Nieu Bethesda

No that's not a typo.  That's where we went last weekend!  For my few Grahamstonian friends who read these posts, the best analogy is apparently this:
Grahamstown:Bathurst::Graaff-Reinet:Nieu Bthesda.


Which to most people who have never been to the Eastern Cape means very little.  But think of it this way: it's a place you never heard of. A tiny place.  There's about six different tourism websites because that's apparently the main source of income.  All of them dutifully note that there's no gas petrol or bank facilities there, so you must fill your wallet and tank before coming.

Descriptions are lame.  Let me rather show you a picture of downtown:

There is literally no place in the town where you cannot look in any direction and see not town.

So, in theory, we went there to see stars.  I tried to take some pictures of them, but they didn't come out well.  Thanks to the magic of the digital age, you can see the stars, but I can't get the milky way to look right.  It's in the lower left corner of this section:

Having lived so long in New Jersey, land of population density, I missed stars. 
'So why go to this place to see stars?', I hear you not-wondering.

Here's a few reasons.  First, it's deep in the Karoo.  The Karoo is a big area in the middle-ish of SA that looks mostly like this:

 (yes those are ostriches)

And then you go off that lovely straight, flat, wonderfully-paved road here:

I think South Africa has some kind of love affair with tourism 'routes'.  I mean, the wine route through the vineyards wine farms seems sensible, and I'm willing to buy the brandy route as an extension of that.  But the merino route through sheep country seems like a stretch.  And the owl route is named for exactly one owl-related place, the owl house.

It is not misleadingly named:

...or so it seems at first. 
But the name fails to convey how deeply weird the place is.  You can google it if you want to know more.  But the short story is it's where some weird lady lived back when, and she had a thing for glass.  Literally every surface is covered with it.

...except for the more functional parts of the house, where I guess it's worn off.  And instead you find assorted 70 year old stuff, like jars of what used to be peaches.

Maybe there's a reason, as Postum optimistically insists.  I dunno...

The yard is filled to capacity with mildly-uncanny cement statues.  Here's a few exhibits; check the flickr for more in a day or two if you like similarly-creepy things.

So back to stars.  It's easy to see them because there's like no one around.  As such, there's no streetlights either.  The tallest thing around is apparently the grass.  Which is really, seriously, bafflingly tall.

The thorns, likewise, are not fucking around.

My co-author's hands are considerably smaller than mine, but still.  A thorn should not go to your wrist, long-wise.  Luckily, we emerged from the trip stigmata-free.

Anyway, my #1 tecommended destination: the brewery.  There's no bank in town, nor any real shops, but there is this dude André, who makes tasty beer.  And amazing cheese.  There are no items on the menu apart from what's on tap, and this cheese plate, made to order.

On the way back, we spotted a thing on the map called 'Valley of desolation'.  Naturally, it cried out for a stopover.  Gratuitous landscape images to follow.  Will out.

 (That's Graaff-Reinet down there, in case you're wondering.  Closest petrol station to NB.)

Alyson spotted what appears to be some old graffiti at the bottom of the valley.  I was content to just wave my arms like an idiot and be astonished to see the shadow way down there.

~Will out.