The chirping birds are a sweet alarm in the mornings as they begin their days with vibrancy and good cheer. When I turn to my left, I look through a window that opens my eyes to the world. To my right, lies the editor, not ready to leap from bed or chirp but realizes, at least, she should stir. It’s Monday morning and time for the commencement of the weekly grind as we need to get back into the channel or groove: go for a run, shower, get the kids up, fed and off to school, then into the work rut but not before combatting the traffic. You’ve got to love routine.
Oops, I forgot. The kids are grown up and independent; we’re pensioners and on the ‘way out’ but for what awaits us through the window: Giants Castle, a mountain standing proudly in a region that is not great but rather, spectacularly great. Jen gives the word and we jump out of bed, drink water, wash, dress and head for the pass, Langalibalele. On the way, we see the mountains standing proudly at over ten thousand feet, covered in clouds, and beckoning us to meet the challenge. As incredible as they are, they can be cruel. As for the thick clouding, no problem—something will change, and it does. The sun breaks through the inhibiting mist and the clouds rise and depart, even dissipate in fear. However, this is the Drakensberg and they’ll return sooner than MacArthur. (continues at end.)
Vast open spaces, overpowering.
We spent the day struggling but always elevated and in awe.
Early evening: wisdom, maybe—haunting, definitely.
Blue Grotto on the way to somewhere else.
Sunset at Drakensberg Retreat.
Monks Cowl, Cathkin Peak and Champagne Castle, for reasons unknown, have always reached a special spot deep inside. (Taken from Giants Castle. The mountain on the right is higher than the other two. See below.)
The group taken from 'Verkykerskop', Monks Cowl Park. This is the other side (from above picture) of the range.
As we write this blog, a baboon is attempting to enter our bungalow via the window and now a mother carrying a child, literally, is staring at us through the glass door. Sorry for the interruption as I had to chase the baboon after he grabbed my sweater which was drying over an outside chair. He then jumped onto the car with the garment wrapped around him. I gave chase but he refused to relinquish it. Fortunately, I found it on the ground some distance from our place. What chutzpah!
He stepped back from the glass door as we faced off. He decided to do a spot of cleaning while he waited.
Always prefer the birds.
Champagne Valley: Showing a leg and wing to her mate.
This is a 'real bird' taking off at the Spinx.
A very poor impression of a bird.
The snowwoman cometh or something like that and we also find a hole in the mountain. Maintenance is falling short in the country.
The curtain opens widely and the sight makes us gasp and stand still and admire it. We’re heading that way and are going to walk along the grassy, rolling hills, ascending steadily between bouts of steep ascension. The eyes feast on the magnificent sights including the sandstone mountain faces and rocks leading off grassy inclines. Rain has been good to the area as the grass, shrubs and trees below are all green, a very strong and bright color. The river is flowing, always a good sign. The abundance of birds almost seems unfair that some areas should enjoy such advantage. A couple of antelope really got my goat when we spotted them from about 700 yards and then after we got a hundred yards closer, bolted. What a bunch of whets. We must have smelled really badly because I doubt whether they could have seen us. The wind was to their advantage.
Eagles and hawks were busy patrolling the skies but alas, none had the decency to descend from the friendly skies and unite(d) with us at the lower levels. Meantime we climbed and climbed, adding about 3,500 feet to the day’s tally. Unfortunately, the peak was out of our reach as a day hike although we were close but when the thunder erupted, it put paid to any move to reach the top. The grasses caught our eyes and interest, especially the long stalks blowing in the wind while the sun shone strongly, making them appear golden.
We know it’s too easy and proves nothing when we say a region is great or pay it some compliments, so we thought we’d relate the feeling of our Monday, some six hours on the trail, and hopefully, provide some concrete information about a region that seduces the mind and soul.
We think of our fellow South Africans and what a respectful and warm people they are. The pity is that inhabitants in the ‘buiteland’ (overseas) only get to meet emigres from this country, usually of a homogenous nature. Who wants to meet more people like Jenni and myself when they could gain exposure to many different types of citizens who inhabit this beautiful but troubled land. (It seems it’s a worldwide phenomenon that those in power often seek to destroy rather than build while their hands invade the country’s coffers.)
As an aside, on the hike is a memorial to a few famous men who died in one of the frequent skirmishes of the 19th century. What’s changed?
Finally, we are reminded of a famous South African, Alan Paton, who wrote “Cry the Beloved Country”, apt at publication and remains so today, the title. He also wrote “AH, BUT YOUR LAND IS BEAUTIFUL”, apt then and now. What a beautiful land, indeed!
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
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