Hunting the Klein Karoo

The oak lined streets of Stellenbosch are charming.  The academic grandeur of one of South Africa's premier university pervades the town.  The surrounding hillsides are lined neatly with vineyards, and the granite mountains provide an impressive backdrop.  The only trouble is, we're in the middle of winter: the trees and vines are bare, the students away on vacation, and the mountains capped with ominous clouds.  It's fair to say I've not caught Stella looking her most bosch.

My clunky reintroduction to motorcycling continues.  I expend sweat and curses trying to locate various things that have moved since I put them down.  It'll be a few more days before I'm slick, before I can give the impression of effortless ease: the worldly-wise traveller.  Meantime, people probably just giggle as I unpack yet again in order to find the widget that I need to put on the thingumyjig.

A few high quality hours is enough to take me over the mountains, past Worcester, and down the road to Ashton.  Hang a left and follow the enjoyable road as it cuts through the sweeping rock strata pass to Montague.  

This'll do for my first proper day back on the road.  I pull into the friendly De Bos Guest Farm and settle into the dorm area:  a converted barn where everyone sleeps in their own stable.  

It's as quaint as it is drafty, but for GBP5.00 it's also very good value.  The Grandfather running the estate has a pair of old GS bikes too, so it feels very homely - the Africaans spoken by everyone sounds vaguely Bavarian to my ignorant ears, so I pretend my BMW is at home.

 

Gareth, a South African living in Cape Town, arrives in his jeep.  He's a shortish, lean guy in a cloth cap, into his long distance running.  In England I swear he'd be a cheerful 'Northerner', if you'll excuse the stereotyping.  But a pair of surf boards on the roof of his 4x4 illustrate his main sporting passion and a South African's aversion to cold, English weather. 

We borrow bikes and fetch ingredients for a excellent spagbol.   He swaps stories, and I'm interested in the six-week road trip he's got planned.  He knows his country well and has researched many places I'm thinking of visiting.  With his professional photographer's eye I imagine he'd put a great blog together.  

 This is the kind of laid back mixing that happens easily in the hostels, especially out of season.  This is a back country hideaway but several families (as well as the cheerful owners) ensure plenty of warmth, despite the chilly night.  At breakfast a friendly German family share their scrambled eggs - Dad, a surgeon, has expertly tapped a huge Ostrich egg (sourced locally) and there's plenty to go round.

Gareth and I take bicycles for a quick spin around the hills. 

After lunch we set out on Route 62 to Oudtshoorn, a few hours away.  Garath's jeep has a head start and supplies the photos on this page (thanks mate!).  

He snaps the local 'sex' shop, which used to be a general store until a comedian added in choice grafitti.  The owner was furious but slow to repaint, and the spike in trade enquiries eventually encouraged him to diversify his stock.  The community now has a mischievous glint in their eye, and Ronnie has a new business.

I'm a while behind on the road, so forget the photos and concentrate on reaching the next hostel before it gets dark.  The road runs behind and between low mountains, and I'm unsure how long the dim light will last - hitting a stray ostrich or a pointy four hoofed beast is a risk, the sign posts suggest.

 

It's only 6pm when I kill the engine and take my bag inside for the night.  This is another great hostel - South Africa has really got it's act together on these.  Good food, friendly company and a choice location.  Excellent.