Go Darke

My five year old is obsessed with the Boomslang living in the rafters above reception. Me, obviously less enthused. Still, it feels irresponsible to have her go look at the snake by herself.

It would have formed part of our daily ritual, only on the afternoon of the third day the snake is gone. ‘Where did it go?’ The lady behind the counter shrugs noncommittally. Personally I feel ‘meh’ isn’t best answer when dealing with a haemotoxic ophidian with a penchant for ninjitsu…

… but you know, differing opinions on nature, and it’s murderous machinations. Clearly she hasn’t watched Bullet Train I mumble to myself.

In her defense you only really get the briefest taste of 3G when you hike up to the main road and hold your phone up towards the heavens at a certain angle, so its entirely possible she hasn’t actually seen the Hollywoodifcation of Boomslang venom (which is obviously the way it works in real life). Higher order G’s and LTE are phantasms and ghost stories round here. Ergo streaming and modernity is generally impossible.

And so for a week, I have been embracing my more primordial self.

So basically coming off crack then?

Yes.

I have become obsessed with composting-toilets though. They really are amazing! Initially having a cool breeze blowing up my sphincter made me sit a little more upright, wondering maybe if I had been violated somehow… but by the end of the week I had nothing but respect for these marvels of engineering.

Solar power, gas hob, rain water running through the pipes. I lived the off-grid libertarian dream¹.

[1] And really, for the most part, I found it quite agreeable. Once I’d weaned myself off Twitter, Pornhub and… eh… what else do people use the internet for?

I’ve never been to this part of the world before. It’s two hundred kilometers north of Cape town along the West Coast of South Africa. Different Flora². It feels more like scrubby desert, technically Renosterveld (which translates as Rhinocerous field) I think, as opposed to the Fynbos (fine bush) which is my local biome.

[2] And also a different ocean. Which feels colder and more hostile than its Indian counterpart.

The place we stayed at borders a pan. A scrub covered berm protects it from the Atlantic and it’s tempestitude. It’s famous for its flamingos, which we would admire while we ate breakfast on the porch every morning.

I do a rough count while stuffing my face hole with bacon. Somewhere between hundred and fifty and two hundred still, even though the rainy season is long over and the water is disappearing quickly now. Where do they go I wonder vaguely. Does it involve a flying V formation? Do they even play hockey? Why are they recreated as lawn ornaments? I realize I know almost nothing about flamingos.

It’s not just casual ornithology tho. We do other stuff. Like go to the beach… where we end up being the only people for 25km in either direction. I find it a little bit unnerving to be so alone.

Once I work through the mathematical rigmarole of anyone having to trek all the way out here on the off chance that there would be someone on the beach to murder I feel a bit better about the whole endeavor and start to relax a little… and think of way brag about my isolation on social media #blessed.

We also hit up some of the local towns.

Langebaan, which we quite liked and decide that we might want to come back to. It has a nice beach and an inner ‘lagoon’ which is great for kids and water-sports. Although it also has people. I suppose it depends on where your misanthropy dial is at and how tolerant you’re feeling about Merlot-tinctured Dutch and German³ tourists.

[3] My countrymen abroad are… kinda awful. Although they’re pretty awful in Germany too. (I feel I can bash my own). Having said that, South Africans from the Hinterlands that gravitate towards the coast during the summer holidays are also pretty grim. #dualcitizenship

And then Paternoster. A quaint South African fishing village, which, in season, is totally less quaint and maxed out with tourists and sketchy locals trying to sell you poached lobsters.

I wouldn’t mind giving it another go, when its not busting at the seams and the hustle vibe gets toned down a notch. I like eating lobsters. But I also like to know the provenance of my food.

In any event, I’m back home now and mainlining the internet again. Need to catch up on all the outrage and news churn events that I’ve missed and failed to ascribe an appropriate (or inappropriate) emoji to.

Really the only thing I missed was my animals.

And maybe Spotify.