Richmond riches

Far too soon it was time to make our way back north and home. We packed up, stored our luggage and treasures in the car, and said our goodbyes.

“I can’t believe you’re already going,” said Emma, “It seems like it went so fast.”

Ava, who was just starting to get used to us, wriggled as we had a group hug. She smiled as she waved to us, with no comprehension that we would not be seeing her for a while.

“Goodbye!” we yelled through the open window, “See you soon!”

We were off. The beautiful day cheered us out of George and up the Outeniqua Mountains towards Richmond, our overnight stop.

Rambling in Richmond

We made good time even with a stop in Outshoorn for breakfast and another to photograph the Three Sisters. We arrived in a crumbling Richmond to a small oasis named Kliphuijs. Wide verandahs with uneven slasto paving looked onto a small, well kept garden and a pool for hotter days.

Hanging vines, hanging basket lamps and hanging centre pieces decorated the veranda. Smells of old rattan and dust mingled with a sweet scent of something clean and calming all woven through oversized chairs that were starting to unravel. Orange was the prevailing colour.

On the recommendation of Henry, the gardener that Matthew befriended, we walked down the road to visit the museum. Here we met Johan Tolken who runs the museum and has provided most of the exhibits in it. He even provides the upkeep since the cleaner left for a better paid job.

On the one side, housed in the old koshuis (hostel), is a theatre of sorts. It held movie equipment, a massive projector and reels and reels of original movies such as King Kong and National Velvet. It was dark inside and could have done with some dusting and organising. Johan made no apologies, he proudly pointed to movie programme covers pasted on the wall and told us that each one is a movie that he has.

An old school turned museum

We followed Johan next door to the old high school building. Each room had some sort of theme. Dining room, kitchen, bedroom, wagon room. Clothes from the turn of the last century hung on rails and in wardrobes. Long dresses, heavy coats, hats, kappies (bonnets) and lace handkerchiefs were all covered in plastic to preserve and protect them from the dust and time.

In the bedroom, dolls in bonnets and frayed white smocks were arranged in a cot. In front of the brass bed was a play pen with wooden blocks and other toys. In the dining room a large table was laid for a dinner that would never take place. A bible so big and heavy we wondered at how it had been transported, sat on one end. The front pages held the careful record of family births in smudged ink.

Johan wound up a gramophone that stood on a sideboard. The beautiful sounds from the opera The Tales of Hoffmann: Barcarolle by Jacques Offenbach filled the room as His Master’s Voice dog moved round and round in the centre. Old rugby boots, scuffed and worn, stood on an old Springbok Rugby magazine.

In another room stood several wagons.

“How did these get in here?” asked Matthew, eyeing the size of the doorways.

“Oh they were taken apart and then reassembled in the room,” said Johan with a smile and a shrug.

We meandered back to the guesthouse for supper. Our thoughts were full of how time gone by had been made meaningful for us. We wondered what would happen when Johan was no longer there to attend to the objects of our past and take visitors on a trip through history.

A word wall and a black room

On our way out of Richmond the next day, Matthew remembered that there was a Modern Art Gallery in the town. We had time so we went to find it. In the middle of this ramshackle village was a building with wide windowed walls filled with interesting art.

A man who looked busy and in charge encouraged us to go find the wall of words and then walk to the Black Room, an art installation down the road. We walked through the courtyard where a wall of red bricks loomed upwards. Dotted across the wall were bricks of words. Words that are the same in English and Afrikaans but have different meanings. It’s officially called “Word Woes IV”, an installation by Willem Boshoff.

We found our way to the property where we thought the Black Room was. There were two buildings on site. On the right, a group of people were crowded around a white bakkie parked in front of a ramp to an open storeroom. A young boy played in the red soil piled against the retaining wall.

A smiling man bounced towards us and asked what had brought us this way. We told him and he steered us towards the building to the left.

“Are you the artist?” asked Matthew.

“Yes I am,” replied Richard Forbes.

We entered the room and were assailed by the smell of paint. Black dark with slices of light met us.

“Stand still and let your eyes adjust,” he said.

We stopped and looked. Eyes wide open staring into darkness. An artwork that hung from the ceiling revealed itself as it swayed slightly to our left. Slowly more pieces emerged from the shadows.

“What was the inspiration for this work?” asked Matthew.

Richard said, “In this time where it’s all screens and stress I wanted to produce something that forced those engaging with the installation to slow down. You can’t view this in a rush.”

We couldn’t. We had to walk slowly and carefully around the objects that hung or stood in the room. But by the time we moved out back to the light of day we could see everything in that room.

Outside Richard ushered us to the other building. Here we met Evette Lombard, an artist who works with clay. She was still setting up her installation. Clay pieces sat on wooden tables arranged around the room. She spoke about how she loved working with the clay that she got from all over the land.

“First you have to work the clay. Soften it. Roll it in a ball and it has one end,” she said, “Then you roll it out and it has two ends which then are joined together forming a circle. That is the foundation of all my work.”

Chantal reached out to touch a clay dome. She felt the texture of the unglazed piece. It was soft and smooth.

“Yes, yes touch it,” said Evette, “I love that.”

Matthew came to feel the piece too. We stood with both our hands over it, protective and covering.

It had started to drizzle but Matthew was busy making friends connecting with everyone there. As the rain came down harder Chantal said, “We must go or we’ll get wet.”

Matthew ran the two blocks for the car and came back to pick Chantal up. We wended our way out of Richmond feeling satiated, grateful and gifted with this unexpected experience.

We had 5 hours to get through to our next stop near Winburg.

A something special in every place

We overnighted at a guest cottage on a working farm. The sunset celebrated the end of a magnificent day. The next morning we woke to cattle lowing and the clink of gates opening and closing as workers moved about doing their early chores.

Our final stretch home was filled with conversations about our time away.

“What was your favourite place on this road trip?” asked Chantal.

“Richmond was the most surprising with that art in the nondescript looking town,” Matthew replied, “But every place had its ‘something special’ and usually it was the people we met that made it so.”

Yes, it was the people. We were welcomed as old friends by Deborah and Leon in Bethulie. Prince Albert gave us quirky Estelle, arty Anna, blacksmith Kashief, weavers, quiet spoken servers and enthusiastic gallery staff. George was filled with family and friends but Richmond held the hidden gems. Keeper of museums, artists and curators, smiling servers from Victoria West and helpful gardeners.

Life is full of treasures if we just stay awhile, speak with the locals and venture beyond the perceived safety of guest house walls. We may never again see the folks we met but we are all the richer for stopping off in the little and not so little places along the way. We returned home with bags of stories and packets of experiences. They have left such sweet tastes on our lips that we continue to enjoy at each sharing.

Until next time.

Yours in feeling,
Chantal & Matthew

P.S. If you’d like to see more images from the road trip, along with some etched interpretations of the beautiful sights, you’re welcome to follow us: Matthew’s Instagram & Chantal’s Instagram. 📷 🤳

If you missed any of our recent chronicles tracing the winding paths of our road trip odyssey, allow us to present, with a refined flourish, the complete tapestry of our journey from start to finish. This week’s story is the last of our four road trip recounts.

🚗 On the road again

An annual road trip starts with a stopover at a place that offers so much more than expected. We leave reflecting on our history and the forces of nature.

👑 A princely visit

Our road trip takes us to Prince Albert, a tiny town in the Karoo. A town of surprises and delights, it filled our few days there with friendly faces and interesting insights.

🌿 By George

Our road trip landed us in George, the gateway to the Garden Route. A time to catch up with friends, relax with family and discover what had changed since our last visit and what had stayed the same.

Credits for this issue — Images: Midjourney & 5th Place