In 2015, I planned a five-day trek along the Tsitsikamma coast. My friend Chrisel—a woman with a legendary appetite and a deep, spiritual devotion to dinner—flew into Cape Town the night before we set off.
Being responsible for the food on our hike, I handed her a small survival pack of trail snacks: a few nut bars, some chocolates, and a packet of crackers and cheese. It was the standard "emergency sugar" kit for a long day in the mountains.
We drove to the start, hiked the first day, and eventually rolled into the overnight hut. Because this was a "luxury" hike, our actual provisions were being dropped off by vehicle each evening. On that first night, a feast fit for a king appeared: piles of fresh meat for a braai, salads, and all the trimmings.
Chrisel let out a sigh of relief that was louder than the crashing surf outside.
"Oh, thank goodness!" she gasped, eyeing the steak. "I thought that little packet you gave me last night was my food for the entire hike!"
I suppose I should have clarified the menu; for eight hours, she’d been hiking through one of the world's most beautiful landscapes, mentally calculating how to make one nut bar last until Thursday.
0 comments:
Post a Comment