"the aforementioned journal"
This was the final day of holiday and Travis’ one chance to see some of the animals that puts Africa on the map and food in lion’s bellies. Here in the frozen Free State is the small, but lovely, Mabula game lodge, carefully sandwiched between the two sides of a horseshoe shaped plateau. Here you are spoiled for choice: do I want to ride horses, tantalize a plethora of exotic looking birds, feed nose-wriggling rabbits, play with the tame Meerkat, go on a game drive, or just jump on the in ground trampoline close by? For just $1.50 in US currency it is the ideal spot for a Saturday barbecue with friends. When we arrived there was a “gypsy” family parked in the spot where we normally do barbecues here and their rather seedy looking laundry hung over the permanent barbecue pit. After some mild deliberation, we decided on one just a little way off and after the arrival of Steve & Gwen Geise and their three boys, along with Phil and Amrie Geise, we began (and by we I mean the ladies) the job of preparing things while Phil fired up the charcoal. It was a typical barbecue in that it seemed to take longer than the Bronze Age for the food to be prepared and in the end it was worth it. After lunch, Michelle Watterson and Travis and I decided to take a game drive and see what kind of wild animals we could subject Travis to. In the absence of lions, tigers, elephants, etc, you are kind of relegated to just antelope and perhaps a random zebra or ostrich. We said our goodbyes to the Geise clan as they headed back towards town and we went to find our guide.
Shortly, a land cruiser that had seen better days ten years ago came rattling up. It was a lovely army green with all the appropriate dents and scratches up and down the side. There were three bench seats in the back covered by a tarp and the cab consisted only of a windshield and doors. A man, or “Smokestack Ned” as I chose to call him, greeted us and proceeded with the tour. “Smokestack Ned” was a wisp of a man in a large, brown corduroy jacket. He was balding with wiry gray hair and a mustache perched above his thin lips. A cigarette would prove to be one of his predominant features.
We clambered on board via a small, removable side ladder and chose the middle bench. Since it was only the three of us, we had full range of view, which largely consisted of the front of the truck. The dash of the land cruiser was similarly themed with the outside and there were bouquets of wires that dangled like dried flowers from various places under the dash. The entire vehicle seemed to speak of the Clampetts and it squeaked awfully with every bump in the road. Ironically, as precarious as all this sounds, it would prove to make the $9 spent very worthwhile. The first leg of the journey consisted of going up the mountain…literally, up the mountain. It became apparent fairly early into the trip exactly why “Smokestack Ned” smoked so much—nerves. It didn’t take long before I quickly named our rattling, deathtrap, “Stalwart.” Once on top, we wound our way around through the low shrub and saw at first Gazelles and then some Black Wildebeests. We moved on down the other side of the plateau and past a large herd of Blue Wildebeests that would try to run from the truck until the lead Wildebeest would circle around and run into the tail end of the herd where they would all promptly stop and try to figure out what they had done. Along the way we passed a pole building structure that Travis named “the Shack of Death” and the multicolored “Rainbow Windmill.” In the distance I pointed out a few zebras that became orynx, then became zebras again.
We jostled our way back down the plateau from the other side—Stalwart took grades that would have made Jim Craig’s blood run icy and we nervously and gleefully laughed our way down. Occasionally “Smokestack Ned” would sort of half turn in mid grade and ask if we were still all right. Perhaps he mistook our hysterical laughter for fear. Once safely back at the game lodge it was time to head back to the farm. We paid our fares, bid farewell to “Smokestack Ned” and decided to grab a soft drink on the way out. Travis chose a Ginger Beer which looked kind of good, so I traded my Sprite for the same with Michelle (the local) looking at us rather dubiously though with perhaps just a touch of evil, malicious glee on her face. Travis was the first to crack open his can as we bounced down the dirt farm roads towards home. He took a drink and it was evident from the beginning that he was not a fan. He very disgustedly said after a few drinks, “It’s like Perrier with a shot of chew.” I tried it and at first thought I rather liked it. The first taste was nice though perhaps a little heavy on the Ginger. The after taste that lingered like a bad memory on the lining of your burnt throat proved to be a less than pleasurable and rather unsettling experience.
The food was memorable, the pet Meerkat was sufficiently adorable (and Travis’ less than favorable reaction to “Timone” was equally memorable) and the epic “Death Drive” proved to be most therapeutic. If laughter is the best medicine, then we all got a double inoculation against sickness that day. Cheers to you Travis and thanks again for being here. You are missed around the farmhouse and at the school.
P.S.:
As an afterthought, I have no idea how it came up in conversation but somehow (since French press coffee makers are called plungers here) the term “full-on plunger” was used. Perhaps we said we were in the mood for some full-on plunger coffee; whatever the exact origin of the phrase, it joined our wall of band name fame with “The Apathetic Whale Watchers”—“Full-on Plunger.” If I ever start a band, I will be spoiled for choice.
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