We left in our last letter with us heading off to Clarens to find a castle made of beer bottles. Alas it no longer exists, the new owner of the property had it pulled down. It seems that it wasn’t a very big castle, one could barely stand up in it, but it had been lovingly constructed from 57,000 empty beer bottles, and, so the story goes, the whole town of Clarens had great fun in supplying the building materials.
Clarens itself was a bit of a disappointment. It is set in beautiful surroundings but seems to have become a retirement village of the wealthy Gauteng set. Every other building was either an upmarket B and B, an antique shop, or an olde worlde tea shoppe. Not a pub in sight — what happened to all those nice people who carefully saved all their empty beer bottles?
We left Golden Gate and skirted the Free State/Lesotho border until we reached Aliwal North. Not a turban in sight, and all in all, a rather seedy town. We left early next day and headed for Graaff-Reinet. Not much to report on the drive other than the fact that one of our tyres gave up the ghost rather spectacularly – ending up as a shredded mass. The very same tyre that Sean was boasting about recently “look at these, 60,000 k and you’d think that they were brand new” Well, we’ll now think again.
Graaf-Reinet
Graaff-Reinet is a lovely place. The people are very friendly, and the town brimming with charm and history. Consequently, we’ve had a surfeit of art and museums and are more than ready for the bush.
Some 30 km outside the town you will find a dirt road leading to the small village of Nieu Bethesda. The dirt road leads you through 20 km of winding scenery including two mountain passes until you drop down into the Bethesda valley, and here you will find the home of Helen Martins – The Owl House. Lots of you, like Jean, will know the story of Helen and her Owls, some of you will have never heard of her, and others like Sean, will have a vague idea of this old auntie who had a penchant for alternative garden gnomes.
Helen Martins was born in Nieu Bethesda at the turn of the 20th century. She travelled a bit. but ended up returning to the village to nurse her dying mother and stayed on to do the same for her father. Whilst she was looking after her father, she took the notion that the time had come to brighten up her rather drab life, and she started on one of the most amazing “Outsider” art projects ever undertaken, much to the embarrassment of her village neighbours. (This embarrassment has long since disappeared in view of the fame it brought the village.) Too late alas for Helen, who, at the age of 77, took a fatal swig of Caustic Soda. Some years ago, Athol Fugard made a film of her life “The Road to Mecca”.
Camel Yard
Helen first started on the interior of the house. She installed lots of windows, augmented by mirrors and painted the walls, ceilings, and doors in bright and varied colours. The paint was mixed with ground glass which she and her helpers ground in a large coffee grinder. Light is spread and diffused throughout the house.
Camel yard through the window
Her garden became a camel yard, Egypt, the Garden of Eden, and various scenes from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Life size models of people, camels, giraffes, and of course Owls are interspersed amongst models of churches, towers and glass houses (called her Meccas) made of beer bottles. (We didn’t think that they had anything to do with the elusive castle at Clarens and felt that it may not be appropriate to ask). In amongst all this lot (although sadly, no longer present) were aviaries of birds, a number of tame owls, and pools of goldfish. On the fence surrounding the garden – or yard – are excerpts from The Rubaiyat, the Bible, and Blake, written in long hand and modelled in tin and wire.
The corner of debauchery
Through all this one is guided by various models of a hostess clad in a beer bottle crinoline.An absolutely amazing experience!
After a few days in Graaff-Reinet we headed off to a town called Willowmore. We were attracted by its origins. Now a number of the towns or dorps we’ve been in started in the same way, particularly places like Pofadder, Windhoek, and Upington. A bunch of jolly cattle thieves, deserters, smugglers, and other such reprobates would find a convivial spot and set up camp. After a while the authorities would get fed up with their shenanigans and take action. They would send in a Missionary. In the Wild West of America, they would send in Wyatt Earp, or Bat Masterton – in Africa they sent in a Missionary. The odd Missionary would get knocked off but generally, at the end of the day, they stopped the fun, clothed the women, and built a church. A town was born.
Not so Willowmore, and this is what intrigued us. The town of Willowmore came about because a local farmer – Mr. Moore – built a tennis court! People came from far and wide, can you believe, to play tennis, (so much for the lechery of the Far North), a shop was set up, no doubt to sell tea and sandwiches and second-hand tennis balls, and lo another town was born, Fascinating.
Not so fascinating actually, Willowmore was a dump, the caravan site had grass long enough to ensure that the tribe had to jump up and down to ask directions, but —- the tennis court was still there.
Having bypassed Willowmore we carried on to George, descended upon the Ken Pollocks for a delightful meal, and are now camped at the Wilderness Nature Reserve about 10 k outside the city. A very nice spot, we’ll be here for a while. Our course for the North West Cape has deviated somewhat, must be compass error. Of course the modern seaman doesn’t use a compass much nowadays he uses this GPS thing, not like the days when ships were ships and men etc. etc. etc. etc..
Wilderness – with hopeful Guinea Fowl