Things not to do in a tent...

Hello again! Right, time for another attempt at a quick update on the old blog.

So, we had arrived at our campsite at Orange River, to be faced by a minor shock: grass. Lots and lots of grass. And other green stuff. And about the only sand was in the volleyball court. And there was a river. We were most confused by this. This was not a desert. Where had they hidden all the sand? It was also our penultimate night on the truck, so Paul asked us if we wouldn't mind brushing down all our tents.

Once we got over these acclimatisation issues, a few of us headed over to the aforementioned volleyball court (possibly to assuage our need to be covered in sand), where Yohan and I were given somewhat of a kicking by Roger and Dave. One amusing aspect of the set-up there is that one of the main shower-blocks is right next to the court, and the block is mostly bamboo fencing - so those who are quite tall can actually look out onto the court while they're having a shower! Of course, I wouldn't want to be a particularly tall lass trying to take a shower in there while a match is on...

Anyways, after a shower to clean off any leftover sand, we had a while to wait before dinner was going to be ready, so I tried ringing home, and promptly burnt what little credit I had on my mobile in talking to my Mum for about 2 minutes! Somewhat disheartened by this, I decided that it was about time I dealt with the bottle of gin I'd been lugging around since Heathrow, so got started on the gin and tonics, happily encouraging any of the others who were interested to have a drink too (I can remember getting Jon, Valdy and Paul to all have a drink with me). Meanwhile, Jon was repacking his entire pack in the middle of the camp, when he could take time away from yet another in an endless succession of campsite dogs, which was yapping around with typical enthusiasm.

After dinner, it was time to adjourn to the bar, where I ended up talking with some Germans and Afrikaners, meaning I missed the decision by the group to stage a mass brown-eye salute (probably a good thing, on reflection...). Eventually, my increasing inebriation persuaded me to hit the sack at a relatively decent hour, meaning that what I later found out about other activities that night was generally acquired second-hand. And, not for the first time, it centred on Heetan.

As I said, I only found out much of the action the next morning, and I was not totally flavour of the month with some of the crew after I overslept, and tried to make myself a sandwich for brekkie while the food crew were trying to clear things away. However, it turned out I was far from the last person to be ready to leave - I looked on in confusion as Heets put his and Leonie's tent back up and went in armed with a bucket. The gossip around the truck swiftly informed me that this was because Heets got slightly confused as to his location in the middle of the night, and used their tent as a toilet. It then proceeded to how at least Heets' ground-mat wasn't soaked, as he had dragged this into Jen's tent, where he had threatened to dance (due to her decision not to stay outside and dance with him). And then onto how we might be screwed for lunch that day, as Jon, Dave and Valdy had apparently gotten onto the truck and been throwing the pasta that was to form the basis of the salad around... At any rate, pretty much everyone was sat on the truck, engaged in the usual post-mortem analysis of a heavy night, while Heets scrubbed his tent clean, then took it down and packed it away again. And then we left.

And, to be honest, not a huge amount happened that day - it was largely just another day on the road, enlivened somewhat by our morning stop in the town of Springbok, where almost the whole truck gave in to urges for munchies in the form of KFC, and I spent half my time wandering around trying to set myself up with a new SIM card for my mobile (to connect it to a South African network). Our stop for the evening was a quiet campsite near a place called Citrusdal, which also contained hot springs - these proved popular with some of the group, but I have to admit that a combination of apathy about climbing up the hill to where the pools were, nervousness about getting wet and hanging around in the cold, and realisation that the last 6 weeks were catching up with me meant that I had a very quiet night down at camp, where I took the opportunity to transfer all my possessions back from being strewn through my locker to being crammed in my packs.

The next morning, we broke camp for the final time. Oh, what a sweet sensation it was, to know I would never have to erect Tent 42 again. Unfortunately, they were all covered in dew, and got covered in damp grass when we took them down, which somewhat undid all our efforts the previous evening, when we had wiped down every tent thoroughly to try and get them clean. Everything was stowed into White Nile, and off we went, down the highway towards Cape Town. After all the various dirt roads (sometimes verging on tracks) and the like we had encountered on the trip, doing the final stretch on an immaculate tarmac highway just seemed slightly wrong.

Anyway, on arrival in Cape Town we made a stop off in the northern suburbs, at a beach called Table View. Can anybody guess what you get a view of from there? So, we all got our Table Mountain shots (slightly spoiled by the amount of haze), and then various last-minute shots of the group (or most of them). The reality that the whole adventure was coming to an end was starting to hit home. And it got another kick into place when we arrived in the centre of town and, for the first time since some of the group went into Zim at Livi, people split up to sleep in different places.

And that will have to do for the moment - the official end of the tour seems as good a point as any to end a log entry. From now on, I would be back under my own steam again, going at an independent pace. But that is a story for next time, my friends. Until then, farewell...

Pat