Stop over in Verkykerskop

Driving from Gauteng to the coast? Let Verkykerskop meet you halfway.

About 50 km north of Harrismith, just before the tar road diffuses into gravel, you’ll find an assortment of buildings comprising Verkykerskop. Matt Hoffman arrived here from Joburg 13 years ago and walked into a nondescript general store known locally as “die ou Joodse winkel” and bought the most expensive pack of cigarettes of his life. The nicotine had barely begun to mingle with his blood cells when he decided to buy the ragtag posse of buildings, renovate them and make the town home. Although, to call Verkykerskop a “town” is a bit generous. AB de Villiers could hit a six over the whole thing. “It’s an outspan,” Matt explains. “A watering point for oxen, established in a time when fuelling points were 50 km apart – far enough for a day’s trek.” Verkykerskop – as the name suggests – boasts views of seemingly endless distance. Grassland spills slowly towards the horizon, occasionally rising into koppies on its steady journey out of sight. Matt’s discovery of Verkykerskop wasn’t entirely a coincidence, it was carefully calculated before he arrived there. One evening back in Joburg, Matt and his friend – the actor and musician Frank Opperman − opened a map and began plotting. Using a compass, they measured various three-hour drives – from Joburg, Durban and Bloem. The radii of pen squiggles converged at a relatively obscure patch in the Free State. Matt knew about the area code, but he was still searching for an address. That fateful smoke break, while he was location hunting, sealed the deal. Today, Verkykerskop has a petrol station, a post office, a general dealer (one of the oldest in the country), a restaurant and accommodation for 90 people. Working with his wife Beth, with the backing of musician Chris Chameleon – business partner and childhood friend – Matt has spent years rebuilding, fixing, sanding, painting, digging, and winning over the locals with Beth’s cooking. The result is an outspan worthy of your oxen on your next adventure through the interior.

It’s lunchtime on a Sunday at Smiley’s Restaurant in Verkykerskop. Each table is home to a scrum of khaki-clad farmers and their families, tucking into Beth’s legendary buffet. It’s the one day of the week when Beth se kos supersedes Ma se kos. While patrons travel far to reach the restaurant, the ingredients don’t. Most of what ends up on the plates is produced locally. The vegetables and herbs come from Beth’s garden,

guarded by Napoleon the pig. The mozzarella and halloumi are made down the road. Local farmers supply the juicy and tender meat, and the milk is still warm when Beth fetches it from her neighbour. The interiors of the restaurant and the post office cause visitors’ cheeks to stream with tears of nostalgia. The old advertisements and vintage keepsakes will send you back to your ouma’s kitchen and your oupa’s garage. The walls are festooned with steel signs peddling Lyons tea, President cigarettes, Gold Cross condensed milk, Tact deodorant, Pegasus petrol, Boxer tobacco, Achaar mango pickles, Zoomo cough syrup and plenty more, as a result of Matt and Beth’s compulsive collecting habit. After the buffet trays have been emptied, farmers yawn and waddle to their bakkies, then the outspan echoes with diesel engines as those bakkies ferry full families down bumpy roads home. In the aftermath, the silence of the platteland descends and fills the vast landscape. It’s the combination of silence and space that makes you glad you stopped here. Because, after all, moments of peace and quiet are expected from holidays, but they hardly ever happen. In the stillness of the afternoon, as you stroll around listening to the crunch of gravel underfoot, you’ll think to yourself: “You know what would make this day even better? An afternoon nap.”