In order to get to the Karoo from the coast, you need to drive over the winding mountain pass. It’s the kind of drive that gives you grey hairs and takes a few years off your life. Dairy and other farm trucks come tearing around the corners, not caring who they take out in the process. It was the one occasion during our holiday that I was happy to be sandwiched in between my grandmother and my sister in the back seat of the car. Risk of death aside, it’s an absolutely beautiful drive with plenty of pull-over stops to take the perfect pictures. I know I have posted that picture of me looking out on the mountain before but it’s probably my favourite picture of the whole trip. I was thinking about all the visits I had made to that particular spot throughout my life. As a child with my bickering parents when the pass was first built, on a school trip where I nearly had heatstroke, as a foolish drunken teenager who mooned passers-by, as a love-sick teenager (who had just met Jordan), and then, as an adult who could no longer call it home. For someone who’s mind is always churning, it was a rare moment of peace. It seemed to descend on us all and the drive back (by way of farm market) became somewhat subdued. My sister later told me that that particular spot had become popular for loved ones to scatter the ashes of those they had lost. I couldn’t think of a better resting place.
My grandmother and Jordan. She adores him.
South Africans never joke about bacon…
Images | Wishful Thinking