Back in to the Klein Karoo, into the red uninhabitable we trekked. Canyons of sun tanned red rocked formations gave direction down the infamous Route 62. The stretch of highway lay practically abandoned yet exploding with a life full of rich South African folklore and character. One of the top attractions in this no-mans land, after zipping through another unnamed six housed town, is a small, marble-white farmer’s store literally dropped in the middle of nowhere: Ronnie’s sex store. Dust balls and retired tractors welcome patrons to the entrance of this semi desert sex store.

When I saw a flock of shifty eyed German tourists bolting from the car doors with socks and sandals to the entrance and out of sight, I naturally had to investigate!   Inside the bar, after one very awkward shuffle averting all passerbies’ eyes, the sex store was none of what I expected.  This place was dirty for sure, but for all the wrong reasons. Nudity in the worst degree welcomed me in with a large portly man propping himself against the bar, topless and decorated in old navy tattoos. He caressed his right bosom (softly) before giving me a toothless chuckle.  The bar itself was decorated in donated bras and g-strings. The walls were a hoarders dream with travellers’ graffiti, I.D cards, money, flags and nude portraits from all over, rounding off this weird and wonderful watering hole. Sitting down next to a lifeless piano pushed into the corner collecting dusts and stumbling drunks I sipped a castle quietly and observed the arrival of disappointed red faces.

An old man appeared from the backrooms, wearing a extra large hand painted t-shirt and one sock and I was immediately informed in whispers that it was “the Ronnie!”.  “The Ronnie” was an aged soul with an unkept grey beard that sloped over the front of his belly and tucked neatly into his pants. He looked like he had seen a party or two and danced around the room exchanging greetings with all the new arrivals and disappointed Germans looking for something more than a stiff drink.  Finally arriving at our table he was pulled into a conversation and drilled about how this place came around. It all started 18 years ago when Ronnie purchased the land, wanting to create a small store for farmers and their families to purchase food.  He painted the front “Ronnies store” and someone scribbled in the words sex later the same day.  Ronnie was raging when he saw it but people started to come, interested in what this place was and the rest as they say, is now drunken nude history! Now a booming success Ronnie swore the first six months he was permanently drunk and in a state of shock from how many people were entering his marble desert sex shrine.  Drinking for a couple of hours we finally took our chance when another gaggle of sunburnt tourists came through the door.  Saying our thankyous and waving goodbye to Ronnie, I happily left behind a pair of super skid stained undies to add to the collection!

Arriving in Cape Town that night, we fell into a coma and waited for a new day. Waking early now, we made for the coasts of Cape Town with a new group of friends.  Down through the Cape Nature Park to the southern-most point and up the Cliffside, the spectacular 360 degree views and the confluence of the Indian and Atlantic oceans make it a hugely popular tourist destination.  Waves crashed against a mammoth cliff wall, slowly chipping away stone by stone. A spiraling staircase leads you to the highest point where high winds and one steep Cliffside make for cautious walking. We had a brisk jog down before being confronted by yet another baboon. This one sitting at the café drinking a  decaf mocca, we sat casually before realizing the giant hairy beast was propped right next to us.  He looked around surveying the loose plates of food, more human than half the other travellers in the place, before smelling himself and shooting off into the bush.

Back in Muizenberg at the very same surf spot we had lost everything, now with a new group of found friends, it was decided we would climb the mountain shadowing over this small surf suburb. A group of twelve bare-foots set off just before sunset in hopes of watching the full moon rise and that very same sun fall behind the Atlantic ocean and come up for another New Zealand day.  The trek up was made of a thousand rising steps, the cold leaking down the closer we got to the viewpoint.   Out of breath but finally atop the sights of Cape Town- so vast and beautiful- it all seemed surreal. Four million people squeezed into this endless view.  The group stood silent, taking in every corner before the pop of a bottle of red broke the silence and a round of laughs began, talking till the moon swung well over our heads, the hours were all but forgotten. Within the full moon’s rays, small fires began swirling below, lighting up all over the surrounding Cliffside realizing people slept inside the mountain caves, these distant candlelights help lead the way down. All stumbling, giggling and breaking jandals, we slipped back into Muizenbergs darkness and all into another unnamed bar.

The final days before Sophie’s departure, we scaled Table Mountain.  Something that is required of all travellers before leaving the Cape, we considered the climb but after the first forty steps we opted for the less physical, cable car.  The mountain holds great history which I have remembered fondly, since childhood.  An Old Dutch pirate, Van Hunks, was challenged to a pipe-smoking match by the devil, with his eternal soul as the prize. The smoky results of this as-yet unresolved duel pour over the mountain in summer from what is now popularly known as Devil’s peak.  Who knows if these Rastafarians still burn a few till the early hours but every time the mountains covers over with cloud, it is said they are still chugging away.  The views were breathtaking and looking down at the cape city bowl It was unreal to think how fast Sophie’s time had been in South Africa and how much more of this place was yet to be discovered.

A few more solid days came and went and before I knew it- the three week adventures had gone in a drunken blink. Barefoot, pockets bone dry, I sent Sophie back to the land of snow, pastries and…licorice? Jogging on I collected my pennies and made for the coast!  Another great and memorable chapter finished, a new adventure beginning. Special thank you to everyone who helped us along the way – housing us, feeding us and keeping spirits at an all time high!