South Africa - Oudtshoorn and ostriches

Inside the Cango Caves
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So, having seen Cape Town, the intrepid adventurers headed inland!

This journey began with a heavy heart. We had arranged, unknown to Bebs and Chris, that Rachel (oldest sister) would come out to visit the rest of the family on the first weekend of the holiday (join BA folks – lots of perks). Unfortunately the security crisis intervened and Rachel was unable to fly. So, having told Bebs and Chris of our plan, we left Cape Town with Rachel very much in mind.

The Ostriches are in the paddock under starters orders!

Sliding through the postbox - part of the cave complex
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Our journey on the Saturday was to take us down route 62; through what is called the ‘Little Karoo’. This is 150 miles of valleys, vineyards, mountains and escarpments; deep into the hinterland. Dry and fairly arid, it is panoramic and picturesque and sparsely populated. We were heading towards Oudtshoorn, the ostrich capital of South Africa!

The odyssey should have begun with a journey over the Du Toits Kloof Pass which was meant to be awe-inspiring; and in places, terrifying. Unfortunately thunderstorms intervened and we headed through the Huguenot tunnel. In itself a masterpiece of engineering.

Sarah riding big bird
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The Karoo was as promised; the roads were empty and we bowled along on the upper edge of the legal speed limit (!) (Becs says - actually way over the speed limit and the back seat passengers super glued themselves to the seat belts!). The countryside unfolded and eventually we knew we were nearing our destination. We had just passed ‘Ronnie’s sex shop’ (Sarah woke up at this point). Advertised for miles beforehand it claimed to be ‘known throughout the world’. For those who have it on their list of wonders of the world perhaps a description should be given. From outward appearance it appeared to be a large concrete shack. On one side was a pub’ at which, when we passed, a family were drinking. The other side was the ‘shop’. There was no discernible entrance, nor goods on sale. The more imaginative can envisage the rest.

Hold on tight Frank!
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Oudtshoorn is deep in Afrikaans country. The English language is definitely second best. Ostrich farms appear miles before you get there and we had booked a place on one such farm. We had discovered beforehand that Mary and Duncan our next door neighbours were staying there. Unknown to them we had also booked in. Arriving first we left notes in their chalet: ‘where’s our marmite?’ and other mind baffling comments. We knew they were secretly dying to see us again!!

We cooled out with a shower and bath in what was luxurious accommodation and headed out for a meal. What a meal! We did not go to one of the recommended restaurants. Instead we found a large restaurant with the name of ‘Headlines’. It was owned by a famous rugby player we were told (had to be a front row forward – you know the sort, cauliflower ears and no brains). The lights were so dark we couldn’t read the menu. There was a pair of musicians at the back using musical instruments. The lyrics were from the 50s and 60s and on one of the more modern pieces the pianist played one song whilst the other guy sang a totally different one. The waitresses didn’t smile. The food was generally inedible and we sank into a slough of despond. Mary and Duncan had gone to a recommended restaurant. Same price, beautiful food. We visited them afterwards to be told the good news. They were delighted to see us in our cheerful humor!

The 2:30 meet at Oudtshoorn
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The next day we visited the Cango Caves. We oldies did the safe one hour tour; the youngsters did the one and a half hour adventure tour. It was breathtaking. Stalacmites, stalactites etc. hundreds of thousands of year old. Well worth a visit. The youngsters hauled themselves up and through narrow gaps and tunnels, Sarah nearly getting wedged for life in a narrow crack. A great experience.

We were now refreshed and headed for the Swartberg Pass. An amazing hairpin pass: it was described as one of South Africa’s ‘scenic adventures’. The signs said ‘closed’. With true British phlegm we ignored them. Eventually we ground to a halt when the tarmac turned to a wet clay-grey chalk. The recent rains had made it dangerous. Discretion took over and we turned back. At this point Sarah woke up.

What's that noise...oh it's Becs!
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Our next visit was to an ostrich farm. We found the only one that advertised Ostrich racing. Sarah wanted to ride an ostrich.

The tour lasted two hours. In the first hour we learnt all about ostriches. Then we travelled down the road to a small paddock full of about thirty males and females. In the middle was one tethered with a mask over its head. This was the one to ride! Sarah volunteered first! Once released, minus mask, the ostrich sped around the paddock with Sarah shrieking on its back. The other ostriches scattered in panic and headed towards the spectators; Chris climbed the wall at great speed despite his knackered legs. We fell off our benches laughing. Bebs rode an ostrich and so did I. The wing muscles that you grasped were amazingly strong. The ostrich bolted in all directions. The ‘helpers’ waved sticks at it to keep it moving! A good time was had by all. Finally the helpers had a race among themselves: all in true jockey gear.

It is real...honest
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That night we had an enjoyable meal. A traditional braai – South African barbecue- with Mary, Duncan and family before heading off to ride a shark - or was that just spot them?