Beetle breakdown in the Baviaans

When your Volksie starts acting up in the Baviaanskloof, you have no choice but to make a plan, says Deon Strydom.

- Deon Strydom

For the first 16 years of my life, once a month, my family packed the car and we spent a weekend in the Baviaanskloof. My grandparents were retired smallholders and lived on the farm Mistkraal. We lived in Port Elizabeth and the Baviaans was around the corner.

When we planned these visits, my parents never said they were "going to the Baviaanskloof". To them, they were "going home". They both grew up in the Kloof and only left to attend high school in Willowmore, and later to work in Port Elizabeth.

The Baviaanskloof lived up to its name: We often came across baboons on our travels. "As close to human as you can find," my dad used to say. We'd watch the baboons for a few minutes and he'd add: "Doesn't that one remind you of Uncle So-and-so?"

In the mid-1970s I went to study at what was then the University of Port Elizabeth. I drove a white Volkswagen Beetle with a UPE sticker on the back window - I was an Uppie through and through. I studied hard and had fun with my friends. Shortly before our final exams, three friends and I decided to go hike in the Baviaanskloof - on Doringkloof farm, owned by the Smit family. We had enough free time before the exams and convinced our parents that a break ahead of our first paper would be the perfect remedy for tired, hardworking students.

I was in charge of our transport, probably because I was the eldest and appeared to be the most responsible. My Beetle was the most reliable vehicle we had at our disposal and I knew the road well. My friend Theuns handled the logistics of the hike and Pieter and Jakkie took care of our food and finances - they were the numbers guys.