Monday, October 12, 2009

camp


I went camping this weekend. In a non-electrified campsite. In the Pilanesburg.

My German mate is still around, so thought it would be a slightly accessible weekend option, offering all the big game, and not a fuck long distance away.

Speaking of fuck long: Haven’t camped, or been in the bush, for a fuck long time.

Borrowed a bunch of stuff from my colleagues in way of ‘camping couture.’
There’s a whole two-tone sub-culture out there when it comes to camping shit. Seriously. We drank vodka out of steel martini glasses. Classy.

Not to mention the geeking out with a mining lamp. Those things fucking rock. You look like you work down a shaft at Durban Roodepoort Deep, but they’re fucking cool.

The German braaied the boerie, and the clean bush air completely went to my head. In that it was great – I forgot what the bush does for one’s mind.

We didn’t quite fit in though. Two tone and tannies, all with Venterwaentijies and husbands who would snore to the sonorous levels of not-sleeping-a-wink. I’m talking implosions in the caravan, kind of snoring – reverberating throughout the campsite.

Oh and sleeping on a nest of red ants. And walking around with my Miu Miu bag and BlackBerry and getting funny looks from Large Vrou who was blow-drying her freeze-perm next to me while I brushed my teeth. We might’ve been the only English speaking people in the Pilanesberg – but seriously.

Saw a whole bunch of wild beasts, shitloads of elephants and I nearly t-boned a giraffe. Now going on a game drive in Ludwig – my Beetle – isn’t ideal; he really did stick out in style on that vast African landscape, amongst the 4x4s with North West plates.

One g-raffe shot out into the road and suddenly I saw a pair of long knobbly-kneed legs at eye level. I nearly ran him over, crisis.

No wild cat spottings, but did pretend I knew all the name of the buck for the benefit of my krauty friend.

We also listened to lots of loud Punjabi MC at an isolated hide. Checking out animals to beats, that’s right.

Saw a snake, I was terribly excited. Wasn’t anywhere near my little nylon cocoon in which I slept, thank fuck.

There’s something mesmerising at overlooking scrubby thorn trees and the terrain that is quientessentially ‘Africanesque.’ And giving Ludwig a workout over muddy dongas and over giant, steaming piles of rhino shit.

Saw two white rhinos. And a rotting carcass. Of some large animal that was the unfortunate victim of lion hunger. It honed something chronic. Lots of warthogs. I love those buggers – they’re fucking naughty-looking little swines, with tails that shoot up like aerials when they run. Pumba popularised warthog culture, but frankly, I want one.

Camping couture is something else. Amongst the Venterwaentjies, two tone outfits, okes walking around with giant beer bellies, state-of-the-art braai tongs, there’s a whole world I’d forgotten about with camping.

I’m rather enthused about it again – if not for the animals, if not for the wild outdoors, but for the people watching.

7 comments:

Secret said...

Lol....pretending to know everything ftw!
I do that all the time when I meet foreigners - or people that I know fall into the lesser intelligent brackets of society. Its fun-they think youre like a genius (although I know I am. Did you know that a starfish has no brain?)

I camped this weekend too, although it was for the benefit of the green earth - had the rocking the daisies festival in Darling here in the Kaap - what a jol.
I didnt meet a German, but I did dub some guy a German - and then he gave me his number and told me to call him. I wont because, quite frankly, I was rather inebriated when all this happnened, and he may be a total grunter. And he might not remember me. So who would like the psycho clingy stalker chick if I did phone him? Not him, for sure.

Champagne Heathen said...

Fok. I have come into contact with that "snoring caravan" before. I think the rest of the campsite came into contact with my love of the expletive "fok" as a result.

Although, I really started to swear when someone's 3 month baby started to cry in the campsite at 4am. There should be an age restriction in camp sites!!

As for two-tone... try dating one of them! Somehow the two-tone shirt & the buffalo/giraffe veldskoens made it through Customs & are even with us in Oz.

Fok.

Peas on Toast said...

Secret - hahaha :) Excatly! 'That's an...nyala.' Meanwhile it's totally not! ;)

Heard so much about the Rocking The Daisies festival, it sounds epic! Glad you met a German...but perhaps....Google/Facebook him beforehand just to check! :)

Champers - oh yes, we had the screaming sprog as well. A few of them. I agree about the age restriction - I mean, does this LOOK like Club Med?? ;)

You took two-tone to Oz? Seriously?

Champagne Heathen said...

I seriously think "that" shirt came to Oz. To be fair... it is a old company shirt. But still!! He doesn't own too much clothing - Like any bush boy! So knowing him, he figured that if it fits & is still in tact, it's perfect! Who cares about how it looks! And it got packed...

But I blame Oz Customs in all of this. They should have "quarantined & destroyed it"! Have they no shame!

Peas on Toast said...

Yeah...I've never thought of the Ozzies ever having ANY shame on anything - in fact they probably love the khaki fever, be honest!

Charmskool said...

After that colourful description, I'm gonna stick to staying at Game Lodges etc when in the Pilanesburg. I stayed at the New Holiday Club twice and it was most luxurious with dishwasher, widescreen tv, dvd player, two bathrooms with HUGE showers, marble-topped table on the patio and a quick hop on the free bus for some post game-spotting nosh and a gamble at Sun Shitty.

Peas on Toast said...

Oh my God Charm, I'm just not classy enough for all that stuff sadly.

Would have to take a dig in the French royalty trunk to go there. Oh wait, it IS Sun Shitty though... :)

Nice - I want game holidays like YOURS!