Day 0

Sunday, October 6

Cape Town

Caroline’s to Newlands Guest House

Hot & Sunny

 

I was surprised to see 6:30 on my phone when I woke up. Even though the time change meant my body was still confused, it’s very rare for me to sleep as long as I did. The three of us enjoyed especially delicious French press coffee with heated milk, and then a satisfying breakfast, as we discussed the day ahead. We had said we’d leave at 8:00 so that Andy and I could be in line early for the tram to the top of Table Mountain. Caroline was going to spend the morning visiting her parents, then we would meet up later for a swim. When one of us checked the time during our conversation, it was almost 8:00. We hustled and were out the door fifteen minutes later. 

 

Caroline dropped us off at the tram where we first found the bathrooms, bought water, bought tickets, then joined the queue. It was a long line, but the morning was pleasant and Andy and I were happy for the time to visit. We were glad when we finally got inside the building that housed the tram because it had gotten hot quickly. There are two trams, one going up while the other comes down. We watched both, amazed at the steepness, while waiting for our turn. I was excited. Andy, it turned out, was anxious. Her fear was that the tram would get stopped on the way up, leaving us stuck up high crammed in a very small container with other people. 

 

Since I share both fears with her, acrophobia and claustrophobia, I was empathetic. For me the excitement outweighed the fear. But I loved her a little bit more because she was willing to endure the anxiety in order for us to have this time together, for me to have my time at the top of Table Mountain. Also, because I wouldn’t have been able to tell what this was costing her if she hadn’t shared. Our time that day cemented Andy in my heart as one of those rare and gentle and generous souls few are granted the privilege of knowing and calling friend. 

 

While we stood waiting for our tram (we were next in line), there was an announcement that there would be a delay because of “a technical problem.” No other information. In the hour or so we continued to wait we learned it was an electrical issue and that they were switching over to generators. Andy’s anxiety grew, and for the first time I considered maybe I should be a bit more concerned. We talked about leaving and getting our money back, but neither of us really wanted that, and no one else was leaving. 

 

When things finally started moving again, we got on our car quickly. They were only loading them half full, I assume because of the weight being carried by a secondary system, and we didn’t want to have to wait for another tram. The nice thing was that extra room meant space to move around and to breathe. I stood at the window, looking straight up the mountain. Andy found a seat toward the center. The ride up was exhilarating and breathtakingly gorgeous. I was so thrilled to be there, to finally be about to see the table itself, to be absorbing the glory of the skyline and the approaching rock face. 

 

 

Once at the top, Andy was restored to calm. I was in awe. Even though I had seen pictures and had heard many stories about the table, I was surprised. In my mind I had developed a picture of a jungle of thick vegetation, wild impenetrable woods, a place that was overwhelming and barely accessible. What I saw was fynbos stretched away from me until it disappeared into blue sky and blue sea and mountains. 

 

Fynbos, literally small plants or fine bush, is a biome found only in the Cape regions of South Africa, known for its rich diversity of plant species (more than 8,500, many found only here). I had fallen in love with fynbos my first time in South Africa two years before. At first glance, it’s scrubby and nondescript, especially when things aren’t blooming. But when the protea are blooming, whole areas come to life with color. Other wildflowers vibrate loudly, or offer sweet pastel respite hidden in the bushes. Many of the plants are medicinal, many offer familiar flavors such as anise and mint, many fill the air with a fragrance that is both exotic and comforting. 

 

 

Andy and I joined a path away from the tram station and were quickly in open space, looking out over Cape Town. The farther we walked, the fewer people we saw. There were moments when it was possible to believe we were the only people on the table. Even though we were past the peak of wildflower season, many flowers were still offering their beauty to us. So much color that was even more vivid in the contrast with the dusty greens of the bushes and the prehistoric grays of the boulders. We took pictures, shared our wonder at the glory of this day and place we were sharing. We stopped and had a picnic in the rocks, looking out into sky and sea. Andy told stories of people who had gotten lost in the middle of the table when they left the main path and got caught in fog, or just got disoriented. It was hard to fathom, since things were so flat, and in the bright light of that sunny day, being lost in any way seemed impossible. 

 

We stayed on the perimeter trail, enjoying the views, the hidden gifts of flower sightings, one beautiful lizard, each other’s company. Andy pointed out Camp’s Bay below us, a beach town where she and Caroline grew up, and where we were headed next. I noticed young men in gear that indicated they were Base jumpers, and learned it was possible to jump from that mountain. I said to Andy that I might consider doing that, and at the time was a little disappointed it was something I wasn’t going to get to do. I’m at that place in life where there are no longer endless possibilities in front of me. And even things I might still have time for, and opportunity for, and might have enjoyed in a younger body, are not wise to undertake in this aging body. When, as I write this, I googled Base jumping on Table Mountain, the first thing that came up was the name of a famous Base jumper who almost died on a jump several years ago.

So, maybe it’s not such a bad thing it didn’t work out for me to jump. 

After a couple of hours, we were ready to head back down. While waiting for Caroline to collect us, we wandered the gift shop and considered getting ice cream (but didn’t because we didn’t know how long we had).  I love gift shops, especially when traveling, especially in exotic places. This one held the usual tourist souvenirs, along with some interesting food items that were uniquely African. Because I was at the start of my walk, it was too early to be thinking about souvenirs that I would have to carry with me for the next 37 days. We left the shop empty-handed, and then climbed into Caroline’s car full-hearted. 

 

We arrived at Camp’s Bay for our swim fairly quickly. Unlike our swim the day before, this tidal pool was very busy and the beach was in full summer mode. It was sunny and hot, the ocean inviting. Caroline was the first in, warning me in my entry about rocks and currents and the tide. It was important that my feet not be cut on the day before I was to begin a 700k walk. Before I got too far out, she came back and directed me toward what she and Andy called a mermaid pool. No rocks underfoot, no currents or extreme tidal pull. I was happy to submerge myself safely in the pool, sitting on the sand, enjoying the bite of the cold in contrast to the heat of the air above. A family shared the space with me and I found a little boy hand in mine at one point. When I looked up, he was smiling happily, his other hand in his mom’s. His brother took his place when he wandered back to shore. That magical moment was one more bit of light in a day already bright and shining. When I couldn’t feel my arms any more, I got out. The three of us basked and dried until the sun got too much, and we headed away happy and full.

 

One of the absolute gifts of being hosted by Caroline is her deep knowledge of and love for the Cape Region. Every drive with her is an adventure and a revelation. She took us back to her place by way of Hout Bay, which is the ending place of Cape Camino and one of the most scenic places anywhere. She pointed out Camino paths we’d walked together two years ago, and interesting sights along the way. 

 

There had been a tentative plan to go forest bathing later in the afternoon, with a friend of Caroline’s. I’d never been on an actual formal forest bathing walk, and was looking forward to it earlier in the day. By the time we were finished swimming, however, none of us had the energy, so we all went back to Caroline’s apartment. I showered and finished packing for the walk. My pack was pilgrim ready, poles attached to the outside, walking shoes tucked inside for the morning. Travel documents and clothing were stored away in bottom of the suitcase, which I closed and set out in the hall before joining Andy and Caroline for food and a good last visit.

 

Andy and I sat out on the balcony chatting while Caroline sat inside, listening and enjoying some stillness at the same time. I don’t know how the conversation started, but we learned that we both had been part of a church cult that was an offshoot of the Assemblies of God denomination. Andy’s participation had been as a teenager in Camp’s Bay, South Africa. Mine had been as a young adult in Vancouver, Washington, USA. Both cults had been called The Body. While hers was more in the form of fun meetings for kids with the intent of drawing them in, mine was more intense. A small group of people living together (or very closely), meeting daily, all under the human authority of a prophet of God named Harold. Andy left hers when other activities held more interest. I left mine when it gradually became clear that the cost of belonging was far too high for me to continue. It was such an odd connection, such an interesting time for it to happen, that I wondered how it would relate to the upcoming walk. The rest of our conversation meandered around the nature and value and danger of gossip, no being a complete sentence, and pilgrimage. By the end of that afternoon, I felt the same sisterhood with Andy that I had with Caroline and felt so rich and grateful to be an honorary member of their family. 

 

It was time to say goodbye (temporarily) to Andy, and head to the guest house where I would start my walk in the morning. The plan was to check in and then go find dinner. Caroline and I expected Cynthia, a fellow pilgrim, might be there already, and we discussed how our dinner plans might look either way, with or without her.  We wanted the chance for one last long conversation together, but also wanted to include Cynthia if she wanted to join. 

 

A couple of months before my departure for South Africa, I learned that there would be another pilgrim joining me for the entire time and distance of the walk. I was both excited at the prospect of a new soul sister, and pretty worried about what it might be like if we didn’t connect at all. I learned about her in increments: Cynthia was a colored South African from Johannesburg, walking to bring attention to whistleblowers and to raise money for her organization. At first glance that seemed an unlikely mindset for pilgrimage, and I was curious how she was going to accomplish both. She had written a book about her experience as a whistleblower, which I got and read. The picture of her on the cover makes her look tough, no-nonsense, more than a little scary. The book was well-written, and I felt I knew her by the end. I loved that she was a writer, a yoga teacher, and a seasoned pilgrim. She had been through something horrific, and came through both stronger and more determined than ever to do what is right. 

 

I wrote to Cynthia to introduce myself, make the initial connection, and to talk about logistics for our shared walk on the Peninsula. She didn’t respond for a very long time. Long enough for me to shift my perception and expectations from her being a potential tribemate to the challenge of possibly walking with someone who wanted to be completely separate from me. I was more curious than anything, not really worried, but a little apprehensive. I was in full pilgrim flow, and so knew and accepted that whoever she was going to be was exactly what was going to be best for my pilgrim experience this time. 

 

Then one day, out of the blue, there was a very long email from Cythia. She apologized for not writing sooner, saying she’d been working and preparing for the pilgrimage. Her message was long, detailed, open, funny, warm. I was excited now, not just curious, to meet her in person. We wrote a handful of times before the start of the walk. Every message made me like her more, and more grateful that she was going to be my constant companion for the entire pilgrimage. 

 

When Caroline and I arrived at Newlands Guest House, we were both eager to meet Cynthia. We were met first by our host, Sarah and her dog, in a sweet courtyard full of color and light. She showed us to the room, where we found Cythia settled in. My first impression was that she was so much prettier than the cover of her book indicated, and warmer, and tiny. She radiated light and openness. After Caroline and I got a quick tour of the guest house, the three of us headed to dinner in Caroline’s car to a nearby neighborhood that was said to offer a number of choices. We went to the first interesting place, a pub that had outside seating. The food was fine, the service was fine, but the conversation was extraordinary.

 

I sat and mostly listened as Caroline and Cythia got to know each other. Both are women of service, with a passion for building relationships and healing their country. Caroline has worked in the nonprofit world for years and recently started her own business where she works to help people manage transitions. Cynthia, since her own whistleblower experience has worked to help other whistle blowers move forward with their lives with support and understanding, and has dreams of creating a yoga retreat center where people can go for healing. I basked in the light of their shared goals, felt some pride in my part in their meeting, and was so inspired by their courage. It was one of those times that stands alone as a gift so significant it would be enough if nothing else followed. 

 

And we hadn’t even started walking yet. 

 

Finally, we had to call it a day, and Caroline drove us back. I said goodbye to her outside the gate, happy that it wasn’t a real goodbye because she had plans to walk with us soon. Once in the room, Cythia and I exchanged the gifts we’d brought for each other. Mine for her, a journal. Hers for me, a ball for easing knots in muscles and a small salt and pepper set that would be a life-saver for the dozens of hard-boiled eggs that were in our future. She then took her shower while I did my final organizing and packing to be ready for the morning. I had my first rooibos tea of the trip while I worked, feeling both comforted and strengthened by the red infusion redolent of fruit and sunshine. We settled into bed soon after, exhausted, eager to meet the day ahead, to begin walking, finally. 

 

Hafiz’ words for the day, “Seek nature’s embrace to reclaim your inner wild self.”