Camping supplies: two weeks

Vincent at check out [where a security guard shoplifted a can of Red Bull right beside us. Must really have needed it]. Ah, Pick 'n Pay. What would we have done without you? This is where we bought the bulk of our supplies. For the refined touches we shopped at Woolworths and bought things like peri-peri marinade (which we ate over Keetmanshoop lamb chops, at Nossob, in the middle of the Kgalagadi, in a thunderstorm).

Note all the self-rising flour. My cousin Andrea, editor of Go! magazine had given me an easy recipe for potbrood (potbread) - one small bag flour, one bottle beer. So I had Intentions. The long life milk was for our ritual morning coffee, and at Woolworths we stocked up on Illy.

Above, Box Number One: pepper cracker was a must; I don't know what I was thinking with the chicken stock cubes; the garlic was eaten, the spaghetti in the Namib; and rusks. I like them. And they made us friends and influenced people. See later posts. Marmite, packed for emotional emergencies, was used only once, on our last day at Kersefontein and within sight of civilization, if you can call it that.

Box Number Two: lemons. I wrote a food piece for Go! last year and mentioned lemons. I stand by it. Never travel without them. They put up with just about anything and transform anything. The tonic was destined for hot places and cubes of ever-available ice. The desert is full of ice. Who knew. And Ceres fruit juices packed into the tiny fridge between our seats in the Landcruiser were a cold balm on long dusty and bumpy roads.

Above, my father packed us a box of wine. Every night was a surprise. That wine must have gone above 45'celsius at times in the car and managed, with one exception, very well. Standouts were the Allesverloren Tinta Barocca and the Zondernaam Cabernet. The Thelema Cab 1997 didn't make it. Over the hill. We buried it with honours under a camelthorn.

And our secret weapon. The game salami, made from nameless and unidentified animals hunted by my brother Anton, not seen in many a moon. My brother, not the animals. We felt bad about the hunting but not about the eating. It was delicious.

And now a word for our sponsors:

My father, HPV - for the 4 x 4 Toyota Landcruiser VX Turbo and the diesel that went into it. We could not have done it otherwise. We love that car. It was our home, our transport, our protector. Coming from my carless NYC society, I never knew I could feel that way about something with an engine and wheels.

And special mention to its tyres, BF Goodrich, the only 4 x 4 tyres to have reinforced sides. Not a single puncture, on roads littered with black rubber carcae.

Neighbours Guy and Jay: for the bigger fridge that plugged into the cigarette lighter and lived in the trunk. For keeping our chops and wors cold and making sure the butter retained its shape. And for the ammo boxes in which our supplies were packed.

Cousin Andrea and Dr Clark: the folding table that became our de facto kitchen wherever we went.

Brother Francois: for giving my parents the folding camp chairs that were unpacked first at every campsite.

Next Stop: the Orange River and how one gets there.