When I set off from the Tortoven I made an epic error by turning right and heading towards Graaff Reinet and the Camdeboo National Park, instead of left, back towards nearby De Rust. Logically it was the right move, since that’s where I was headed, but I hadn’t noticed that my petrol tank was approaching empty, and I’d forgotten my Karoo petrol rule of never allowing my tank to dip below half full. In the Karoo you can travel for hundreds of kilometres without seeing a petrol station so it’s survival 101. By the time I realised my mistake it was too late to turn back. I was in the very middle of nowhere and I hadn’t seen another car for ages. And so began the panic petrol maths. I figured I had enough petrol for 20 km before my empty light came on, and then another 50 km after that. The sign said it was 86 km to Willowmore. Panic!
But that’s when I came up with my ingenious plan. I would wild camp in the field next to where my car ran out of fuel, and just wait for the irate farmer to come along and evict me. One look at my sad, sunburnt face and I felt hopeful that the farmer would then decide to help me out with enough fuel for the additional 16km needed. I realised that my dilemma had become a bit of a lesson for my life, to slow right down when I was low on fuel, get rid of excess baggage and… to read the signs more carefully! It was actually only 56km to Willowmore. But 30km to Uniondale, another town I swore I wouldn’t return to. So I turned off towards Uniondale.
Uniondale is where my Mom’s family lived at one point. Even though they are all long dead I avoid them like the plague. There’s no vaccine for ancestral drama. Well, there is and I’ve done a lot of work on that (will blog about that soon). But, I didn’t want to take a chance of being stranded, so I thought I’d keep an open mind and see why I’d been nudged (with a pokey stick) towards Uniondale. After filling up my tank I felt like one feels on payday after eating those dry salticrax for days and suddenly you can choose all kinds of toppings. I was going to drive everywhere! With my aircon on too. I saw a sign that said there was an art gallery and restaurant at the windmill, and that seemed like a cool option, so I drove in that direction along a dirt road, which became narrower and rockier and Zukes began to really struggle… then eventually it just came to a dead end. Uniondale. Lying sign. Mean ancestors. I blamed them for the 6 point turn I had to make. I couldn’t uncover any meaningful reason for my forced detour to the town, so I left. But as I left this guy in a porche appeared from nowhere and was trying to bully me into going faster, which I did not. As he passed me I laughed in his dust and thought “Ha, you may be faster but you would never have been able to get lost down the windmill road in that car”. Teeny, tiny wins. Karoo boredom.
After many, many, many kilometres of driving along the straight and empty road I began to feel sleepy and started wishing for a coffee. And suddenly, like an oasis this padstal just appeared out of nowhere, promising the best moer coffee. First stop was to visit their ladies restroom. More specifically, their unisex short drop, which was twice as uncomfortable for me as a long drop toilet. I’m a farm girl but this was eeeek for me. I’m also a Libran and an obsessive hand washer, so you know… eeeek. But worth it for the coffee, although the person serving the coffee, or rather pointing to the coffee urn, was intensely grumpy and made me nervous that the coffee may not be the only moer on offer. I bought a jam roosterkoek as well. You know you’re in a vrek-hot part of the country if they’re serving roosterkoek. I ate it on the road and ended up with jam all over my face. I was so sticky-happy! But how do you get jam off your face when you’re travelling solo and there’s just jam everwhere? As I was dangerously digging around to find a serviette I imagined the angels at the pearly gates taking bets as the new souls arrived from the Karoo, with big odds on it being a jam-face related accident. The moer coffee had kicked in clearly.
I arrived safely, with a clean face, at Camdeboo National Park. The reason I wanted to visit the park is because it’s in the Valley of Desolation and the sound of that resonated with some part of me that yearns for wide open spaces and well, desolation. The views are breathtaking and as usual I tried not to go too near to the edge, because I am one of an apparently large percentage of people who have what is called a “Call of the Void” impulse. It’s when you are standing on the edge of a ledge or any high spot really, and your brain asks you politely if you would like to jump. I’ve always equally politely declined to do so but sometimes I tease my brain by standing close to the edge and leaning over. It’s apparently, and ironically, related to high anxiety sensitivity, which I probably have, given my body’s extreme reaction to taking medication. This is why I suspect I may be an alien. I occupy a body that has no clue how to respond appropriately to many “normal” human situations. I said “apparently” a lot now because nobody really knows much (apparently) about the “Call of the Void” impulse. Or aliens for that matter.
I found myself being guided to do a meditation overlooking the valley, to a particular piece of music (quietly through my in-ear headphones). It was the first time in a long time that I’ve felt such a deep sense of peace. I was so grateful for the gift of that moment.
** I appreciate that many of you won’t share my worldview so I don’t want to write deeply here about these mystical experiences, but I do want to share them, so I’ve decided that I’ll give you the heads up and, if you’re interested, I’ll have a link to the additional writings. I’m calling them “Deep Woa” and it’s possibly going to expand on the downloads that I sometimes receive, or my personal thoughts on my mystical experiences.