Oudtshoorn may have been a properous town at the turn of the 20th century, but today it looks a bit down at heels and riddled with little black beggars. The ostrich farms are still there, though, as well as large tobacco fields and lots of arid countryside. We are heading towards the mountains, and the feel of the place is so Mediterranean it reminds us of home – except for the ostriches and the occasional baboon that peeps out of the bush and quickly backs off again, scared by the roar of our motors. We make our way across a plateau dotted with picture-pretty farmsteads, all nice and tidy and surrounded by orchards. Pears and apples are export crops. Then it’s time to tackle our first gravel road, a track winding its way up and down the mountains among outstanding scenery. It’s a treat to our tractors and even the drivers, a bit nervous at first, soon relax and actually have fun dispite the bumpy ride. We have lunch in a tiny place tucked away in a remote little valley, a truly bucolic spot complete with gurgling stream, a wooden deck and al fresco tables in a riot of flowers, that actually started out as a bikers’ den with a naughty name – Angie’s G-Spot – but must have repented and reformed of late. It hasn’t cleaned up its act completely yet (it’s definitely greasy) but it will come round! A few more hours along the track and we’re down to sea level and proudly entering Plettenberg Bay, a famed seaside resort.