Kareedouw was founded in 1905. The name is presumably of Khoikhoi origin and means “karee pass”. A Khoi tribe called A’Caree also lived in the area.

Sonet Strydom, co-owner of the Kareedouw Butchery, believes their boerewors is the best – they have a secret recipe and use only the best meat.

Sonet Strydom, co-owner of Kareedouw Butchery, says the secret is the recipe, which hasn’t changed since 1926. “It’s all about the meat,” she says. “You can use any spice you like as long as the meat is good.” Unfortunately I won’t be stopping for a braai anytime soon, so I buy some droëwors instead.

Mmmm! Jac the photographer is a vegetarian and even he nods his head in approval after catching a whiff. About 15km west of Kareedouw the orchards start appearing, and once you cross the Krom River you’re properly in the Langkloof.

Ah, this valley does wonders for the blood pressure. The N2 is a test of character, especially during school holidays. There are too many trucks, crazy drivers from Bellville and the inevitable Citi Golf belching smoke at 60km/h in the right lane.

And when you need to fill up, the queue at the pumps is longer than the checkout queue at a Woolworths sale. This road is a fantastic detour. The Kouga Mountains to the north and the Tsitsikamma Mountains to the south make for a pretty backdrop.

It’s springtime; the mountains are green and each orchard is an explosion of pink and white blossoms.

The Dutch Reformed church dates from 1911. The stone used to build the church was sourced from the area.

The Langkloof is filled with apple and peach orchards. Here Thys Kiebies heads home after a long day working on a fruit farm.

Joubertina, about 45km from Kareedouw, is the biggest town in the region. It has a Pep, an ANC office, a hardware store called Woning Koning, the McLachlan High School and the Huis Formosa retirement village with views of Formosa Peak, the highest mountain in the Tsitsikamma range.

Oh yes, there’s also a monument that commemorates the first tractor in the Langkloof, a 1928 Wallis. A sign next to the monument reads: “Rust in peace.” Olivier Kritzinger, the local history boffin, says Joubertina was named after a reverend from Uniondale who also served this region.

“See, in those days the reverend had to travel by horse cart to do house calls,” Olivier explains. “Reverend Joubert felt that the 75km journey from Uniondale was too long, so he established a new congregation here in 1907.”

The town was first known as Joubertville, but it clashed with nearby Jansenville so it was changed to Joubertina. These days Joubertina is known for three things: apples (the town calls itself the Big Apple of the R62), honeybush tea and… The Kouga Mummy. The embalmed remains of this 2800-year-old Khoisan person were discovered in a rock shelter about 20km north of the town in April 1999.

South Africa’s own Tutankhamen is currently housed at the Albany Museum in Grahamstown, but there are rumours that it will be moved back to Joubertina one day. Beyond Joubertina the orchards keep coming. It looks like fruit farming is tough work: masked workers prune the trees amid clouds of insecticide.

Ferdinand Philander stands on the verge at the turn-off to the town of Louterwater, peddling a tattered box of apples. Across the road a sign reads: “Support the farmers, don’t buy stolen fruit”. He sees me reading the sign. “No sir, I didn’t steal. These are surplus apples.”

Hardly a kilometre down the road we come across a farmer wearing a floppy brown hat, plodding along on a tractor. Today Nelis Ferreira is commuting between his farm Dennekruin and Louterwater, where he has some business to attend to – a distance of about 35km.

I estimate that his tractor maxes out at 20km/h. “Don’t you get bored?” I ask. “Nah, I sit like this and the time just passes by.” Nelis smiles and his red Massey Ferguson disappears in the rear-view mirror.

September and October are the best months to see the Langkloof in all its glory – the valley is lush after winter rains.

Ferdinand Philander hawks apples next to the road.

In Misgund, about 35km from Joubertina, you’ll find a Dutch Reformed church, a police station, the Skaapkraaltjie school and the Chinese HongKong Shop, which stocks everything from Bruce Lee DVDs to novelty caps.

“Why come all the way from China to open a shop in Misgund?” I ask the man behind the counter. But he just shrugs and says: “I speak-a no Engrish.” Misgund is pretty, but there isn’t exactly a massive client base.

Maybe the man is fleeing from the triads? Or does Misgund mean “place of abundance” in Mandarin? We hit the road again. Less than 20km further, in Haarlem, we come across another Chinese shop – Yen Sing Trading CC.

Again the language barrier prevents me from figuring out how the owners ended up in the Langkloof. Haarlem is a lot like Misgund, only bigger. I’ve never seen so many donkeys in one place in my life! They’re everywhere – eating grass next to the road, resting in the shade and strolling down the street.

Uniondale

It’s 27km from Haarlem to Uniondale. As we drive, the landscape starts to become more arid and scrubby, typical of the Little Karoo. The Uniondale Poort is like a mini Meiringspoort but with fewer drifts and places to pull over.

The mountains tower over you and the cliffs squeeze tight. Just before claustrophobia kicks in, the road spits you out and you find yourself in Uniondale. The town is probably best known for its ghost. In 1968, Maria Roux was killed in a car accident when her fiancé’s Volkswagen rolled on the N9 on the way to Willowmore.

And then there’s Anita Erasmus, who died under similar circumstances 10 years later. The story goes that the ghost of Maria (and/or Anita) hitchhikes along this road during Easter weekend. She has long dark hair and wears dark clothes.

Those who claim to have picked her up say that the car becomes icy cold, and when you turn to look at her in the passenger seat, she disappears. Adéle Verwoert, co-owner of Die Watermeul restaurant, tells me that some townsfolk think the story should be laid to rest once and for all, but others believe it’s just harmless fun.

“I think she’s at peace,” Adéle says. “She is famous after all! Isn’t that all a girl wants?” Jimmy Zondagh, whose family has farmed in this region since 1764, tells me about his supernatural encounter. “One night we were driving close to where the accident took place and we were chatting about ghosts,” he says. “I saw a ghost next to me but when I looked again it was actually just a yield sign…”

He also tells me that she hasn’t been spotted since 1988. To walk off some calories after our lunch at Die Watermeul, we head over to the hill on the south side of town where a fort was built during the Anglo Boer War. It’s about a five-minute walk from where you park your car. From the top there’s a great view of the town, the Swartberg and the N9.

I look towards Willowmore and think of Maria and Anita. Is there really a ghost out there? And does it help to be famous when you’re dead? Just like the story behind the Langkloof’s Chinese shops, I’ll probably never know the answer. Right now, the road home and my real-life questions without answers are calling.