As we cycled over the Orange River into South Africa, we could immediately sense crossing a frontier into this most famous of African nations; we could almost taste the exquisite wines, almost feel the immense sporting pride and almost hear the frustrations toward an inept government. The more tangible indicator however, was the much welcomed distance marker to Cape Town, which signaled the final of the many mileage countdowns we have entertained ourselves with over the past few months. The tarmac roads of the north were a welcome relief, although the surprisingly tricky hills we could have done without at this stage of the trip. We left the barren north behind and headed for the rugged and beautiful west coast which has delivered us both excellent seafood and sunsets.
We have now climbed our last hill, ridden our last un-tarred road and eaten our final meal of pasta con chicken stock cube – only some of which we will miss. Having spent the last year concerning ourselves with questions of where we will sleep for the night and where our next meal will come from, it’s a little daunting to be re-entering into a world where admission of these two questions will stand you out as a quite incompetent individual. For now though, we have the joys of some pleasant – albeit windy – beach camps to reflect on how exactly we got here.