A lazy weekend in the Free State

It’s mid-afternoon on a Sunday and I’m having a snorting match with an eland.

I’m losing badly. I’ve discovered the knack of making disgustingly snorty noises, but for sheer volume the eland is an expert. Still, I triumph in the out-staring part of the competition, with the eland blinking and walking away under my unwavering gaze. Unlike me, he clearly has better things to do.

It’s not the way I normally spend a Sunday, but this is the Free State and the entertainment options are somewhat limited.

A friend had suggested spending a long weekend at her holiday farmhouse near Petrus Steyn. I instantly agreed, because so many people twitter on about the brilliance of solitude and the restorative powers of isolation that I was feeling guilty for actually enjoying a social life.

Then I remembered that I’m a city girl, and four days in a landscape that couldn’t even boast much wildlife suddenly felt rather daunting. I adore game reserves with thrilling animals to track, but this, Trish warned me, would be a fraction lower key.

First we stocked up on essential items. I loaded the trolley with bottles of wine and chocolate brownies. Trish was piling in frighteningly healthy stuff, like tofu and eggs, spinach and aubergines, organic vine tomatoes and pine nuts. We eyed our contrasting supplies with suspicion, each dismissing the other as a cranky eater.

As we drove through successive microclimates of sunshine and rain on the road down from Joburg I was glad I’d packed my mittens as well as my bikini.

I’ve passed through the Free State before but never actually stopped there, seeing it as a dull gateway to somewhere more exciting. This time it was the ultimate destination, and after two hours we turned off into a dirt road that bumped its way right over the horizon. I hauled open a rusty metal gate, only pretending to be locked by a padlock whose useful life had expired a decade earlier.

We jarred along to the empty, slightly chilly house and realised that spare matches weren’t in our shopping bags. Nor was there any dry wood by the fireplace, so we foraged for twigs and pine cones and nursed a fire into life.

The great outdoors was calling, so we donned hiking boots and set off down the pathway. As the big skies cast a beautiful golden glow over interminable fields I realised I ‘d forgotten my camera. I hiked back, slung it around my neck, and emerged again to see that dusk had firmly descended.

That evening Trish taught me canasta. It’s a complicated game, and I struggled to make sense of the rules as we juggled two packs of cards. Then my points racked up quickly as I moved from total dunce to canasta queen. I laid down all my cards as Trish still juggled an unwieldy hand. Soon it was routine procedure. Deal a hand, trade a few cards, exit with a sudden rush of activity.

A bottle of wine, a blazing fire, the chirping of assorted insects and an occasional vole scurrying across the floor added up to a very mellow mood.

When morning came reality struck. Three more days of nothing but strolling through fields, photographing sunsets and triumphing at canasta. No cinema, theatre or restaurants. No swimming or gym. I booted up my laptop, checked my email and broke the country silence with music.

But that undermined the whole point of the weekend really, so I switched off and strolled into the sunshine with a book. Then the book was set side as I watched two horses grazing, admired the birds, and got lost deep in my own thoughts.

We ate lunch and swapped stories of previous adventures, future dreams. We spoke of loves lost and found, favourite meals and nightmare relatives.

Then Trish jingled the keys of a quad bike, and hours that were already passing remarkably quickly gained a new excitement.

I saddled up tentatively, knowing I’d never quite managed to tame these beasts. This old farm labourer was untamable. Soon I was chugging past idle herds of eland and impala and a few curious zebra.

That evening I strolled off with my camera and my appalling sense of direction to photograph the sunset. Massive cumulous cloud turned fluorescent yellow until the sun burned out in a tight orange ball. I fired off dozens of pics, since this was the prime activity of the day.

Eventually quad bike headlights fluttered along the path as Trish arrived to ensure I hadn’t been savaged by a wildebeest. No, just out-snorted by an eland.

Later we went out to stargaze. It was cold and clear, incredibly silent, and absolutely beautiful. A shiver ran through me – the cold, or perhaps the smallness of myself and the enormity of the view – and we bounced back to the farmhouse so I could win some more canasta.