Johannesburg to KwaZulu-Natal – Frankfort and Harrismith

Old towns are great! There is something peaceful and nostalgic about them, even though they’re a million years my senior. Take Frankfort for example; wide streets, a handsome stone church, and the Free State breeze coming in from across the cornfields. Sure, there’s nothing blatant to get you there, but when you are there, take it easy, take a deep breath, and take it all in.

When heading from here to Harrismith, even if it is 9pm and you’re cruising the N3, pay caution to “Caution! Slow Moving. Farm Equipment.” It’s cool if you forget what part of the world you’re in, there’s a big, flashing sign to remind you.

Waking up in Harrismith… now that’s an interesting feeling. Not because I was sharing the honeymoon sweet with my brother (chocolates and rose petals and all), but because I never really know why I’m there. It’s a very halfway kinda place, with nothing obviously attractive about it besides the fact that it’s sister town, Ladysmith, alludes to the fairer sex. Odd then that brother Harri is home to the largest truck stop in the southern hemisphere. Not much of an attraction really. Remember what I told you about snooping around truck stops? I thought we’d cleared that up.

Naturally, I thought we’d give the place a chance, y’know, find out why people (still dressed in 90’s kit) choose to live here (maybe they really like the 90s.) I’m told there’s a bar called ‘Turtle’ where okes get lit, and ya, that covers it. We waved goodbye to a comfy stay at Amadudu and hit the road for a day in the mountains.

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