It rained a lot while I was away, and all the small stones I used to fill up gaps in my little stone path had been washed out, making it quite a journey to get to the back garden via the kitchen door. The Jerusalem artichokes was in full bloom, and my garden looked lovely! It is nice to be home, and I think it might be quite some time before I drive all that way on my own again.
I was driving quite merrilly along this quite lonely road, when between a village called Ladismith, and the next one called Barrydale, my car's engin just suddenly stopped running. And I mean just that, as there was not even a click when I turned the key. I was devastated, as it was on one of the loneliest stretches on this road, with miles and miles of small brown shrubs and reddish brown stones scattered willy nilly inbetween. And it was hot, like in about 38 celcius, the sun one big whitish ball burning down mercilessly.
When I found that there was no reception for my cell phone, my cup ran over, as I now had to walk about three hundred meters to be out from between the two small hills on both sides. Not a wise thing to do, as there are such a lot of crime in South Africa nowadays, that a woman alone is in a precarious spot if alone and walking on such a lonely road. I assesed the situation, and realised that the car would actually run back if given a small push, and in that way I could hopefully get out from between the mountains, and get reception. So I trien sitting in the car and get it running by pushing with my foot, but in the end I had to get out, give a push, then dived back in. Almost a wee disaster, me not that fast anymore, and the diving back in not at all easy, but got the car reversing quite nicely down the small rise.
I then had reception, and phoned Trienkie, as Stephan and she had the particulars of my insurance, because my lovely son in law insisted on paying that for me. So I left all to them, the reception not of the best, and sat in the small bit of shade that the car made. A white Toyata truck stopped, an I started hyperventilating, as I was very, very scared. But out got two women, and asked me if I needed help. As I had word from Trienkie that they were doing their best to get a tow truck to me as soon as possible, the one woman gave me a paper with her cell number, and said that I must phone her if I needed a place to sleep, as she had an extra bed.
I was very thirsty, as I had planned to buy something to drink at the next village, so the woman, whose name was Wilma, gave me a small bottle with water, and they left. I was by now burning up, as only part of me fitted in the car's shadow, and was feeling very sorry for myself, when back came Wilma, with a big plastic bottle filled with ice cold water, a yogurt, and an apple. I was so thankful, and when she told me that she and her little boy would stay with me until the tow truck came for me, I was very much amazed. Wilma worked at the church as she is a social worker, and they look after the farm kids, whose parents are all drinking too much, and neglecting their offspring. And this says a lot for South Africans, as I am a white woman, and Wilma is a coloured woman, the result of marriages between the old Dutch who came to South Africa in 1652, and the khoi people then living here. There was as yet no black people living in South Africa at that stage.The press always depicts the different races here as hating each other, but there is indeed a lot of goodwill.
 After about four hours the tow truck arrived, Wilma and self said goodbye, and I promised to have tea with her on my way back. I was then taken to Swellendam, about one hundred kilometers away, where I slept in a guest house, and resumed my journey the next morning, my car having been fixed.