We set off from de Hoop in search of a hand drawn punt and the idea of going on a meerkat hunt. The punt was out of action and the meerkats didn't surface in the rain, but there has been plenty of other stuff to keep us entertained. Like Ronnies Sex Shop.
On Route 62, Ronnie set up a shop. A shop that sold chips and drinks and veges on a lonely stretch of highway. One night Ronnies drunk mates scrawled 'sex' between 'Ronnies' and 'shop'...and a legend was born. Beers and pies are a very long way from porn and dildos, but he's cashing in anyway.
From the sexless sex shop we stumbled upon Warmwaterberg just up the road. We hopped between natural hot pools for an afternoon, but the highlight here came from a big dude in shorts and thongs. He came out of his caravan with a cobra in his kitchen tongs. No joke. He was unimpressed by my attempts at photography, and promptly hurled the snake across the road and into a bush with a huff.
A second reptilian surprise also came that week. We'd been hunting for what we thought was an elusive, fist-sized tortise. On every expedition we had been crouching down and looking under things in hopes of catching a glimpse of the shy and tiny land lubber. We realised we were way off the mark when we saw one for real though. Behold the giant tortise! We pulled up roadside to check it out. The size of the average dog and not all that shy, it hissed like a deflating tyre and gave looks that put Posh Spice's surly pout to shame. Running it over would do some serious damage, so the signs must be in the interest of public safety rather than tortise awareness. Since then we've seen many, but the first was easily the biggest and best.
We crossed some incredible mountain passes into the Karoo and even more scenic passes back out again, before landing back on the coast and its famous 'Garden Route'. The route held greenery, good food, antique shops and beaches, just like all good tourist spots. But our ears pricked in Wilderness, when someone said they'd take us to see a cave man for 50 rand. We were keen on having a cultural experience.
There was a list of names on a chalk board nearby, so we added our names and thought we'd be in good company. We paid the cash and learnt that the names belonged to the guy himself, 3 dogs and 2 of his kitchen staff. We set off with 2 dogs and the dude taking the 'tour'.
Wandering along a disused train line. He was 30 paces ahead. Just before a tunnel, 'caution, high mugging area' signage had us not so discreetly tucking credit cards into socks and jocks and gathering some cash at the ready, just in case we were accosted. We made it through with not a whiff of drama and at the other end, we met our cave man. Cultural indeed.
The incense was so thick we were coughing, but for the 3rd time in a week we could laugh at our ill conceived preconceptions. A pot bellied white guy with a voice like Dame Edna, sporting faded hawaiian prints and white chest hairs on his belly button. Sprawled on a deck chair out the front of his grotto, he was thrilled to see some tourists. Apparently the mugging signs were new. Those, combined with some negative press and a few too many robberies, had been bad for business and no one had come to see him in weeks.
The cave was massive. Collated over "9 years and 2 months" (by God himself) every nook, cranny and corner featured a bed tucked away under sequins, fabrics and more shells on strings than you could ever imagine. Completely dark, we crept around by the light of a phone, still choking on incense and nudging one another when we caught sight of something more incredulous. Masks, costumes, skulls, stones. The guy 'rescues people'; they find him in the dark and he shows them the light. It was indescribable. That, and the crumbling bridge of 20m high that we traversed to get out of there.
Up next: Guy, girl and goat go inland