As we headed
north, we passed through the small town of Williston, where surprising places
exist: a restaurant with décor, food and service to match any establishment in
a large city, quite out of keeping with the streets devoid of cars and
pavements where the locals pass the time hoping for chance employment. The
years of drought have been unkind to the town and relief in the form of food
supplies and water for both animals and people has become necessary. The other
surprise was the Williston Mall, closed for some reason (hard to fathom when
tourism can surely be the only source of income at present) and looking quaint
and quirky from the outside. Not glassy and glossy like a city mall, but it
shows enterprise, a sense of humour and perhaps a little desperation. It was a
shame we couldn’t stroll through. However, time and distance are pressing
matters when travelling in South Africa, and we didn’t linger to see if a face
appeared at a window.
Our first night
stop was at Brandvlei – named after a farmer, Brand, rather than a burning lake
– and our accommodation was the original farmhouse. Having used up our battery
power with enthusiasm on the way up from Beaufort West, we searched in vain for
a plug to recharge cameras and phones, but of course this house was built
before electricity reached such isolated parts of the country (if at all) and a
solar panel on the roof was attached to a plug socket dangling in the kitchen
which supplied hot water. Thankful for small mercies, we prepared ourselves to
deal with intermittent access to such luxuries and became extremely efficient
and organised, using multiplugs brought from home at every opportunity. While
the great charm of distant places is the lack of contact with the outside
world, it does take a little getting used to.
Old photographs
of the original farmer and his wife adorned the walls, and an antique telephone
(wall-mountable, handset and cords) reminded us again of our easy lives.
We braaied on the
stoep, relaxing in the last heat of the day and watching the Karoo sunset
reflected in the old concrete dam filled by the windpomp, doubling as a swimming pool for road-weary travellers –
not us; we took the dust of the day off in the showers that had been added the
rooms to meet the facility standards required for hired accommodation. No such
luck for poor Madam Farmer way back when.
The stillness of
the night descended upon us and the vast canopy of stars lit up the sky with a
billion pinpricks of light. And so to bed.
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