On my last trip I realised only too painfully that I can still be nominated for blonde of the year
Camping is still rather new to me. I am rather a scatter brained person, so I went to great pains to organise myself in a methodical way. I even packed smaller pre-arranged bags so I would not have one big bag with missing contents scattered through the Park.
It worked so well
I had a little bag for any clothes above my waist.
I had one bag for any clothes below my waist.
and my brand new hiking bag, bought specially for the Olifants trail was set aside for my nighttime stuff and things that didn't need to be folded
How much organised can one get
I woke up early on my last day at Maroela camp. I was very excited, as I was to be leaving for 4 nights in the north.
It was still pitch dark, so I stumbled over to the communal kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee or three.
I placed my chair under a tree and waited for the approaching sunrise.
I sat in quiet reverie listening to the rustling of a Dagga Boy a few metres away from me.
How much better can life get, I thought.
My mind got stuck very deeply in a train of thought, the kind that transports you into a parallel universe. It was the kind where you go glassy eyed and wake up realising that time has gone it's own way.
I packed up thinking in my parallel universe.
As I left the camp I glanced behind me.
There was a feeling of satisfaction knowing that I was leaving for a place yet to be explored.
I knew that I had packed the tent poles, so .. I was now on my way.
"Good thing about camping" MM thinks with glee, "is that you can leave nothing under the bed"
I glanced in my rear view mirror as I drove away, content that all was well.
After a very eventful drive, I arrived at Letaba.
I booked into my tent and went exploring.
It was getting dark and I was very tired.
After a long walk looking at the Letaba river, I decided to make it an early night.
I had a quick bite and noticed some ablutions close to the restaurant.
"That is so cool MM thought. Thanks to my new organised way of packing, all I have to do is find my brand new, state of the art back pack and take it into the showers.
I patted myself on the back for my pro-active thinking.
I went to my "Trusted Beauty" and opened the back door.
I looked.. and looked .. and looked ..
no back pack
I took out the tent and poles
I unpacked the remains of my food supply.. paltry remains left over after been emptied out by all the primates
By now it was pitch dark and curious onlookers were starting to gather round my pile of camping gear strewn around my car.
Everything was on the tar around me.. and my car would just not spit out the back pack.
No matter how hard I looked, my brand new, much cherished backpack would not appear
I went to bed dirty and unwashed. I didn't even have a toothbrush
I spent the night filled with questions and self irritation..
maybe it was Altzheimers after all?
How could I be so stupid?
and.. and .. and ...
then it occurred to me
as I had entered my parallel universe while watching the Dagga boy and thinking of the cycle of life and death, I had casually rested my backpack against the tree next to me.
So there I was, halfway to Punda, with my brand new, state of the art, extra light, imported, bargain hunted back pack stuck at Maroela.
The bird doesn't sing because it has answers, it sings because it has a song.