Montagu, Route 62

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Here's a church, here's the steeple, but spooky see, where's the people?
Nestled in the mountains near Route 62, this was described as one of the gems of Little Karoo. It was quaint and clean with flowers bursting forth from manicured gardens but the streets were deserted. Frankly, I thought it spooky. Luckily, we stumbled across a backpacker/micro brewery and over a pint it was explained that it was so quiet because it was Good Friday. We took refuge and played petanque. Well, we threw little balls at a big ball to see who got closest. Gripping - mind you, I was still pants at it.

We left to get food, going to a place recommended by the backpacker owner. He was right, the tasty morsels provided, cooked according to slow food principles, were most satisfying. The verses from the bible throughout the menu were less so. Touchingly, the proud born again owners even used the menu to avail themselves to troubled souls, presumably to bump the queue a few places to get through the pearly gates. I’m not sure that their heart is in it though; saving souls in Montagu* is probably akin to committing to vegetarianism while in Tibet.


Is it a joke? My sides have split...
* This quip is deliberately ignoring the larger socio- political context of the economic/land ownership/living conditions of the black population which I would suggest as a starting point for anyone looking to salve their souls and conscience.

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