The Karoo Has Eyes

I've been something of a ghost lately. With nothing demanding the the occupation of my time, I've been lurking around a little hazily. This made the passenger seat of suburban myth Warwick Kay's car a tugging escape as we decided to roadtrip backwards across the country. In the first day we headed above Lesotho to Bloemfontein, seemingly the capital of false advertising. For the night we found a cheap BnB that immediately doubled the price and didn't serve breakfast.
















A day later we kept we along whatever main road we were probably right to be on. Neither of us felt pressed to arrive in Cape Town at any particular time, and a little past Middleburg we turned around and backtracked for a stretch, filled up with petrol, got begged at in a different accent, and in a very light Corsa Lite took on the interminable dirt roads of the Karoo. The last vestiges of my youth seem slowly slipping, and all opposition for anywhere in any country that wasn't along an ocean gave way in a place so keenly placid. The gorgeous expanse of this country's badlands sparkled, piercing the apathy I've felt toward it in the last few months. For the first time in the longest while I was as happy to be here as when I'd never left.

















In a few days I will have shots up of the reason we detoured: Nieu Bethesda's Owl House.