The first, long pass as you ascend towards the Cederberg is the Piekenierskloof Pass. It winds lazily upward, tips, and winds more steeply down again, towards the little town of Citrusdal. Just below the tipping point is Hebron, our idyllic B&B, with views to sigh over and food – my god, roast lamb shoulder, duck confit, that would grace the table at a five star restaurant – well, food to wash down with good Cederberg wine, while you drink in the view and soak up the silence and let the vistas – the vast, dry, harshly beautiful vistas – still the noise inside you, until you are calm, contented, everything in the world is in its place and everything is as it should be.
On the way up the pass we pulled over, to admire the view, of course, but also as a foretaste, of what was to come: and there, suspended high above us, centred above the distant mountains and hanging, remote and still, was the small red dot of a hang glider. Someone, up there, with a view of it all that must have been quite amazing.