Day 34-35 Border
Crossing/Springbok/Tulbagh
 |
| I should say so!!!! |
It so closely resembles the crossing from Sonora, Mexico,
into Arizona, USA it’s scary. You have
grown accustomed to the stark dryness, to the Third-World roads without
shoulders, to the emptiness, to people with little more than the smiles they
wear. And then. Then you cross an artificial line, in this
case it’s an actual physical border, the Orange River, you go through some
form-filling and a couple wave-throughs, and boom!
 |
| So very Arizona! |
Green bursts out on both sides of your highway, which has
just as suddenly improved, guard rails, bold lines, shoulders, rest stops with
more than just a waste receptacle, gas stations convenient, people,
agriculture, lushness, signage, a sense of organization that didn’t quite exist
behind you.
And, at the same time, a constriction. A sense that there are more rules to follow
on this side. A loss of the sense of complete
freedom somehow. The trade-off between
natural and man-made. Don’t get me
wrong, South Africa is not Manhattan, but is far more developed, “emerging,”
than its cousin to the north, Namibia.
We had forgotten how fantastically stunning the mountains
between Springbok and the border were.
And, the town itself, which we had dismissed on the way north as just a
tiny crossroads burg, (dorpie, in Afrikaans) with nothing to offer, somehow
seems metropolitan. It has fast foods,
we eat at Nando’s, a chicken place. It
has sirens at night. It has traffic
signals (robots).
We sleep at Annie’s Cottages, a cutesy-over-the-top-with-frills-and-antiques
bed and breakfast. Perfect for our one
night’s needs.
To Tulbagh.
We chose this historic, preserved town for our final
sleepover due to its quaintness factor and proximity to two other towns we need
to visit before we slide on down to our coast…and our own bed.
 |
| Kerk Straat, Tulbagh |
We stay at the Tulbagh Hotel and are given the annex across
the main road, which suits us fine, being the only guests in the huge old Cape
Dutch house (1823) and having the courtyard to ourselves. A walk around town is in order and we stretch
our legs going all the way down Main St. and then back on the second street,
Church St., the one with all the preserved and restored houses. Many of them have become cafes or
self-catering rentals, but they are a glimpse into what the town in its heyday,
the early 1800’s, before cars and cell phone shops, may have been.
Back at the room, we break out the Old Buck gin and take our
last toast of the Road Trip in the sunny courtyard. Wondrously, decadently idyllic. Drinks downed, I start to notice the buttery late
afternoon light and decide to re-trace our walk with the camera this time.
I snap a few shots, probably the same ones I took last time
we were here, 6 or 8 years ago. But
that’s okay, it’s process, not product.
At the end of the street, I run into a group of seven or so laughing,
joking teenage boys. One of them is
wearing a sweatshirt with the University of Arizona trademarked logo “A” covering its
entire front.
Hey, do you know about your shirt? I ask him.
Menhir? He answers in
Afrikaans. Sir?
I show him my baseball cap, which conveniently bears the
same “A” and explain the coincidence and ask for some photos of the two of us. The boys are meeting their first American in
person, they tell me! They LOVE American
movies. Are all the girls so beautiful
in America? We like to smoke ganja,
do you?
Dinner in the spacious rough-timbered dining room of the
hotel, fireplace blazing. The cold
feels pretty refreshing after weeks over 100F (38 C).
Day 36 Welcomed by
Whales
Waking just 4 hours from home, we head out through
unbelievable farm country that nestles between mountain ranges. Our first stop today is in Wellington, home
to Jorgensen’s Distillery.
In an attempt to re-calibrate the Ginometer, we NEED to
procure some first quality gin. Roger is
there to greet us and, suddenly, all is well.
He leads us into the barn/lab/factory/storehouse where the magic takes
place and explains that he not only can supply us with some of his botanical
spirits, but that he has developed three new varieties: Rooibos (a sipping gin), Hibiscus (blush pink
in color), and Jasmine (with the color of wooded Chardonnay). Naturally, we purchase one of each, cuz you
never know when you may be stranded.
 |
| Lunch in wine country |
Next destination is Rawsonville, further into agriculture
lands, primarily grapes. We are picking
up cases of wine for our buddies, Reinhard and Sandra, for their guesthouse,
Crayfish Lodge. Six cases at the first
winery, ten at the next, and an offer we couldn’t refuse from the attractive
hostess behind the tasting counter, to give a few of their newest varietals a
sip. Yum. The new wooded Chenin Blanc is to die for,
so, yes, we can squeeze it in, we’ll take a case for ourselves, as well.
 |
| Fellow patrons at lunch-note matching hair and undies! |
Now, it’s just a couple more hours to 6, Ingang Straat.
After making our wine delivery and a few toasts to everyone’s
health, we roll down the driveway and into La Casa Wixted. Welcoming us home were at least nine whales,
just below the deck, happy to see us safely back.
Unload.
Kick back.
Aaaaaahhh.
