It occurs to me, the day before we leave, that I’ve never done this before. I’ve never travelled by car from Durban to Johannesburg. All the times I’ve travelled between the two cities – and there have been many visits since I first came this way in 2003 – have been by plane. It’s an odd thought. I love flying and I have a soft-spot for this particular route, especially in the late afternoon when you get to dodge and soar between giant thunderstorm clouds. The most dramatic experience I’ve ever had of flying through a thunderstorm was on this route. But flying has disadvantages. I remember a discussion, perhaps from a TV show or a movie, maybe a book, about seeing the earth from outer space and that it is all beautiful and uniform but there is no detail. From a plane you get to see the gentle rise and fall of the landscape. You get to enjoy the splendour of mountain ranges and the curve of escarpments, but you don’t see the newly build gateposts on a farm named Grootgeluk – grateful in spite of the hardships, perhaps a long-held dream come true. You miss the human detail, the texture of the landscape seen close-up.
Traveling by car (and I find trains the same) gives you a chance to soak up that texture. It’s a way to get a glimpse of what may really be true. Of course, you don’t get all the detail – it’s a painting, not a movie – but it is so rich with possible interpretations and ideas. Also, you get to sit still and watch for a few hours. That’s not something that happens very often. Sitting in a bus or a car or a train for hours and hours with no distractions, just letting your mind wander as you take in a world beyond the window. Some people hate the sitting still. I find it one of the most restorative parts of travel.
That’s how I felt yesterday on the drive up to Johannesburg. Not far into the journey, we began to leave behind the oppressive greenness of the KZN mist belt and to travel through farmland and acacia-dotted veld. The roads are good, the sky was clear and the weather was warm. Further along, clouds began to build up. The beginnings of what should have become a thunderstorm – those same giant, charged clouds that the planes overhead travel between. On the ground, there was little sign of those storms. The Free State is dry. Cattle graze in fields of dried-out, post-harvest stalks. Maize? Some winter crop? Newly ploughed fields lie waiting for the moment the new growing season can begin. Perhaps there is another reason they haven’t been planted yet. Perhaps they’re waiting for the rain. Dust devils lift layers of precious soil and sweep them across the road. The air is hazy with dust. Town after town, hazy with dust. Clouds are now gathering overhead and stray rays of sunshine turn dust devils golden.
Eventually, beyond the dry fields, we cross the Vaal River. Things seem calmer here but the haziness remains. We drive on, through the beginnings of the city, following the white lines. The road opens up and the Joburg skyline is before me. It feels like coming home. The whole trip has felt a little like that. The flat landscape of ploughed fields and open grass stretching to hills in the distance felt like relaxing. The small towns felt warm and familiar. This skyline feels alive. It’s late afternoon and Joburg is dusty and hazy. The clouds have gathered here, too, and they float across the city as stray sunbeams light up buildings and billboards. Through Sandton, along Katherine Street, past the place I used to live, along Rivonia Road towards Rosebank and my home for the night. Still my favourite part of the city. An evening with friends, a good night’s sleep. The drive, the trip, the hours in transit make a difference. I begin to exhale.
