Once a friend and I drove a 1967 Volvo GT from Jo'burg to Cape Town.
We did it in a relaxed fashion - ie took 2 days over it. On the way
we stopped to camp in a small town in the Karoo (desert) called Three
Sisters. The campsite turned out to be the garden of a farmhouse.
After we set up our tent, we realised that we had no torch and no
stove and no fire, so were reduced to dining in pitch darkness on the
contents of a hip-flask. After a bit, the guy who owned the farm came
out and invited us in for a beer. We went into the house and the
Castles were doled out. We were then invited to watch some
television. There was nothing on except a deadly Robin Williams
movie. I wouldn't have minded watching the news (or anything apart
from Mr Williams) but according to the farmer this was a bad idea as
the news was being read by a black man. On another channel there was
a programme about nightclubs, but the farmer's family said that they
had no desire to watch faggots in makeup. On returning to the Robin
Williams film, the tangled plot proved itself to be beyond the farmer
and he asked questions without ceasing ("Why is he going to school if
he's an adult?"). After the intricacies of the narrative had been
explained, I tried conversation ("What do you farm?" "Sheep." "Oh,
right.") but soon lost all hope and we made our escape back to the
hip-flask.
The next day we went into the house to pay. The bill came to 5 rand
more than we had been previously told. I asked what it was for, and
the answer was "The beers."
― Sam, Friday, 1 February 2002 01:00 (twenty-two years ago) link