The Blair Witch Report

DAY ONE:

  

Made it about a hundred kilometers before our catastrophically weak bladders caused us to stop at the first toll-gate for a comfort break. Here we encountered the foulest toilet in the world, clearly frequented exclusively by truckers and their lady friends. We did what had to be done, slathered on our waterless hand sanitiser and carried on up the road, only to discover a pristine Shell Ultra City complete with well-maintained restrooms gleaming like a mirage just over the next rise.

An hour or so later, we arrived at our destination. The setting was idyllic - log cabins scattered among the trees of a pine forest, near a trout-filled lake in a huge plantation. We were informed by the lodge staff that the power supply had been cut off during a violent storm the night before, but it would be back on by evening.

Needless to say, it was not. By evening it had started to rain quite heavily. We cooked the meat we had brought with us, huddled over the fire in the gloom while an ever-increasing downpour pounded the unfortunate back of the designated chef (not me). We then dined around the tiny kitchen table. The chicken in particular was the most soft and tender I've ever had. A nearby candle eventually revealed that this was because it wasn't in fact cooked - it had been difficult to detect the readiness of the meat by the feeble light of a torch.

A fire was lit in the lounge (in a fireplace), before we all retired early.

DAY TWO:

Still no electricity. We splashed some cold water on ourselves and got ready to go into the nearest town for breakfast. I could now see that the water bottle I'd filled the night before from the tap contained a brownish liquid, verging on tea-coloured. Quite similar to the water in the lake, which I suspect it was.

After a spot of breakfast and some shopping, we returned to the lodge post lunchtime to discover that there was still no change in the state of affairs vis-á-vis the electricity. By this time all the perishables we'd optimistically stuffed in the fridge were smelling decidedly ripe. We hired a rod and tried some fishing, with one of the children triumphantly hauling in a 12 centimeter bass. This record remained unbroken for the rest of the day. At about 3 o'clock we'd just about decided to cut short our visit, unable to face another night without ablutions and light, when the power finally came back on.

Oh, the rapture of a hot shower! Even in brown water.

DAY THREE:

Another shower. By this time the water in the tank had heated to such a volcanic degree that you needed asbestos gloves to touch the hot tap. The brass tap was also leaking a steady trickle of boiling water, making it hard not to accidentally sear your bottom from time to time. Showering was therefore a chorus of periodic shrieks and howls of pain. I'm not complaining, though.

Everyone went for a final walk and a frolic in the haystacks near the stables, where we encountered a man taking a meerkat for a walk on a lead. The meerkat was introduced to us as Twinkie, and we learned that meerkats apparently don't make very good pets at all. The man told us how he'd lost feeling in his hand where Twinkie had given him a nip while he was teasing her, so we kept a safe distance. Twinkie dug up worms in the grass, purring to herself, while the man told us how she'd been orphaned when a pup and tossed out by her clan in the Kalahari. She now lived with him on the plantation, sleeping on her own electric blanket and eating chicken thighs (no other part of the chicken being to her taste).

We reluctantly said goodbye to Twinkie, packed up and headed back to the big city, electricity and transparent drinking water. It really was a lovely weekend.