I believe a blog is supposed to be written just after the event, or when the thought occurs, but as anyone reading this will have gathered by now, that's not quite the approach I'm taking. Luckily, the events that took place during the first weekend of August still stand out very clearly - several weeks (okay, months) on, as I sit in the tropical heat of Sri Lanka - which perhaps says something about the impression they left on me.

Initially, there were six of use who were supposed to be going to Cape Point National Park for the weekend - staying in a hut atop a mountain on the Saturday night. But, as in various American horror films, our numbers quickly dwindled - although not at the hands of a masked psychopath, I might add; rather, with one member of the group being unwell and two others deciding shortly after arriving at the park to go their own way. So in the end, just me, Becca and our housemate, Hugh, set out on what turned out to be somewhat of an odyssey.

From the moment we took the wrong route - ummm, right at the start of the trail - the trip was destined to be an interesting one. That each of us also had a very relaxed attitude to proceedings also helped. No, clambering up steep, craggy rocks wasn't for us that hot weekend. After all, there were sand dunes to run up and down, rock pools to delve into (with sea urchins and oyster shells as our treasure), enormous pieces of kelp to wang across long, deserted stretches of sand, my mini kite to fly, and strange balloon-like sea creatures that had been washed up onto the beach, to pop like bubble wrap (they were already dead!).

So it was in a playful mood that we encountered our first baboon - something we'd all been looking forward to, but which turned out to be quite an intimidating experience, with the hairy beast creeping towards us as though he knew exactly what food supplies our backpacks concealed. But it afforded us the chance to speak to a local, who showed us that the trick was to pick up a rock and make like we were going to throw it at him - a technique we'd find ourselves employing several more times over the following 36 hours or so.

We finally made it to our hut - perched on top one of the mountains close to Cape Point itself - late afternoon. The temptation to stay there was strong, but we couldn't come this far and not go to the southern most tip of the South-West portion of the coast (the MOST southerly point of Africa is, in fact, up the coast at Cape Agulhas). So after an hour or so of that most enjoyable of South African pursuits, chillin' hard, we ambled back down the mountain...and then up another, only to find we had yet again taken the wrong route. Thankfully, the park ranger we asked for directions offered us a lift in his vehicle and we weary three arrived at our destination much sooner than planned.

Like lemmings, we followed the other tourists up the many steps leading to the lighthouse - an inexplicably windy place (unless you have an ounce of meteorological knowledge) - before descending the steps once again and making our way to the restaurant area. Unfortunately, the delightful-looking restaurant overlooking the sea was closing when we arrived (why close at 4.30pm??!), but they allowed us to purchase a bottle of wine, which they wrapped in a bag to make it somehow official. Now, I wouldn't normally include such an Alan Bennett-esque detail, but that bag was the catalyst for our next baboon encounter.

Having experienced the fear that these apes can instill in a person, I had assumed that any further meetings would generate the same sort of feeling. But when one leapt out of the bush and onto our picnic table like a winged monkey from the Wizard of Oz and grabbed our bottle of wine (the fact it was in a bag gave it the impression there was food to be taken), both Becca and I found ourselves in defence mode, shouting at the bewildered creature to "GIVE US OUR BLOODY WINE BACK - NOW!". And, amazingly, it did!

Still shaking with adrenalin, we decided to make a hasty retreat from the area, but just a short distance down the hill, once the adrenalin had worn off, extreme tiredness set in. There was nothing else for it but a spot of acting. And my, what a grand impression of a girl with a limp Becca does! The people who picked us up and dropped us close to our hut certainly seemed to think so. Naughty, naughty (but handy, handy!).

I'm sure our bottle of cool white wine would still have tasted delicious as we watched the sun go down from our moutain top hut, had we not rescued it from the clutches of a baboon, but the fact that we had made our evening tipple even more enjoyable. The marshmallows we later toasted weren't the result of such a triumph over nature, but they were a minor triumph of resourcefulness; with no fire on which to crisp the edges, we stuck forks into them and used the camping stove instead. The perfect end to the perfect day. But there was more to come...

The next day started with a leisurely walk along the beach - again, not quite the path that had been mapped out for us - we knew a better way, after all. I mean, we'd been in the area at least 24 hours at this point so we were practically as knowledgeable as the park rangers. Except they no doubt knew that such a beautiful walk, if continued, would end in a stream of flies that once penetrated would be hard to get out of. You wouldn't think flies could induce such panic, but there was something very biblical about the way they enveloped us as we ran through the black cloud they created, screaming (and, in Becca's case - and this is by her own admission - dribbling too!).

Having eventually reached the clean air, we convinced orselves there couldn't possibly be any more obstacles on our path. Sure, Odysseus encounters his fair share of difficulties throughout his journey home, but it all works out in the end, right? Well yes, but not that easily - certainly not in our case. For around the corner, out of view, were several troops of baboons - I'm talking 30 or 40 of the little b*****s. Still shaking from our Hitchcock-like encounter with The Flies, when they did finally come into view, we weren't willing to take them on - even with rocks in our hands. Instead, we enlisted the help of some fishermen, who were heading in the same direction as us and lead the way - not through, but around the baboons (and, as a result, through some 'snakey' grass - great!).

At last, we reached our destination - Giffkommetjie beach, where a small boat had been shipwrecked in the 60's, if I remember rightly. The place was deserted, and with the heat and our emotional exertion laying us low, there was nothing for it but to strip off and run into the sea - an activity which gave us the motivation to complete the last leg of our journey, which would take us back to the main gate.

We decided to consult the map for the final stage, as we'd all had enough adventure for one weekend. But the desire to be sensible doesn't necessarily bestow the required skills upon the wishful, and before long, we were lost amongst the sand dunes. That is, until I spotted a trail of footprints, which we readily followed, confident that they'd take us back to the main road. But as the bush grew thicker and the paths narrower, we became less certain about our latest decision. And when we looked at the footprints a little more closely, their small, animal-like features confirmed our suspicions: we were following baboon prints!

Eventually, we found our way back to the man-made path shown on the map, and it turned out to be rather nice. Who knew the prescribed route would be so lovely?! Well, it was - until it took us to a monstrous mountain which would take every last bit of energy we had to scale. But with the end in sight, we did it. And, once at the top, we managed to catch a lift back to the main gate (employing rather more truthful tactics than the last time), where we awaited the arrival of lovely Leonard the taxi driver, relieved be back amongst our own kind once again, but perhaps a little bolder (and, I like to think, wiser!) than we had been when we arrived.