Hogsback: Sherry and soft-boiled road trip eggs at the end of a long day's travel.
This is where, right here at this table, I could sit down and write what I am on this good earth to write; unhindered and in silence, but for the midsummer birdsong outside, rain dripping-dropping from the eves and trees, also the crackling and pungent hearth behind me.
In the early 90s as a long-haired journalism student at Rhodes University I travelled here often - on my off-road Yamaha XT-250, with just a two man tent and sleeping bag strapped to the rusted carrier, a backpack on my back - seeking peace and solace from the bustling and intense Grahamstown.
I've passed through Hogsback, which is well off the beaten track, often since then, always promising to return when I have more time on my hands. That time never comes in life, unless you're determined to carve it out of your heavily scheduled existence.
Perhaps it was my head-on collision on the N2 just outside of Plettenburg on Saturday evening - with what looks like to have been an alleged drunken driver crossing into my lane - that has again reinforced my determination to live fully, passionately in the moment.
Hence us resting up in this peaceful, secretive mountain village in the forest on the Amatola mountains in my favourite of South African provinces: the Eastern Cape.