Khartoum, Sudan

 Khartoum 

It has been a hectic week of briefings and meetings and my head is bursting with humanitarian jargon, contextual  instructions and the slightly uneasy stage that typifies the start of a new assignment. I’ve lost track of who is Aziz, Hassan, Ahmed or Hamid and seem to be making heavy weather of memorising even the most basic of Arabic greetings. The briefings outline all the various operations and support services from water and habitation to premises to security and the vibe in the delegation is friendly and welcoming. Even my driving test is somewhat entertaining and jovial with a friendly chat with an humanitarian veteran of more than 30 years, who recalls to me his journey to Europe to be celebrated for long service.  

The situation in the country seems vague and tense with the previous president in a Khartoum jail and a precarious interim alliance of politicians and military forming the transitional council. The country seems to be drifting precariously.

Austerity measures and removal of subsidies, in place in an effort to attract IMF funding,  have resulted in record inflation which has steadied out at about 400%,  making life brutal for most and crime starts to climb. 

Africans are resilient though and the heat seems to pacify, as prayers drift from the minarets and people make the most of what they have.

We spend the morning crisscrossing the city and the wide brown Blue Nile, guided by our expert driver who does his best to show us some of the sights and explain the complexities of this broken city. Litter and decay abound, and construction sights seem abandoned and skeletal. We stop at a luxury hotel and watch expats feasting on decadent buffets and paddling in an aquarium like pool or straining in the magnificent gymnasium. We sip an expensive coffee in air conditioned luxury, sucking up free wifi. 

The evening is spent in the company of two Palestinians who explain to me the turbulent history of their small entrapped homeland, where prospects of freedom and independence seem impossible. We hire a motorboat and cruise on the fast flowing Nile as the sun slips behind a murky horizon. 

Off to Kassala, Sudan

 Sudan arrival; October 2021

The heat hits you like a brick wall.
I hesitate at the top of the gangway, exiting my Air Ethiopian flight from Addis Ababa to the capital of Sudan, Khartoum.
Hot air scalds my lungs and the shimmering heat scorches my eyes.
Only moments before, as we glided down towards the sleek black runway and basked in air conditioned luxury, I’d caught a glimpse of the cool Blue Nile on the right and the much larger, sluggish, wide and brown, White Nile on the left. The Blue Nile originates at Lake Tana in Ethiopia and travels for nearly 1500km in Ethiopia and Sudan before its confluence with the White Nile in Khartoum. The White Nile flows from Lake Victoria in Uganda with its source disputed between Burundi and Rwanda. We have swum in its fresh clean water at Jinja  Falls below Lake Victoria, on our family “Africa trip” in 2011. Its length is said to be 3700km from source to the confluence with the Blue Nile and crossing Rwanda, Burundi, Tanzania, DRC, South Sudan and Sudan, if all the tributaries are to be included. The Nile is the longest river in Africa, and possibly the world, but the Amazon may hold this title. It is 6,650km long flowing into the Mediterranean at Alexandria.(Wikipedia)
We are lucky. Arriving in the middle of the day, the airport queues are short and we pass immigration and customs relatively easily and I look anxiously for my bag on the luggage carousel. It drifts towards me and I am always impressed how I can drop off a bag at Charles de Gaulle in Paris, watching it disappear down an anonymous black hole, and then see it reappear from a similar hole on the other side of the world, intact, despite multiple stops and flight changes!
Ahmed, in his fluoro jacket and waving his banner, is patiently waiting for me. He helps me with my bag, loads us into the van and off we drive, ready to take on honking horns, deep potholes, masses of people and the general lively chaos that is Africa.

COVID CRIPPLE

 

Covid Cripple

 

So I got Covid. Not heroically, frantically fighting in the trenches of our hospital ED, treating masses of febrile Frenchies, but passively, somewhere between our benign village of La Creche and Nice via Paris. Was it from my fellow passengers in the Bla Bla car to Paris where my homemade cotton mask didn’t fit particularly well and kept slipping off my nose? Or was it that very early start in Paris walking past stale and drunken partygoers in front of Moulin Rouge on my way to the metro? Or my Oui Go TGV train to Nice via Marseilles where you imagine every surface to be crawling with Covid and the odd cough from fellow passengers enough to keep you on edge? Or was it simply in Nice where the postponed Tour de France bike race was in town and fans flocked to the finish and idled between pebbled beaches, comfy cafes and tourist attractions? I will never know, but know now that maybe more diligent, effective mask usage and hand gel may have made a difference because getting Covid-19, even if you remain reasonably well, has far reaching implications for yourself and many others too.

Travelling through two red zones certainly cannot be wise. But an offer from my uncle and aunt to visit them near Nice, my daughter Margot being down there after hiking in the Alps, an opportunity to catch up with friends and, of course, the lure of the TDF, had me booking tickets and packing my bag.  I’m bullet proof anyway. I’m surely not going to become one of those 10 000/day statistics.

The holiday started well; warm Mediterranean sunshine, azure blue sea lapping lazily onto colourful, towel clad beaches, salad Niçoise and crisp Chardonnay, and TDF, on the big beachside screen and then live. The rest of the week blurred into a haze of summer holiday treats with sumptuous meals served up by my aunt Anne, exploring the magnificent sights of Nice, basking on beaches and swimming in the warm, satin sea and a challenging Via Ferrata that left us trembling and exhilarated!

Wonderful time with my uncle and aunt and other friends was precious but would later have implications. On our penultimate day I went on a reasonably tough, hilly run with Margot and remember feeling a bit fatigued and thirsty, but then it was hot, and Margot was going strongly. Later that day we lunched with a friend and I definitely felt fatigued, so that a relaxing afternoon on the beach was much appreciated. That evening a slightly sore throat prompted me to attempt to get a Covid swab via the on-line system, but the earliest appointment was for the following Monday.

The next day I felt much better and set off with my uncle Richard and Margot for a brisk walk up the hills near their beautiful home in Vence. A relaxing afternoon, pizzas at the beach and a quick flight home to Nantes that evening.  Ilda and Zara were there to meet us and drive the hour trip back home.

I was up at 06.00 the next morning ready for work and my sore throat had returned, so decided not to do my usual 15km ride and opted to take the car. I called my boss outlining my symptoms and suggested that maybe I remain in my car, have a Covid swab and when negative, start work.  He, thinking my risk negligible, asked me to start work and get one of the nurses to swab me in the ED. This I did, but feeling a little anxious about possibly being positive, kept my distance from the patients and had a nurse sample, what felt like, my brainstem!

There were a few delays and my colleagues insisted that I join them for lunch.  I was just sitting down to a sumptuous Boeuf Bourguignonne when I took the call. A somewhat rattled nurse on the end of the line, “Sandy, tu est positif.” I was quite shocked and on breaking this news to my poor colleagues they were visibly horrified, seemed to draw back and distance themselves, and I was advised to confine myself for a week.

So began my tango with Covid.  Although the illness was reasonable with a lot of the usual flu-like ailments like extreme fatigue ( I think that I slept for 3 days), sore throat, myalgias, anosmia and loss of taste, it was the implications for everyone else that were the most debilitating.

Fortunately we have an annexe which we use for our Air B&B guests, so Margot (being a prime contact) and I, were promptly secreted into there to isolate. Our contact with Ilda and Zara had been brief but nonetheless Ilda missed a number of days of her new job and Zara staid home from school missing crucial days of the start of her school year, until they, and Margot, tested negative later in the week.

I made calls to everyone I could think of that I’d had contact with and let them know the bad news and was hounded by the Covid-cops who do all the tracking and give you stern warnings about isolation and legislation. Fortunately, the two weeks had just been reduced to one in France.

Unfortunately, my uncle Richard got infected. Although he has staid out of hospital, he has been quite ill with fevers and a bad cough and the illness seems to have lingered.

Back at work now, my colleagues have been welcoming and sympathetic, but some still seem to keep their distance. Other than some intermittent chest tightness and a dry cough, I seem to be fully recovered and am cycling to work again as autumn eases in and a second sort of lockdown looms.

Inglis leave Africa.....back to Mars!

Our last blog posting was on September 7, 2011. Then, we had just completed an epic 18 months in South Africa working at Mseleni hospital in northern Zululand, exploring and travelling and then the last 4 months on a spectacular road trip covering much of the lower half of Africa. We left invigorated, refreshed and excited by our wonderful African experiences and the prospect of life in our village in La Creche, France. Our last blog ended thus “And so back to PMB; reunions with friends and my dad; farewells to friends and Africa. Now to France, for a year we think. Will we be back? I hope so, but I don’t know. Every step of our adventure takes us on a new one. Carpe diem.”

History does repeat itself, even over our short lives, and yes, we did go back. My job offer in Queensland, Australia didn’t excite Ilda who exclaimed that “I don’t want my kids growing up as Ozzies!” and so an offer to help develop Emergency Medicine and build the ED at Edendale Hospital, Pietermaritzburg, South Africa was too good to turn down. My good friend and colleague, trauma surgeon, George Oosthuizen lured me back with long e-mails and a determination that we could change emergency medicine and trauma management forever! And so we packed again and returned south to the country of my birth and my home town, Pietermaritzburg.

That was January 2013. Fast forward six years to January 2019 and if you told me that we had been moved to Mars, I would almost have believed you! January 2018, life was comfortable. Margot was freshly back from Rotary exchange in Germany and fired up for matric. She hopped into the back of a double kayak with me and paddled and portaged 120km down the Dusi from Pietermaritzburg to Durban and despite puking her guts out, finished with a smile on her face.  She had a stellar year; 1^st team basketball, caring for and riding Grace, her lovely Appaloosa mare, a busy social life with balls and beaches, school dux with 8 matric distinctions and offers at 3 med schools. Zara cruised through grade 9 and excelled in her music getting outstanding awards for clarinet and, when motivated, rode a mountain bike like a pro. Ilda continued to run the show and keep us all fed and organised.  I had completed about four-and-a-half years at Edendale hospital setting up the ED and it was flying and so made the decision to move while things were good and took up a position running the ED at the local private Mediclinic Hospital.  This was a dramatic shift from the chaos of state health to the luxury and decadence of private health care in SA.  The ED there was a finely tuned machine under the clinical management of Charlene Thomas and we only had to tweak things around the edges to provide high quality emergency medical care.

The six years back in South Africa were probably one of the best moves we ever made. Margot and Zara thrived in the relative freedom of Africa and the colour, drama and warmth of life in Africa.  They both excelled in an exceptional academic environment and grew wiser and happier. Ilda adapted to Africa like a native and was completely at home there. And I loved it more than I could ever describe. To be back in my hometown and that of my father and school friends, and to share that with my family, made for a rich and rewarding experience beyond belief.  We enjoyed five incredible years with my father taking him to shows, music, art and dinners and watching him enjoy his grandchildren. I spent many hours on his stoep with him discussing work issues and plans and children and then puzzling over the crossword. Margot and Zara would frequently wait with him for pickup and Zara would acquire the TV remote or sneak a piece of chocolate.  He loved to come with us to school functions across the road and loved the Music over Maritzburg or “Festival of Praise” which he came to every year. At work I met many of his old patients, friends and colleagues and feedback was always effusive. Even the army awarded him a medal for long service! We enjoyed a wonderful family Christmas together at the end of 2017 at Giants Castle and even got him throwing a fly for trout. He remained upbeat and determined until he succumbed to Leukaemia and died in June 2018. I miss him terribly.

We filled our six years back in South Africa to the brim.  Our home in Hilton will always be one of the best I ever lived in….I had always dreamed about living under thatch, expansive gardens, native bush with birds and antelope, fruit trees and avocadoes dropping at your feet and plucking fresh oranges from bending branches; bees humming on beds of colourful flowers and a hive that produced nearly 30 jars of golden honey on the first harvest. Mountain biking from the front door, lots of storage for canoes and expansive views over the Pietermaritzburg valley to the Valley of a Thousand Hills and the dirty, winding Dusi that carried us down to Durban. To cycle to work is my standard and the ride from Hilton down to town ticked all the boxes with single-track, jeep tracks, forest, speed and mud! Coming back took twice as long but gave me time to think and sweat!

We had so many adventures in Africa! Rafting down the Orange river sunning and swimming and watching spectacular  scenes of shooting stars at night; horse riding in Lesotho, watching Zara galloping at full tilt, horses climbing up impossibly steep ascents and expansive scenery and tranquillity; numerous Berg hikes camping in tents, caves or being spoilt at the Cavern and escaping to the paradise of the high Berg with clean, fresh air, pristine, crystal streams and views over KZN to the sea. We never tired of our forays into the game reserves and were as happy examining a dung beetle deftly rolling his offensive ball uphill as we were watching a herd of elephant. Our sighting of a relaxing leopard in the fork of a tree at Kruger last year will always be our game-viewing highlight and one we will never forget. Fishing trips to the Berg, the annual Kamberg week-end (and our last one in the snow), surf ski paddling with Craig Norris and catching beautiful Yellow-fin tuna and the epic adventures with Norris family to Mili in Mozambique to fish, paddle, swim and feast on tuna! Then there were all the races; just too many to recall……Mountain bike rides, canoe races, trail runs, road rides. The ones that I remember best are the ones with my family…Dusi with Margot, the Amashova bike ride with Zara to Durban and the fabulous Fish river canoe marathon with Ilda. Dusi Dice every Thursday, Midmar dice on Tuesday, Park run on Saturday followed by coffee or brunch, and impossible to get out of Millstone too quickly because everyone was there!  Beyond all that the social life wasn’t bad either with music concerts, theatre, lots of dinners with friends, ‘braais’ and ‘potjies’ and amazing trips to Cape Town. Zara competed in the World Choir Games in Pretoria and we continued from there to Kruger national park, God’s window and Wakkerstroom. Road trips down to Knysna to stay with my sister and family in their beautiful holiday home and surf lessons at Buffels or wakeboarding on the lagoon.

It is your right to only remember all the good stuff and censor the bad when you reminisce about your past. With South Africa this is very important.  Of course it was all good! No bad stuff that I can remember.  Anyway, where was I? Oh yes fast forwarding to January 2019 and Mars. Somewhere in 2018, or was it 2017, we made the big call.  Time to move back to France.  Better for Zara….better chances for the future; better for Margot…better med schools and more options; better for Ilda….nearer to family and friends; better for me, I think…..new job, new life.  Margot and I left RSA in mid December 2018 (Ilda and Zara some months before to get settled into school) and we were fresh from scuba diving in Mozambique, sun tanned and relaxed. We hit Europe mid winter, cold and dark, and Margot headed straight for Courcheval and Chabichou luxury to iron table cloths and hopefully ski. We had a tremendous Christmas with 23 for Christmas dinner and 18 staying the night…Soon after that we headed down to visit Margot and had a magical few days with her skiing and seeing where she was. Then it was home and I was on my plane to Iceland to start the new job in ED there. I think that was where Mars came into the equation….from Africa sun, beaches and holiday, I was suddenly back at work, new place, new country, very cold, very dark and a language that I could make no sense of!  But time heals everything (at least that’s what I tell my patients that have waited hours in the ED!) and Iceland has got a lot better and it is amazing how a few words of Icelandic makes life easier! Then there’s those cinnamon rolls at Braud &Co bakery that are definitely the best in the world, an abundance of great coffee, fresh fish of the day or hot steaming soup served in a crusty round loaf akin to our “bunnychow”. The public swimming pools heated geothermally with their abundance of hot water and steam rooms, sauna and jacuzzies; tearing around on nail studded tyres in snow and ice and cycle lanes like motorways and no need to cross a road and drivers that stop for you and pedestrians! I’ve even had my initiation which involved plunging into 2-degree sea and then into 35 degree hot pool to thaw out!

So now we are into April 2019….Margot is done at Chabichou and returns home wiser and richer and ready for her next chapter of travel and preparation for med school; Zara thriving at school and recently travelled on the “path of Arthur” to the UK on a school trip; she also performed fantastically in an incredible symphony concert playing her clarinet. Ilda has Air B&B taped and a steady stream of visitors including a film crew who were looking for ghosts!  Between guests she is landscaping and organising our house and lives. Sadly her grandmother died recently at the age of 94 but Ilda was there to help make arrangements and grieve.

I’m now back in South Africa for 5 weeks for a variety of reasons including instructing on APLS and ATLS, catching up with friends and family, party and medic at Splashy fen music festival and cycling the 8-day Joburg2C mountain bike ride as the medic.  In France I’ve just sat my French language exam to hopefully make level B1 to allow me access to French nationality.  Plans ahead are hectic with more trips to Iceland, family summer adventures, EM conference in Prague in October and a month in Pakistan teaching EM in November.

Change is never easy and often one has doubt and maybe transient regrets.  But it is what invigorates, stimulates, challenges and motivates one to new heights and new goals. Without it life can become bland and predictable.  Getting the balance right is the ultimate challenge.

Orange river canoeing and Namaqualand flowers

Cruising on the Orange river

Canoes ready and packed

There’s nothing better than a family road trip.  This with the prospect of a four day canoeing trip down the Orange river made for a mouth watering September school holidays.  Our plan was to drive  a massive rectangle ‘around’ Lesotho and then extending across South Africa to the Orange river and Namibia, back down the west coast in Namaqualand national park and then directly across the Karoo and back via the eastern Cape to Pietermaritzburg. Logistically this trip was a breeze because we had signed up with an outfit called Felix Unité who provide all the canoes, food and even ice to keep the beers cold!  

We set off at dawn driving north and wound our way up the impressive Van Reenin’s Pass leaving the rolling hills of KZN far below and entering into the flatness of the highveld. A sharp turn to the west took us through Bethlehem and on to the capital of the Free State, Bloemfontein where we had decided to visit the Boer War museum.  Being Heritage day we were welcomed there by a genuine Afrikaner market with singing, trinkets for sale and scrumptious “maalvleis en vetkoek” washed down with home made ginger beer. The museum was fascinating and informative and particularly useful for the girls who had studied some of this at school.  The scale of the slaughter and particularly the horror of the concentration camps was sobering.  We continued west to Kimberly                                                                                                 across smooth, Springbok studded plains and arrived  around dusk  and                                                                                                        briefly visited the historical village at the Big Hole. 

Richtersveld magic

Another early start had us heading directly west through an unpopulated landscape sprinkled with the odd antelope or ostrich.  This gave us many hours in the car for idle banter and the odd podcast which added an interesting and entertaining new dimension to our road trips.  We crossed the Vaal river and then saw the intense green of the vineyards which fringe the Orange river.  We skirted Upington and then continued along the Orange to the frontier town of Springbok.  Here we had booked into the amazing Gogas nature reserve and set up camp in a thatched cottage and were soon exploring amazing granite rocks and curious vegetation.  The wildlife was incredible  and the magnificent Gemsbok abounded.  A night excursion for a pee and to ogle at the sugar-sprinkled sky brought me face to face with an Aardwolf which was an animal I’d never seen before.

Canoe see-saw antics on the Orange

A morning drive took us through yellow and purple carpets of flowers, through cragged rocky outcrops and past more of the majestic Gemsbok. The visitor centre had an exceptional indigenous plant garden with extraordinary strange succulents with names like butter tree, button plant and the weird quiver tree. 

Warm rocks, cool water.....

From there our route took us north and after restocking in Springbok we crossed the border over the Orange river at Noordoewer and into the arid lands of southern Namibia.  A short drive took us to the start of our canoe trip at Felix Unité. Provenance is the name of their base camp and is certainly an oasis of green lawns, reed-thatched cabanas and a very blue swimming pool. We set up tents on the luscious lawns and sipped on icy cold beers as steak sizzled on the ‘braai’. Our co-canoeists slowly rolled in and like us were mainly families excited by the prospect of four days cruising down this incredible waterway.  A humorous briefing explained how to pack our buckets and canoes, where to stash the beers and how to use “Lulu” the portable toilet kept us all chuckling and rearing to go.

The Orange river is South Africa’s longest river at 2250km and originates in the Drakensberg mountains and in Lesotho is called the Senqu. The name Orange is not thanks to its sometimes orange colour when in flood but rather named by a Dutchman in honour of Prince William of the Royal Dutch House of Orange!  It is joined by the Caledon and Vaal rivers and is dammed in two places forming the Gariep and Vanderkloof dams. 

Margot and Zara cosy camping

The river was flowing well and the water clean but the weather for the start of our paddle was a wee bit inclement with cloud cover and a gathering wind. Nonetheless we set of with great enthusiasm, boats liberally loaded and Zara skippering our canoe and Ilda and Margot in the other. The paddling is easy and relaxing and we drift down gentle rolling rapids beneath fascinating rock formations with names like Echo Krantzes and Snail Mountain.  We stop for an early lunch and the crew prepare a scrumptious selection while we go for a short walk to see San rock petroglyphs. By now the wind has picked up and our expedition leader announces that this “Peace of Paradise Camp” will now become the overnight stop and we set about erecting tents and then wile away the afternoon reading, playing ‘Boulle’ and, some, catching fish.  The evening is a tranquil affair with great conversations, good tucker and an unforgettable display of stars. We sleep very well and are soon fed, packed up and on or way again. 

Again, the pace is mellow, the sun warm and some of our fellow paddlers are cracking their first beers soon after breakfast! We encounter a couple of fun rapids with names like “Dead Man” rapid and “Entrance exam” which everyone gets down ok albeit some folk backwards.  Zara seems to go on strike fairly early in the piece and seems quite happy to let Dad do the paddling while she ‘chills’ and occasionally jumps overboard for a paddle. The day drifts by and lunch is served next to a long rolling rapid where we have great fun and good luck catching feisty Yellow fish.  Some walk to an abandoned mine while others sip beer or sleep.  That evening we camp above the Sjambok kloof with stories of the big rapid coming up tomorrow!  We visit the old fluorite mine and gather many samples and have great fun that night sprinkling these on the fire and experiencing our very own fire works display.  

Happy families after four days on the Orange

Sjambok rapid is the trip’s canoeing highlight and is a long bouncy rapid with a lovely drop and waves at the end running through a narrow granite gully. Again everyone comes through unscathed and we have fun swimming in the strong current, jumping off the rocks and then sunning ourselves like lizards on the steaming granite. Supplies have been restocked at the last camp and with more ice to keep beers cool and even better grub we cruise into the “Scratches” campsite where apparently dinosaurs sharpened their claws causing great rifts in the quartzite towers. Again, this is perfection with sandy areas to pitch the tents, swimming on tap and cold beer on ice!  We are about 23 guests on the trip with four guides and are well looked after. We explore inland a bit and are enthralled by the rugged beauty of the 2000 million year old Richtersveld mountains. The dozen or so children are a law unto themselves and their laughter and antics vibrate around the campsite.  The final camp dinner is an extravagant affair and we feast on roast mutton and the mood is buoyant around the crackling camp fire. Again the stars are extravagant beyond belief and we slowly drift off to our tents and fall into a deep decadent sleep.

The morning routine is becoming well rehearsed and we reflect that this will be the last morning of this magical family adventure. Lulu is in demand after the excesses of last night and we swim, feast on a fine cooked breakfast and pack our buckets for the last time.  We slip off into the current and briefly Zara makes an effort at paddling before retreating under her sun umbrella to ‘chill’ once more.  The bird life has been spectacular and we have seen many animals including vervet monkeys, baboons and the scary looking but benign Leguaan or Nile monitor. A few more slightly rocky rapids, more swims, canoe “see-saw” and children swapping boats sees the time disappear and before we know it we are beaching at Assenkeur farm and the end of our adventure. Boats, bags, buckets and people are loaded efficiently onto the ‘bus’ which must be from 1800 and something but has been beautifully restored and chugs us back to base and another cold beer,  a final feed and fond farewells.

Namaqualand flowers

We begin the big trek home but, as always, are reluctant to take the same route back and so head south down the west coast with a plan to complete a big loop around and below Lesotho and across the Karoo.  First stop is Namaqua national park, famous for its carpets of colourful flowers.  It is late in the season but we are not disappointed.  Rich tapestries of golden yellow daisies and a multitude of other vivid flowers dazzle us and occasionally we see the majestic Gemsbok grazing in this colourful paradise.  We drive on to the west coast and the blue Atlantic ocean where we stop to picnic and dip our toes into the icy water where mermaid like Kelp oscillates amongst mussel clad rocks. 

Margot races towards the chilly Atlantic

At Calvinia we turn east and begin the long traverse of this incredible country back to KZN.  The scenery is dramatic; vast arid plains punctuated with the occasional strutting ostrich and austere rock formations.  it is dry and sparse and we stop at a creaking windmill pulling crystal clear water up into a concrete reservoir.  The girls don’t hesitate and are soon stripped and splashing in the icy water.  Refreshed we drive on and our next stop is the Rooi Granaat in Loxton, an authentic local café where we sipped on proper smooth cappuccinos and breakfasted on fluffy omelettes filled with home made goats’ milk cheese. The local NGK church fills the central village square and the bells chime calling the faithful to prayer.  

Swimming in an icy windmill reservoir in the Karoo

We overnight in a remote Karoo town and are up early and watch the golden tendrils of the rising sun as we speed along passing towns like Middelberg, Molteno and Elliot.  The remote pristine northern Cape morphs into the more populous and littered eastern Cape and we are reminded of the so called “homelands” of the bad old days when this was the Transkei and it doesn’t seem to have recovered. Our last night is at a fantastic farmstay near Maclear.  We are spoiled with a home cooked meal and a crackling fire as rain continues to pour down.

Our last morning takes us back into KZN at Underberg and we stop as always at The Lemon Tree café for a scrumptious breakfast.  Then its on down into the Umkomaas valley and we wind our way home to Hilton and delighted dog,cat and chicken.

3800km later, Orange river canoeing, Namibia, flowers in Namaqualand, Gemsbok, Boer war museum in Bloem, breakfast the Rooi Granaat, swimming at a Karoo windmill, fascinating podcasts, laughs, photos and fun.  Exploring Africa forever fun!

Orange river canoeing and Namaqualand flowers

Cruising on the Orange river

Canoes ready and packed

There’s nothing better than a family road trip.  This with the prospect of a four day canoeing trip down the Orange river made for a mouth watering September school holidays.  Our plan was to drive  a massive rectangle ‘around’ Lesotho and then extending across South Africa to the Orange river and Namibia, back down the west coast in Namaqualand national park and then directly across the Karoo and back via the eastern Cape to Pietermaritzburg. Logistically this trip was a breeze because we had signed up with an outfit called Felix Unité who provide all the canoes, food and even ice to keep the beers cold!  

We set off at dawn driving north and wound our way up the impressive Van Reenin’s Pass leaving the rolling hills of KZN far below and entering into the flatness of the highveld. A sharp turn to the west took us through Bethlehem and on to the capital of the Free State, Bloemfontein where we had decided to visit the Boer War museum.  Being Heritage day we were welcomed there by a genuine Afrikaner market with singing, trinkets for sale and scrumptious “maalvleis en vetkoek” washed down with home made ginger beer. The museum was fascinating and informative and particularly useful for the girls who had studied some of this at school.  The scale of the slaughter and particularly the horror of the concentration camps was sobering.  We continued west to Kimberly                                                                                                 across smooth, Springbok studded plains and arrived  around dusk  and                                                                                                        briefly visited the historical village at the Big Hole. 

Richtersveld magic

Another early start had us heading directly west through an unpopulated landscape sprinkled with the odd antelope or ostrich.  This gave us many hours in the car for idle banter and the odd podcast which added an interesting and entertaining new dimension to our road trips.  We crossed the Vaal river and then saw the intense green of the vineyards which fringe the Orange river.  We skirted Upington and then continued along the Orange to the frontier town of Springbok.  Here we had booked into the amazing Gogas nature reserve and set up camp in a thatched cottage and were soon exploring amazing granite rocks and curious vegetation.  The wildlife was incredible  and the magnificent Gemsbok abounded.  A night excursion for a pee and to ogle at the sugar-sprinkled sky brought me face to face with an Aardwolf which was an animal I’d never seen before.

Canoe see-saw antics on the Orange

A morning drive took us through yellow and purple carpets of flowers, through cragged rocky outcrops and past more of the majestic Gemsbok. The visitor centre had an exceptional indigenous plant garden with extraordinary strange succulents with names like butter tree, button plant and the weird quiver tree. 

Warm rocks, cool water.....

From there our route took us north and after restocking in Springbok we crossed the border over the Orange river at Noordoewer and into the arid lands of southern Namibia.  A short drive took us to the start of our canoe trip at Felix Unité. Provenance is the name of their base camp and is certainly an oasis of green lawns, reed-thatched cabanas and a very blue swimming pool. We set up tents on the luscious lawns and sipped on icy cold beers as steak sizzled on the ‘braai’. Our co-canoeists slowly rolled in and like us were mainly families excited by the prospect of four days cruising down this incredible waterway.  A humorous briefing explained how to pack our buckets and canoes, where to stash the beers and how to use “Lulu” the portable toilet kept us all chuckling and rearing to go.

The Orange river is South Africa’s longest river at 2250km and originates in the Drakensberg mountains and in Lesotho is called the Senqu. The name Orange is not thanks to its sometimes orange colour when in flood but rather named by a Dutchman in honour of Prince William of the Royal Dutch House of Orange!  It is joined by the Caledon and Vaal rivers and is dammed in two places forming the Gariep and Vanderkloof dams. 

Margot and Zara cosy camping

The river was flowing well and the water clean but the weather for the start of our paddle was a wee bit inclement with cloud cover and a gathering wind. Nonetheless we set of with great enthusiasm, boats liberally loaded and Zara skippering our canoe and Ilda and Margot in the other. The paddling is easy and relaxing and we drift down gentle rolling rapids beneath fascinating rock formations with names like Echo Krantzes and Snail Mountain.  We stop for an early lunch and the crew prepare a scrumptious selection while we go for a short walk to see San rock petroglyphs. By now the wind has picked up and our expedition leader announces that this “Peace of Paradise Camp” will now become the overnight stop and we set about erecting tents and then wile away the afternoon reading, playing ‘Boulle’ and, some, catching fish.  The evening is a tranquil affair with great conversations, good tucker and an unforgettable display of stars. We sleep very well and are soon fed, packed up and on or way again. 

Again, the pace is mellow, the sun warm and some of our fellow paddlers are cracking their first beers soon after breakfast! We encounter a couple of fun rapids with names like “Dead Man” rapid and “Entrance exam” which everyone gets down ok albeit some folk backwards.  Zara seems to go on strike fairly early in the piece and seems quite happy to let Dad do the paddling while she ‘chills’ and occasionally jumps overboard for a paddle. The day drifts by and lunch is served next to a long rolling rapid where we have great fun and good luck catching feisty Yellow fish.  Some walk to an abandoned mine while others sip beer or sleep.  That evening we camp above the Sjambok kloof with stories of the big rapid coming up tomorrow!  We visit the old fluorite mine and gather many samples and have great fun that night sprinkling these on the fire and experiencing our very own fire works display.  

Happy families after four days on the Orange

Sjambok rapid is the trip’s canoeing highlight and is a long bouncy rapid with a lovely drop and waves at the end running through a narrow granite gully. Again everyone comes through unscathed and we have fun swimming in the strong current, jumping off the rocks and then sunning ourselves like lizards on the steaming granite. Supplies have been restocked at the last camp and with more ice to keep beers cool and even better grub we cruise into the “Scratches” campsite where apparently dinosaurs sharpened their claws causing great rifts in the quartzite towers. Again, this is perfection with sandy areas to pitch the tents, swimming on tap and cold beer on ice!  We are about 23 guests on the trip with four guides and are well looked after. We explore inland a bit and are enthralled by the rugged beauty of the 2000 million year old Richtersveld mountains. The dozen or so children are a law unto themselves and their laughter and antics vibrate around the campsite.  The final camp dinner is an extravagant affair and we feast on roast mutton and the mood is buoyant around the crackling camp fire. Again the stars are extravagant beyond belief and we slowly drift off to our tents and fall into a deep decadent sleep.

The morning routine is becoming well rehearsed and we reflect that this will be the last morning of this magical family adventure. Lulu is in demand after the excesses of last night and we swim, feast on a fine cooked breakfast and pack our buckets for the last time.  We slip off into the current and briefly Zara makes an effort at paddling before retreating under her sun umbrella to ‘chill’ once more.  The bird life has been spectacular and we have seen many animals including vervet monkeys, baboons and the scary looking but benign Leguaan or Nile monitor. A few more slightly rocky rapids, more swims, canoe “see-saw” and children swapping boats sees the time disappear and before we know it we are beaching at Assenkeur farm and the end of our adventure. Boats, bags, buckets and people are loaded efficiently onto the ‘bus’ which must be from 1800 and something but has been beautifully restored and chugs us back to base and another cold beer,  a final feed and fond farewells.

Namaqualand flowers

We begin the big trek home but, as always, are reluctant to take the same route back and so head south down the west coast with a plan to complete a big loop around and below Lesotho and across the Karoo.  First stop is Namaqua national park, famous for its carpets of colourful flowers.  It is late in the season but we are not disappointed.  Rich tapestries of golden yellow daisies and a multitude of other vivid flowers dazzle us and occasionally we see the majestic Gemsbok grazing in this colourful paradise.  We drive on to the west coast and the blue Atlantic ocean where we stop to picnic and dip our toes into the icy water where mermaid like Kelp oscillates amongst mussel clad rocks. 

Margot races towards the chilly Atlantic

At Calvinia we turn east and begin the long traverse of this incredible country back to KZN.  The scenery is dramatic; vast arid plains punctuated with the occasional strutting ostrich and austere rock formations.  it is dry and sparse and we stop at a creaking windmill pulling crystal clear water up into a concrete reservoir.  The girls don’t hesitate and are soon stripped and splashing in the icy water.  Refreshed we drive on and our next stop is the Rooi Granaat in Loxton, an authentic local café where we sipped on proper smooth cappuccinos and breakfasted on fluffy omelettes filled with home made goats’ milk cheese. The local NGK church fills the central village square and the bells chime calling the faithful to prayer.  

Swimming in an icy windmill reservoir in the Karoo

We overnight in a remote Karoo town and are up early and watch the golden tendrils of the rising sun as we speed along passing towns like Middelberg, Molteno and Elliot.  The remote pristine northern Cape morphs into the more populous and littered eastern Cape and we are reminded of the so called “homelands” of the bad old days when this was the Transkei and it doesn’t seem to have recovered. Our last night is at a fantastic farmstay near Maclear.  We are spoiled with a home cooked meal and a crackling fire as rain continues to pour down.

Our last morning takes us back into KZN at Underberg and we stop as always at The Lemon Tree café for a scrumptious breakfast.  Then its on down into the Umkomaas valley and we wind our way home to Hilton and delighted dog,cat and chicken.

3800km later, Orange river canoeing, Namibia, flowers in Namaqualand, Gemsbok, Boer war museum in Bloem, breakfast the Rooi Granaat, swimming at a Karoo windmill, fascinating podcasts, laughs, photos and fun.  Exploring Africa forever fun!

Dagga, Didima and Drakensberg

 There is nothing quite like a trip to the Berg.  Pristine, uncorrupted wilderness, fast flowing, crystal clear streams, backpacks and biltong and, if you’re lucky, elegant eland traipsing by. It was with these perfect perceptions that we recently headed for the hills. Little did we know what was in store for us. My teenage daughters had required a little encouraging but my enthusiasm and school-boy memories of “kloofing” in Ndedema gorge and favourable forecast, soon had them turning off their i-Phones and donning boots. Dog packed off to the neighbours and alarm set, we set off up the N2 headed for the Cathedral Peak area. Our plan was to drive up Mike’s Pass, leave the car at the top and walk from there to Didima (old Ndedema) gorge. We’d camp near Skoongesigt cave and spend two days exploring the gorge and then walk out back to the car.  

But as with most things in Africa, this was not to be and one needs to remain flexible.  On checking in at the plush Didima resort we discover that Mike’s Pass is apparently closed to vehicles because the road is too bad (although fresh tracks we see on the road later betray this and we wander if this is simply a ploy to get paying guests up the pass). Then, when signing the mountain register, a fellow hiker shows surprise when we share our planned route; “oh. i thought Didima was closed because it is still being used by Dagga smugglers”. We tell her we have no knowledge of this and laugh it off.  We are also reassured by the lipstick smooth Ezemvelo lady who hastily takes our cash and shows no surprise at our planned route.  We note later however, that she looks like she has never walked further than the parking lot and we fear has no idea what lies in the hills beyond.

Anyway, a hasty rearrangement sees me dropping off the girls half way up Mike’s Pass and then returning the car to the checkpoint at the bottom.  I then ran up to join them and we continued on into the Didima Valley.  It is a stunning walk with panoramic views of the Drakensberg from Cathedral to Giants and beyond and we wander along mesmerised by this magical sight as the sun slowly drifts behind the mountains.  Thanks to all the delays, we are now a bit late and walk the last couple of kilometres in the dark with headlamps on. Eventually we realise that we won't make it down to the gorge so stop and set up camp.  At about this stage my wife announces that we have forgotten matches, a lighter or anything to light anything!  Supper is a crunchy affair of Two-minute noodles washed down with water and peanut butter on bread.  Cold, raw Cup-a-soup didn’t work.  We tried everything; smashing rocks together to get a spark, using my reading glasses as a magnifying glass, and even rubbed sticks together Bushman style (where we did get smoke but no fire) and finally tried to strike 2 matches I found, on a rock, but they aren't called ‘safety matches’ for nothing.  Anyway, we became experts on preparing cold everything and amazingly ate pretty well and didn't go hungry! 

The sunrise is beautiful beyond belief and a warm golden glow reflects off the “Barrier of Spears”. We devour cold one-minute porridge and are soon on our way dropping into the gorge below. It is as if there is not another human on earth but us, as we criss-cross the sparkling stream rock-hopping and occasionally stopping to take pictures of extraordinary rock formations and feisty bright coloured flowers. We must have been somewhat distracted as we end up being bluffed-out and have to make a very steep scramble out of the gorge to find the path high above us.  The path is badly eroded and rough and clearly has had no maintenance for many years. We bypass the very overgrown track to Poacher’s cave and continue to the junction of Leopard cave where there is a perfect camping spot next to the main path and a lovely swimming stream. We explore up to Leopard cave and while away the afternoon swimming, reading, enjoying the sun and rubbing sticks together in a futile effort to make fire. Night falls and we cuddle up in thick down sleeping bags and are soothed to sleep by the surging stream.  Little do we realise what the night will bring!

I sit bolt upright in my bag.  It must be about two in the morning and I have been woken by a high pitched shout only metres from our camp on the main path and across the stream. I see that my wife is awake too and we look at each other in horror; dagga smugglers!  Was the cry a threat or a warning?  Did they know that we were there?  How many were they? What were their intentions?Should we ignore them, pretend to sleep? Should we run and leave everything? We whisper to each other and my wife inadvertently illuminates her torch and shines on the rocks around us. That galvanises us into action.  We awake our two daughters, who are incredibly calm, and pack up our entire camp in about five minutes.  Of course it feels like an eternity and when the familiar odour of dagga smoke wafts over us, my fear is palpable. I feel an intense nausea and sweat drips down my face and chest. What if? What if?

We scramble up the track loaded with our packs and head in the direction of Leopard cave away from the main path, and familiar territory for us having been up there earlier in the day. My wife is up ahead with one torch, our daughters between us and me taking up the rear.  In my anxious state I am blown away by the composure and maturity shown by my daughters; not a squeak out of them, no complaints and a dogged determination to move away from this perceived risk that their parents had woken them for at 02.00! We climb steadily for about forty minutes up a steep path and then veer away from the stream up onto a ridge high above the gorge below.  We stop on a small flat area and listen intently for any sounds of pursuit but are reassured by a tranquil silence and decide to sleep there. Exhausted we snuggle up together and lie back on our grassy ledge to experience a star extravaganza like none other. The galaxies and signs of the Zodiac circle above us in a mystical dance and we are soon coaxed into a deep sleep far away from the stress that had besieged us only an hour earlier. An ochre moon crawls up over the round hill in front of us and we dig deeper into our bags to escape the pre dawn chill. 

With dawn comes the realisation of what might have been.  Was it all just an absurd over reaction? Where they just shepherds tending their flocks or were they indeed the dagga smugglers of Didima? We recount somewhat manically the events of the night before and giggle hysterically. Our overnight perch is poised perfectly above the gorge far below and as we feast for the last time on cold porridge an eagle glides silently by scanning the bush along the river in search of her prey.