Gerda En­gel­brecht

Go! Camp & Drive - - Trails -

could ad­min­is­ter food dur­ing the trip, hand­ing out cups of coffee and thick slices of bread with bil­tong. The other pur­chase was a match­ing tent, of which one flap was snugly pitched over the kombi to form a sort of an­nex. It sounds straight­for­ward enough. My mother is nor­mally quite a strong-willed woman – un­til the day she has to pitch a tent. Then she trans­forms into some­one com­pletely in­de­ci­sive. You would just fin­ish putting up the big, heavy tent when she would get an inkling that mov­ing it an inch to the right or to the left would in­fin­itely im­prove the qual­ity of our camp­ing ex­pe­ri­ence. Then the pitch­ing of the tent would have to start from scratch. When we trav­elled, my par­ents would sleep in the tent and the four of us sib­lings would just find a spot in the kombi. Not that we minded. My father is one of those men who can snore an en­tire camp site awake, so much so, that of­ten our fel­low cam­pers would come around at night with flash­lights to try and see what kind of an­i­mal was mak­ing all the noise. Ini­tially we were con­vinced that only three of us could sleep in the back, and one un­lucky child would have to fold up and sleep on the front seat. But one cold win­ter’s night in Brits’ car­a­van park, we were per­suaded that all four of us could sleep com­fort­ably in the back. This also solved the prob­lem of our chat­ter­ing teeth. The best part of sleep­ing in the kombi was when my dad would drive into the Kruger Park early in the morn­ing – with us still sleep­ing in the back – and we would drink our first coffee of the day at a water­hole. It would be tempt­ing at this point

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