Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“You must come and meet my dad one day.”
“Sure, I'd love to. Does he maybe know where one could get work around here?”
“Ya, he does actually. He is working with a South African cabinetmaker in a little workshop
just down the road.”
“Hmm, that's interesting; I wonder if they need anyone else? I need to work; I'm getting
low on funds and am getting a little bored. Would you like a smoke?”
“Oh, no not for me, thanks; my dad would kill me if he saw me smoking! I'm only sev-
enteen. Besides, it's not very healthy. My mother smokes all the time, and my dad and her
fight about it all the time.”
She put her mug down saying, “Thank you for that lekker coffee. I must get back, otherwise
my dad might get a little worried. I'll come back later to help you dive out those cans if
you like?”
“I would really like that, and you are most welcome for the coffee; come over any time.”
I smiled at her broad grin and helped her into the dinghy.
She expertly started the outboard engine and took off smartly towards her boat with a roar
and a rooster tail and a not unpleasant smell of burnt gasoline.
I kept a sharp eye out for any more floating cans. I spent the morning writing letters and
cleaning Déjà vu. I wrote a letter to my father in South Africa who had kept up a faithful
correspondence. It was good to receive mail from home, which informed me of news with
my family and the goings-on back at the family farm. Letters were sent to me poste rest-
ante, quite often in advance; I would inform my father of my travel plans, and he would
then send me my mail and sometimes a roll of South African magazines or a care package
with biltong or other South African items.
I was busy cleaning up an oil spill in the bilge when I heard the roar of an outboard engine
and climbed out to see who had arrived. Smiling brightly, Darleen neatly circled about Déjà
vu's stern and came alongside without a ripple. She threw the painter over the rail and said,
“Hallo again, I brought my dive gear, so if you still feel like getting those cans I will help
you.”
“That's really nice of you neighbor, let me just get my stuff, and we will both go down.”
I had barely got my equipment and was struggling into my flippers when I heard a splash.
Darleen was over the side of her rubber duck, her snorkel spewing up seawater. She sud-
denly turned turtle with a flash of her bikini bottoms and went down swiftly. A minute went
by and soon the surface broke, and she came up with her hands full of cans. She was very
