Our first stop was Algeria, which is just up the road from Lebanon, where we set up camp under the shade of giant Eucalyptus trees. We managed not only succeeded in putting the tent up the right way round, but also to braai the chicken to African, not English standards (i.e. it was tasty and juicy, not burnt on the outside and frozen in the middle). We spent the evening lying back and gazing at the stars, glad that we knew what at least some of them were called.
The next morning we donned our walking shoes somewhat later than anticipated. This meant that our climb up the steep, shade-less mountain coincided perfectly with the heat of the day. After considerable more twists and turns up the mountain than were shown on the map, we scrambled over some boulders to be met with the magical sight of a waterfall cascading down into a sun-lit pool. Stripping down to undies in record time we sunk into the icy cold water. Mmm…bliss.
We then spent a wonderful lazy weekend of drinking eating and swimming in pools with some of the wonderful ‘Karongwe Krew’ who came up from Cape Town for our Tent Warming Party. It felt horribly lonely once they’d all left, and I think for the first time it dawned on us that it was just the two of us on our own now. The entire campsite emptied that night, and as we cooked Sausages and Beans for Two, the sky turned dark with storm clouds. They were actually the most amazing storm clouds we’d ever seen, great fluffy bulbous lumps of them turned bright pinks and oranges by the setting sun as they hung down below the main body of cloud. I really wouldn’t have been that surprised if an alien space ship had appeared. Scared, possibly, but not surprised. We followed the lead of the giant spider (who’s multiple eyes glinted in the torch light) that had taken shelter under the gazebo, and took cover from the storm.
Lightening….ten, eleven twelve…thunder. Lightening…one, two, three…thunder. The ground under our thin bed rolls was shaking and, yes, I may have hidden my head under my sleeping bag – but that was only because the lightening made it too bright to sleep…
Velorenvlei, Elandsbaai
We then headed to Elandsbaai on the coast for a few nights in the Vlorenvlei Wetlands. Sitting in the bird hide on the edge of the estuary we watched Darters, Flamingos and Pelicans, whilst the Sunbirds fed on the nectar pink hibiscus flowers outside our tent and an African Fish Eagle soared overhead.
A Wonderful Bird is the Pelican -
His Beak can Hold More than his Belly Can.
We tried to get Evan’s Bird List up to the century mark, but sadly bird 100 evaded identification in the failing light (and the beers probably didn’t help either). A later recount, however, revealed an admin error involving the unfortunate omission of the Little Swift so we had belated celebrations of this ornithological milestone with a nice cup of horlix.
We went to see the San Rock Art in a cave with stunning view over the bay. It is thought that at the time the cave was first used as a shelter the coast was 100km further away; as the sea encroached on the land, the diet of these cave dwellers changed from meat to fish. We strolled along the white sand beaches, dodging cray fish carcasses, and kelp curled up like giant snakes, picking up shells and watching porpoises dance in the surf.
And, of course, the storms followed us. And with the storms came the insects. We beat a hasty retreat to the tent. And the insects followed. Lying there in the dark we could hear the angry mob of mosquitoes flinging themselves against the tent, as though by sheer numbers they’d be able to break through and get to the fresh English blood they could smell. Crickets joined the army, pinging off the roof like popcorn. Poking the side of the tent raised the pitch from an ominous drone to an angry whine, and the thunder started again – now was not a good time to need to pee.
We awoke to what could easily have been the height of summer in Wales; grey clouds rolling over a back drop of mountain and lake, seen through a net curtain of drizzle. We watched the remaining mozzies make groggily make their way out into the light of day. It was time to make the push north to Springbok, our final destination in ZA. After a night in a tent with concrete sides, electricity and television (I think they call it a ‘room’) we donned our ZA sticker and headed for the boarder.
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