On Friday morning I had taken the dirt road from Garies, over Studer’s Pass, into the Rooiberg mountains. A farmer was moving a herd of Afrikaaner cattle up the road so I slowly drove through them till the last were behind me. Just over the top of the pass I came to a small farmhouse in a beautiful valley below a peak that I later learnt was called “Weeskind” which means “Orphan”, because it stands alone. I sat next to the road and painted the farm and the peak. While I was working the farmer drove past and waved. It all felt so peaceful and friendly. I made a pot of tea on my stofie. it was all so very pleasant.

Later the farmer was working at his gate just down the road from where I sat. Another local drove past in big lorry. He stopped to greet the guy at the gate. They had a shouted chat. And I heard him ask “Wat maak daai donder daar?” Which was really not very polite (o: Heh heh, anyway – so not everyone in the valley is light and music.

Here is the painting:

Weeskind

The little peak on the farm were Basie was raised

When I had finished my tea and two paintings I packed up my gear and headed up the valley to Koornkloof where I did a couple of nice little paintings.

Later that I day after I had finished the painting at Koornkloof I travelled some really bad roads and then set off on my return to Garies where I wanted to fill up before heading back towards Cape Town.

On the way down the pass my oil light flashed. (In truth I had seen a sharp rock in the road but too late to avoid it – I just heard the mildest ‘clunk’ as it sliced into my sump.) I turned off the engine and crawled under the car. There was a hole in my sump, big enough to push my finger in. All my oil was gone and I was about 40kms out of the town. (This is where it happened – check on Google Maps – -30.427916, 18.059807‎).

It was mostly downhill so I set off, freewheeling where I could and using the engine where I had to, fervently praying that it would not seize. I would probably still have been there if that had happened. Once or twice I got out to push over a hump. I also asked at a couple of farms if they could sell me oil but to no avail. Five kms out of town I saw a car pull into a farm just off the road. I turned in behind the car and drifted to a stop. The driver was a woman from the farm from over the road. She was coming over for afternoon tea. I went to meet the owner of the farm with her. After a short discussion with the farmer she offered to give me a lift into town. I caught the local mechanic just as he was closing. He gave me some plastic steel and sold me 5 litres of oil.

I cleaned the hole with benzine from my stove and mixed the patch and stuck it in the hole.

I was keen to leave. But some other people were also visiting the farmer. One old guy said “Maar nou luister…” “But now listen… if you drive now the pressure in the sump will push out your plug. you will have to stay here tonight”. And so I was persuaded to let the patch cure overnight. I asked if I could camp on the farm. But the farmer, Basie and his wife, Annette, would have none of it. The offered me a bed (first a bath). And so I spent an evening with locals.

It all seemed so calm and gracious. They made me feel comfortable by asking me about what I was doing talking about life on the farm. They gave no advice or recrimination. If they thought I was irresponsible to be out there without ANY spares or tools (note to self…), they didn’t show it.

I had given them a bakkie of pasta source Aura had made for me. I also had some noodles. .But Basie told me “ons is te dom vir pasta”. Annette cooked some lamb chops (manaqualanners just eat meat) and we sat around the table and chatted. Basie grew up in the area as did his father. They were keen to see my paintings and, as they said they liked them, I asked if they would accept one from me as a gift. Basie realised the farm in this painting was where his father grew up so they accepted this. And I think this is rather special.

I cannot show this painting as I had not taken a photo of the work.

I left Garies really (really) early in the morning. As a rampant introvert (ha! there’s an oxymoron for you) there is a limit to the interaction I can endure. I was hoping to slip out of the house early but the Annette heard me and woke up to give me the bakkie of pasta-sauce and to greet me. They were such welcoming people.

I set off in the dark and headed out under a crisp, starry sky. Just outside Garies I stopped next to the road and made coffee which I drank with rusks as I watched the day dawning. My little Uno started OK – though I saw, when I replace the sump that the crank had actually clipped the top off the putty plug I had put in.

Anyway.

That is what happened in Garies.

As the sun rose I saw the beautiful Gifberg peak in the distance.