all maps and no play..

This is a map of South Africa. Y'huh? This is what I have been staring at for the last 12 hours. This, and a whole family of mini-maps. Borrower maps, if you will. Borrower maps to Cape Town, Borrower maps to the Winelands, Borrower maps to the Overberg, to the Garden Route, to the Klein Karoo and to the regular old big Karoo. I don't know what or who or where these places are and we have not yet got about the ankles of the country. We're still huddled near the tiny little willy of the Cape Peninsula. See it? Bottom left corner. Totally flaccid. That's where we are. That's home.

So help me Lucifer, I hate maps. If a map knocked on my door and asked to borrow a cup of insulin for his diabetic map baby, I'd say no. I'd even unwrap a Mars bar as I did it, and lick it. Slowly.

I am attempting to plot a route around South Africa. A driving route where the landmarks are guest houses. Guest houses on beaches, in safari parks, in gardens, on mountains, in valleys, up trees, in caves, on river banks, on top of elephants, under waterfalls, down alleyways and on the wings of albatrosses (albatri?). I may have made a few of those up, but who are you to tell me what's real and what's not? Right now, I think GoogleMaps is my mother. She's the only person I've spoken to all day.

I set off in my Chevvy on Monday. And I will need to visit over 60 guest houses in 2 weeks on the road and inspect them all to see if they are worthy of our Greenwood Guide. I am going to have to beg for shelter and sustenance en route but since I am well-versed in the art of the eyelid-bat, this shouldn't be hard. And if that fails, I know a good line in whining. And body-flogging. And if there isn't any room at the inn, the townships it is. Surely room for a small one of questionable ethnicity.

Toots

x