THE ROAD TO HELL - KAROO ROADTRIP 2011 (PART 1)
The concept of heaven and hell is something that humankind had been speculating and writing about since the beginning of time. “L'enfer, c'est les autres “ Sartre said. I wholeheartedly agree with Sartre that hell is mostly other people as I’m at best not a social butterfly. It also means that I can use Google because otherwise I wouldn’t have known what the hell he meant
Some say that this country is going to hell in a hand-cart - Rubbish. It’s the greatest place on earth - but I also know that Hell is in South Africa. It is not some mythical mysterious Hades where the devil hangs out slow-toasting souls like marshmallows speared to his pitchfork over pits of fire ‘n sulfur but an isolated valley in the Swartberg.
Southern Africa has some magical places and spaces that are a bit off the map. Hidden treasures like The Owl House in Nieu-Bethesda and a little town called Pofadder (Puff Adder) in the far Northern Cape. That town is named after a Koranna Chief, Klaas Pofadder, and not after a snake as I once thought. I’ve already ticked these from my bucket list but the road to Hell I’ve not traveled, until recently.
Towards the end of 2010 The Prince, my ♥ Girls son, and I road tripped through the arid Karoo, driving the back roads and gravel passes sleeping over in isolated small towns. I wanted to get away as far as possible from Jozi before Christmas as I hate the time of year. Call me The Grinch - I don’t mind. I left the planning of this trip to The Prince with one condition - I wanted to go to Hell.
The Hell, or rather “Die Hel” - its proper Afrikaans name - is an isolated valley in the Gamkaskloof deep in the heart of the Swartberg Mountains. The road to Hell branches off from the spectacular 27 kilometer Swartberg Pass. This pass is an elegant piece of road engineering constructed by Thomas Bain between 1881 and 1888. Bain built 23 South African passes in all but the Swartberg; linking the great Karoo to the coast, was his final masterpiece
Why people originally settled in Die Hel in the 1830’s only the devil knows. Some say that the valley appealed to trekboere chafing under British rule. They sought an autonomous life far away from law, regulations and taxes. The more probable story however is that the valley was discovered when farmers followed their cattle that strayed along the Gamka River into this isolated and fertile backwater.
Die Hel was cut-off from the outside world until 1962, only accessible on foot or on horseback through the narrow river gorge and over steep mountains. Strangely enough the first motor vehicle, a Morris, was carried over the rugged terrain into the valley in the late 1950’s. I wonder what fuel it used, peach-brandy most probably because it must have been almost impossible to transport petrol into the place. And for what purpose? It’s not like you can pop into the nearby town for a visit or a movie with the love of your live sitting next to you with the wind blowing through her hair. But I suppose residents of Hel are slightly err….. strange? Telephones were only installed in 1965, nearly 80 years after a telecommunication system was introduced into the rest of South Africa.
A proper gravel road was finally built in 1962 almost single-handedly by a Koos Van Zyl with a bulldozer. Old Koos definitely didn’t have the finesse of Bain. He must have been a very brave individual or high on witblits and those good herbs that I’m sure grow deep in the mountains
His road ain’t a symphony but a Sid Vicious and the Sex Pistols punk-rock anthem. It jars, clatters and screams - zigzagging up and down the mountains, ridiculously convoluted. Even the hairpin bends have hairpins in!
When the Prince and I stopped at the road-sign at the turnoff I read; “Die Hel - 50 kilometers = 2 hours” No way Josè, I though, I’ve driven the busiest highway in South Africa, the one between Jozi & Pretoria for years through sun, sleet, rain, hail, fire, frost, rape, pillage and major pile-ups. That’s about 50 kilos. Two hours? Never.
But the devil knows better. The journey took more than two hours - tipsy-toeing along a narrow strip of road hugging the mountainside with no barriers to stop a vehicle plunging down some dark and dusty abyss. At stages we had to back up to allow oncoming traffic to pass perilously close to the edge. There is no way in hell that I will drive The Road to Hell at night or when it rains. I also gained a lot of respect for The Prince’s Subaru Forrester. I thought it was a real pussy of a 4x4 but it was much nimbler and lighter than the big bakkies and Landrovers which struggled around the really tight hairpins.
Two hours later we ended up in the middle of…..nowhere. Die Hel was almost deserted.
Ironically the opening of the road in 1962 almost emptied Gamkaskloof. Severe drought over the years, the lure of the neighbouring towns like Prince Albert and Calitzdorp, with churches, schools and entertainment took its toll on the isolated valley’s population. By the 1980s, many farms that remained in the hands of the same family for decades were sold. Farm after farm were abandoned.
Annetjie Joubert is the last born and bred resident of Die Hel. We read about her in the wonderful "Karoo Keepsakes", http://karoospace.co.za/trading-post/karoo-keepsakes, which is a great reference should you plan a road-trip into this wonderful part of the country. When we at last stopped at the little shop and “restaurant” at the end of the road we asked for Annetjie but she wasn’t around.
After exploring the little bit of hell worth exploring we thought we’ll have something to eat before attempting the journey back along the same road. “Have you booked?” the lady in attendance asked. “If not all we have is freshly baked bread and jam.” Served us right not booking our space in hell.
So after that scrumptious meal we traveled on to Williston. I’m sure I passed the wreck on that old Morris on the way out. The only evidence I have that I’ve been to Hell and Back is a cap and a bumper sticker.
It’s still a place worth visiting, but book first if you want a proper meal. It’s really in the middle of nowhere and you do get there slowly!
I’ve ticked another box on the bucket list - the next ones are the ghost towns of Kolmanskop and Elizabeth Bay in the Sperrgebiet close to Luderitz in the Namib Desert. That can be another road-trip of note. Interestingly someone mentioned “carefully maintained decay” about these deserted desert towns which must have been visited by hundreds of people since the ghosts moved in. Makes one think doesn’t it. Like Gold Reef City in the middle of the desert to some extent maybe.
I’ve tracked down this YouTube that gives one some sense of what Old Koos van Zyl’s road looks like. There’s even a humongous rock next to the road named after him.
Click to view