In those peaceful years of marriage before deciding to start a family we would often observe those distressed looking parents attempting to negotiate a gaggle of toddlers at an airport, or a restaurant, or a beach, or wherever. What idiots, we would smugly think to ourselves; what are they doing?
And it was this superior wisdom that we applied when deciding to once again throw most of our belongings into storage and take our three young daughters on a camping trip around South Africa for the next few months.
Previous followers of this blog may recall that we rolled into Cape Town Waterfront a little over five years ago on a couple of well-used bicycles. These next few months are intended to provide another slight detour for us, and so we thought it might warrant reigniting this account. The next chapter though, is likely to deliver somewhat contrasting content from our first installment. Indeed, if it is tales of cross-continental cycle exploits that you’re after, then this is no longer the place for you. If however, you’re keen to know the results of a pressure test between a volatile two-year-old and an overpacked family car, then stay tuned.
To ease ourselves into this, we couldn’t have selected a more appropriate first stop. Dwarsberg Trout Hideaway is held in high regard by the family circles of Cape Town and for immediately apparent reasons – it’s a magnificent spot. However, given that two from our party of five had never spent a night under canvas our first evening was approached with a healthy dose of trepidation, as this was going to provide the litmus test for our next few months.
It was moderately worrying then, when we all emerged at daybreak and the regular morning offer of ‘tea or coffee Dear?’, prompted a request to make this morning’s coffee Irish. In our almost ten years of union, never had such a request been made. More worryingly though, this was 7:30am of the first morning; we haven’t packed nearly enough whisky for all this. Reassuringly, the next few nights passed without incident and the single malt remains in stock.
After passing through the implausibly big and quite breathtaking Karoo, we are resupplying – while being hammered by some unrelenting wind – in the very pleasant town of Prince Albert, before heading south.