Dear readers (i.e. Jordan).
As short as this ten day September holiday has been, my
final day at home has presented me with the perfect weather for blogging –
rain, iron grey clouds and a nippy chill to the air. Gazing at this typical
spring weather (typical for the Midlands that is) from my nest of blankets, I
cast my mind back to early April of this year when autumn was just beginning to
set it’s chilly claws into the Cape. That holiday proved to be the most
eventful two weeks of my life thus far, as Luke and I were given the
opportunity to travel from Cape Town to Grahamstown along the Garden Route with
his family.
30 March 2012
Luke and I began the holiday with driving straight down to
Cape Town in convoy with Simon, a good friend in possession of an afro of
sheep-like proportions who had kindly agreed to open his family’s home to us
during our stay in his hometown. We made it to Storm’s River Bridge in good
time, having left Grahamstown at 10.00AM, and took in the daunting depths
beneath the bridge whilst we munched on Steers burgers for lunch. At this point
we were optimistic enough to believe we could reach Simon’s house by 17.00PM
that evening. To be sure, Luke and I could have made it in that time – if we
weren’t dogged by the string of bad luck that attached itself to Simon from
that moment onward.
Our first setback occurred when we reached the Tsitsikama Toll Plaza and Simon realised he had forgotten to draw cash at Storm’s River
Bridge (a good half hour’s drive back) to pay entry. Now, this could have
easily been rectified if Luke and I had waited on the other side of the Toll to
pay Simon’s way for him. However, we had continued driving along blithely
unaware that Simon had been turned back and so he had to take an hour to
re-travel the route and get his cash. By the time he called to explain the
situation, we were about half an hour further up the road and ended up stopping
off at a little petrol station to wait it out.
Finally all together again, we made our way towards Knysna
thinking that our troubles were at an end. Alas, it was not so. Just as we were
about to leave Knysna’s sinuous roads, Simon was pulled over by a traffic
officer. The reason? Simon’s elderly Toyota Corolla (for which many people have
offered Simon money – something about it being easy to get spare parts for and
“soup up”) did not have a front number plate. Unfortunately the poor car had
met with a minor accident the previous week, and so its number plate was
sitting on Simon’s backseat waiting to be reattached once he got home to Cape
Town. One R500 fine later, and we were off again.
Surely we were entitled to a respite from any further
setbacks on our journey now? Murphy’s law was however fully functioning on that
day and so when we reached a Stop-and-Go Luke and I were counting our lucky
stars when we were allowed to go through, and then cursing Simon’s luck when we
realised he had been forced to stop. Thus, even though we had not been stopped
along with Simon, we had to stop on the other side of it and wait for him anyway!
By the time we were reunited once more, dark had fallen and
it had begun to rain in sympathy with our dejected moods. A pick-me-up was much
needed, and so we stopped off at a KFC to pick up some Sprinkle Pops and
commiserate in company before attempting the road again. We finally happened
upon Cape Town at about 22.00PM, and my word was it breath-taking to round the
curve of a hill and gaze upon the sparkling city lights bordered by the dark
expanse of sea. Although it was five hours later than expected, we had finally
arrived at Simon’s home: a well-situated house nestling just beneath TableMountain and two buildings up from a night club, and Luke’s parallel parking
skills were tested to the limits on the almost vertically inclined road. An
exhausted greeting of Simon’s parents was extended and they quickly made us
feel completely at home – although perhaps at the expense of Simon as we were
given his room and he was made to sleep on the couch (sorry Simon).
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