughter and greeted by Sav’s deep laugh at the other end, now calm and collected, her terror forgotten. I then said to the guide “I’m not going to do it, I am only here as a promise to get them up here”. He continued with his gentle no nonsense ‘yes you are going to do it’ stance, and in a moment I considered ‘if I don’t do this now I never will, let’s get this over with’ so he hooked me up and within a few seconds I was off. Not a squeal or scream to be heard. It was quick and other than not quite sorting out the hand ropes to steady myself (that part of the instructions was a bit vague) it was quite calming. I went first for the second lower line. It was FAST. There was a moment towards the end when I did wonder if it would stop but noticing the trip bolt (or whatever its offical name is) and the padding I just enjoyed the last moments. Sav was next, setting off speedily and calmly, though her late scream told me when she was at the point where I contemplated how fast I was going. Her face as she approached was priceless — a silent frown ‘Is it going to stop’. After Forgette’s final zip line, all proud of ourselves, we bundled into the car and began the 5 hour trek back to Joburg. At some point I noticed the speedo at 130kmp, the speed limit being 120. Forgette asked me to drive for awhile, “Sure, but I won’t be going at your speeds”. But with her Honda which has the most amazing acceleration, tolls resulting in excellent roads, and the WAYZ police alerts as back up, in no time I found myself driving at 140 kph (channelling Chris Masiyandima perhaps?)
Approaching Joburg the typical evening thunder, lightning and grey had set in. I was heading off to an Airbnb for a week, plans to go away the next weekend shelved as more time with these amazing young ladies seemed a better use of my time. They’ll have a week to do some work, study and see boyfriends. I’ll return at the end of the week for more laughs which will hopefully mediate the sadness that this amazing six month journey is coming to a close.
