Some history thrown in (not just about birds)

Our tour guide, the inimitable Ralie, knew almost to the bush where we would see particular birds, and this I put down to her knowledge of their habits regarding territory and food preferences, combined with repeat sightings that confirmed such territories. We saw some 140 species in semi-desert conditions, which in itself is testimony to the adaptability of flora and fauna somewhat beyond the capability of that softest of species, homo sapiens. The geology of the Karoo is most famous for its flat-topped kopjes, where the dolerite tops have remained after millennia of weathering, but the vegetation changes constantly. One can almost demarcate the edge of each region as one drives along the excellent dirt roads.

Our route through the Karoo took us via the Vanderkloof Dam, second-largest after Gariep, and it was good to see a nearly full dam (unfortunately not feeding the greater Cape Town area, where the drought remains dire). Next stop was Orania, a small town that originally housed those that built the dam, and now famous for being (I don't know what to describe it as) an Afrikaners-only town, to preserve their culture and language. 8000 hectares of farmland along the Orange River ensure self-sufficiency, and there is no doubt that they are excellent farmers judging by the agricultural activity.
An in-depth knowledge of that culture is required to fully appreciate their outlook. Perhaps it could be slightly compared to the Amish. These are just my thoughts.
A visit to Carnarvon's museum was brief but interesting and a quick duck into the reconstructed corbelled house provided insight into how overstuffed our homes are in this modern age! We passed many ruined and intact corbelled structures on our route, where earlier farmers had lived while caring for their stock.

 
Just outside Hopetown (where the Eureka and Star of Africa diamonds were found) we visited a Boer war concentration camp site with graveyard and artefacts. It was not for the faint-hearted and not the finest hour of British history.
Outside the town we walked across an old bridge that had been manufactured piece by piece in Germany, shipped to Cape Town, ox-wagoned to Hopetown and then put together over some four years. It's still in great shape and provided a good viewing point for the scenic Orange River, still with many, many miles to go before reaching the Atlantic Ocean. The old blockhouse guarding the bridge has been converted into a B&B. I cannot vouch for its comfort.