Mossel Bay Backpackers

The manager of Mossel Bay Backpackers told me that Mossel Bay reminds him a lot of Hermanus: a lively town that sustains itself off-season (even if it takes a huge knock); but bursts at the seams for a few months of the year. Nonetheless I will look around this town. But first let me tell you about the backpackers.

It's situated just before the Point. All you do is follow the main road and then there is a sign that directs you to the backpackers. As I got to the door I could hear a vibrant atmosphere rolling from the Braai area. Being so close to the heart of Mossel Bay, they are in the opportune position to cater to the clients' desire for night-time entertainment.

Michelle, the friendly young lady behind the counter, also made a Potjie that did the proverbial things to my socks. Blowing may have been involved.

Most of their clientèle is German. This caused some very interesting discussions to arise. It makes sense that internal tourism cannot be sustained year-round, nor can we really supply the tourist destination with sufficient revenue. The other problem is the reliance on seasonal activity. I know that after a few weeks of tourist floods the locals may feel a bit claustrophobic, but their bank accounts might just shut them up. Seasons affect pricing; so it is a lot cheaper for a person overseas to travel during winter, and because it is not so packed there is less pressure for them to book in advance for all the fun things they would want to do. Sadly South African Tourism is not providing the necessary funds for adequate international advertising -- at least that's what my sources tell me.

Sorry about that tangent. The Mossel Bay Backpackers has a great atmosphere, and if you stay there on a Thursday you will be awoken by praise and worship from the children at the school next door. It gave me nightmares. But that's just me.

If you want some place that's vibrant and social, then this is the one. If not then, perhaps Little Brack Beach House would suit you better (044 696 6769).

Contact info for the Mossel Bay Backpackers
Tel/Fax: +27 (0)44 691 3182
E-mail: mbbp@telkomsa.net
Address:  1 Marsh Street, Mossel Bay, 6505

The View from the roof patio 

The fireplace at night.

The lounge area

Fairy Knowe Backpackers

Easily the best backpackers I have been to, hands down. Aside from the beauty of the enclosed canopy of milkwood, and the whelming social area; the staff here make you feel like an old friend who has just popped in for a pint. There I spend the first night drinking with the owner, staff (whom I am told has an amazing Lava-lamp), and two girls in the midst of their own trip. Very seldom to I feel like the least attractive person at the bar, but that was definitely one of those nights.

I even learnt a few new card games, and drinking games.  Seldom should I consider spending more than one night at a place but it happened at Fairy Knowe Backpackers. Though I had such a good time, and met such wonderful people, I could not help it. N and M were lovely company. I did learn that sleeping in a hammock is a lot easier when you are drunk. When you are sober things like comfort tends to be more important.

It was one of the greatest times I've had since beginning this trip at Fairy Knowe Backpackers. Ben who works there gave us an interesting tour down the old railway line. It was one of the oldest running railway lines but closed down around seven years ago after heavy floods. There I found something amazing, but that is a story for a different day.

If you are young and want to have fun, then this is a good place to stay. Also, you must ask to see Ben's lava lamp. It is amazing, says the guests. It will be the highlight of any trip.

And they have employed a real-life fairy; her name is Mack.

Knysna, Till We Meet Again

I am posting this to say my loving farewell to Knysna. I have loved being in this town, and would like to thank every one here that has made my time so special. There is definitely something about the place that will live in my heart always. It is with great reluctance that I head off towards Hermanus and the coastal villages along the way. The N2 shall not keep me its captive; I will find the prettiest way down for all those who enjoy a good scenic route.

Do not think I have told all I have to tell about Knysna. There are still many more stories, some I will have to come back to finish. There is more to come, and more to be told.

If you don't see any new posts, fret not it will be my internet that will be down, not me. If after a week nothing, then start to get worried. Maybe call the police. Though I doubt anything bad will happen. *gulp*
Enough with the spooky, scary talking...

Knysna, I will miss you. Never again will I simply drive through. You deserve more than that.

Jesters Pub

I do like my taverns; of this I am not ashamed. The reason is, simply; the people. A pub environment offers you social interaction with a wide variety of individuals that you would not normally meet, engaging in well-lubricated discourse. Ah, the hyperbolic exclamation of love and appreciation. Oh woe to the sombre drunk who stares into his tankard in the search for a shimmering speck of hope. A pub should not be compared to a club, in which the loud thumping music makes your idle prattle sound like cheeky, witty banter. No my friends, I mean a Pub. Finding a good one is always difficult. In Knysna, I have found mine

Just next to the Knysna library is a little bar called Jesters; not to be confused with the alternative club in Port Elizabeth. Ah what a wonderful place this is. Steven behind the bar is the cocktail of sardonic wit, wells of information and a fine conversationalist if ever I have met one. For all of Knysna's rolling hills and beautiful sunsets, I think I shall miss Jesters the most. I have met some of the most interesting people of my life in that establishment. It keeps drawing me to it by some magic, and the hours melt by, because I do not want to leave.

It helped make Knysna feel like a second home. Thanks to all.

If you want to get the lay of the land, place you finger on the gentle pulse of Knysna; unabated and passionately told, then that is the place to start. And when you do pop your head in there, tell Steven I say hi.

Tuesdays: Backgammon 6pm onwards
Wednesdays: Happy Hour 5-6pm
Thursdays: Ladies' Night 6-9pm
Friday: Happy Hour 5-6pm
Sundays: Come Braai With us
Also: Jenga - Darts - Wicked Cool People
@ Memorial Square - Kynsna

Classics & Cobwebs

I am a sucker for antique shops. In fact second hand-stores in general have a tendency to catch my eye. It's a great way to either hold on to a part of the past, even buy it; or to look through the discarded and attribute new value. In my humble opinion, you get three types of second-hand stores:

The first would hate to be called a second-hand store with the same indignation with which a second-hand car salesmen might refer to the merchandise as "pre-owned". We all know it's second-hand my friend, you are not fooling anyone. This is the type of shop that sell Antiques, but only a few people would understand why it now costs so much more now that it is old. Unless you really understand the little secret tells that makes the pieces authentic, then the appeal may well be lost on you; and the price tag may seem a bit ridiculous no matter how pretty the pieces are.

The second kind of place is the one where you can buy a Mickey Mouse shot-glass for R3. It's the bargain-hunter's kind of place where you rummage around for the odd gem. These places you revisit every month in the hopes of striking second-hand gold. Oh, you don't believe me; you think people don't do this. Well, you are wrong -- I do this. I found a Pair of Weermags for R50; and they still had tread on the soles. These places buy in bulk and sell to the public in a more relaxed vibe. They will have the box full of R5 toys to flog to moaning children as the mother (or starving student) finds a few mismatched knives and forks.

The third is my favourite. It's more of the collectors store. It's the kind of store you walk past, glance inside and just know the stuff in there is cool. It's like it kept a log of all the cool stuff from the past, put in on shelves; donned their leather jacket, put on a pair of Aviators and just looked cool. In stores like that no one with a tweed jacket needs to explain to you why the items on display are worth something, you just know it. It's like a museum of post-awesome, with price tags. Classics & Cobwebs is one of these stores. You walk past and can't help thinking, "Go in, you know you want to." They also supply my favourite second-hand store in Hermanus, which is called 'Romantiques.' If you like epic stuff from days long gone then this place is a must.

Address: 30 Main Road, Die Oude Fabriek, Knysna
Email: classicsandcobwebs@gmail.com

The Heads

I know that I have spoken about the beauty of Knysna. Now, I could tell you about this place; but I methinks my words, elegant as they my be, will simply not be enough. I will, however, tell you that the view almost made me crash my car.

Driving up that road to the Viewpoint will fill you with a strong desire to live there. If you do not want a view like this when you  wake up then you are surely blind, or agoraphobic. The viewpoint provides an expansive view... from many different.... points.

So, I took pictures. Enjoy.

Things I Have Learnt

I thought I would take a moment to reflect on what I have done this far, and most importantly, what I have done wrong.

I am the first to admit that, aside for the physical essentials, I ran into this journey a bit blind. I did not do a single search on the Garden Route, I did not consult any tourism places. I just cruised down the N2 on a rainy day and let my fancy dictate the path. It has advantages; I was not bound my a schedule, I had the freedom to explore at the whim of my interest, and I felt free. Looking back I realise I could have felt all of that even if I had just done a little bit more research into the route I was taking. I shudder to think about all the amazing places I have passed by simply because I did not take the time to find out more. I am already resolute in a return journey to fill the gaps.

I realised the folly of my ways when I went to the Knysna Information Centre. They were friendly, helpful and stated that they do not appreciate things, they .... apprec-love things. I know, just go with it. It was said with a smile and the ethos behind it is a sound community project; besides, I can appreci-love a good pun every now and then. There I got maps, and guides and information about what to see and where to see it that I would not have gotten otherwise. I only wish I had gone earlier, and not just before I leave. Upon reflection I have wasted a lot of time here, but I have been grateful for every moment .

I have also learnt that I am a person of habit. I rather quickly slipped into a routine here in Knysna. I found friends; a favourite coffee shop and bar. Soon I was doing the same kind of things as I did while in Port Elizabeth. When faced with a chance to slide back into a familiar mould, it is rather disconcerting how easily we do just so.

In a trip like this, the draw to the familiar is strong; even if the familiar was why you left. The challenge is to notice it, not in your failure to live up to the exalted ideal of your endeavour, but simply you being you. Remember, a trip by yourself is for yourself. If you want to sit in bed for a week and read Stephen King and feel you can afford to do so; then I don't see why you shouldn't. However, there is a thin line between leisure and atrophy. Try to see something new every day. That helped me kick start myself.

Yet, my funds are draining and the road is calling my name. There are things to see, places to be, and  although I have found a fondness for Kynsna that will always make this place feel like a second home, I shall be leaving soon. Not until I see some more beautiful things though.

First Night in Knysna

After the car debacle during my first night, I thought I should see what a Friday evening in Knysna looks like. So off I went, alone, into the fluorescent unknown.

Oldies
Now this was the first place I was told to check out. A great place by the looks of it. It appears to cater to bikers a lot; or so I gather by the many pictures of bearded leather-clad men by their bikes. The bar staff is friendly, but not the the type of social vibe one looks for when you are alone. The tables are filled with pre-set social groups and some families. So I sat by the bar, making note of the day's events; longing to be back at Bush Bar. Then the strangest thing happened: for the first time during my trip I started to feel lonely. As you are about to find out, that did not last long.

Kings
The locals at Oldies told me to try Kings, and I am glad that they did. It was my kind of bar. Just the right amount of seedy; not to so much that its scummy, but enough to bring in a crowd that are unpretentious and open to conversation. It's important that the clientèle don't take themselves too seriously. The bar-stools are stacked beer crates with cushions. I have to admit I was very partial to the black and red decor, but that's me. I could even excuse the rugby T-shirts on the wall. What's a bar without a bit of sports trimming? Just as I was thinking to myself, "Hmmm, these people look interesting, I would like to get to know them better", this guy turns to me and asks me what I am doing. I was taking notes, so I explained the trip and my intentions, and when finding out I was not there with anyone he graciously invited me to join his table. Chris, you are a legend. At the table I met such gems as Jonty the Jew, and Carl (if you forget his name just ask yourself, what is naked in Afrikaans).

Zanzibar
After many jokes were shared, we headed off to Zanzibar. It is the type of meat-market every town creates when it gets to a certain size. The bigger the town, the more they have. It is some kind of universal law. I was last there a few years back, for the Gay Pride Festival, the Pink Loerie. At the time they had a silhouette of Batman on one of the walls, sadly it is there no longer. So the night continued into the early morning. It was a warm and exiting introduction to Knysna that more than made up for the troubles I had with my car.  

I don't know what to tell you about Zanzibar. We all know these clubs; huge dance floor, a few sections were you can sit on comfy couches and pretend you're not sixteen. Let's see ... there is the balcony; that's a must. There was one thing that really impressed me was the DJ that played some of the score from Star Wars.

Maybe Batman is till there in spirit.

I just met you; and this is crazy

Right, so before I recap the tales of days past in a whimsical yet informative manner; I think you should hear about my morning. Yesterday, today and tomorrow - yes I know the flower- I have and will be opening the Lunar Cafe, and helping out while the manager spends some quality time with her son. Yesterday went smoothly. This morning, not so smooth. I have to open the shop at 7:30 am. "No problem", says I. Got in my car at 7:15am did I. More than enough time to slowly drive to work had I. Did car start? No.

I know the reason. I had left the car on, but not running yesterday while I sat and read, thinking it was easier to keep track of the time with the little clock on the dashboard. Being the genius that I am, I did not realise that if you do so for more than an hour and a half; the battery will go flat. Thankfully, yesterday after a few push-starts throughout the day, I drove the car around a bit and went home. After parking I switched it back on again to make sure that the next morning it would start. But at that time the engine was nice and warm; this morning it was freezing. With my breath hanging in the air the car made a valiant attempt at starting, then said, "Stuff it".

So there I was; ten minutes to get to work, off the beaten track and no one in sight to give me a hand. I tried to call my friend but she is ill and I am not surprised that she did not pick up the phone. My only option was to get to the tar road and try to thumb a lift into town. This meant running up a hill; to which my lungs responded in kind. They burnt back at me, a reminder of years of smoking that seems to have counteracted the years of cross-country. My body tried, but it was weak due to the disuse and neglect I have shown it. My body remembered all the abuse it has had to suffer at my hand, and that was its moment of reckoning.

"You need me now, don't you?" it spat at me as I tried to use it to fulfill my obligations. The top of the hill seemed like a faraway dream. Luckily I got to the tar road at 7:30, but at that point I was wheezing like a squeaky clown after a drive-by. After the first car that drove past ignored my attempt to hitch a ride, and the others I tried to chase down were unsuccessful, I entered the bargaining phase of grief. So I looked out into the forests and hills on this beautiful Friday morning and asked any imaginary entity for help. I even offered to give up some of my vices, and take better care of my body. Five minutes later, just as the remnants of my strength was coming to an end, a bakkie pulled over. Sure I had to sit on top of tools and boxes in the back, but at least the road was rolling past me at a more productive pace. Amidst apologies I arrived fifteen minutes late, with a burning chest and a stack of nerves that were worse for wear. At least I made it to work.

Getting home, now that's going to interesting.

Aid; for sandwiches (hehe)

I hate to do this, but I have been asked by a few people as to how they can -- man this is difficult -- aid in financial support during my trip. I guess if people think what I am doing is worth supporting, then I am not going to argue with them. I will graciously accept, and (if the give me their address) lovingly send them a postcard from wherever I am. I will even write them letters. Just saying.

Well then, my bank details are as follows:
Bank: ABSA
Account: Current/Cheque
Account Number:4066906254
Branch Code: 632005

Well, lots of love and hope you enjoy reading was has and shall be shared.

Chaos, Tow Ropes, Log Cabin .... Knysna

Coming into Knysna:

Oh what chaos I have endured. Before I ramble off in powerful euphemisms, let me start from a more palatable point in the story.

In Knysna I am staying with an old friend of mine. She runs Rape Outcry; with whom I have been a member for many years. She does amazing work, and just got accepted to do a Masters' program in Clinical Psychology. I am very proud of her, she truly deserves it. The thing is though, her place is just out of Knysna. Unless you know where you are going it can be a bit tricky to find, as I discovered the hard way. After five U-turns, and four attempted gravel roads leading to increasing obscurity, something horrific happened. My car got stuck in the mud that resulted from the week-long rain. The sun was setting and all I could do was run to the golf estate, find a house that had a bakkie parked in the driveway, put on a face of saddened trustworthiness; and ask if they would be kind enough to give me a tow. Fortunately I had all the rope required. You always need rope, lots of it. Never go anywhere without it.

Luckily the people at the first door I knocked on were kind enough to help me. The gentleman (a quantity surveyor with a wife and two young kids) asked me enough questions to ascertain that I was not planning an elaborate heist. It ranged from where I lived to what I studied. Lo and behold he had gone to the same university as I.

The first two attempts to pull my car from the sludge resulted in a snapped tow rope. Eventually I took a second length of rope and used it to reinforce the other; and to my great relief I was free -- albeit rather muddy. I thanked him for all his trouble and forced myself not to jump into the driver's seat and hug him in an overtly manly gesture of Bro-Love.

Eventually I found my friend's place, and my goodness un-gracious me; it was picturesque to the point of silliness. A little log-cabin in the middle of a farm/forest which runs on gas and solar-power. It's enough to make any eco-Nazi shudder with glee. After such an ordeal I hear the fluorescent beckoning of the bar. So it was off to see what happened in Knysna when the sun went down.

The Bush Pub

Now just before you get to Knysna (as you head to CT) on your left hand side, you will see a sign that says "Bush Pub". Now I know I have said this before, but this time I mean it (as well) but you must stop here. The sign boasts a friendly environment, and there is no need for a caveat, as it provides just that. From the moment I walked it, I felt at home. Stories flow like pap-sak at a Bergie's wedding. Oh, there are politics; but always with the type of familiarity that reminds me of a sibling's quarrel. As I have mentioned before, a bar is made by the people who frequent it, and Bush Pub has real gems. If you sit there for two beers you're bound to learn something or just get roped into a conversation, and soon you realise you are conversing with the kind of familiarity that come surprisingly naturally.

I discovered (though not through consumption) a new drink: the TnT; tequila and top-shelf (brandy and coke). Obviously not in the same glass, mind you. I also learned about the bartender's heritage. So let me tell you the story of the O'Hagins:
They were land pirates. In other words, they would put lanterns on the horns of cattle so that passing ships would think they see a village and sail towards it, only to get smashed against the rocky shoreline. After that the pillaging would ensue. They came to South Africa to escape being hung. Epic.

The Bush Pub easily sits in my top 3 bars to visit. It's small and intimate and is by no means a place to try and badge. They even have a membership, which entitles you to cheaper drinks and rewards you with a useful key chain. It guarantees loyalty. So to all you bar owners: R300 per annum membership; make it happen.

Pretty Knysna

There are few South Africans worth their salt who don't know that Knysna is a beautiful place. It inspired the works of Dalene Matthee, thus giving us Kringe in 'n Bos. It is the gem of the Garden Route; whose forests have given the world fabulous tables and desks. Oh, any poet can wax lyrical about the rolling mountains, the lush forests, the subtle greens, the stunning beaches or the majesty of the lagoon and the waterfront. Photographers have tried and failed to completely capture the grandeur of its beauty. So, who cares?

This is all known; so you may be asking yourself what the hell is this guy's purpose to rant about it? Ah; well I am glad I asked for you: it's the people. Yes, you read correctly. Did they read Frank Miller's 300 and take things a bit too far? Because I have yet to see a person under 30 in town that was not in some way appealing. Even the car-guards aren't that bad. Even what goes for an ugly person in Knysna is well-dressed; and in the right light, after a beer or two, is anyone's game. I am accustomed to the odd minger here and there, but I am just not seeing them; and it is rather unsettling -- in a good way. 

I can only suppose that there is a group of people that hunt down new arrivals to this town; and if they don't meet up to the 'pretty' standard, then they get kindly asked to leave. Perhaps with cattle-prods. Seeing as people have been friendly and forthcoming to me I can only assume I am good-looking enough to reside in this town. Whether or not that's true, I shall choose believe it; if only to feed my ego.

There is another puzzling element to this town that I had not known: people here are friendly, very much so in fact. I go out, easily strike up a conversation, and have a good night. Now I may be an easy-going guy; and I may be easy to get along with, but that only gets a person so far. Within almost no time at all I felt at home in this town with mutantly attractive people... that may not have come out the way I intended.

So I ask you unfortunate-looking people out there (whom I am sure have stunning personalities), have you found you stay in Knysna to be a pleasant one; or did mean-looking people with pitchforks and torches kindly ask you to leave?

Radical Raptors

For all the High-Definition nature channels and 3D TV's, there is nothing that can compare to having a falcon hit twenty-five G's past your head, let me tell you. I think I may have gotten carried away from a proper intro so let me start somewhere more resembling a beginning.

At the Heath (7km out of Plett and 25km to Kysna) is the Radical Raptors, which describes itself as being "a rehabilitation centre that aims at community awareness, and the rescue, rehabilitation and release of birds of prey. As a non-profit organisation your support funds our project." It was one of the great highlights of this trip, even my life (no jokes).  Ever since I was a boy I had a love for birds of prey, so this was not an opportunity I was going to miss -- not when they do daily displays at 11am, 1pm, and 3pm.

They have a few stunning birds of prey that you can look at, but which are being rehabilitated; so no touching. Though when a bird may not be able to survive on its own in the wild, they are subsequently used to help educate people. These are their trained non-releasable birds of prey which they free-fly for the audience.

The first bird they took out was a Hawk (no its name was not Ethan). These birds are very secretive. They like to stay hidden in the bush where they live and hunt. With short wings and a long tail for manoeuvrability, they can catch birds that have a greater body weight to them. Their extremely long legs add to their advantage. They are surprisingly little, but your heart still goes a flutter when you have one sit on your hand; and you thank the heavens that you have a heavy-duty glove on, for their talons are very sharp.

Barny the Barn Owl was not in the mood to fly around so instead we got the privilege of seeing the Spotted Eagle Own being flown. Owls, as you may well know, hunt at night. They employ Ninja Killing Style. With a massive wing span made from soft, sound-absorbing feathers, an owl can swoop a few centimeters over your head without making a sound. Their incomparable eyesight and hearing enables them to target their prey from a great distance away. The problem is that during the day they can be hunted down by faster, more agile birds of prey; so they stay hidden while the sun is up. One of the biggest killers of owls is rat poison. If you make use of rat poison ... you have killed your fair share of owls. There is no justifiably good reason to use rat poison, and if you do use it, then you are actively endangering our fragile eco-system. Shame on you. And if you own a pet store, then stop selling it. Owls are great to have around. So if you want owls to come and visit, set up perches or go to you nearest pet shop and get yourself an owl box.

The next bird they took out was a Jackal Buzzard, named such because its cry sounds like a jackal. It's the closest you can come to an eagle, without being an eagle. Its large wingspan its perfect for long glides, gaining lift from thermals, which uses little energy as it covers large areas in search of prey.

The last bird they flew was a Falcon. I learnt the hard way that calling a falconer's falcon a pet results in the kind of stare that could turn testicles into ovaries. They are amazing birds and the fastest animal on earth, but can only reach their record speeds during a drive. When it takes a corner its body can experience up to twenty-five G's of pressure. That's just under five times what a fighter pilot normally handles. The next time you meet a pilot, ask him if he would be interested in experiencing 25G's, and see if his stare leaves your testicles intact. Despite that, a hawk's speed and agility make them impressive hunters. Having one swoop between the crowd and over your head is breathtaking to say the least

For me it was an amazing experience, and a cause worthy of support. If you are in the area I would definitely suggest it. If you have kids, it will be a memory they will cherish for a lifetime, I guarantee it.

I took many pictures, but getting them form my camera to my tablet may take a while, so I will add them to the post later.

For more information check out the Radical Raptors Website.

The Heath

As you get nearer to Knysna (going to CT) or just as you are leaving it (running away from CT), on the N2 you pass a place with weird things on the lawn -- a place called the Heath. Now you will need to pull over. I am not asking nicely; I am telling you to. Just try to fight against the sub-hypnotic-pretextual-suggestions in this post, I dare you. But all poorly-executed attempts at humour aside, this is a great place to stop off; especially if you have kids. There are enough things for them to climb on, crawl under, and space to run their little batteries flat so they don't bounce for the rest of your trip to the point that you overdose on Grandpa's (or was that just me).

They have a quaint little coffee-shop to recharge your own batteries (you can't drink your kid's energy because its unethical, and I know I always mess it all over my shirt). They even sell amazing wood products and special cheeses. If your soul needs a bit of a spit and polish, you can always walk through the ... Lavender Labyrinth. I am as much a fan of alliteration as any man, and applaud its many uses; but seriously guys. There are clear gaps in the labyrinth where people got fed up and just walked out. Now I am quite sure that taking a few minutes away from everything, walking in the same repetitive motion; and the subsequent auto-hypnotic effect that kicks in (like when you drive a road you know very well) can be quite soothing. I just don't think it needs cosmic flows and moon cycles of the introverted lilies to explain itself (excuse me if the imagery seems a bit suspect). Any menial task can be described to the point of divinity; even walking around in circles it would seem.

But the best bit of all is still to come. Radical Raptors. In fact, I think it deserves it own post.

Plett 09-08-2012

So, Plett.

Um, well. In season I hear that Millionaires road is a bustle; and the coffers of Midas himself overflow. It's clear to see in the opulence that seems to seep from the architecture. I decided to stay at Plett Backpackers. It was close enough to the center of town to allow me to wonder around at night and get a bit of a feel for the pace. It also sported an amazing panoramic view of  Plett. Even though it was off-season; which meant a bed in the dorm only cost me R100, there was only one bed left. Lucky me. Oh there are a lot different tours to go on, exalting the natural beauty of our fine country. As one can guess, the prettier the place, the more costly the entrance. Though, if you are a tourist backpacking from town to town, you can't walk down a road before you find a place with enough brochures to make a small mattress out of.

That night I went wandering down the main road. I came across a restaurant called "The Table". Now, I pride myself on knowing a thing or too about pizza. Had I the means to indulge my "journalistic integrity", then I would have left gorged on pizza. Sadly I did not. Based on a quick gander at the menu, the selection was very exiting, and the prices were most agreeable. No pizza was over R75. The atmosphere was inviting, and the decor tasteful. If you like a nice slice, then make turn.

Then the nagging desire for social interaction started to flare up, so off to a bar I went. The one that seemed to have the most ... atmosphere, was Flashbacks. The signage is unmissable from the main road. Its name bears an ominous prediction; but it could have been worse -- it could have been called Black-Outs. It's the type of bar that curb-stomps cocktails; the type of bar that around 12am releases the strange type of magnetism that convinces people not to go home yet even thought they have to be up bright and early the next morning, and have those three more shots and a draught or two. Smells like home. Though a bar lives and dies by the people that frequent it, and aside from a lesbian couple, I was the only one there. While I was sitting in the smoking section, watching an old Leon Schuster movie with more than subtle racism gilded by the luster of overt liberalism, people started to arrive, mostly... girls. After a bit of friendly chin-wagging (talking, you Cretans) I found out that these girls were students in the only University/College that specialises in animal anatomy in the world, or at least that lest you do a degree in it without having to wast time on boring old human anatomy. Who cares about people right? But seriously, the girls sounded very passionate about what they did, and they were nice enough to not spray me with mace multiple times.....

All in all it was a good night, but I still couldn't find any great love for Plett. I mean, yes it is pretty, but nothing to warrant the mega wealthy losing voluntary control of their check books and building an airport. But then again I am not mega wealthy, so I am certain there are a lot of "special" things about Plett to which I don't know the secret handshake for.

If you do know the handshake, please tell me.

Lawnwood Snake Sanctuary

Just before Plett, by the crags, a few meters after the turn off to Monkey Land, is an absolute must. I suppose you can guess what its called by the title of the post, but what the hell; it's Lawnwood Snake Sanctuary. It offers hourly guided tours showcasing over 100 snakes. They are open daily from 9am to 5pm.

Tel: 044 534 8056
Cell: 082 667 6588
Email: lawnwood@polka.co.za

Now let the record show that I am not partial to snakes, and growing up in a Puff Adder infested area did little to quash my fears of the creatures. I was the first to recoil at the notion of "petting" any snake that would be on display, let alone hold one. Despite this, at the end of the tour (led by a funny and informed guide called Michael) I was hop-nobbing with seducers of Eve. The amount of interesting information resulted in me taking furious notes. Luckily the information was not presented in a dry manner.
 
I don't know about you guys but what I learned during the tour I found very exciting, so I thought I would share it with you.

Firstly, there are Three Kinds of Snakes
1) Constrictors - Those that cuddle the prey to death
2) Semi-Venomous - scary if you're a rat but to us rather harmless
3) Venomous - The get-help-or-die kind.

Venomous Snakes have 3 types of venom
1) Cytotoxic - attacks the cells and causes painful swelling
2) Neurotoxic - attacks the nervous system causing paralysis or a coma
3) Haemotoxic - attacks the blood, slowly turning it to water, kinda, till you bleed out.

There are no Green Mambas in the Garden Route.
Snakes down here don't feed during the winter because they do not digest during that time. Hence the food would just sit in their bellies and rot, poisoning them.
A snakes heart is approximately 1/3 of the way down its body.
Snakes that live near you get to know your routine and plan theirs around you, as to avoid bumping into you.
A Cobra (neurotoxic) spreads its hood by flattening its ribs; they also eat other snakes and are immune to their venom. In fact they are immune to each other's venom as well. So when they fight, the first one to put its opponents head in its mouth and start eating it, wins. Ten bucks says that's going to be the new fighting sensation to hit middle America, "Last Meal Standing."
A snake's eyes turn blue just before they start to shed.
Long thin snakes hunt, and will actively avoid people.
Short fat snakes, like adders, sit and wait for their prey, so don't step on them or there is going to be trouble.
A Spectecled/Indian Cobra's technical name is "naja naja naja", which means "cobra cobra cobra". I am not kidding.
The Reticular Python is the largest snake in the world but the anaconda is the heaviest.
The Rock Python is the biggest in Africa.
Anacondas and Boa Constrictors give live birth.
A snake with the classic slit pupils are active at night, but if it has round pupils then it is active during the day.
From hatching, a young snake's venom is just as potent as the adult, so don't fondle unidentified baby snakes.

If I got anything wrong please do not hesitate to correct me, but I found all this stuff very interesting. What I shared with you is just a smidgen of what I learned during the tour. Plus, as the pictures show, you do get to have some one on one time with the snakes. Don't just drive past, stop by. You will not regret it. Plus you can buy shedded snakeskin that you can keep in the back of your car to ward off criminals.