(A Hannah Butler origional masterpiece)
And then there was the day of our road trip when we totally abandoned any semblance of a plan, through caution to the wind, and started driving. We left Knysna in the morning, in search of a quick breakfast so that we could be on our way to Oudtshoorn. Master chef Hannah Butler carefully crafted scones topped with jam and cheese (classic South African breakfast) for the car.
The spontaneity of the day began when we stopped at a roadside craft and food market. We piled out of the car and began exploring, pleased that we had found what looked like a local spot. Courtney and I drifted between stalls together, and had many interesting conversations with shopkeepers, including a man named Gilbert who hand carves pendants from wood and bone, and a man who did traditional bead work. After dodging a very forward conversation with a man who wanted our contact info so that we could help him come to the states and purchasing a few used books, we were on our way again.
It took a few hours of mountain passes and country music to reach the scruffy little town of Oudtshooorn, famous for its abundance of ostrich farms. The ostriches were everywhere, but we had our sights on the Kango Caves, which according to our travel guide, The Rough Guide to South Africa, offered guided tours every hour, so we wound our way across town and into the nearby hills.
(The first chamber of the Kango Caves with Cleopatra’s Needle in the back left, courtesy of Courtney Young!)
After joining our tour a bit late (and a bit out of breath), we were introduced to the wonders of the caves. Enormous chambers so large they use to be used as concert halls, made by water and preserved by the absolute steadfastness of the African continent. Here we found formations measured in centimeters which represent rocks older than all of mankind. At one point, our wonderful guide turned off all the lights and plunged us into the kind of absolute darkness that makes you think you’ve passed out, the kind of darkness in which the caves were first explored. Turning the lights on and off in each room turned rock formations into art galleries, where you could literally stand and stare at a wall for hours. In the final room our guide sang a traditional Xhosian song while drumming on a hollow rock, and the natural acoustics of the room made his voice echo in a way that made it sound as if his one voice was many.
(Kango Caves, courtesy of Hannah Butler)
Leaving the coolness of the caves behind, we had our hearts set on, what else, a wine tasting. With the Rough Guide serving as our North star (or Southern Cross in this case), we made several calls and drove past many gates, but none of the farms were open so late in the afternoon. We continued on, manufacturing a new plan on the fly. The Rough Guide suggested a healing spring some 50km or soup the highway, so we went for it.
We were deep in the heart of the Klein Karoo now, a brown, barren, empty plain that reminded me uncannily of Wyoming. Along the road we saw pretty much no sign of habitation save the rare farm house or roadside shop, and yet there were many, many people walking and hitchhiking on the road. Where these people were coming from, where they were going, and how they had gotten out here into the absolute, desolate, middle of nowhere was a mystery to us.
(The Klein Karoo)
When we were unable to contact the healing spring, we started to get nervous. Towns were becoming fewer and farther between, and we were running painfully low on petrol. We were combing The Rough Guide for anything at this point. It suggested a town that we thought to be relatively close, called Barrydale.
(Barrydale)
We arrived in the sleepy little Barrydale at sundown, a little worse for wear but pleased with ourselves anyway. We found our way to Mez, the restaurant suggested by The Rough Guide. This adorable little spot was literally located in the owners house. We sat down at one of the fourtables and ordered off a chalkboard menu. After we had devoured our cheese board, a plate of ostrich potjie for me, and a fewscoops of rose water ice cream (literally to die for), we asked our happy hostess if she knew of a place we might stay. She was absolutely not kidding when she told us about the local backpackers, The Dung Beetle. After she found us their number, we thanked her, and told her about the entry for her restaurant in The Rough Guide. She was surprised and pleased to see the little paragraph in our book, and she and a few of the other guests suggested that we go to the local chandelier gallery, as the Obama daughters have two chandeliers from that very place hanging in their rooms in the White House. What are the odds?
(Oudtshoorn ostriches, soon to be my delicious dinner. Fun fact: Ostrich, though it is a bird, is dark meat, and is very difficult to cook properly because fat only grows on the surface of the muscle, thus there is no marbling and can be very tough.)
Wefelt bad as we were pulling away from the Dung Beetle, as the owner told us that Stellenbosch was only a two hour drive, so we decided not to stay at his unfortunately named establishment. After surviving being pulled over the police who tried to strong arm Courtney into admitting she had been drinking, a near death experience with a possibly intoxicated semi-driver, pulling a u-turn twice in the pouring rain on the N1 (major national highway), and a terrifying mountain pass where the visibility in the fog was about a meter, we arrived in something of a huddled mass back at Stellenbosch.
The last day of our spring break trip was an exersize in the unexpected, and in a lot of a ways, it was one of the most valuable learning experiences. Our willingness to take on risk (though some of it was unnecessary and ill advised) illustrated how much we trusted each other, how much we’d grown in confidence, and how much value we had found in doing the unexpected. In that last day, we learned how to be flexible, how to be courageous, and that though the guide, and the adventure, might be rough, as long as we’re together, we’re bound to get where we’re meant to be.
(The team, including Marco)
Butt Naked Travels 