Day 23 - Rus Roes

Tuesday, October 29

Aurora to Redelinghuys

10k/6mi

Sunny with Clouds/Comfortable but Heating Up

 

 

From my journal at the start of the day: “If I could go home today, I would. Mostly the struggle with A., but also feeling lost, unanchored, ungrounded. I ate way too much yesterday. I’m hungry a lot, sometimes eat in case there’s nothing ahead, sometimes for entertainment, sometimes to fill space. Perhaps I’ve come up against the emptiness I’ve always tried to fill with (There is no word to complete this sentence in the journal. Looking at it now, I could insert food, Facebook, any number of addictive distractions.) If this is that, I want to find a new way to be with it if I can at all. I have two weeks left to expore that here, to face myself without flinching.”

 

Facebook wasn’t tugging at me quite so strongly at this point. I hardly considered it during my down times. But my fraught relationship with food seemed to be taking a larger role as I grew more uncertain about why I was continuing and more unsettled about everything. I would later understand that I was still in the detox phase of addiction withdrawal, that so many of my raw feelings were the result of a system starving for the fleeting comfort of the dopamine hits of my former Facebook use. 

 

As was the case with increasing frequency, my reading of Anam Cara in the morning helped give me the strength and courage to face a new day. I would actually go back and reread this passage at the end of the day, one of the most upsetting of the entire pilgrimage. 

 

“We need to be mindful of where we are damaged, then invite our deeper soul in its night-world to heal this wounded tissue, renew us and bring us back into unity. If we approach our hurt indirectly and kindly, it will heal. Creative expectation brings you to healing and renewal. If you could trust your soul, you would receive every blessing you require. Life itself is the great sacrament through which we are wounded and healed. If we live everything, life will be faithful to us.”

 

 

The start of the day was lovely and easy. Jan made amazing coffee for us, served with heated milk, well worth waiting for. Hester had filled the table with an abundance of food, both to eat then and to pack for the day. Marinda arrived, there were the usual pictures and goodbyes, and we set out. She knew she’d be staying back with A., so told me I could go ahead since I’d walked the route previously. She didn’t seem to think my lack of memory of the route was a problem. 

 

 

Cynthia and I walked together, as did Clare and Anna-marie. We leap-frogged each other frequently, an unacknowledged competition playing out subtly. The walk was easy, but the day grew hot quickly so we were glad to see the sign for Rus Roes, Gezie’s place, up ahead. There was a major turn just before that Clare and Anna-marie thought was where we were meant to go. They looked back for confirmation, and when I indicated we needed to go just a bit farther, they seemed reluctant to believe me. However, they continued on, and arrived ahead of us. 

 

This would be the last of our farm stays, the last of the farm wives to host us, the last of the farmers to entertain us. It was the wives who made their way into my heart and soul, who made me feel cared for and part of a family, if just for a few hours. Christine, Isobel, Marina, Karin, Bregda, and now Gezie. Women of stoic strength and practical love, and great good humor. They were the hearts of the huge farms their husbands and sons ran. As I write this, five months later, remembering these women whom I admire so deeply, I would return to Cape Camino just to spend time with them again. By the end of this particular day, however, no amount of farm wife goodness could have persuaded me I’d ever return for any reason. 

 

 

Gezie greeted us all warmly, her mother hen energy surrounding us and drawing us in. I got a huge hug and a reminder of my last visit when her cat took over my backpack while we rested in her gorgeous green yard. We had not spent the night that time, only had lunch, and I was looking forward to spending a longer time in Gezie’s homey embrace. 

 

 

The five of us moved to chairs in the shade of the trees lining her yard to wait for A., Marinda, and Jan with our luggage. Cynthia and Anna-marie and I were in the chairs. Gezie and Clare were standing. Gezie brought up the room situation, a little uncertainly. She had contacted Anna-marie a week or so before, mentioning that someone would need to sleep in their caravan (trailer) because there weren’t enough beds in the house for all five pilgrims. At that time, I was the only one reluctant to take the caravan, not wanting to spend a night without a bathroom. By the time we arrived at Gezie’s, I think most of us had forgotten about the caravan option. 

 

Gezie started by saying as an honored guest who had returned to Cape Camino a second time, I would get one of the single rooms inside the house. 

 

 

Clare erupted, her voice strong and angry.

 

I heard: No one is more special than anyone else here. If anyone deserves to have their own room it’s Anna-marie who has never gotten to be on her own. It’s not fair to choose one person over others. 

 

I’m pretty sure there was more. It felt like Clare went on for a very long time. When she finished there was a weird silence as we all struggled to absorb and respond. Cynthia said she’d sleep in the caravan, and I added that I would be willing also. Anna-marie stayed quiet. Gezie, clearly rattled, said she’d get things figured out, but did not assign rooms right then. She eventually offered a solution that had her husband in the caravan, her on the couch in the lounge, and Anna-marie in their bedroom. Clare and A. would share a bedroom, while Cynthia and I each got a single room. 

 

Before the shock of what had just happened wore off, Marinda and A. arrived, and right after, Jan with our luggage. We hadn’t had a chance to register that he was on his own when Clare ordered us all up to help unload the luggage so Jan didn’t have to. It wasn’t a thoughtful request, or a suggestion. It was a self-righteous shaming order that only compounded the damage done by her earlier outburst. 

 

After the luggage got sorted and we said goodbye to sweet Jan one last time, Gezie provided snacks, a feast of muffins and fruit and tea and cool drinks. Clare and Anna-marie and A. took the chairs in the shade of the trees. Cynthia and I found a shady spot on the ground far enough away that we could pretend they weren’t there. Gezie came out and sat with the three under the trees, offering beer. They visited like old friends, laughing and clearly enjoying themselves. They all drifted back inside, the three to their showers and Gezie to start the food for our dinner. 

 

Cynthia, for the first time since we met, was angry. The rudeness toward our host was incomprehensible to her. We were both still in shock and uncertain how to proceed. We were also confused by Gezie’s appearing to take their side, but it seemed like she had no other choice as the host but to do what she could to smooth things over. Perhaps she felt responsible because she had singled me out, and was trying to make up for that. 

 

Cynthia said she needed to walk and headed out onto the farm. I went inside to discover the bathroom was free. I took my shower, did some laundry and hung it out on the line in the front yard. I spent some time organizing my bag, and setting myself up for the next day. 

 

All my chores done, I went back outside with my journal and a cool drink, and sat in one of the chairs under the trees. Clare and A. were sitting there when I came out, but got up and went inside shortly after. I could hear Anna-marie and A. chatting inside a little later. I wondered if they were avoiding coming outside because I was there. It felt like a huge gift to have that cool, breezy, shady spot to myself for a bit, with only the company of a couple of grazing geese, regardless of how it came to be. 

 

Cynthia joined me when she returned from her walk. We talked a long time about what had happened and what we might do about it going forward. She cried, deeply hurt by the situation. I was more confused, my anger having quieted by then. Her big question was how could anyone treat a host that way. My big question was how could Clare attack me in that way after I’d worked so hard to build bridges with her. We were equally puzzled about Anna-marie wanting a solo room. The entire walk, the three friends had wanted to room together, and there had never been a request from any of them to have a room to themselves. 

 

We eventually agreed that confronting Clare would not serve anything positive, but would only add to the drama and make things worse. Cynthia had talked to Gezie again about sleeping in the caravan, and had been told no. At that point, it seemed to make the most sense to continue onward, avoiding the others as much as possible, being civil when we couldn’t avoid them, walking our walk, choosing our pilgrimage. 

 

We did later talk to Anna-marie and apologized for not understanding her need for a solo night. She seemed embarrassed about the situation and wasn’t really open to talking further about why Clare was speaking for her. I really liked Anna-marie. I enjoyed her humor and light-heartedness and her toughness. She was always friendly and easy to talk to. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was taking bits from her conversations with people and sharing that information with other people. In what was now a clearly divided camp, she was the spy going both ways, but mostly for the Clare and A. camp. 

 

When the sun chased the shade out of the yard, we went back inside. Cynthia to work. Me to occupy myself in my room. I struggled with these down times, stuck inside with no good distraction, at the best of times. On this day, still rattled by Clare’s outburst and my feelings, the room felt like a prison. I could have gone out to the lounge, or to the sitting room by the back door, but neither felt like a safe option. I didn’t want to intrude on Gezie’s family time, and the enemy was ensconced in the sitting room. I settled for legs up the wall and a short nap and journaling. 

 

I finally left the room around 6:00 p.m. and headed outside in search of dinner. I found Cynthia watching Gezie’s husband Alfie start the fire for the braii. It was fascinating and somehow soothing to stand and watch him tend the fire that would become the coals over which the meat for our dinner would be cooked. He was funny and full of stories, clearly enjoying having a rapt audience. The others eventually joined us, so we were all together for the first time since Clare’s outburst. 

 

It was a little awkward, but Gezie and Alfie kept the conversation going, and the process of the braii gave us something to focus on. They continued their amazing hosting as we went back in the house and seated ourselves around their table. Clare sat directly across from me, but it was surprisingly easy to not look at her. A. was quieter and less obnoxious than usual, even offering me a napkin and asking me how long my flight from America was. It was the first time she’d ever addressed me first, or showed any interest in me at all. Given the events of the day, I was more confused than ever. 

 

 

Alfie, at the head of the table, continued his story-telling. He’d been to America before and took great pleasure in showing off his knowledge and experience and comparing our two countries. Gezie told him he was being rude, but he was so tickled with himself, it was impossible to be offended. 

 

The dinner itself was a feast. Three kinds of meat from the braii (including my favorite lamb), au gratin potatoes, pea salad, and a deconstructed green salad. Gezie and Alfie made sure we took seconds and thirds, and kept the conversation flowing. 

 

During the dinner conversation, Cape Camino came up as the sleeping situation was addressed again. Apparently Gezie had not wanted to host a group as large as ours, especially since she was originally expecting six. She didn’t have enough beds and didn’t want to be put in a position where she couldn’t host the way she thought appropriate. Gabrielle had suggested the caravan as a solution, which Gezie reluctantly agreed to. As she always did, Clare got her teeth into the topic, and asked about payment. It didn’t sound like Cape Camino was paying enough for the food and effort the hosts were expected to provide. 

 

In a later conversation with Gabrielle, she explained that Cape Camino did provide generous payment, but that the hosts insisted on providing more food and drink than necessary. That the overage was on them. Gezie was struggling with feeling underpaid, underappreciated and taken advantage of. It’s a huge disconnect, and, I think, a huge flaw in the Cape Camino system. The hosts are the heart of Cape Camino. They agree to host pilgrims because they enjoy meeting new people, want to support what they see as an important endeavor, and because hospitality is really important to them. I think that is especially true for the farm stays. It’s unreasonable, I think, to expect people to stint a hospitality that is central to their being. That dinner conversation added weight to my growing concern that Cape Camino was in financial straits, and the things they were doing to solve that were hurting both hosts and pilgrims. 

 

We had been at the table a long time, when Alfie suggested it was time for all of us to go to bed. He wanted to watch television, NCIS specifically. We all laughed and told him to go ahead. No one left the table except Alfie, who moved to his chair in the lounge and turned on the television. It was a little weird to be chatting at a dinner table in South Africa surrounded by the musical accents of that country, with the very American voice of Leroy Jethro Gibbs in the background. 

 

And so one of the longest and most challenging days of the pilgrimage ended. I was aware that when events felt this big and out of my control, it always meant spirit was hard at work. I wasn’t quite there yet, but I knew when I was able to get curious rather than hurt or angry I could begin to find the shiny bits of growth and gift. I reread the morning’s Anam Cara passage, grateful for its wisdom. Cynthia had posted on the group WhatsApp site an affirmation that I also held closely as I released the day to the relief of sleep. 

 

“I have no energy to hate anyone. I honestly have no space in my heart to carry that mess around. I either love you, wish you well, or I hope you heal.”

 

Day 22 - Aurora

Monday, October 28

Sterkfontein to Aurora

18k/11mi

Windy, Rainy, Partly Sunny

 

I started the day in a strange mood, despite the fun of the day before. As I journaled, the critter who had kept me up in the night continued its manic scratching in the walls. It was raining still, the rising light revealing gray and little else. A. was supposed to return at the end of the walking day. All of the previous conversation about Cape Camino left me feeling unsettled. 

 

As is often the case when I’m off my center, reading helps me find my way. That morning, it took two books and three quotes for me to be ready to face the day with pilgrim equanimity and curiosity.

 

“To remain faithful to your life requires commitment and vision that must be constantly renewed. . . .If you try to view yourself through the lenses that others offer you, all you will see are distortions; your own light and beauty will become blurred, awkward, and ugly.” Anam Cara

 

“Because wasn’t that what art was all about, in the end? Mentally shoplifting your way through the world around you, the thoughts inside you? Looking for the thing that makes it all click. Makes it all start. Makes is all worthwhile and whole and good again. That could take a while. You might have to wander, but that didn’t mean you were lost.” No Two Persons 

 

“‘All art comes from a center,’ her professor told her. ‘A place of knowing.’ And yet, Miranda wondered sometimes, wasn’t the wind of a hurricane what had the greatest impact?” No Two Persons

 

I made my way over to the main space to find coffee and to leave Wendy’s parting gift on the table for her to find when she got up. It was my habit to leave small gifts to be found by hosts after we were gone. I liked the idea of part of the gift being the spark of delight at finding something unexpected. When I went back just before we were to leave, I discovered the gift still sitting there despite the fact that everyone was up and ready to go. I grabbed it and went back to Wendy’s room and handed it to her. She seemed uncomfortable, as she often had with anything that felt too personal, but we hugged and I told her I’d miss her.

 

 

Wickus and Izak arrived in the yard on a tractor more than half an hour after the starting time we’d agreed on. They were friendly and cheerful, and by the time we started out, the rain had lost its energy. It was windy, but except for a few sprinkles, we had a dry and pleasant walk. 

 

 

The countryside was beautiful, the sky moody and powerful. The day was highlighted with sightings of mongooses, foxes, tiny bok, and a pair of blue cranes. The walk was flat and easy. Except for some long muddy stretches that challenged us all. One foot placed carefully at a time, and even then, there were slips and falls. Shoes were in constant peril of being sucked into the thick goo. I walked with Izak for a long way with very little talking, which I enjoyed tremendously. Cynthia walked with Wendy, and the two friends walked together. 

 

 

When we stopped for a break in a small wooded area, Cynthia and I shared a branch, and the other three had their last lunch together a bit farther down. Everyone was pretty quiet during our break, possibly sad to be losing Wendy, or worried (or excited: Clare and Anna-marie) about the return of A. 

 

 

When Izak and I reached the hill overlooking Aurora, we stopped and waited for the others to catch up. The group walked into town together. Wendy’s eagerness to get to the house where her son was picking her up was palpable. Izak had promised us a coffee shop visit once we got to town. The coffee shop was closed, but we had passed another one, and wanted to go back to it. Wendy wanted to get to the house, and Cynthia wanted to go with her. So, Clare and Anna-marie and I found ourselves enjoying tea and scones (Anna-marie’s treat) at a really cute shop where we were the only customers. We sat outside, enjoying the sweet spring air.

 

 

Izak had said he’d come back for us and walk us to the house. Instead, we looked up to see a bakkie driven by Wickus, come to take Izak back to the farm. Izak told us how to get to the house and they took off. The three of us wandered through the very small town, enjoying the quirky sights (a giant bicycle, a sign for the post office (poswinkel) that made us giggle).

 

We found our way to the back of the house, so I didn’t recognize it from two years before. Hester, our host, was serving lunch to Wendy, Cynthia and her husband, Jan, on the back patio. Hester greeted me like an old friend with a huge hug. Hester and Jan were among my favorite people from the first walk. Older, dignified, consummate hosts, warm, funny, tender (him), a little salty (her).  Shortly after we arrived, Wendy’s son drove up. We all said one last goodbye and they took off. 

 

 

I sat down to enjoy a cup of Hester’s incredible lentil soup with homemade croutons. I wasn’t very hungry, but was happy for every delicious bite. Jan visited with me while I ate. Cynthia was already settled into her room, a suite with attached bathroom, and working. Hester put me in the same room I’d had before, a single with a shared bathroom. The room on the other side of the bathroom would be taken with the remaining three. 

 

As A. hadn’t arrived yet, Clare and Anna-marie decided to give her the top bunk. Clare would take the double bed and Anna-marie would take the bottom bunk. A. was quite a bit younger than the other two, than any of us with N. gone, and it seemed fair that the youngest would get the climb.

 

 

After gathering laundry and getting it to Hester, I took a very long and hot shower, the first in a couple of days. While Cynthia worked, I sat outside and listened to Clare talk about her husband’s death. I marveled at her strength, and at her ability to tell a compelling story. When the wash was done, I went to hang it on the line outside. Hester made Jan carry the basket down the stairs for me. He called me a farm girl, because of my bare feet, without really knowing how accurate he was. 

 

I went back to the patio to enjoy the warm air and a last bit of calm before A. arrived with Anna-marie and Clare. I looked up to see a vaguely familiar face, and then realized it was Marinda, our chaperone for the next day. When we walked together before, it felt like we had known each other forever, and I was so happy to know I’d get another chance to visit with her. 

 

She suggested we leave at 6:00 the next morning because it would be an open and sunny walk. We all agreed readily, especially since the itinerary said it would be a 28k day, our longest of the pilgrimage. Marinda explained that the itinerary was mistaken, based on a previous pilgrimage with different stops than ours. We had already walked 18k of that leg on that day, which left only 10k for the day to come. It was good news, both for the easier leg, and because Redelinghuys, our destination, was going to be a relaxing and pretty place to be.

 

For some reason, Clare and Anna-marie could not accept what Marinda was saying. They kept insisting that the itinerary said 28k, and that’s what we were walking. Oddly, the itinerary was often wrong, so I’m not sure why they were married to what it said about this leg. I sat back and watched Marinda patiently and with good humor, explain the next day’s leg until they finally got it. 

 

Marinda left and A. arrived shortly after in a whirl of noise and questions and energy. The two friends greeted her happily, while Cynthia and I went downstairs to check on our laundry. The peace of the last few days was gone entirely. I couldn’t bring myself to greet A. Cynthia did say hi to her, but then went back to work.

 

I listened from the back porch as A.’s voice filled the house. One of the first things she asked was if her box of wine was there. Apparently, she’d bought the box when we were at Desert Rose, and the friends made sure it was with the luggage to be transported each day. It was about this time that I learned about the blue backpack which held their other alcohol, including wine and whiskey, that was also transported daily.  It really shouldn’t have mattered. It certainly was none of my business. But all that alcohol translated into evenings full of loud and obnoxious conversation that excluded anyone sober. And it meant slow mornings for those who indulged abundantly the night before, which did impact me. 

 

A. didn’t take to being put in the upper bunk well at all. Clare and Anna-marie weren’t budging, both close to my age, and well beyond top bunk days (that meant climbing down in the dark in the middle of the night to pee, at least once). A. eventually wore Hester down and the mattress ended up on the floor of the lounge (living room), so that became A.’s bedroom. Which meant no one could relax there after dinner or in the morning. 

 

 

Jan cooked a snoek on the braii (barbequed a bony fish that is well known in the Western Cape). Dinner was fun and delicious. Hester’s hosting skills were sharp – she made sure to ask each person at the table a question about their life, and responded to all the answers. In addition to the perfectly cooked fish, we had potato salad, green salad, the best brown bread ever (Hester had sent Jan to the bakery for it that afternoon) served with homemade marmalade. Dessert was an orange flavored green jelly (jello) with homemade custard. 

 

Everyone headed to bed right after dinner, after our offers of clean-up help were refused. I lay awake for a very long time listening to the loud voices and laughter coming from the room next door, and from the lounge. The reunion sounded happy, and inebriated. I had two more weeks ahead, to find a way to get comfortable with my situation, with my own reactions to the situation. I found myself wondering about N., wishing I’d joined her, regardless of the consequences. She had been reaching out to us, sharing pictures and stories, and it was clear, for now at least, that she was getting what she needed from her decision to separate from us. 

 

My Hafiz message for the night was slightly confusing: “Forgive especially yourself. The plates that you keep spinning over your head all the time? Let them fall to the ground.” The forgiveness part I got. But did letting the plates fall mean to join N., or to go home, or to suck it up and keep going forward without expectation? I fell asleep knowing the answer, and wishing I could claim a different one.

Day 21 - Sterkfontein

Sunday, October 27

Goedverwacht to Sterkfontein

No Walking

Rainy and Windy

 

 

I awoke, well rested and cozy, to the sound of rain covering the house in waves accompanied by a strong wind. I slipped out into the kitchen to make my coffee and took it back to bed to journal. Now three weeks into the walk, my morning journaling was much deeper and more reflective. The Facebook urge wasn’t gone, but neither was it primary. Something about this morning, the comfort of being warm and dry in the midst of a storm, brought some new clarity. 

 

From the morning’s journal: “Without the buffer of the missing two, Clare’s dislike of me is harder to ignore. It seems as though they’ve decided things about me and filter all I do and say through that. I woke up remembering this quote, ‘Be strong (brave?) enough to let others be wrong about you.’ I don’t have to, most likely can’t, change her mind. I can continue to be friendly and curious. Clare is familiar to me – could be me if I hadn’t done all my work with Pat. 

 

A. is another story. She says she’s coming back Monday night. I really don’t like her and really struggle with the three feeling sorry for her. I’m grateful that Cynthia has shared her own discomfort. Cynthia who is unfailingly polite and kind to everyone. I can only appreciate this time without A. and pray that I have the strength (courage?) to be present for whatever happens next. 

 

I got a small insight yesterday sitting in George’s car waiting for the others. After all the time in my room, and the long wait for 5:00 and the walk up the Slave Graveyard, and George insisting on driving so I didn’t even get to walk and then sitting in his car at the other end waiting for everyone to walk up, I got that I needed to be present in that, too. To accept the slow. Yesterday was all about slow – the walk, the afternoon, the waiting, and even then the stroll to the graveyard. It as unbelievably hard. So I breathed and calmed, got curious.”

 

I knew this would be another day all about slow. There would be no walking at all. We had done all of today’s activities yesterday, and the heavy rain meant not even recreational walking once we arrived at our new place. This was the first pilgrimage day of all my walks that was a true rest day. One I didn’t need or want. But I leaned into the curiosity and my commitment to acceptance, and stepped into the day. 

 

The morning was relaxing and really pleasant. It was just the four of us, and Carol had relaxed quite a bit, so we all chatted easily during a wonderful sit-down breakfast. George was in full story-telling mode. He and Carol used to be serious hikers and outdoor people. He talked about annual camping trips to Fish River Canyon in a way that made me want to be there. It was hard to reconcile the fit and eager hikers he was describing with the softened edges of the two older people sharing the story. It reminded me that every older person was a younger person once who lived in a much different body. It’s so easy to see an older person (myself included) and assume they’ve always looked that way and had those limitations. 

 

Even though Cynthia and I would have been happy to stay in their warm and comfortable home much longer, George wanted to get going. He was going to drive us first, and then come back and get the others, so had a good reason to end the party. Although our itinerary said we were going to a farm called Sterkfontein, George insisted we were staying at Kapteinskloof instead. That was exciting news to me.

 

Two years before, we’d stayed with Melanie at Kapteinskloof. It is an absolutely magical place, a haven and sanctuary that heals just by being there. We had been honored guests, with every need and want accommodated cheerfully. Melanie and I had made a strong connection, and she was one of the people I most wanted to see on this second trip. I had been disappointed to see Sterkfontein on the final itinerary. Kapteinskloof had been on the original one I received. 

 

 

We rode in comfortable silence as George drove through sheets of rain that made it hard to see the road. I recognized the blueberry fields we drove through just before the entrance to Kapteinskloof. The stunning green of the yard contrasting with the fairy tale houses and the bright flowers made me feel as though I’d come home. No one came out to greet us, so Cynthia got out of the car and went in search of help.

 

 

When she came back with Melanie a few minutes later, the gray morning brightened considerably. We hugged and laughed, but then Melanie explained she was confused to see us because we were not in fact staying there. However, she was determined we’d have a good catch-up visit and invited us for coffee, promising to deliver us to Sterkfontein, which we’d driven by to get to Kapteinskloof, afterwards. Cynthia and I were thrilled, and George was happy to leave us there and to head back and collect the others. 

 

 

Melanie led us into one of the guest rooms and brought coffee and cheesecake. We had the kind of visit old friends experience who have been away from each other for a long time, but feel like no time has passed. One of the things I love about Melanie is how honest and open she is about herself and her life, so talking with her means something. Finally, the coffee was done, the cheesecake was nothing but crumbs on the plates, and Melanie had work to do. We all three reluctantly got in her car and were very quickly driving up to an older much less appealing building where we were meant to spend the rest of that day and the night. 

 

Izaak, a colored farm worker who would be our chaperone the next day, greeted us and showed us the space. His English was good, and I knew from Melanie that our host, Wickus, did not speak English, so I was grateful for Izaak. 

 

 

The other three were already there, set up in the main part of the house with the living room and the kitchen.  Whatever the space had been before, it was now the repository for the family’s castoffs. The art was strange and without anything tying it together. The furniture was threadbare. The kitchen was furnished more in camping style than home style. Cynthia and I were in a room across a covered breezeway from the main house. It was comfortable and roomy, despite clearly being used for storing old appliances and furniture. We each had our own room, but I had to go through Cynthia’s to get to the front door. The entire place was tired and barely clean, but warm and dry and perfectly fine.

 

 

We discovered fairly quickly our shower didn’t work. Someone came to try to fix it. They were unsuccessful and told us we’d have to use the shower next door. Since we hadn’t walked that day, and I didn’t want to haul my stuff outside and across the breezeway space and deal with intruding on the space of the friends, I decided to skip the shower for the day. We got settled and then went next door for food. A snack tray had been delivered.

 

The five of us sat in the living room enjoying the treats and the coziness, and even each other’s company. We agreed that while none of us would have chosen this day off, it was nice to be still and give our feet time to breathe and rest. Cynthia headed back to our space to work. She’d been really happy to have an entire day to catch up with her whistleblower commitments, both for the pilgrimage and for her actual job. Clare suggested a game of Skip-Bo, and invited me to join. 

 

 

If there had been any other viable option beyond sitting alone in my room all day, I might have said no. It was raining too hard to go exploring. Even when the rain let up, the mud and wind made being outside unappealing. Cynthia was unavailable. So, I agreed. As the four of us sat around the kitchen table, playing round after round, I found myself relaxing and having a lot of fun. Anna-marie had found a radio and turned it to a station that played American oldies. I had found ice, and Coke, so enjoyed that while we played. Clare had her always present metal cup in which I assumed she had poured whiskey. Anna-marie had a beer. I never seemed to know what Wendy was drinking, except that it wasn’t alcohol. 

 

 

Clare, clearly in charge, was a cutthroat player, and was gleeful every time she won. She did allow me a couple of re-dos as I was very rusty at the game. We played for hours, the day sliding away pleasantly. Cynthia came over and joined for a round. Eventually we needed to get up and move around. Cynthia went back to work. Wendy and Anna-marie went to look for a signal to make phone calls. Clare and I ended up in the living room having a nice long visit. We talked about travel, choosing ourselves, making changes in later life, and her boyfriend. This was the Clare who might have been my friend.

 

 

Wickus and his young daughter came over a little after 6:00 with our dinner. He set a beautifully crusted chicken pie on the table along with a very small plate of beef strips. That was it. No salad or anything green. No bread. No dessert. (I donated the one remaining chocolate bar from my stash for dessert.) The main dish was very good, and substantial, so we weren’t hungry. Just confused. He told us tomorrow’s lunch was in the fridge. All we found were six slices of bread, some old looking fake cheese, some mystery lunch meat, and bananas. There was no separate breakfast as we’d grown accustomed to. We found ourselves wishing we’d saved something from the snack tray we devoured earlier in the day. It was going to be a hungry walk tomorrow. 

 

After dinner the five of us sat around the table chatting easily. The subject of Cape Camino was central. Cynthia talked about her own company and their commitment to uplifting, a word that at the time was included in Cape Camino’s literature. Our experience of the last couple of days made us wonder about the seriousness of their commitment to that concept. Clare, of course, was at the far end of the “they are failing” spectrum. I was farther along toward the “they have a vision” end. Still, my discomfort with the differences I was seeing between two years ago and this time was slowing growing. 

 

I went to bed feeling rested and content with the day. The rain and wind continued their concert outside, and they were accompanied by some critter scratching in the walls of my room. I was warm and dry and satisfied, full in all the best ways. I’d had a sweet and uplifting text from Shawn earlier when the signal pulsed strong enough to grab messages (standing outside, pointed in a specific direction). The anticipation of his impending visit added to my happiness as I slid into sleep. 

 

Posted by Anna-marie on the group site earlier in the day. 

Day 20 - Goedverwacht

Saturday, October 26

Wittewater to Goedverwacht

14+3k/10.5mi

Sunny & Hot

 

 

It was a weird night. We were all in bed by 8:00. When I got up a little before 5:00, everyone else was still asleep. It felt like every rooster in the town was announcing the coming day. The very loud conversation that had started behind the community center after we went to bed was still going on, at full volume. We could see the house through our bathroom window, so it felt like the partiers were in the next room. They finally got quiet after the sun was up and we were all well into the start of our day. 

 

 

When I unlocked the door and stepped outside in the dawn twilight to breathe some fresh air, I noticed a huge fire in the distance. It looked like someone was burning garbage, but the timing seemed odd. The scene had a post-apocalyptic feel to it and was a little unsettling

 

To a person, we were sluggish and tired - off. Whatever differences existed between us, with the exception of A., we were all hardy and faced our new days with hope and eager energy. I should have been still illuminated by the magic of the previous day, but what I felt mostly was in a deep fog. The partying neighbors could have been a factor, but we’d slept through parties before on the walk. Someone suggested later that day, as we were trudging and slightly grumpy, that the lack of air in the room the night before might have been a factor. We were sealed in, with no open windows (no windows to open), so it was a plausible theory. 

 

The ladies arrived around 6:00 to clean up from our dinner and to get our lunches ready. They set out Weetabix Cereal and hot milk for breakfast – an acquired taste I have not acquired, and cheese sandwiches, bananas and energy bars and energy drink for our lunch. I had a banana and energy bar and packed my lunch, and then got out of the way. They were eager to see us gone, the leader very politely telling us that we wanted to get an early start. 

 

Cynthia and I gave money to the center. They feed members of the community, especially the elderly, every day, and rely on donations. I wished I could have done more. Cynthia talked to them about her paying at least to have the shower drain fixed and to upgrade the bathroom. It was another example of her amazing service orientation, and her willingness to make things happen. 

 

The group had talked the night before about why we were even staying at the community center. There was apparently a good guest house not that far away. I understood that Gabrielle wanted us to have the experience of being in this colored community, and that our staying there benefitted the community financially. But the center wasn’t in much better shape than it had been the last time I stayed there, so it wasn’t clear just how much we were really benefitting them. We wondered why Cape Camino wasn’t doing more to lift them up, so that they could offer more service with dignity and pride, and pilgrims could feel better about staying there.

 

That led to wondering why no one from Cape Camino had ever walked the pilgrimage beyond a handful of legs. It’s one thing to be considered a pilgrim and as a pilgrim be expected to accept whatever is offered. That was my commitment for this walk. However, it was seeming that decisions about where we stayed, the condition of our accommodations, and even the routes themselves were being made to save money at the expense of even basic pilgrim comforts. And it seemed that no one from Cape Camino had a real grasp of what it was like to experience the results of their decisions. 

 

Until Wittewater, I had no complaints about our accommodations or the food or the hosts. And I’ve certainly slept in worse conditions in my life, including that very same community center two years before. So that wasn’t what was really bothering me. It was the route itself, the shortening of legs that were once challenging and fun, more pavement walking than before, and I was still unhappy about not getting 40 days. There was a niggling feeling that the Cape Camino I had trusted so implicitly before to take good care of me had become an organization that only cared about the money and possible publicity I could bring. And perhaps because I wasn’t bringing the publicity of the previous walk, I was less valued. 

 

I was conflicted in these conversations. Clare took every inconvenience or flaw in the system as an opportunity to attack Cape Camino. It’s hard to argue when you’re standing ankle deep in water that won’t drain in a shower and sleeping in a room that has no air circulation, locked behind gates to protect you from the community you’re there to help. I felt a deep sense of loyalty to Cape Camino, and a deeper sense of gratitude for the gift of the trail, but my experience this second time was revealing frays in the fabric that I found deeply concerning. I was looking forward to being able to offer feedback at the end, as I had before, in hopes of contributing to the healing and growth of an entity I considered, and still do, to be a miracle. 

 

I was also very aware of my guest status in South Africa, and becoming increasingly aware of the differences in culture between our two countries. The differences were subtle enough that it would be easy to miss them, but N. had helped me with her frequent comments about things being the South African way. I was walking a fine line between judgement and concern; a line I really have no clear idea how to negotiate cleanly. On one hand, I had Clare, who hated Cape Camino (and, it felt, me) actively and vocally, and who just as passionately loved other parts of her country. On the other hand, I had Cynthia, who recognized the faults and flaws, and looked for ways to fix them outside of the current system. Clare, white, coming from a place of extreme privilege, doing little but complaining. Cynthia, colored, coming from a place of huge disadvantage, doing everything she could to enact change. 

 

I didn’t know Gabrielle well, but enough to understand that she has a very strong ego. I’m not sure Cape Camino could have been created and flourished without that. But that ego also kept her from really hearing and receiving feedback that challenged her views. As I was, on this walk in particular, challenging my own ego’s voice and power, it was interesting to observe hers in action. It’s very hard when removing something from your life to observe others enjoying or entrenched in that very thing. That applied to watching Cape Camino make choices that were making pilgrims mad and making me wobbly in my loyalty, as it did to watching people indulge in their alcohol addictions as I was in withdrawal from my Facebook addiction. 

 

I found myself, every morning in particular, still looking at my phone longingly, seeking distraction and comfort. I was resisting Facebook successfully, but shakily. In the evenings when people would share something from the Cape Camino Forum, I would want to get on it myself and plunge down that rabbit hole. At nearly three weeks without, and still feeling the pull, I knew I’d have to come up with a plan for after the pilgrimage if I was going to permanently change my relationship with social media, and not slip back into addiction. The previous day’s deeply spiritual experience helped me to see why I wanted to continue without Facebook for the duration of the pilgrimage. At that point in the walk, however, I was still thinking I could have Facebook a little bit, and was excited to do a quick visit on my upcoming birthday to read all the greetings, and maybe then do a quick check-in at the Forum.

 

 

The leader of the community center ladies finally shooed us all outside. It was a little like herding cats, because someone always needed to go back for one more thing. It wasn’t really like us to be so scattered as a group in the morning at that point, especially without A. But it was a short walk day, and no one saw a need to hurry. And there was the whole possible oxygen deprivation that had us off kilter. Someone suggested a group picture, our first in this new configuration, and we had fun with that. We finally gathered in a circle for a blessing prayer, our two chaperones joining us. Godfrey and his nephew were a little shy, and were much more comfortable with Afrikaans. With Godfrey in the lead and the nephew at back, I put myself in the middle, wanting some solitude and ease to spend reflecting on the previous day. 

 

I had loved this walk two years ago. With a different chaperone, we had set off across a field at the center of town and almost immediately had begun climbing a hill. The climb was rigorous, exhilarating, beautiful and really fun. A previous host had mentioned we wouldn’t be doing the climb this time because other pilgrims complained that it was too hard. Godfrey confirmed the route change when we set off through town on the street. He said he would not do the hill this time of year because of snakes. I was disappointed, and upset with Cape Camino whichever reason was true. Road walking, which they’d said they were trying to do less of, is hard on feet and hard mentally. And that was a majority of our walk that day. 

 

From this point forward, snakes would be more of a topic and a concern. As the temperatures warmed, the snakes were coming out of their winter hiding places in search of the sun. I understood on an intellectual level that there were many very deadly snakes in South Africa. We had seen the Cape Cobra in Hout Bay, so I knew they were real. But it was hard, living in an area where the only snake I ever see is a garter snake, and the only poisonous snake I might find in hotter places is the rattlesnake, to fully grasp the danger. Plus, while people talked frequently about snake encounters, no one seemed particularly worried, in part because most snakes were not aggressive. I was calling bullshit on snakes being the reason we didn’t get to do the hill.

 

 

We walked through town, past the place I’d seen the fire earlier. There was no sign of it then. Some homes were well-kept and attractive. Some looked barely habitable. The farther we walked, the more garbage we found lining the sides of the path. We walked through a scrubby forest, along a fence, along a road, and finally to a vineyard. That was beautiful and soothing and much too short. Before long we were back on a paved road. Godfrey could tell the group was not having fun, and promised a coffee shop just before we arrived in Goedverwacht. For some reason he decided we’d stop just before that shop for a rest and snacks in a dry and unappealing spot. 

 

 

In the middle of the walk, Godfrey attached himself to me in a friendly way. We tried to converse, but his lack of English and mine of Afrikaans made talking a challenge. In an effort to be friendly, I asked if he wanted to visit America. Most of the chaperones I’d asked that question of really wanted to go, so it was usually a good topic. I got to hear what they knew about my country, and they got to ask questions. Godfrey took my question as an invitation and scolded me, telling me he was a married man with a family and I was an older married white lady. I laughed, trying to let him know that wasn’t my intention, but he was not smiling. That pretty much ended the conversation. 

 

The best thing about that stretch of the walk on the highway was our sighting of a puff adder crossing the road in front of us. We were so startled and then awed by the sight that none of us thought to take a picture of it. It did lend a little more credence to Godfrey’s reason for not doing the hill. 

 

 

When we finally got to the promised coffee shop, it was closed. It was part of what was intended to be a road side attraction, with camping. We weren’t clear about why it wasn’t open, but we went in and sat in the shade for a while anyway. There were bathrooms, so that was a bonus. 

 

Just before we got to the town, a car pulled up next to us and a very energetic white kid hopped out. He introduced himself as Dylan and told us he was going to be our guide to the cave and might even be sharing accommodations with some of us that night. He walked with us into town, talking nonstop, exuding labrador retriever energy the whole way. 

 

I saw George, who’d been my host before, drive by, and was excited to see that fondly remembered face. Dylan greeted a woman standing by the side of the road and she started talking to us like she knew us. There was a mix of languages, and she didn’t wait until we were all gathered, so there was a lot of confusion. We did figure out she was our host in Goedverwacht. Danelle asked us if we were ready to keep walking. In one voice and a rare moment of unity, the group said no. We were supposed to be done for the day. No one knew what she was talking about, and it was a while before I understood what had happened. 

 

Rain was forecast for the next day. Serious rain. Our itinerary had us exploring the town the next day, including a hike up to a cave with indigenous art on the walls. Because there is no way to walk from Goedverwacht to the next stop, the plan was to spend the morning exploring the town sights, and then we would be transported to our next place. 

 

Because of the coming rain, Danelle had decided we could do all of those activities that afternoon. It was a good plan since we were in early and the weather was still fine and the afternoons got long anyway. Once we understood the intentions and our options, we went along. Although I don’t think she would have taken the no as a final answer regardless. Full of energy, much like Dylan, and endlessly cheerful, she was determined to lead us on her path. 

 

We ended up stopping at George and Carol’s house before hiking up to the cave because Wendy needed to refill her water. I was thrilled to see the couple again. I had stayed at their house with Ina and Frikkie and we had been treated as honored guests. George and Carol are retired educators, so we all had that in common, too (Ina is a retired teacher). They greeted us all this time politely. However, they did not remember me at all, but tried their best to cover that. They did remember Ina and Frikkie well and fondly.

 

Danelle led us through town to a trail toward the cave. It was overgrown and clear no one had hiked it for quite a while. By then we were all engaged and happy to be walking again, especially since it wasn’t on a paved road. As we got closer to the mountain, we noticed movement off to our left. It was a single male baboon, absolutely gorgeous. Muscular with a shiny coat, he was a wonder to watch. Danelle suggested he might be a young male in search of females to start his own troop. He sent warning barks our way and followed us almost to the turnoff for the cave. He crossed over the trail far ahead of us and left us over a hill on the other side. Danelle apparently had fireworks in her pack just in case he got too close or too aggressive. 

 

 

The climb up to the cave is steep and scrambly. We used hands, feet, and branches to pull ourselves to the top. There was laughter, heavy breathing, and an occasional shriek when someone slipped, but not one single complaint. It was commented on that A. might not have been able to make the climb. Once at the top, there was a huge sense of accomplishment. Dylan and Danelle told us stories about the cave, and Dylan splashed water on the walls to reveal the indigenous drawings underneath. It was hard to find a space that wasn’t covered in graffiti to find the ancient work. The town had been working for a very long time to create a way to protect the cave, but was so far unsuccessful.

 

 

Going down was even harder than up, requiring a fair amount of butt scooting to make it down safely. At the bottom was a cairn of rocks that was considered holy. We each left a rock on it with a blessing and wish. Back in town, it was decided we’d go to our homes for the night, get cleaned up and rest and then go to the other important site in Goedverwacht, the Slave Graveyard, just beyond the Moravian church that is the center of everything there. 

 

I asked to stay with George and Carol, and Cynthia joined me. The three friends went with Danelle to stay with her at her house, where Dylan was also staying. As we discussed when to meet up later, I asked if we’d all be eating dinner together, as that’s what had happened two years before. Clare said that we didn’t always need to eat together and Danelle confirmed they would be eating at her house. 

 

George took everyone but Cynthia and me to Danelle’s house, and to bring our luggage back from there. Cynthia and I sat and visited with Carol while waiting for him to return. Carol seemed so uncomfortable that we told her we’d be fine if she needed to go do other things. I commented to Cynthia on the awkwardness, and she suggested it was because Carol is not comfortable with English. The language thing again. That likely explained why they remembered Ina and Frikkie and not me. Their conversations were mostly in Afrikaans, and Ina translated for me without being asked, so I never felt truly left out. I know that discomfort and the need to avoid can influence people’s focus. As always, time chatting with Cynthia was enjoyable and enlightening. 

 

When George finally returned with our luggage, he mentioned (his English was much stronger than Carol’s) that Goedverwacht was having water issues and that they were conserving. To the point that they turned the water off at night and the water heater off if they were not using it. That meant no laundry, and as it turned out, very cold showers because the water wasn’t heating.

 

We were grateful for a real shower, however, and did not say anything about the cold water. We each had our own very comfortable room, mine just across from the bathroom. George and Carol disappeared into their room, leaving us to clean up and organize and rest. I was done with all of that long before they emerged again, and went outside to journal. Cynthia was there also, but neither of us lasted long because there was no shade and it had grown very hot. So, it was back to our rooms. I lay down and read, bored and restless. 

 

When I finally heard voices in the kitchen, I went out to join the conversation. Cynthia was already there, and the three of them seemed to be having a good time in Afrikaans. The switch to English on my arrival didn’t seem to dampen things much as George and Carol continued their dinner preparations. It turned out we would all be eating together after all. I allowed myself a tiny smug inner “ha!” at Clare.

 

We were all to walk up to the Slave Graveyard in the late afternoon, the second of the activities usually reserved for the next day. I was looking forward to walking, to stretching out. I’m not sure what happened, but the three friends went ahead with Danelle and Dylan, and George didn’t want Cynthia and me walking alone. He insisted on driving us despite both of us insisting we wanted to walk and would be fine. George won. Then when we got to the church where we were to meet the others, the three of us sat in George’s car and chatted amiably. George seemed happy for the company, and he’s a lovely man, so the time passed pleasantly.  We sat there even after they arrived (they had walked) and stopped a distance from the car, not approaching us. I finally suggested we get out and go to them, at which point George seemed satisfied it was safe to let us go. 

 

 

The walk to the graveyard was longer than I was expecting, so at least I got to stretch my legs, and enjoy the shift in the air as clouds began to move in. There was general chatter as we approached, Cynthia and Dylan connecting over their mutual focus on being of service to their country. The friends and Danelle were in full Afrikaans mode, so I was mostly alone, and happy for it. The community is very proud of the Slave Graveyard and its history. I had not gotten to see it before, so was eager for it this time. 

 

 

We turned off the main road onto a gravel street where we approached a rustic arch made of timbers. Beyond lay scrubby unloved land dotted with wooden crosses and small headstones. There were also two very large stone monuments. Between Danelle’s stories in Afrikaans, and Dylan’s academic additions in English, and the misleading name of the place, I had to do my own research to figure out what we were actually seeing. 

 

 

The land that is Goedverwacht initially belonged to a widowed farmer. When the emancipation of slaves was imminent, he asked his slave and her children to stay on the farm and care for him until his death. In return he would leave the land to them. They were to live on the land until the last child died and then sell it and disperse the profits among the slave’s descendants. The farmer’s children contested the will, but it was upheld twice in the courts. When the last child died, the descendants sold the land to the Moravian church. One of the huge memorial stones is for the slave, the other for the farmer. The last child to die is also buried there. 

 

 

Graveyards have always been a favorite place of mine to visit. There is something in wondering about the stories behind all those markers, and always a hushed holy energy. This one was particularly interesting because it was so uncared for and so many of the markers were lying on the ground. None of the wooden ones bore names, so those were all stories without even a hint of the life that came before. The changing sky above with a magnificent cloud formation added to the mystery and feeling of existing in the in between. 

 

 

Once we’d had a good long wander in the graveyard, we walked back toward George’s house. The others were walking slowly, but Wendy and I were eager to go faster. We sped up and quickly left the group behind. However, we hadn’t gone far when George drove past us, did a quick u-turn, and stopped right next to us. The expectation was clear that we were to get in. Wendy and I looked at each other, and I told her there was no way he’d take no for an answer, so we got in the car. 

 

He apologetically told us he needed to make a stop on the way home. He was pet sitting his daughter’s dog and cat while she was on vacation with her family. We drove up to the house and found both animals outside in the yard. I was surprised, maybe even shocked, at the thought of leaving pets outside in town when you leave for several days. I didn’t say anything, because George clearly thought nothing of it. He got out of the car and went up to the house, but came back right away, clearly distressed. The key wasn’t where he thought it was and he was afraid he’d lost it. He decided to head back home and come back after dinner and try to find the key then.

 

 

The entire group arrived at George’s house at the same time. Dinner was happy and celebratory and delicious. Danelle brought the main dish, a bean stew that was one of the best things I ate the entire walk. There was also rice, two kinds of sweet potato, beet root salad, green salad, with an incredible milk tart for dessert. I sat next to Dylan and particularly enjoyed listening to him talk to Cynthia on the other side. He was smart and funny and dedicated to helping the community. The absence of A. meant that everyone at the table got to talk and be heard. George and Carol are consummate hosts and seemed really happy to have their table full. Danelle was entertaining, telling stories that had us all laughing. 

 

When Danelle’s crew left, George got in the car to go find the key and feed the animals. He told us to leave the dishes until he got back. Carol started working in the kitchen, putting things away and beginning the dishes, telling us to go rest. Instead, Cynthia stood next to Carol to rinse and I found a towel for drying. The three of us stood side by side and worked and chatted happily until all the dishes were done, put away, and the kitchen was spotless. George arrived home just as we finished. He started to ask why we didn’t wait, but didn’t, I think because he could feel the lighthearted and happy energy in the kitchen. Also, I don’t think he minded getting out of dishes duty for the night. 

 

The four of us sat in the living room afterwards for a bit while Cynthia and I had tea. The conversation was light but very comfortable. I felt like the earlier discomforts and awkwardness were completely gone, and was so grateful to end the day in this way. 

 

 

From the morning’s Anam Cara reading: “We need to revalue what we consider to be negative. Rilke used to say that difficulty is one of the greatest friends of the soul. Our lives would be immeasurably enriched if we could but bring the same hospitality in meeting the negative as we bring to the joyful and pleasurable. In avoiding the negative we only encourage it to return.  . . .  The negative is one of the closest friends of your destiny. “