The morning after the storm I was so nervous walking down to my tent, or maybe where my tent used to be. I wasn’t sure yet if the storm had washed my drift and dreams away, and if I’d be heading home all sad and dejected. I hadn’t heard heavy rains in my safari tent so I wasn’t sure if I’d slept through it, or if it had passed over and dropped the rains elsewhere. I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. Until I got to the campsite. And there they were. Standing proudly upright as if nothing had happened the night before. Tent and tarp intact, muddy but dry… and ready for me to continue on my adventure. I was so excited! And thankful. The Angels had obviously heard me above the noise of the rains and swooped to give me a helping hand.
The mop up operation that followed took all morning, because my outside mats were buried under a ton of mud and my clothes and bedding were pretty damp. Not soaked exactly, but needing quite a bit of drying. And there was more rain coming, so I had to keep an eye out for that. I decided to quickly go to Graskop to buy some warm clothes (there’s a Pep in almost every town in South Africa, thank goodness) and also to spoil my traumatised self with a pizza and tons of chocolate. I should have known though that nothing happens quickly in a small town and, because Graskop is a tiny town, the nothing happens at a snail’s pace at best. But for good reasons. Shopping seems to be a social event for the locals. At the Spar I could barely manoeuvre through the aisles past the people having long in-depth chats, and everyone seemed to know everyone, so the chatting was happening everywhere and in front of everything I needed. I began to feel quite apologetic about my basket of goodies and almost embarrassed to ask them if I could just get to the Romany Creams and would they mind if I could just grab some Lindt chocolate and sorry could I just reach the Ciabatta bread and oh, maybe the House of Coffees dark roast behind you, sorry. Their baskets had pretty much a standard fare of one pack of meat, one loaf of bread, one litre of milk and a coke. Was it economics or just an excuse to socialise? It does perhaps prove that talk is indeed cheap, and if you’re a solo shopper with nothing to say (except “sorry”, a lot) your basket is going to cost you a lonely lot of money. At the till there was none of the middle class personal space and I realised I was laughing inside at how little it was bugging me. Who am I becoming! I think I was thoroughly enjoying still being earthbound and all of the challenges that go with that. And enjoying being in that energy, even just as a bit of a spectator.
Then it was on to Pep stores for clothes, but their system was down so I would have to pay with cash. I had to ask if they meant paper and coins, because sometimes cash means credit cards, which is confusing to me. What is “not cash”? Is there a financial system that I’m unaware of and could I be missing out on the new order system of free stuff? But yes, it was a paper and coins situation. I had no paper and no coins, so that became my next challenge. As I stepped out of Pep, there it was… the first drop of rain. So small and light I barely felt it. Teasing me. Reminding me that I was 16km from my drying bedding. And still with no warm, dry clothes. I needed warm, dry clothes… so off I hurried to find paper and coins at the Spar, with the long, long queues and the chatting club. Back to Pep with a fat wallet and back to the back of another long, long queue. This time with a very fine spray of drizzle on my jacket. But no way could I be grumpy, because in front of me was an ouma buying a pack of nappies, which again made me feel a bit apologetic for my armful of warm, dry clothing, but also reminded me that I have a bundle of naughty joy waiting for me in Cape Town, so what are a few drops of rain in the bigger scheme of human earth things.
I needed a small gas canister as well, so with my bag of goodies under one arm, I ran across the road in the now proper rain, and ducked into the hardware shop. They didn’t have, but the shop down the road did. Outside, I started running left instead of right. There was a guy right there to stop me in my slippery tracks and send me in the right direction, then someone else popped up to direct me into the correct shop. Friendly people. I felt like one of them, and almost stopped for a long chat. By the time I got to the pizza spot, around yet another corner, I was sopping wet. Water dripping from my hair and my not warm, not dry clothes. But the pizza was totally worth it! Best pizza I’ve ever had, after almost being washed away in a storm, by far. I think because the chef took such care prepping it, and also it was hot food, and also… carbs and cheese. My happy place.
Needless to say my bedding and clothes were re-wet and never really dried in the following days, because of the high humidity. I became used to “drying” myself with a damp towel, which yes, you are correct, is the worst! But there is something so amazing about a hot shower after getting soaked in the rain. That feeling of hot water on the top of my head always sends my happiness barometer right to the max. I wonder if it would show as violet, if I had to take a photo of the water, as it hits my crown?