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Across eastern Europe

May 11, 2018/0 Comments/in Blog /by Paul Perton

Yes, I know this is out of sequence, but I’d initially decided not to write this blog entry at all. Then I changed my mind.

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goeuro.com says it’s 517km from Warsaw to Berlin. And for the ridiculously low rail fare of €29.90, it’s a bargain, much better than a ride to the airport, check-in, security, waiting for the flight, an hour aloft and a back-to-front repeat of the process on arrival.

This is our first experience and already, it’s clear that Europe’s rail system is fantastic. Six hours, minimal border checks, no luggage restrictions, almost zero security, 220V electricity, free wi-fi and a (reasonably) comfortable seat with a fold down table. What’s not to like?

Paris

Munich

Berlin

Paris

Munich

Berlin

The landscape passing the window is flat with almost no relief. I find myself imagining Hitler’s Panzergruppen rampaging across these flat expanses, with little or no regard for anything save reaching Poland and the grab of as much lebensraum as fast as possible. There is certainly no natural barrier that could have slowed their advance.

Berlin is no warmer than Warsaw and the couple of hundred metres from the Hauptbahnhof to our hotel is fast, easy and means that we arrive damp from the falling sleet, but otherwise ready for city two.

We’ve been here before, the city leaving us both indelibly marked with it’s history and the willingness of its population to air their transgressions, largely in (we assume) an ongoing attempt to cleanse both their stadt and themselves of the ignominy.

FYI; Berlin has a huge public transport system, but until arriving, neither of us had realised that the tram system really only serves the eastern part of the city.

Doh! Guess why?

Munich

Berlin

Paris

There are any number of ways to get anywhere though; bus tram, U-Bahn (underground), S-Bahn (overground) and of course, taxi, Uber and so on. Curiously, the public systems never seemed to reach exactly where it was that we wanted to go. For example, a bus seemed to be the best method of reaching the German Museum of Technology, but alighting at the designated stop, we were left with a 700m/800m walk to the museum.

It’s an excellent museum, BTW.

A visit to the Brandenburg Gate? The tiny two car, two stop U-Bahn service from the Hauptbahnhof to Brandenburger Tor is fast and deposits the traveller within 500m of the Gate. Half a kilometre doesn’t sound far, except when it’s -2C and sleeting.

Likewise, the newly opened DDR Museum. Bus, walk – surprisingly far.

Munich

Berlin

Paris

Munich

Berlin

I’d wanted to see what had been the Communist controlled part of the city, the ugly concrete architecture and photograph what it might have been like. But, like the damage wrought in WW2, the brutal cement has gone, plastered over, or simply demolished, replaced with more modern homes and commercial buildings, bright colours and double glazing. Like Warsaw, the older parts of the city are mended with an eye to the city’s pre-Hitler history and similarly ersatz; appropriate, correct and all too facsimile-like.

The weather improved a bit towards the end of our stay, but despite the approaching Spring, copious cups of hot chocolate were consumed to stay the chill.

Berlin – Munich on the train, another six(ish) hour journey. More interesting than Warsaw – Berlin because there are towns, cities and lots of landscape to see. Deutsche Bahn is as efficient as you’d expect and despite a delayed departure, 600km later, the train pulled into München on time to the minute.

Once again, we’re staying close to the station. It’s deliberate of course, once off the train, we’ve only a couple of hundred metres to walk with our bags.

The weather is much as we’ve encountered elsewhere, although Spring is palpably on the way.

Like many other German cities, Munich has repaired the ravages of the war, developed and grown into the bright, modern capital of Bavaria, home of beer and BMW. We don’t have a sightseeing agenda and choose to walk the Altstadt, Viktualienmarkt, Rindermarkt, parts of the inner city, past the Art House (museum) and to our utter amazement, spot a surfers’ paradise next door on the Eisbach River.

The Eisbachwelle is fed by what I imagine is snow melt, the river is throttled, it’s pressure allowed to build, then released to create a more than passable wave, at least sufficient for the crew of neoprene-clad board riders on the icy wave, entertaining the watching crowds.

A visit to Munich is never complete without a visit to the Hofbrauhaus, home of the Oktoberfest. At 11:00 on a stone cold Saturday morning, it would be hard to expect much beery high-jinks underway as you make your way for what you expect to be a quiet pint. Nope. It’s not quite NO’s Bourbon Street on a busy evening, but the place is rammed nonetheless, the oompah band in full swing and the signs of alcohol-fuelled misbehaviour everywhere. From the colours and enthusiasm on display, I’m guessing there’s a big footie match on today (I discover later that Bayern Munich beat Dortmund 6-0). The city’s pedestrian precincts are heaving with shoppers and a few tourists. The bars and restaurants are cashing-in for all they’re worth. We leave.

It’s doubtless a great city and a good place to live and work. A bit soulless though.

An SNCF TGV carries us to Paris in what we now expect to be comfort, speed and efficiency. Our chosen Hotel Ibis opposite the Gare de l’Est is but a few steps and within minutes we are settled, awaiting the arrival of friends (Steve and Martina) who are en route from West Wales to join us for the week.

The absolute pleasure of old good friends can’t be overstated. We’ve known each other for more than two decades and are entirely relaxed in each other’s company. We travelled the Orkneys with Steve and Martina last year and established an easy routine, which we resume within minutes of our first sip of Parisian wine together.

We walk the north central suburbs together and then south to lunch at the truly spectacular Le Train Bleu upstairs in the Gare de Lyon, avoiding the rail strikers, locked out of the restaurant’s revolving doors by a quick thinking maître d’.

Munich

Paris

Berlin

Paris

Another day sees us meander over the Seine and lunch in a centuries old stable, converted into a roast chicken destination eatery.

On our penultimate day and feeling the pressure to be real tourists, Steve, Martina and Di take an Uber to visit Versailles, leaving me to aimlessly wander the 10th arrondissement, Quai de Jemmapes and south west to the Porte St Denis, a splendid hamburger lunch at PNY (Paris/New York) and a couple of hours with my feet up before they return, cultured-out and ready for yet more food and wine.

Like so many European cities, the area around Gare de l’Est and the next-door Gare du Nord is awash with what appears to be semi-vagrant immigrants, mostly of Franco- and Italian-African origin. There is an air of impermanence and one is left to imagine theft, pickpocket and exchange rate scams are legion. Walking the streets is uncomfortable and I am glad that when buying, I specify my outerwear with pockets large enough to conceal a camera of some kind.

Fortunately, we don’t fall prey to the street hasslers, but it’s best to be aware and take precautions nonetheless. I wonder what Europe’s governments will eventually do with/about these largely unwelcome visitors?

Munich

Paris

Berlin

Paris

We are awash with plans of places to go and things to see, but settle for our own pace, happy enough to leave some things for next time.

All too soon, Steve and Martina leave on a bus for Charles de Gaulle and we walk the 500m or so to Gare du Nord. We’re all irritated at our hotel; the lift had been out of service for three days and every enquiry as to its restoration was met with the expected (IDGAF) Gallic shrug, guaranteed to inflame even the calmest of visitor.

I complained to Hotel IBIS via Twitter, but got much the same response, albeit a more corporate shoulder hike. A pity, we’ve spent many, many nights in these otherwise excellent hotels – only to have the experience spoiled by what really amounts to little more than piss-poor management.

Eurostar sped us to St Pancras. A couple of minutes to cross to platform 11 and six minutes later, we exited, 30m from our hotel, looming over the International Station at Stratford. Laura and Zach live on the other side of the Olympic Park, some 20 minutes walk away. Julian a little further. The craft brewery downstairs is as good a meeting place as any and within a couple of hours of arriving, we’re a family once more.

We’d travel across Europe any time to do that.

Munich

Berlin

AfrikaBurn

April 30, 2018/0 Comments/in Blog /by Paul Perton

She said; “Would you like a fortune cookie from the Universe?”

“Yes please.”

And there it was; “The universe seems neither benign, nor hostile, merely indifferent.” Carl Sagan.

Welcome to AfrikaBurn, South Africa’s annual four day festival of art, creative activities, music, dancing and other largely adult fun, deep in the heart of the Karoo at Tankwa, about 300km north of Cape Town. A direct descendent of Burning Man, AfrikaBurn is now in its eleventh year and growing annually, despite its remote location 100km along Africa’s longest unpaved and dusty road.

My first Burn and as much learning experience as culture shock. Fantastic photographic opportunities, wonderful warm days and bitingly cold nights – this is a desert after all. I’m partying with 13,000 other revellers, mainly South Africans, but scattered through the crowds, representatives from just about every nation on Earth.

And, given the continent’s largely violent recent history, nary a cross word from anyone.

Enough verbiage from me. Here’s an insider’s view – captions where appropriate.

Did I mention nudity?

The end of the giant Clan sculpture

DMV: Department of Mutant Vehicles

“Skollie Patrollie” (Afrikaans: skollie = bad/naughty)

The giant Clan sculpture, burned on Friday night

Family times

March 8, 2018/0 Comments/in Blog /by Paul Perton

Jozi skyline

So, Laura and Julian (and Zach and Amy) are home after an all-too-short fortnight in South Africa. It was touch and go – the Beast from the East has been holding the UK’s airports to ransom for the last week and we all had visions of overnight stays for the homeward travellers in Dubai.

Fortunately not.

We managed to cram a lot into that time, including several days in Cape Town, a trip to the bush and time in Jozi, for sightseeing and most importantly, what could well prove to be the wedding of the year.

It was natural that the kids – I know they’re adults, but old habits die hard – wanted time in Cape Town. They lived here in Rooi Els before buying their own flat in the Bo Kaap and re-visiting old haunts and taking their respective partners along to show them what life in SA was and remains like, was high on their list of priorities.

Then it was back to Rooi Els for a couple of days. Friday saw us get an excruciatingly early morning call (03:30), transfer to the airport, flight to Jozi* and finally, yet another transfer, this time to Madikwe, on Botswana’s south eastern bolder, just in time for the afternoon game drive.

Mine

Sundowners lion(ess) style

Elephants in the Madikwe River at dusk

It was worth it. We’d been paired with what proved to be the reserve’s best driver/guide/ranger, who within minutes of leaving the gate protecting the camp, found a pair of you female cheetahs for us to ogle at. Recently released into the reserve, they are both wearing radio collars, to enable them to be tracked and their settling down monitored. Hopefully soon, they will be free of these ugly encumbrances and left to roam the veldt in peace and quiet.

The game drive set a pattern; up for an 06:00 drive, return, breakfast and morning lolling and lunch followed by afternoon lolling, until around 16:00 when the second drive of the day and sundowners in the bush bought our game watching to a halt. Back to the camp for supper, a few more drinks and bed – only to start again at 05:00 the next morning. It’s tiring stuff, I tell you.

Our two inexperienced game viewers soon got into the swing of things, put away their pre-conceived ideas that a safari was akin to a drive around an area slightly larger and better populated than a European zoo, or stately home attraction. There’s not much that can prepare you for your first sight of giraffe gambolling, zebras herding, or impala gazing doe eyed at you.

Still less, the sight of a pair of young lionesses, covered in the blood of the kudu they and their mother had killed minutes earlier, playing and fighting over the late beast’s tail.

We’d have missed that, save for the inestimable Benson, who spotted the lion spoor and followed it into the nearby bush, finding and ensuring we saw this unique event.

Immature zebra huddle

Rhino

Sunset

Hot on the heels of the lion kill, a short detour on the way back to camp one afternoon saw a small group of elephant emerge from the river near the camp. Then more. And more. Eventually, more than a hundred elephant wandered past, still soaking wet and caked in the region’s red mud, having drunk their fill. Amongst the adult and immature, tiny babies, barely days old, each watched over by a fiercely protective mother and the rest of the herd, guarding against the predators which could so easily take one of these new additions as an evening meal.

Wrap up; Benson ensured that our guests returned to London having seen the Big Five; lion, leopard, rhinoceros (both black and white species), elephant, and cape buffalo, a feat rarely achieved in a single visit to any of our game parks. Full marks to the Madikwe River Lodge and Benson – we’ll be back.

Jozi called – the wedding was just days away and we headed east, back to the big city for rehearsals, sightseeing and just a glimpse of the way things used to be – a dinner at the Thunder Gun steakhouse in Northcliff.

A small group of the hundred-odd elephants that emerged from the Madikwe River at dusk

Waiting for the apex predators to finish

Sunset

It’s fifty years since the Thunder Gun opened its doors and while the prices and times may have changed, the dark wood panelling, booths and banquettes have all stood the test of time. With a reputation for ribs and steaks, our visitors opted for the latter, only to discover that the 600g portion was a serious plate of food and that the 1Kg serving they’d contemplated might eventually have killed them, just by food mass alone.

The bride and groom led the charge, but our guys weren’t far behind. Ribs this good might even convince us to re-locate to Jozi once more.

Ribs, ribs and yet more ribs. This is Zach. Groom, Ed is busy building up a bad dose of the meat-sweats on his right

Ed and Jess married on Friday afternoon at a ceremony out in the country. Jess’ parents – Keith and Marietjie Farley – old friends from our many years living in Johannesburg – put on a fantastic spread and Ed’s folks, fresh off the plane from the UK, got a real taste of South African hospitality. Of course, Jess and her brother Ross, Laura and Julian had been friends for ever and as if that weren’t enough, the two girls has even spent several years at Rhodes together.

The wine and beer flowed, fine food was served and the dancing could even have auditioned for Strictly. It was just as though the years had been swept away and we were all once more living in one of the world’s great cities.

Saturday morning was not a time of serious activity. Desultory packing completed, we headed for ORT once more – this time the kids were off to Dubai and London and we were heading for a parentally sombre flight to Cape Town. Still, we’ll be in London in little more than a month and the opskop can continue once more.

Mine (2)

Mine (3)

Wildebeeste

* Five times in my last six arrivals in Jozi (Johannesburg) my luggage has been rifled. This time, my tiny wireless router and rain jacket went missing. Both Amy and Zach’s luggage was also opened, but fortunately, they lost nothing.

Complaining doesn’t help – no-one takes any notice. British Airways wanted me to fill out forms and register a complaint – and keep five other people waiting, spoiling their day and missing the game drive we were trying so hard to catch.

This isn’t a new thing – luggage theft at O R Tambo has been a scourge on travellers for years. It’s hardly the airline’s problem as Swissport hold the contract for baggage handling and their unions refuse to allow CCTV and visual management, lest it impact the employees’ human rights. Right to steal ad libitum more like.

Maybe it’s time for the airlines to simply refuse to use Swissport’s services until the situation is improved. There’s probably a million reasons why that won’t happen, but in all honesty, we can hardly greet the hundreds of thousands of of tourists we want in South Africa, with lost valuables and reams of paperwork that no-one reads or does anything about, anyway.

No. My solution is to refuse to fly through ORT at all. Either I/we get direct flights in future, or if forced, I’ll travel with no more than a carry-on.

Coffee in the sun and shadows – Jozi

Singapore. Again.

February 6, 2018/0 Comments/in Blog /by Paul Perton

Yes, we shopped a bit, too

Our first trip of the year – Singapore. Again.

This was our umpteenth visit and while we don’t have permanent residence papers, we probably qualify for them by now.

Not that we’d be able to live here; accommodation is scarily expensive, most apartments tiny. The climate is a problem too. In addition to the almost 100% humidity, the daily temperatures in January/February hover around a doable 31C/32C, but in a month or so, they’ll zoom up to 40C. We’ve been here in March and at 39C, everything pretty much stops. There’s nowhere to hide – air conditioned shops, hotels, bars and restaurants are fine, but at some point you have to go outside to get somewhere, or you may as well say home.

Lunch for one

Statue at Parkview

Close up, National Botanical Gardens

No, these visits are to do and re-do the things we’ve discovered over the years. We wander the streets, malls and parks, eat in just about every flavour of restaurant imaginable, drink ice cold Tiger beer and generally lap up the easy going, almost crime-free environment, where politeness and courtesy rank alongside service end efficiency.

After several false starts, we’ve made our home from home at a hotel on Robertson Quay, just metres from the clamour of Clarke Quay and thousands of drinking, partying tourists eighteen hours a day. There’s nothing fancy about it, including the room rates, but the beds are clean, there’s abundant hot water, air conditioning and free wi-fi. There’s even a unique Euro-Asian buffet breakfast included – good if you enjoy fried eggs, baked beans, fried rice and toast!

Fortunately, it’s not obligatory.

Close up, National Botanical Gardens

Night time lighting, Robertson Quay

Saunders Road, just off Emerald Hill

Anyway, it’s peaceful, there are restaurants aplenty, an MRT station (subway) next door, bus routes to pretty much anywhere and if all else fails, lots and lots of the city state’s surprisingly affordable taxis.

There’s also walks along the Singapore River, towards the CBD, Parliament, downtown and just about anywhere else you might wish to wander.

What’s not to like?

Our normal stays in the city are four or five days, but in the hope that we could tempt Laura and Julian (and Zach and Amy) to join us, this trip was set down for ten nights. It wasn’t to be – as friends had wedding plans in Jozi for February and understandably our invite got binned.

We did wonder what we’d do with all that time, but as it turned out, we could have used at least two more days to (re)do the things we wanted. Late January is definitely the time of year to visit, despite the daily rain. And, with less emphasis on walking across town from place to place, public transport is definitely the way. It also ensures that we both arrive in a relatively dry condition that doesn’t require sitting under a cool air outlet, or fan for half an hour, to get us back to some kind of social presentability.

Anyway, I won’t bore you with a list of dids and didn’ts; you can see some of them in the photographs. Comments at the bottom, please.

Emerald Hill, just steps from shopping-central, Orchard Road

The lounge at Parkview

Fort Canning MRT station – our nearest

Haji Lane – one of Singapore’s best known tourist spots

Road Trip

November 28, 2017/8 Comments/in Blog /by Paul Perton

“Where are you buggers now? You’re never at home.”

Morning light, Mabalingwe

Kruger Park sunset

We’re at home. Have been pretty much since late October, save for a weekend trip to Jozi for a 70th celebration and long overdue (and in retrospect, much too short) return to the bush.

And what’s more, we won’t be far from Rooi Els for quite a while.

So, back from October’s short(ish) trip to London to see Laura and Julian and two weeks in Scandinavia, we’ve only been in South Africa and enjoying it thoroughly.

Karoo National Park

Sunset, Kruger Park

The trip to the bush was a bit of a journey of (re-)discovery. We loaded the still almost brand new AndyLandy and drove what felt like north, but was actually almost due east to Tsitsikamma and the Storms River Mouth.

We spent most of the six-plus hour drive with our eyeballs bugged-out, almost touching the windscreen, as one after another, South Africa’s drivers in both directions displayed a bewildering array of bad driving habits. Blind bends, double barrier lines and driving in the emergency lane (to enable overtaking where road conditions/markings forbid) were the less frightening things on show. Many cars and buses being piloted in such kamikaze fashion were carrying passengers, the taxis often fully laden with 15+ souls all seemingly on their way to the scene of the accident.

Sigh.

The Tsitsikamma National Park is possibly one of the most spectacular in SANParks pantheon of resorts and something of a second home for us, as we spent to many holidays here when Laura and Julian were growing-up.

Not much has changed since our last visit. The Park’s reception office is now at the main gate and the restaurant currently being re-built. Our two bed Oceannette was well appointed and offered full 180 degree views of the spectacular rocks, shore and ocean. Very nice.

I had forgotten the near precipitous stairs down to the Oceannettes however and carrying food, luggage and cameras has forever etched in my mind the need to book a cabin with no steps next time.

Two days, one spent with visiting friends now living in Plettenberg Bay and we were on our way again. This time to Queenstown.

Leopard tortoises drinking from puddles of freshly fallen rain

Karoo National Park

500+km from Tsitsikamma, over some badly potholed roads, especially after passing Grahamstown, the drive was made worse by a clutter of roadwork-driven stop and go delays. Each one required a 10/15 minute wait, making a long day even longer.

It’s also not really the best place to discover that your B&B belongs to a trucking company and hidden amongst the heavy vehicles parked on the site is what looks suspiciously like a stolen BMW 3 series, it’s door and ignition locks drilled out, its cream coloured interior in a pretty bad state of repair.

The welcome-lady who was due to let us in and show us around had gone off to have her hair done. Fortunately, the owner gave us instructions as to how to get in via the back door without a key and we were well settled in by the time said lady returned, with head intricately braided and apology noticeably absent.

Despite being called a B&B, breakfast was not only absent the following morning, but we were chided for not telling our hostess that we wanted breakfast and were willing to pay a healthy add-on to the (we were fast discovering) ridiculously high room rate, for our repast.

We weren’t, left earlier than we had planned and dined at the local Mickey-Dees, amongst the last of the homeward bound party-stragglers from the night before.

Kruger Park sunrise

Bourke’s Luck Potholes

Neither of us had been to Bethlehem before and our first visit bought yet more accommodation hassles. This time, we arrived to find that we aren’t even expected, despite my holding a printed booking sheet confirming our overnight as well as proof of payment for what was now clear – a ridiculously high room rate.

Our dozy host blames the booking agency (but later in the day, ‘fesses-up that the mistake was his – he’d forgotten). We are shuffled into the only room clean enough for visitors. It is small and while quite comfortable, but discover that once again, breakfast is an add-on.

Fortunately, there’s a shopping mall across the road and our first Spur steak dinner of the trip follows.

Kruger Park sunrise

Tsitsikamma sunset

On to Hazyview.

We’re making these 500-odd km days to ease the stress and strain of long distance travel – so we can better deal with and take appropriate action to avoid the appalling driving we’re encountering as much as ensuring we’re not permanently crippled when we unfold ourselves from the car. And, don’t be fooled, while 500km suggests a five hour(ish) drive, in reality, it turns out to be between six to seven hours whether you want it to or not.

Hazyview – at last! A B&B that is expecting us. Our room is ready and pleasant, as is the welcome. Breakfast is extra, however.

That wasn’t so much a surprise by now. We once again elected to buy something good en route and stopped at Bourkes Luck Potholes to see nature’s strange rock sculptures and en route back to the car, discovered an excellent toasted (egg and bacon) sarnie at the café, to top off our brief visit.

Morning at Tsitsikamma

Giraffe, Kruger Park

We think that it’s about twenty years since we’ve been to the Kruger Park and booked at the Bateleur Bush Camp, which has been opened since our last visit. It’s midway between Phalaborwa and Punda Maria, deep in the bush, at the end of an untarred, private road.

In short, spectacular. The game was lined up at the roadside to welcome us back with a cheery wave, the weather cooled after our 35C arrival and all-in the Park was as brilliant as it always was. We’ll be back.

As in arriving, leaving the Park is slow – 40km/h on the sand roads and 50km/h on tar meant nearly three hours to the gate and then an eyeballl to eyeball argument with the satnav which wanted to take us to our friends bush house near Bela Bela (formerly Warmbaths) via Giyani. South African readers will understand…

In a sublime blend of insistence and disregard, we ignored the bleating guidance system and headed for Louis Trichard (now Makhado) and the N1. Another journey of Oscar-ready driving performances, although in reality, most were only suitable for a Darwin Award. Even the national road made no difference to the performance. Many drivers added to their display of driving skills by tossing bags of litter along the way. Is this a modern day trail of rubbish, clearly replacing Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, to assist them in finding their way home again? Sadly, that won’t work; there’s so much crap strewn along our roads that it would be impossible to find one’s way anywhere by that method.

Eventually, Bela Bela hove into sight and with it, two blissful days of no-driving sanity at Mabalingwe, amongst old friends.

Home calls and all too soon, we were back on the road to Kimberley.

Getting smarter about our forgetful B&B breakfast bandits and before leaving Magalingwe, I check with our hosts regarding arrival times in the city and breakfast. The timeframe is OK – we have a 700km drive today – but once again, breakfast is extra. So much extra that we could go to the local Wimpy and choke down their biggest Mega Breakfast and still save 50% over the usurious rate these thieves want to charge us.

It needs to be said that our accommodations are elegant and comfortable, but our third steakhouse (a Spur again) dinner in less than a week is enough. If I see red meat once more…

We spurned breakfast and decided to rather pay off the balance on our bond, instead opting for a toasted sarmie in a wayside petrol station/café. Not usually my breakfast of choice, but our stop at Leeu Gamka forced me to re-think that stricture. Fresh bread, well toasted, a good filling of cheese and tomato and accompanied with hot from oil, salted chips. Nothing wrong with that.

Juvenile elephants, Shingwedzi

Kruger Park sunrise

We’re headed for the highly recommended Karoo National Park at Beaufort West. We’ve never stayed here before, but the welcome is warm, our chalet comfortable and the helpful young man at reception even stapled a breakfast voucher to our paperwork.

“Breakfast?”

“Yes, it’s included. We’re open from seven until ten.”

National park. Free breakfast. Huh?

It was our last evening and we’d planned an evening braai, as much to finish up our provisions as pleasure. However, the wind is howling and it’s chilly outside – hardly weather to be standing around watching your embers being blown into the tinder-dry veldt.

Still, it’s a great spot – we’ll definitely be back. The breakfast was pretty good too.

God’s Window

Moody morning – Tsitsikamma

Well, you’ve got this far, so some reward if you’re planning to travel in South Africa.

First, wi-fi. Most places promise wi-fi, but it’s suitability for the task is dubious and an enquiry as to why it is as useful as wet string, brings little more than a cow eyed apology, or a shrug that would do the average Frenchman credit.

Don’t trust the hype. We both have data-able phones and also carry a Huawei mi-fi – a tiny hub that employs a SIM card to provide Internet access (providing there’s a signal) for 4-5 devices.

Tsitsikamma sunset

Sunset, Kruger Park

Driving home, we discussed how much we’d enjoyed the Kruger Park and how much we’d like to make this trip again next year. Driving is a given – it is possible to fly and rent a car, but the chances of spotting game seems to be reduced by an order of magnitude for every centimetre your eye level is reduced, so we really do need to travel in AndyLandy.

So, the plan is to investigate putting the car on the train from Cape Town to Johannesburg and then driving up to the Park. It’s expensive, but once fuel and two/three nights lodging is factored in, it suddenly becomes much more do-able. Then there’s the wear and tear on the vehicle and the almost inevitable speeding fine(s). Seems like a plan. More on that one, soon.

Finally, this trip saw us spend six nights in SANParks resorts. I’d never given the idea much thought before, but before leaving, bought a Wild Card, the cost of which (R850/year for South Africans) is offset by not being charged park access and daily driving rates. On this trip, we saved the initial R850 cost plus couple of hundred Rand extra – a great deal in anyone’s language.

Back home, the south easter (wind) that makes Rooi Els so (in)famous is hammering away at around 80km/h. We’re not expecting much respite until after Xmas.

Kruger Park sunrise

Uneasy pool sharers, Kruger Park