THERE is something quite romantic about the thought of a road trip across the groot Karoo. Perhaps it is the early start, watching the dawn break in pewter-coloured light onto the open road, well on your way while most people are deep in their slumbers.
Then there are the roadside picnic lay-bys and the padkos peculiar to each specific family, almost a tradition – the flask of hot coffee, hard boiled eggs, cold sausages and peanut butter and crispy bacon sandwiches.
There is something about this arid heart of South Africa which is starkly beautiful. It is in the way the earth tones change as the day progresses, from the palest of yellows through to dull brown and ochre and near evening the fire orange of the koppies in the distance backlit by the setting sun.
It is these memories from road trips of past years, too many to recall each separately, that roll into one long, straight road and endless sky, the scent of wild herbs that wafts through the window on air as fresh as a mountain spring. Every now and then there is a hiatus which punctuates the constant scene: a car on the horizon to wave to as it trundles by.
So it is with anticipation that one sets off on this adventure, retracing the same path and expecting the same experience. There is anticipation in finding a little Karoo dorp, where one can stop and enjoy a cup of tea and koeksusters under a tree and find preserves and jam made by Ouma.
But alas, progress has come to the small towns that dot the main route to Cape Town. Each one looks exactly like its neighbour, all anonymous in their carbon copies, all sporting swish new malls, packed with brand name supermarkets, chain stores burger joints, pizza outlets and fashion houses. All originality, local flavour and identity has been lost to modernisation and these towns are soulless and depressing. Ouma doesn’t live here anymore.
The picnic spots are still there but they too are a disappointment as they illustrate so clearly the thoughtless, uncaring attitude of people who find enjoyment in breaking glass bottles and throwing their left overs and packaging on the ground next to the rubbish bin which stands neglected and empty.
The wide plains are still beautiful, dotted with sheep and windmills, that is if you have the courage to take a peek as all your concentration must be on the road.
For there before you is a massive truck thundering along and when that one is overtaken there is another and another. Hold on tight to the steering wheel as one passes in the opposite direction because the wind created by its speed will rock a little car in a startling way. This road now resembles the highway to Johannesburg, the difference being that the roads in the northern Cape are narrow and dotted with road works.
The stress to motorists who have to contend with these behemoths in the Karoo echoes the feelings and frustrations of local residents who have had enough of the carnage on Field’s Hill in the aftermath of one of the greatest tragedies to befall our town.
We have a semi-functional rail system which, if reinstated, would take the pressure off our national roads and this really needs to be looked at as an alternative to the ever burgeoning trucking industry transporting food and consumer goods to far flung corners of our country.
