By Chris Marais
Photographs by Julienne du Toit
The fantastic Rugby’s Greatest Rivalry series between New Zealand’s All Blacks and our Springboks was the big drawcard that lured two of my old Saffa mates back home in the spring.
But Mark ‘Spike’ Hansen of Palos Verdes, California, and Andy Sive of Auckland, New Zealand, wanted to spend some time with Jules and me in the week between Tests Two and Three, so gathering plans had to be made.
Spike and I had toured the USA back in 1981 and had kept in touch ever since he emigrated to the States a few years later.
I had not seen Andy for more than half a century.
Somewhere in the Karoo
“Let’s meet somewhere in the Karoo,” was my suggestion to them.
“OK, you find the place and we’ll cover the costs,” was their collective answer. The combined power of the US Dollar and the ‘Kiwi Peso’ is, indeed, very strong down here in South Africa.
Prince Albert, I thought. These boys are world travellers who have done well in their careers and would expect a certain amount of class, in both destination and accommodation.
And as we know, Prince Albert is one of the jewels in the Karoo Crown.
As to a comfortable and charming address for the week, we chose Casa Milorca, owned by friends of ours, Salvelio Meyer and Louise Liebenberg. Bookings were made, payment followed and we were organised.
The Missing Mate
I felt there was one piece of the reunion chessboard missing: Menno Klapwijk of Pretoria (occasionally Hermanus and a variety of bushy spots in the north). I phoned Menno about this early September get-together and, after shuffling arrangements, he and his wife Laura agreed to come down and join us for a couple of nights.
Everyone was excited. And then came the devastating Western Cape floods of May that closed the vital Meiring’s Poort between Prince Albert and Oudtshoorn, essentially isolating the little Swartberg village from its regular routes for the foreseeable future.
Andy and I plotted the course he and Spike would make from Cape Town: brave the N1 North, turn right at Prince Albert Road Station and drop down south to Prince Albert village. Essentially the long way around, the dogleg route no one really likes to travel.
Ironically, it was Menno and Laura who had to do the hard yards to get to this motley reunion of St Alban’s College veterans. They had to fly from Gauteng down to George, hire a dinky little car, drive through Oudtshoorn and chug over the Swartberg Pass to get here.
Melba Toast Scores High
Like wayward chickens eventually arriving at their coop, we all pitched up, the two cheerful Saffa expats being the last to pull in. They’d been waylaid in Matjiesfontein.
Hugs and compliments and beers followed. It was Sunday night, and off we all went for dinner to the Swartberg Hotel. Prince Albert had laid on excellent weather for the week, and the early evening light cast a special glow on the elegant Karoostyle cottages we passed, as we strolled to the hotel.
Dinner was great, the wine was top-class, but what impressed our offshore friends the most was the old-school Melba Toast served with the meal. It took Andy and Spike back to their childhood days, and the classic family hotels that dotted the platteland in the 1960s.
Andy, who runs a media recruitment agency in Auckland, asked me about the work Jules and I do in the Karoo. I told him about our books and our plans to export them in digital form to our fellow South Africans abroad.
“You’re in a tiny niche market,” he concluded. “Do SA expats even know about the Karoo?”
Andy had grown up in the city and the Karoo to him was that huge expanse you had to endure as you traversed from the Transvaal (now Gauteng) to Cape Town and back. He knew very little about our Heartland.
“That’s a good question,” I countered. “We’ll have to see.”
Roaming Prince Albert
Monday arrived, and with it came omelettes from the Lazy Lizard restaurant nearby. Andy ordered a simple bowl of Jungle Oats. He lapped up his breakfast like it was the very finest repast he’d ever had.
“Mm, Jungle Oats. Best porridge in the world,” he commented.
The day was spent coddiwompling around Prince Albert, which is one of the best Karoo towns to coddiwomple about in.
The art gallery, mohair shop, museum and Spar were visited. We drove up the hill to the Karoo Souk, to introduce them to our friend Kashief Booley, the blacksmith of Prince Albert. Kashief was in an expansive mood and told our group all about himself and his work.
In the afternoon, Jules and I hunted down the best wors and Karoo lamb chops in town, in preparation for the ritual burning of the meat later.
And, oh boy, did it burn! Menno and I enthusiastically piled a heap of Kalahari hardwood on the braai stand, lit the lot and waited and waited and waited for coals. But Kalahari hardwood takes no prisoners. It also takes its own sweet time to burn down from flame to coal.
Just when we’d finally got it right, on came the chops and the fat was in the fire – literally.
“I hope you like flame-grilled chops,” I warned the group, who were drinking and laughing and generally beyond giving a damn at this stage.
When the meat was served, no one made a peep about chomping on the well-charred chops. Menno and I have made better braais together in our time.
That evening, Spike hauled out one of three bottles of great bourbon he’d carefully carted all the way from California, and we indulged.
Fig Farms and Friendly Faces
On Tuesday, we said goodbye to the Klapwijks and headed off to the Weltevrede Fig Farm, nearly 40 klicks out of town.
First, however, Andy had to nip off and buy himself one of those speciality two-shot espresso coffees from the Showroom Theatre, which became his morning ritual in Prince Albert.
There’s a lookout point on the dirt road out to the fig farm where, in the spring, it’s awash with daisies and the views of the Swartberg Ranges are superb. This is where we stopped, and the expats seemed genuinely impressed.
A delicious lunch under the trees at Weltevrede followed. We headed back, rested and went for a sunset walk up Gordon’s Koppie, overlooking the town and the mountains beyond. Supper was at the Irish Bush Pub, where Andy, Spike and the owner got into long and heavy speaks, mostly about rugby.
The guys had arrived in Prince Albert in a relaxed, ready-for-anything mood, which is just the right frame of mind to be in when you’re roaming around the Karoo. They seemed taken with everything, and ready to chat to all who crossed their path.
It had been a brutal winter for Prince Albert, what with the storms and the poort being closed. The local hospitality industry had taken a knock, and so everyone in town was smiling as our group of merry wanderers spent, tasted and chatted the week away, immersive to the last.
Toes in the Water
Our last day together was dedicated to the Swartberg Pass, that elegant mountain track built by Thomas Bain and his team back in the late 1800s.
Up at the Ou Tol (Old Tollhouse) we met a guy called Diederik, who runs (believe it or not) a little restaurant in the pass and brews a mean coffee. Andy Sive, who had been filming little encounters all week and sending them off to his family, fell into a long convo with Diederiks and we had to drag him out of the place.
The guys wanted to walk, so Jules and I commandeered their hired Fortuner and drove a couple of kilometres down the road, waiting for them to catch up.
“Go on! We want to walk some more,” they urged us as they passed. This happened three times. Spike and Andy were charmed by the Swartberg Pass, and we later found them on the bank of the Dorps River, chatting away. Spike had his hiking shoes off and his toes were in the water.
And suddenly, we were all 16 years old again, and riding 50cc motorcycles on a party gate-crashing mission around Waterkloof, Pretoria. Or driving down to the coast in Andy’s Hi Ace for the Christmas holidays, camping at the Plett Caravan Park, eyes peeled for pretty girls on Lookout Beach. With Elton John and Frank Zappa for musical company on the eight-track stereo.
Kentucky Bourbon in the Karoo
Our last night in Prince Albert was spent at Jeremy’s Restaurant, where Jeremy Freemantle (another old chum from St Alban’s, Pretoria) was delighted at seeing all the old faces again. Misty-eyed memories and excellent repast ensued, all topped off with another round of bourbon back in the Casa Milorca dining room.
Spike gave Jules and I a full bottle of Old Forester Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whisky, which we shared with a Karoo farmer two nights later, after watching the Boks win the Third Test.
Andy Sive’s comment on our communal WhatsApp page after the trip:
“Would do it again in a heartbeat!”
Spike Hansen summed his month of adventures in South Africa thus:
“The reunion in the Karoo was the highlight! Looking forward to the next one.”
Mm. Where shall we take them next? Graaff-Reinet perhaps, or somewhere a little wilder, like Port Nolloth on the northwest coast? Either way, I don’t think it’s going to take much to bring our new Karoo fans back home again for a road trip into the Great Dry Beyond.
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