The Odyssey Continues…

I left Umhlanga at night. It was cold, having drizzled and rained the entire day. I arrived in Pietermaritzburg, tired and hungry, to home cooked meal at my mother’s house, and savoured the last night in KwaZulu Natal, with my Mom, sister and niece. It was not easy to fall asleep despite the physical tiredness that I felt. The thrill of my move to Mpumalanga was dampened slightly by the fact that I would drive the entire trip alone, as my sister was unable to make the trip with me. I was surprisingly refreshed and alert at three thirty the next morning, and after a hot shower, I set off. Having studied the route I was to follow to get to Lydenberg, on Google maps, I was confident that I would easily get to Johannesburg without getting lost. I could have chosen to take an easterly route, which would have saved two hours of travelling. However I decided to stay on the N3 north, for safety, and because I was told that a fair amount of road works was being done as the roads were being upgraded. There were few cars and trucks on the route for the first two hours, but on Van Reenan’s Pass, there were numerous oncoming traffic. This was one of the areas that I had been nervous of driving through, and I made the entire accent, to 1100 metres above sea level, on winding roads, in the dark, without incident. I felt pitiful for all the young ladies sitting in the various toll booths, huddled and obviously very cold, and wondered whether it was not possible for them to have heating in their booths. I believe that the roads department can afford them this liberty, the tolls being quite expensive. Some of them greet you with a friendliness that belies their discomfort. As I left the province, the horizon began to light up to my left. The region was flat so the entire horizon appeared ablaze with the preceding rays before the ruddy orb, emerged. The external temperature indicator was in single digits, and I was surprised to see people travelling on the roads, on foot, especially a man, followed by a little child who was ill dressed for the cold, for her posture and gait revealed her uneasiness. I had exhausted my fuel, having decided not to use the garage stop, earlier, and was hoping to see another one soon, when the fuel indicator, beeped a friendly reminder. At the next toll booth, the toll collector advised me to keep going as I would find a quick stop in three kilometer’s, without leaving the N3. Relieved, I also bought some water, Milo and a chocolate, and walked about a little to stretch before continuing. I passed farms with herds of fattened cattle, all concentrating on their morning meal, heads bent to the grass. Some herds had game, and sheep. Other herds were exclusively gazelles distinguished by their tricolour markings, and elegant horns. Large expanses of sunflower plantations, there heads bowed and heavy with seed that would be harvested and processed to produce cooking oil. Its amazing how even the faded beauty of sunflowers lifts up the spirits. Numerous windmills also had a similar effect on this lonely travellor, and I wonder whether this is generic or just images that cause a personal happiness. The numerous bridges I passed under were uninspiring and functional, beam bridges. I thought about the arch bridge, on the N2, and all the new bridges in KZN with a sense of nostalgia already, and realised that I would often be making trivial comparisons. These comparisons would become lessened only with time spent away. It was at this time, that I began to get messages on my phone, from family members and friends, which I ignored, until I reached the next tollbooth. They were all aware of this solitary journey and their concern and support encouraged me. I took a call from my daughter, though, and explained my current location and asked for critical information in order to negotiate the many interchanges in the approach to Johannesburg. I wished to circumvent this huge city and was amazed by the amount of traffic as it was early on a Sunday morning. I remembered that it was April Fools day, and wondered about that coincidence momentarily and then distracted myself with a CD, that Tasmin and Nadia and I enjoyed, when we travelled, all the while keeping on the N12, and heading due east. The sun was warmed my face and I used its comforting grace to feel secure in the knowledge that I was indeed on the correct route. Soon I began to recognise certain landmarks that I had noticed on a previous visit to my daughter. There included a landfilled designed in a step pyramid shape with grassed sides to protect the mined wastes from running off, and numerous active mining and industrial buildings. The terrain on the way to Middelsberg, and beyond, was still incredibly flat, in stark contrast to KwaZulu Natal and the Western Cape, which is something you generally only subconsciously notice, until it is mentioned or you when you consciously strive to locate for whatever reason. In my case I was looking for changes metaphorical and otherwise to justify my choices. For if indeed there were physical changes in the landscape, the weather and the location, then perhaps it would reflect in changes in my opinion, my disposition, and mindset, hopefully positively for the future. I journeyed on looking for the turnoff to Belfast, as I knew this would herald the last quarter of my journey, when I could give myself leave to relax and await the arrival of the furniture, which was following hopefully. Belfast is a town surely named for the period in history when the IRA was most active. The roads are a veritable minefield of potholes which seem largely ignored and larger than the last time I travelled through. Four way stop streets, seem to warrant extra care as there is a feeling of frontier lawlessness, where traffic etiquette is uncommon. For a Sunday afternoon and being a relative small town it is surprisingly, busy with many petrol stations all of which seem bustling with activity, and many mini bus taxis, either parked off or moving with hazardous intent through the streets. I managed to negotiate the correct turns to get me on the steep road out of town towards Dullstroom. The town seemed aptly named for as I commenced my approach, the weather clouded over and a mist descended, which got so heavy that in places it was impossible to see five metres ahead at midday. The landscape changed rapidly and was no longer horizontal, but the potholes in the road remained and had to be endured, with a slower pace. I passed a roadblock that was being established just pout of town by the traffic police and wondered that even they may feel safer setting up outside Belfast, but relieved that I was not stopped, even though the exuberant members were already selecting victims to bully. In all fairness, it is to be expected, as SA has a high number of fatalities, on our roads and the Easter period is one of the highest, so a high police presence is needed to deter drunk drivers and those with vehicles that are not road worthy. The flat boring roads thus far, now changed dramatically, and winding and meandering its way until I arrived into Dullstroom, which was by now particularly busy. This is a cultural hub, which sustains itself on tourists, both local and international. Because the popular Long tom race was held that morning, Dullstroom was filled to capacity. I drove straight through, and encountered another winding route, which was again very scenic, until it began to rain. The challenging route, provided relief from further boredom, with regular potholes, and mist descending at its highest point, with the added bonus of light rain and a further road block, before I entered Lydenberg. Lydenberg, protects the cultural history of the area, especially with street names like “Voortrekker street”, and its Afrikaans heroes, like Viljoen and De Klerk. Again I was surprised at how busy it was considering that it was now mid afternoon. I passed lots of bakkies, with occupants who were mildly curious about this strange vehicle, with an out of town number plate, to people who rudely stared, with hopefully awe and not contempt. Now it must be remembered that this author does sustain an overactive imagination. In which case she now resigns herself to being oversensitive, in some cases. Having negotiated the hill up to the complex where I will live, with directions from my daughter that had me do an about turn and some unexpected sight seeing I again found myself avoiding a myriad of pot holes to find my new home, with the maid in attendance to open the gate. The maid was asked to come in to assist when the furniture arrived at midday. However, the truck never materialized, in a cruel April Fools joke, as planned. She sunned herself on the back porch for the better part of the afternoon when at four o clock it became obvious that she would have to leave in order to make it home with the last transport out of town. We settled in for the night waiting for the movers……..