Slow road to starry Nieu-Bethesda
• This peaceful little Karoo town should be on every traveller’s bucket list
Nieu-Bethesda is synonymous with many things. Wide tree-lined streets, leiwater channels, Victorian architecture, all covered with a lid of peace and quiet.
But its three famous South Africans, playwright Athol Fugard, “Outsider” artist Helen Martins and palaeontologist James Kitching imbued this Karoo village with stellar artistic and academic kudos.
Having made the pilgrimage to Deelfontein and soaked up its aura of decay, medical firsts and tragedy, I’m ready to move on. And it’s with a sense of relief this box-tick frees me up to head for my next destination, Nieu-Bethesda.
After the ragged dirt track I had ridden on to Deelfontein from Merriman, the wellgraded gravel R348 to Richmond offers my back some welcome respite. From here I plan to take a lesser dirt track into Nieu-Bethesda, accessed from the R398 to Middelburg.
Eventually I arrive abreast of a large flat-topped mountain and track it down on my colour copies of the excellent Reader’s Digest illustrated Atlas of Southern Africa I’ve brought along. Unsurprisingly, it’s called Groot Tafelberg and at 1,973m above sea level, as well as its island-like prominence in the biscuit crust sea of flatness, it makes a notable landmark.
The intersection with the N1 outside Richmond brings me back to the truck-laden reality of the 21st century. Thankfully, the remnants of one of the old Boer War forts (there were apparently once eight surrounding the village) on a hill up ahead offers some diversion and I imagine what it must have been like for the imperial troops stationed here to ward off attacks by the marauding Boer commandos; like those of Commandant Wynand Malan, who nearly succeeded in taking the town during his second attempt on June 25 1901.
After refuelling the bike, I escape the cloying hands of the many beggars at the Caltex garage and look for a more peaceful restaurant in downtown Richmond. The Vetmuis Plaaskombuis offers me the peace and restorative fare I’m looking for. Once replete, I ride off on the Zen-dirt of the R398, heading east towards Middelburg.
About 47km later, I turn right onto a lesser dirt track and head south for Nieu-Bethesda. It’s not long before this virgin road degenerates into a tweespoor farm track; but any misgivings I have about getting lost are offset by the comforting triangular peak of the Compassberg on the horizon, a beacon I’m sure will guide me safely into NieuBethesda.
As it turns out, it’s the last time I see it on this southbound track. And though the track degrades further into a rockstrewn jeep track in places, it leads me through kloofs and exquisite mountain farmlands I’m sure very few travellers have seen. I’m loving it — it’s exactly the sort of adventure motorcycle track collectors like myself look for.
I see the Matterhorn-like shape (when approached from the west) of the Compassberg (2,502m) again only when I finally turn east, just 20km from the town.
Though it’s only 266km since I left Victoria West early in the morning, it’s been an emotionally taxing day and a fairly gruelling ride as well; which is why I’m glad to soon settle into my cool, highceilinged room at the back of the Outsiders B&B building.
What I’m not impressed about, though, is the black oil issuing from my rear shock absorber — a failed seal — and the thought of having to ride 800km home on it.
I’ve been to Nieu-Bethesda three times before, but I’ve always been in a bit of a hurry and have never really immersed myself in the village, its people and all it has to offer. I’m hoping spending two nights here will provide some insights into its enigmatic makeup.
When I discover the restaurant across the road doesn’t take cards, I settle for a bully beef, stuffed olive and Steers sauce biker chow on the pleasant patio outside my room; washing it down with some well-travelled claret — plastic mineral water bottles work best on a bouncing adventure motorcycle.
After reading the opening paragraphs of the now 90-yearold Fugard’s Buks and Joseph (Karoo and other stories, David Philip, Claremont, 2005) I’m inspired to take a “late night walk through the village”. And though Fugard describes a winter night amble and it is late spring now, his ode to the statuesque trees of this town still rings true for me.
“Lights are usually out and everyone is asleep at that hour. But not the trees, the magnificent pines and cypresses, poplars and bluegums, acacias and wild pears that line the dusty roads of the village. The sense of them alive and awake, their huge black presences magnified still further by faint starlight, is quite awesome.”
I’m up early the next morning. My plan is to walk the town flat before my planned late breakfast on the B&B’s stoep, see what’s on offer and then revisit as many of the tourist attractions as I can.
On my way to the suspension bridge along River Street, I engage with members of the community behind the Owl House who sell replicas of Helen Martins’ work. I figure my broke freelance journalist story coupled with my additionally persuasive excuse of “sorry, no room on a motorbike”, will save me from purchasing the obligatory cement owl; but I’m wrong.
Being the first tourist of the day I’m surrounded by charming locals with long stories and I end up buying the smallest owl I can find from Charles Tromp, son of the sister of the woman married to Helen Martins’ long-time assistant, Koos Malgas, he tells me.
Walking across the fossilladen Gats River on the suspension bridge to the other side of town, I think about Helen Martins and the cement and chicken wire statues that make up the vast collection of her “Outsider art” in the “Camel Yard” of the world-famous Owl House. And what strikes me most about her life is that after sacrificing her teaching career to come home and look after her ailing parents (she spent about 14 years dedicated to this task) she still had to put up with derisive and divisive commentary from numbers of narrow-minded townspeople.
No wonder she closed herself up in her own world of religious icons — most of which look to the east in hope of Christ’s second coming, it appears — and then took her own life when these same people wanted to send her off to an old-age home.
Modern-day artist and sculptor Frans Boekkooi breaks my reverie as I head past the neat caravan park towards The Brewery. He’s in limbo between house and studio, drinking coffee from a well-used mug and we get to talking about motorbikes before his art. It turns out that Boekkooi met Fugard through his academic parents while studying in Gqeberha, and as a precocious student might, asked the famous man if he could make a bust of him one day.
I eye a stellar example on a shelf later, but the one that makes the biggest impression is Fugard’s face that seems to come out of the exterior wall of Boekkooi’s studio. He explains he used these and other faces to cover the cracks in the walls he’s not got around to fixing yet.
It’s late afternoon by the time I get to slake my thirst in Boetie’s pub. Sipping a cold beer in this characterful boozer, I reflect on the day’s activities since I left Frans and enjoyed my late breakfast back at the B&B. A Kitching Fossil Museum tour and fossil-hunting walk in the Gats riverbed with seasoned guide, Andries Tromp (not to be missed); an extensive visit to the Owl House (much improved since my last visit 10 years ago); another walk around town where I looked in and passed by a number of novel-looking restaurants, cafes and galleries and finally stopped in at Dustcovers — possibly the best small town bookstore anywhere — where I had a long browse and walked away with a brilliant little fossil book.
I’m sad to leave town the next morning. And even sadder that, because of my bike’s broken shock seal, I’m going to have to make my long, slow way home to Bot River predominantly on the smoother, yet infinitely more boring blacktop.
Travel Notes
The route: Day 4 (continued) Deelfontein via Richmond to Nieu-Bethesda: 264km of which 260km (98%) were dirt tracks.
Why go there: Nieu-Bethesda should be on every SA traveller’s bucket list. There’s something for everyone here, from fascinating fossils to the intrigue of the Owl House, as well as a panoply of galleries, restaurants, pubs, a range of accommodation to suit all tastes and even a Bushman Heritage Museum — you’ll be spoilt for choice.
I SETTLE FOR A BULLY BEEF, STUFFED OLIVE AND STEERS SAUCE BIKER CHOW ON THE PLEASANT PATIO OUTSIDE MY ROOM
Where I stayed: Outsiders B&B (Nieu Bethesda) — contact Katrin on 072 742 7113