South Africa

We were picked up at Jo’burg Airport by Sue and Steve and whisked away to their hilltop home, overlooking the bright lights of the city and safely secured by the ubiquitous razor wire and electric fencing so commonly seen here.  We undertook several ventures out to shop and dine with our generous hosts.

At every stoplight hawkers attempted to sell things to us as they stood precariously on the white lines between lanes, as cars whizzed dangerously past. Our windows were always wound up and the doors locked. In parking lots uniformed guards directed traffic and kept an eye on the parked vehicles for a tip of a few pitiful rand. Unemployment is rife and people will do anything for the tiniest amount of money.

Finally we were driven out of the city and into the vast surrounding countryside. The high veldt around Jo’burg is a wide and undulating grassland that has extensive farms of maize and peanuts, with gullies filled with Australian eucalyptus and wattle trees. Enormous coal mines and huge powerstations abound.

That very fast highway then led us through some hilly country blanketed with pine trees and eucalypt plantations, then down into some deep and beautiful valleys  with native vegetation clinging to their rugged sides. Georgie spotted a zebra (that I missed) grazing with some cattle, then we all saw a small troupe of baboons foraging on the road side. Unfortunately they disappeared off into the scrub when we dropped a U-ey to check them out.

We drove past plenty of citrus and pomegranate (I think) plantations scattered through the steep valleys and I eagerly surveyed the native scrub that grew up the steep hillsides.  Tall aloes that we initially mistook for cycads dotted the slopes. Trees and shrubs grew to modest heights, their small leaves and tangled branches making it difficult for me to discern what they might have been. The occasional Aussie gum tree jutted tall above the indigenous  vegetation.

Eventually we arrived at our destination of Graskop, a pretty and neat little town in the hills that is well geared for tourism, but in a nice and not too spoilt way. Dropping our gear at our accommodation we headed out to ‘Gods Window’, a stunning series of fabulous views situated on the edge of a high and steep escarpment. This was the site of the coke bottle being thrown back to God in ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy’ – but we refrained from hurtling litter over the precipice. We then wandered amongst the fascinating bushland clinging to the clifftops with me getting very excited at the unusual plants I kept stumbling across in these mossy cloud forests. This point was the absolute highlight for me as I finally got close up and personal with the true Africa that I had been waiting so impatiently for.

Afterwards we ventured back into Graskop and investigated an amazing curio shop filled with brilliant sculpted art gathered from all over Africa. The idea of filling a ship’s container with these masterpieces and making our fortunes in Australia with them was eagerly discussed.

A splendid meal at a small restaurant and it was off to bed in anticipation of the next day’s adventure in the Blyde River Canyon, reputedly one of the largest in the world.

The next morning saw us driving along the edge of the canyon, stopping occasionally to take in the breathtaking views. The depth of the canyon varied a lot until we finally neared the Three Rondavels and the distances stretched out until the far side began to fade into the haze and the valley floor plummeted to many thousands of metres deep. We watched in awe as our cameras clicked madly away.

 

After reaching our accommodation near the canyon’s edge I wandered off to explore one of the side gullies. The orange and yellow cliffs reached down into densely forested and shady crevices, filled with strange and unfamiliar plants, mosses and lichens.

Early this morning as the sky began to lighten I set off for an even longer hike around the edge of the precipice and down into an even deeper valley. This is where I wrote the following:

‘Sitting on a smooth water-worn rock in the remote African wilderness as a clear mountain stream tumbles and bubbles past me. Tall sandstone cliffs tower over this deep valley that I have just trekked down into, as the morning sun’s rays begin to light up the lichen bedecked orange rocks around me. Not another soul in sight, I am an hour’s walk into this rugged bushland with another hour-plus to return. All the plants around me have a familiar aspect to them, but upon closer inspection they reveal marked differences to their Australian cousins, separated by enormous distances and millions of years. The protea forests up high on the ridges are reminiscent of banksia forests, and the mossy tangled forests of the valley floor have many similarities to what I have found in many an Aussie gully. Running across scats and traces of baboons, fine trotter prints and the occasional shy forest steinbok is an utter thrill for me as I quietly wander through this beautiful landscape.’

 

The creek that I followed back to where the others were still slumbering was a series of multiple mossy waterfalls tumbling into clear and deep pools. Ancient trees with massive boles and enormous roots wrapped over the sandstone ledges stood tall over these shady havens.

Although the climb back up the ridge was steep and arduous, I loved every minute. By the time I reached the road at the top the day had begun in earnest and I walked straight into a large troupe of baboons, perhaps 30 or more of them. Several of the larger ones stood their ground as the others dispersed into the bushes, but I simply raised my arms high above my head with my akubra clutched in my hand and all the baboons disappeared, shaking branches and making their strange barking calls as they left.

We returned to Jo’burg in preparation for tomorrow’s flight to Madagascar, and sat on the high verandah watching a wild lightning storm lashing the city blow.