What happened next is that my need for safety overrode my need for comfort, and at 3:30 am I decided to move my Pop-up BnB back to my wet tent, and make it as comfortable as possible (It wasn’t comfortable). As I poked my head out of the door of the ablution block, I saw these 6 yellow lights reflected in my headtorch, and it was a moment of shear confusion for all. I could tell that three unknown sentient creatures were asking each other “what the hell is that?” and replying “I just don’t know”, while I was saying the same to myself. There was a bit of a stand-off, with neither side backing down while we all assessed the danger, before we collectively went “meh, it’s fine”, and off we went.
Miraculously I managed to get one hour of sleep, eventually, and when I woke up the rain had stopped. For a bit. It’s so absolutely beautiful at Mount Currie that I was begging the Universe to let the sun come out so that I could stay longer. I’m getting used to being ignored. And so I had to move on. Only one chocolate in the box.
With a car full of wet blankets, a metaphor for the Universe’s attitude I think, I set off towards Underberg. The whole area is like one of those pictures you get on a puzzle box; impossibly beautiful, picturesque, and peaceful. Something that will soothe you as you put all the pieces back together to form the original perfect scene. I had to find a coffee shop with power and signal though, because it was a workday for me. In Underberg I worked a bit and had the best salad ever, along with a very mediocre curry, which was disappointing. I noticed that I was getting a lot of funny looks from people dressed in leather boots and jeans, because I was pretty much dressed in my pajammies. My clothes were wet and the only warm clothes I had were the baggie tracksuits I’d bought in King Williams Town. So, I decided to go full “weirdo bag lady traveller” on the crowd, and I kept my brown knitted beanie on as well. I was warm. I didn’t care.
A problem popped up when I had an unexpected meeting setup for 3pm. I wanted to get as far North in the day as possible, and hopefully away from the rain and snow, so it became another side-of-the-road Teams meeting. I made it as far as Windmills, off the N3 near Nottingham Road in KZN, when my meeting started. By then I still didn’t have a place to stay for the night, but I knew for sure that I wasn’t staying in my tent. It was shear luck that I found Fountain Hall Farm online and that the River Cottage was available at 4:30 pm, and also for a very cheap price! Kevin felt the need to warn me that it’s very rustic, but all I said to him was: “as long as it’s not a leaking tent I’ll be happy”. And I was. I guess one person’s rustic cottage is another person’s palace, because when I opened the door to the cottage I just wanted to cry with relief. It was perfect! The very first thing I looked for and cared about (apart from the roof) was power. Yes, I had power at last. My devices were all hobbling along below 10% at that point. Then I noticed the 2 bedrooms, bathroom, stove, kettle, dry towels. I just know that I will be happy here for a few days, while I process my “two weeks of camping” PTSD.
As I was unpacking my car, I saw campers setting up their tent in the rain and I couldn’t help feeling a mixture of smug achievement for securing my spot for the night, and pity for them exposed to the elements. I resolved to let them in if they came knocking on my door at 1:30 am. I had a hot shower and slept for 10 solid hours. I remember now what normal feels like.