THE SWAMP DONKEY
Last year in October Rudi and myself decided to get away for 2 nights during the week, so we booked a chalet at The Baths in Citrusdal. We have both been there many times before but never in summer, and this was an unusually hot spell for that time of year. The forecast temperature for our first day was around 34 degrees C, so we decided to find a cooler spot for the second day. Lockdown travel restrictions had just been eased so demand was high, but I spotted a location on the web close to the Berg River which looked promising, so I booked 2 small adjoining rooms at The Swamp Donkey Motel at a good price.
Our first day at Citrusdal was delightful. It was hot, but we managed to regulate our temperature by moving between the heated spa pool and the regular swimming pool. We should have stayed there for another day instead of moving to Swamp Donkey but what could possibly go wrong at a place with a name like that? The lady who booked us seemed keen, and the Buffalo Drift complex (of which Swamp Donkey was a recent addition) had been recommended by friends who had stayed in the tented section on many occasions.
It was still uncomfortably warm as we we drove the next day down the R44 on the way to Tulbagh where we found the Buffalo Drift turn-off. There were about eight dirt roads at this intersection, each one signposted, but none of them mentioning “swamp” or “donkey”, in any configuration, so we had to drive down each of these roads … but still no sign of the motel. Eventually we decided to drive through a “no entry” gate onto a working farm, in the hope that we would find someone to speak to, and this is where we stumbled upon our destination by accident. The lady who booked us mentioned that there were no other bookings for that night at Swamp Donkey, so we had to find our own keys but we could buy some firewood later on when the cleaning lady arrived. She told me that the following night was fully booked.
Once we had arrived we found the keys to our rooms from the diagram provided on the email she sent us, and to the kitchen area. This turned out to be a vast conference catering center which appeared unfinished and neglected. There was a huge ceiling fan with a cable dangling enticingly from it (with a plug at the end), which was not long enough to reach any of the power points. It was an eerie feeling, almost like the freezing of a civilization prior to a momentous collapse – in this case probably Covid 19 – which had a “work in progress” feel to it. It reminded me of the statues on Easter Island which were busy being sculpted into the mountains but had not yet been separated or liberated from the mountain stone, when the civilization dramatically suddenly succumbed to starvation. Then we went our rooms.
There were two chalets which looked reasonable, but our rooms were nothing more than back-to-back corrugated huts with a basin and toilet in between. I checked the water pressure and it was barely discernible but later on it disappeared entirely.
There were no windows, but there was a top bunk and lower bunk in both rooms, so theoretically, it could sleep four bodies but air would soon become a problem if the mosquitoes were out… and this of course, was a swamp!
The two small tributaries of the Berg River indicated in the photos online were in fact not even connected to the main waterway. They certainly looked impressive on the internet, but the water was stagnant and swimming was definitely not an option, so we went in search of the actual river nearby. We could see the river from our car but there was a barbed wire barrier and the only entry point seemed a fair distance away. We eventually decided to climb over the wire, so we carefully hoisted ourselves over the fence and were able to find a wooden platform on the river’s edge. It was still very hot so we swam in the river and entertained ourselves until dusk when we decided to fetch our guitars for a bit of music. Problem was, we could not find the insect repellent I had packed, so while I was playing guitar on water’s edge I was simultaneously being feasted upon by black flies.
I sustained multiple bites to my ankles which seemingly had no effect until a few days later, when my doctor had to prescribe antibiotics for a very nasty infection. Rudi was not badly affected because he had applied what little Tabard he had left in his kit.
We later settled down for the night and made a bonfire in the center of the deserted conference braai area and stayed up late trying to fathom the existence of a place like this, replete with fancy Spanish place-names and a few quaint touches, but with no water pressure, and no conference facilities to speak of. Also, how did they imagine that conference organizers, with a keen eye for upmarket concept style and status, would come upon a place called The Swamp Donkey Motel and think, hmmm … now that sounds like a good idea! And if they happened to make a booking I am sure that they would be delighted to find an authentic swamp and four real-life donkeys who bayed into the night from their small enclosure, to complete the picture. Or was this whole façade, perhaps an elaborate tax dodge?
Larry Margolis 2021
