Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
neatly mowed park lands were surrounded by monstrous evergreen trees of every descrip-
tion. Clusters of gigantic firs stood in Celtic huddles and tasseled islands. Great, leafy trees,
the likes of which I had never seen before, were hundreds of feet high with mighty branches
and trunks fifty feet in girth (I believe they were Kourie trees). I was soon lost from the
public gaze and walked around mesmerized by the splendid giants in this Garden of Eden.
There was something so ethereal about the vast acres of crisp, green lawns stretching end-
lessly away into borders and islands of impossibly large trees and shrubs. I sat down in a
little clearing within these woods and lit the cannabis. It was as good an excuse as any. I
filled my lungs with the noxious stuff and exploded into a coughing fit. I drank hurriedly
from my water bottle and threw the remains of the stuff away in the bushes. This really
wasn't my style, but it was too late. A green euphoria surreptitiously stole over me, and I
sank down into a relaxed stupor. I stretched out on the grass with my backpack as a pillow
and stared up at the trees through the leafy green hemisphere. It was pretty damn grand. I
heard the birds clearly, along with a few bees and chirping insects. I heard or saw no traces
of man or town. I was alone in the forest garden. I lay back and must have dozed off, for
when I awoke from a distant fading dream, I thought I had awoken in a Salvador Dali paint-
ing. It is very difficult for me to record accurately the loveliness of the place or the splendor
I felt. The sun was well past the yard arm, and I stood up shakily to go.
I had had my fill of wide, open country spaces and acres of park lands. I was hungry; it
was getting cold and late, and I was missing the bustle of a town. I was missing Russell. I
packed my things and headed back to the little farming town. I found an interesting tavern
that advertised tea and went into the gloomy interior for a bite to eat. There was the hand-
ful of tourists I'd seen, already seated and looking around in hushed intrigue, taking in the
experience of the quaint little tavern.
A short, plump, red-faced woman waddled over in apron and chambermaid styled hat with
a menu clutched in her hand. She beamed at me, “Something to eat, luv?”
She handed me the little, black plastic menu, and my eyes raced through and screeched to
a halt at the steak and kidney pie with gravy and chips entry.
“Oh, it's a favorite here,” she confided, waddling off to the kitchen.
In twenty minutes, I was gulping down noisily the crisp, smoldering pie and gravy with
hurried slurps from my cold coke. It was the best pie I ever had and told her so.
Blinking in the fading light, I stepped out into the street and, hitching up my backpack,
began trekking down the road towards home. The street was practically deserted. I
wondered if I would get a lift. I did eventually but walked the first three miles before I did.
