Day 8 - Transition

Monday, October 14

Hout Bay to Paardeberg

10k/6mi (maybe)

Cloudy & Windy, Pleasant (morning)

Sunny, Pleasant (afternoon)

 

 

Today was a day that was about three days’ worth of adventure. We woke up on the Peninsula, hiked, then drove across the Western Cape to Paardeberg in the Winelands. We went from two pilgrims to seven, from one chaperone for a long stretch to a new one, or none, every day. We went from urban to rural and all that that meant in terms of hosting and landscape. 

 

I awoke early as usual, more sore than usual and tired from a fitful night. I was still buzzing from the conversation of the night before which opened up an awareness of what my Facebook fast was giving me. I had known it for a while, that all the time I spent on Facebook came at the cost of my writing. That the writing I did on Facebook was shallow and fast and for connection and ego fulfillment. That the writing I’d felt called to since childhood required more: more of my time and attention and heart. I couldn’t have both, and after a week away from Facebook, the desire to really write was beginning to reawaken. 

 

The pull to Facebook was still very strong, and the discomfort of resisting the pull a constant, but the glimmer of possibility beyond it gave me hope.

 

I went down for breakfast early, looking for good coffee and company. Alex had told us there was a birding tour staying there, and I was eager to meet them. It turned out they were all American, and after a week of being the only American, it was nice to hear familiar accents. I also enjoyed talking birds, and a part of me would have been happy to join their group. 

 

After making arrangements with Alex to hold our luggage, Cynthia and I headed out at 7:30 for Fish on the Rocks to meet Brent and Donita. We followed the same path I had the day before, only staying on the right side of the wall. It was a beautiful walk, the waterfront busy with fishing business, the sky an Impressionist painting. A man stopped us, seeing our Cape Camino shirts, and asked about our pilgrimage. We wended our way through abandoned and graffiti-ed buildings with garbage nestling at the base of the walls that had a post-apocalyptic feel. 

 

Brent and Donita and their teenaged son Meshak and his dog were waiting at the restaurant when we arrived. We were getting the whole family as chaperones (although they have other children grown and out of the house). When I walked with them two years before, we’d climbed to the top of a very steep mountain. Brent had said then that it was the easier of the two hiking options, but he chose the easier because of my age and it was the end of my walk so I was probably tired. I hadn’t been happy then to be dismissed in that way, but the hike was glorious, as were the views from the top. It was one of my favorite days of that entire pilgrimage. 

 

 

He had offered the more difficult hike this time, or we could repeat the one from before. He also said we could just spend the day exploring the town. I struggled that morning with what would be the best choice. I never want to take the easy choice, but my back was sore. So, I fell back on my commitment for the walk. I would go along with whatever was offered, and it turned out Brent didn’t want something hard because he wasn’t in the greatest walking shape.

 

 

The six of us headed out through Hangburg, the township part of Hout Bay snugged up against the mountain. Brent narrated as we walked, talking about the community and its struggles to maintain itself against forces that wanted to take the land away for more commercial uses. Although a tour guide, he’s also very active in the community and sharing the wealth of diversity that exists there with anyone interested in learning. Donita is a healer with deep knowledge of the plants of the fynbos. Brent is outgoing and larger than life. His wife is quiet, shy, but with a wicked sense of humor. Meshak mostly went ahead with the dog, but was friendly and polite. Time spent in the company of this family is informative, entertaining, and soul-opening. 

 

 

One of my favorite stops was a piece of land on which a mosque and a church sat side by side. Brent told the story of the owner of the church land selling a piece to the Muslims of the community so they could have a place of worship. It felt like a perfect representation of what Hangberg was about. 

 

We eventually found ourselves on the outskirts of town, and climbing. Brett had decided we’d start the harder of the two hills and just see how far we got. It was a perfect hiking morning, with great conversation. Donita regularly stopped Cynthia and me to hand us a bit of a plant to smell or taste, explaining its healing properties. We picked and ate berries as she talked about a childhood in which these berries very much brought to mind the huckleberry adventures of my childhood. The walk was easy, with only slight elevation and mostly level terrain. Meshak and the dog ran ahead and came back often enough their distance likely doubled ours. The weather was starting to turn, and the wind had picked up considerably, so Brent decided we’d turn around.

 

On the way down, Cynthia and I were at the back and there was a flurry of urgent movement ahead. I looked up in time to see the very large shiny brown body of a Cape Cobra in the bushes, just after it had pulled its head down. Meshak got the dog away, and Brent made sure we didn’t get too close. Not that he needed to be concerned. It was fascinating to see, and to experience that frisson of fear and sense of just missing something terrible.

 

Once back on the flats, instead of heading back into town, Brent led us across the fynbos to an incredible view of the sea. We sat there for a while, enjoying a snack and soaking up the wonder of the place and time. 

 

They walked us back through town and dropped us at our guest house. Brent and Alex met for the first time and seemed to enjoy their new connection. I realized that with both of them in the tourist business, there was benefit to both in their meeting. Just minutes after we said a reluctant goodbye to Brent and Donita, Shawn arrived to take us to Paardeberg. 

 

I had been anticipating this time with Shawn for months, when I booked him to transport us. He was the first person to greet me in Cape Town for my first Cape Camino, picking me up at the airport as Riebeek Valley Tours & Transfers. He became a treasured friend in the time between the airport and the resort that was my first stay. He was also a Camino host in Riebeek Kasteel, so I got to spend the better part of a day with him four days into that walk. Because we enjoyed each other’s company so much, later in the walk he found me at one of the stops and took me out to dinner. We had been in touch often in the two years since that time.  

 

Scheduling a meeting time with Shawn at our guest house was a perfect example of the Western Cape relationship with time. I couldn’t give him a specific time because I didn’t know when we’d be done with Brent. I told him I’d let him know at the beginning of the hike when Brent thought we might be done. Then it was decided Brent would communicate with Shawn. It turned out no one told Shawn when to arrive, but he sort of guessed at what would be the right time, without any upset at the lack of information, and showed up at the perfect time.

 

The reunion was happy and exuberant, and Shawn brought Cynthia into the circle of his warm and welcoming energy instantly. We said a final goodbye to Alex, gathered our gear, got ourselves sorted in the van and set out for new territory. 

 

 

We stopped for coffee on our way out of town at a place called Deus ex Machina, a name that made me smile. As the three of us were enjoying excellent coffee shop coffee and croissants, Linda (Caroline’s friend from our dinner the night before) walked past our table on her way out. Even though we had just met the day before, this reunion was also happy and exuberant. She sat with us for pictures and promised to stay in touch as she left. 

 

The rest of the drive to Paardeberg was easy, happy and full of fun conversation. It was like basking in sunlight, being in Shawn’s company. He treated us both like we were the most important people he knew, one of his many talents.

 

We arrived at Fynbos Estate around 3:30, pulling into the driveway with eager expectation. We were redirected rather gruffly to a house down a very bumpy dirt road. Shawn got us settled and left, not saying goodbye because we’d be seeing him again in a few days at Riebeek Kasteel. 

 

Cynthia and I were the first to arrive, so we got to explore the house on our own. It was very comfortable, very roomy, and surrounded by farm land. We chose a bedroom downstairs, close to a bathroom. While I was eager to meet the new pilgrims, I was also sad to be losing the time with just Cynthia. We were so compatible as roommates, and had a system going that worked for us. She took first shower. I got the bed closest to the bathroom. We gave each other space and had great conversations. It was going to be interesting to see who we would be in a larger group.

 

The next to arrive was N., delivered by her obviously anxious parents and their Jack Russell terrier. They seemed less confident than she did that she was up to 700k of walking, carrying a full pack, over the next few weeks. In her forties, she would be the youngest of the group by quite a bit. She was warm and friendly and funny. We sat and visited for a long time while Cynthia showered and I knew she’d be a favorite. 

 

A. arrived a short time later, dropped off by a friend. In her fifties and dressed in what turned out to be her signature pink, she was as talkative and chaotic feeling as her messages had been, but endearing at the same time. She and N. explored the house trying to decide where to sleep while I took my shower and rested.

 

I had time to explore the yard alone. There was a beautiful stand of pin cushion proteas that could have held my attention by themselves for a very long time. That I discovered flying among them a small flock of sugarbirds meant I would have been happy to stay there until dark. There was something about the long ribbony tails that felt magical, and to get to stand as close as I did and simply watch them go about their sugarbird business felt miraculous. 

 

 

Dinner was at 6:00, down by the house we stopped at first. We walked the road back, accompanied by the squawking of helmeted guineas, enjoying the countryside and getting to know each other. Johan, our host, seemed less than glad to see us, telling us we were too early and we’d have to wait. Shawn had warned us that Johan was gruff, and he seemed to be living up to that. Still, he offered wine, which N. and A. both were happy to have. 

 

Johan talked to us about the next day. We’d be walking without a chaperone, or apparently even a map. He gave detailed directions, which Cynthia thankfully wrote down, insisting that if we kept the mountain to our right, we’d be fine. He’d provide yogurt, rusks and bananas for the walk, and give us toasties and coffee before we set out in the morning. He strongly suggested, actually kind of told us we’d be foolish not to, that we start out early because the day was going to be hot. It was decided we’d get up at 6:00, come down for breakfast at 6:30, and begin walking at 7:00.

 

The other three had not yet arrived from the airport when we settled down to a satisfying meal of chicken cacciatore and rice. They finally walked in just as we were finishing, clearly frustrated and exhausted from their trip. The four of us early arrivers got up to greet them, hugs all around, names shared. They were members of a walking group from East London. In their sixties and retired, Clare and Anna-marie felt like old friends from our WhatsApp conversations, as N. had.  The woman I was expecting to be Gwen turned out to be Wendy. We learned later that Gwen had to cancel at the last minute and offered her place to anyone in their walking group who wanted it, and Wendy was the taker. She stood out from the group with her bright spandex outfit more suited for yoga or the gym than a long pilgrimage. 

 

We all found seats, and chatted while the late arrivers ate their dinner. Clare and Anna-marie seemed particularly offended by Johan and his less than warm welcome. There was a problem with their gear from Cape Camino – not enough had been sent. Their luggage had apparently not been handled gently or delivered to the house yet. When Clare asked what time we’d be leaving in the morning, I said, from the other end of the table so I couldn’t see her face, we’d decided to leave at 7:00.

 

She blew. In a loud and angry voice, she said that was far too early. She wasn’t going to get up before she wanted to because other people decided on the time. She wasn’t going to sit around at our destination with nothing to do because we arrived so early. She could walk by herself, and would. She wanted to know when the orientation was, who was in charge, where was the welcome. 

 

Someone else at the table explained how we got to the 7:00 departure time, and Johan said she was welcome to walk alone. This was a safe and easy leg. He gave directions again. We reminded her that there was no orientation or leader or official welcome. This was a pilgrimage, not a tour, and all of the information had been provided in our packet. 

 

The table got tensely quiet after that, and we began to make our way back to the house. Cynthia left first, then me, then N. We comforted each other once at the house, allowing grace to the East London ladies for exhaustion and nerves. N. was rattled by the drama and the energy, and Cynthia and I both promised her we’d watch out for each other. 

 

The last four came back together and after helping them orient to the house, Cynthia and I went to bed. I did my journaling while Cynthia did some work. I fell asleep to the sounds of their chatting and footsteps, feeling bad for their rough start, and hoping the light of a new day would be a hard reset for the entire group. 

 

My Hafiz message for the day: “Tenderness is what I am when my heart governs, and I realize how much so many in this world have suffered.”

 

 

Cast of Characters

 

 

It seems important here to introduce the cast of characters that will be a significant part of my pilgrimage going forward. Before we met at Fynbos Estate in Paardeberg on October 14, we’d been communicating via a WhatsApp group created by Cape Camino since September 10. The five women Cynthia and I were meeting were meant to walk the rest of the pilgrimage with us. We’d end together in Langebaan a month later, on November 12, and two of the women would continue on to the Peninsula together. 

 

I’d formed impressions of each of my fellow pilgrims based on those early WhatsApp conversations, and was optimistic about the potential friendships and getting to experience all those new life stories. At best, I figured that month of walking together would forge lifelong friendships – a special sisterhood of shared hardship and joy. I was still deeply connected to four fellow pilgrims from my first Cape Camino, and we had walked together a much shorter time. I allowed the possibility that this new group might end up less connected than I hoped, walking in separate pods, but with respect and mutual care. If any of the women turned out like two from my previous walk with huge issues that impacted the whole group negatively, I was prepared to let them be and walk my own walk. I had learned from the first walk and was actually looking forward to trying out new skills. I also had my growing friendship with Cynthia, and that could be enough. 

 

The reality turned out to be quite different.

 

This is what I knew before we all met that first night:

 

N. was living in Australia, had been for several years, but grew up in South Africa. She was walking solo, and carrying her pack. We had several small conversations on the group about previous experiences. I felt a connection with her from the beginning, in part because I love all things Australian, and in part because of the upbeat tone of her messages. 

 

Clare, Anna-marie, and Gwen were friends from East London, 1000km east of Cape Town. Clare went by Clare Bear and had walked many pilgrimages previously as well as slack packing in her own country. Anna-marie was quieter on the group, but warm and friendly. She was especially interested in N., because they were the two who would finish with the Peninsula together. Gwen was very warm and positive, a big user of happy stickers. Of the three, Clare was the chattiest, and often offered advice to the group. I was initially envious that they were walking as friends since none of my friends would walk with me, and curious about their history. It seemed like Clare and I might bond over a strong passion for walking in any form. 

 

A. was a Hungarian woman from Germany currently living in Cape Town. She used the WhatsApp group extensively to get information about the walk and communicated there more than anyone. Her messages were voice messages because she was uncomfortable with English. She said she had walked many pilgrimages in Europe, that she was a slow walker because of her knees. She sought advice about poles and packs. She talked a lot about blisters and blister treatment. Her messages were chatty and friendly, and she often repeated herself from message to message. I was a little concerned about her level of neediness, but otherwise looked forward to spending time with someone who had walked pilgrimage frequently. 

 

Before we met in Paardeberg, I didn’t know what any of them looked like, or how old they were. 

 

As it turned out, the seven of us would only be together as a group until October 24 (not November 12), when N. would change her itinerary to get away from A. After that there were six of us until October 28, when one of the East London women would end her pilgrimage as originally scheduled. I learned of that schedule only later into the walk. When she left, there was a tense week of walking as five. Then we were four after November 5, when A. would end her pilgrimage early. 

 

Three other people joined the group of four remaining pilgrims, as planned, on November 7. 

 

Ina and Frikkie, who had walked with me for 25 days two years before, had signed up for five days of this walk. They are my age, two of the most adventurous people I know, and the loveliest couple in every way. I was beyond excited to see them again, and to have allies at that point.

 

Nicole, Cynthia’s daughter, joined us at the same time. She was there to support her mom and to have a much-needed getaway from her busy life as a doctor and mom of two young children. She was a breath of fresh air.

 

N. asked me early in the walk to not use her name in anything I wrote about the pilgrimage, saying she was a private person and didn’t want her name out there. I made the decision to not use A.’s name, knowing at the end that even if she were communicating with me, she would have wanted the anonymity. The others all granted permission for their names to be used.

 

In many ways, Cape Camino itself is a significant character in this story. Peggy and Gabrielle, the daughter and mother who created and manage the miracle that is this walk, often became the focus as characters, but really it was their creation that walked with us, that we walked upon, that worked its way into and through us. What follows below is Cape Camino as they define themselves. It’s important to understand what information was available to us before we began walking. The why of that will become clear going forward.

 

From the Cape Camino website:

 

A Camino is a sacred walking route hosted by the local community. Every country has its own culture, history and natural environment, so each Camino will have its own flavour.  No two countries will offer the same Camino. 

​

Cape Camino, The Way of Table Mountain, showcases South African diversity, along a network of routes, over 700 kms of (mostly) off-road path.

​

This long-distance personal pilgrimage route offers space, time, adventure, meditation, fellowship, challenges and triumphs. The necessary components to any worthwhile journey.

 

As the pilgrim, you are the guest. The diverse, sacred spaces and friendly, local neighbourhoods are your hosts. Table Mountain, two oceans, farm lands, wine lands, forests and beaches are your setting. 

​

​Cape Camino is not an organised hike or tour- it is a personal pilgrimage route. As the pilgrim, you manage your expectations and if challenges occur that are unresolvable, you contact your hosts for assistance.

 

From the Preparation and Planning document sent to all of us before the walk:

 

A pilgrimage, according to many disciplines, is a space to cleanse. It is a journey, often into an unknown or foreign place, where a person goes in search of new or expanded meaning about their self, others, nature, or higher good, through the experience.

 

To turn a walk into a pilgrimage set the intention to do so. Know that the unexpected will occur, things may not go according to plan, and you will be tested and challenged throughout. But most of all, keep your awareness: of how you feel, what you think, how you react.

 

When you squeeze an orange, orange juice comes out- what

comes out of you when you are squeezed?

 

Cape Camino supports small/medium, family-run, local establishments and the revenue generated goes directly to the communities which creates opportunities to work and

thrive.

 

You’ve chosen to walk this Camino with the help of an organised itinerary and we have prearranged your hosts and stopovers. Due to the nature of their daily lives and businesses, unexpected changes may arise and we may have to change your itinerary.

 

It is best to minimise expectations and observe your response to what life offers.

 

We have organized for you, to the best of our ability, access to information to assist you with your journey. But it remains your journey and your responsibility to use the experience to best maximise your intentions. We encourage you to do your own research ahead of time, to make the journey your own and find your space on Camino.

 

The last line of the Indemnity Form we all had to sign:

 

I agree to manage my own expectations when on Camino. I will be considerate and respectful to hosts and other pilgrims. 

 

From our WhatsApp welcome message:

 

This is a personal pilgrimage route and not an organised hike.

 

And it’s your journey. Your outcomes are based on your inputs and intentions.

 

Okay. That’s it. There’s nothing left for me now but to continue with the story, something I’m feeling some strong resistance to. It was hard enough doing these days with these people the first time. To go back on purpose, to put myself back there, to do it with the intention of clarifying my own part in things is no easy task. As I said in the very beginning of this story, there are no villains here. But it sure felt like there were for much of the walk going forward. 

 

Day 7 - Chapman's Peak

Sunday, October 13

Noordhoek to Hout Bay

12k/7.5mi + 4k/2.5mi

Sunny & Pleasant, evening Cold & Rainy

 

 

It speaks to the nature of pilgrimage that from this point onward I did not keep track of how long each day’s walk took. Time had stopped mattering much at all, and certainly stretched and curled differently than it does in non-pilgrim life. Add to that the South African casual relationship with timeliness, which would grow even stronger in the countryside, and my western-teacher-keeping-things-on-track-always-being-on-time-responsible-oldest-child  approach to life had to be adjusted. At first it was hard and distressing, and then it became a freedom and a relief (most of the time). 

 

Today was our last full day on the Peninsula, and tonight would be our last night. I was ready to move on, my best memories of the previous pilgrimage formed in Winelands and Farmlands. I was also still struggling a bit with disappointment in the itinerary – the unevenness of the mileage mostly – and especially with this day being more of a tourist day than a pilgrimage day. That it was the second tourist day, Muizenberg being the first, in a week of what was supposed to be a serious pilgrimage was hard to get okay with. 

 

Waking up after a night of listening to wedding revelry, I was feeling off before the day had even started. This morning, I found my journal time to be a good place to get grounded, but it took an hour and four pages of different ways of reminding myself of my pilgrim status and what that meant. Reminding myself that I don’t have to like what’s happening. Reminding myself that my emotions were not in charge. I reflected how much I was missing the ego hit of Facebook posts and feedback, and how that validation made it so much easier to discount the bubbling uneasiness I was living with more and more every day. The glow and the feeling of aliveness and rightness with life that I found in previous walks was not here. Even when I could feel glimpses of magic, there was a heaviness woven through. I recognized that the physical discomforts were nothing compared to the mental and emotional discomforts.

 

From my journal: This is what I came for. It’s why no Facebook or games – to clear the space for clearer vision. That I’m not enjoying this, that the pull to Facebook continues unabated or dimmed, that I keep looking to my phone for comfort and distraction – I’m in withdrawal. I’m experiencing pilgrimage the way Pat (my counselor) envisioned. I don’t have to like this. It’s okay that it feels hard and that I feel out of sorts. . . . It is not necessary for me to offer suggestions or judgement or criticism or even to share with anyone at all, except here, how I’m feeling. . . . Otherwise, I breathe and look for miracles and try to embrace all the parts of me, all the parts of the people in my life. Embrace and love.

 

John O’Donohue’s words from my morning’s Anam Cara reading set me on course for the day. “This work of freedom is slow and unpredictable; yet it is precisely at this threshold that each individual is the custodian and subject of their own transfiguration. Outside us, society functions in an external way; its collective eye does not know interiority but sees only through the lens of image, impression and function.”

 

By the time Faizel knocked on our door and we made him coffee while we finished getting ready, I was much more settled and ready to receive whatever the day had to offer. It had been decided we’d all ride together to the toll gates on Chapman’s Peak Drive, and then walk into Hout Bay. Cynthia’s friend Zunaid would meet us at the toll area and spend the day with us as a way to support her and her cause. 

 

 

I had learned that morning that Marius wasn’t our driver, and had not been our driver the whole week. He worked from the office. Our driver, he said, was Peter.  When Peter arrived with big smiles and hearty welcomes, he informed us he preferred Pierre. It turned out he’d been our luggage guy the whole time, and had been hoping to meet us. He was a garrulous Congolese man who told us his entire life story on the drive to the Chapman’s Peak toll area. Because we arrived 45 minutes before Zunaid, Pierre shared even more of his story while we waited.

 

After living in South Africa for 18 years, he was returning to Congo to help with his aging parents. He knew that when he left, he might not be able to return (visa restrictions I didn’t quite understand), which might not have been a problem except for the wife and four daughters who wouldn’t be going with him. His was not the first story like that I’d heard, but it made me really sad for everyone involved. It also made me even more aware of the deep privilege of my own life.

 

 

Zunaid arrived at 9:00. We said a reluctant goodbye to Pierre and exchanged WhatsApp numbers, promising to stay in touch. The obligatory pictures were taken. Then Cythia, Zunaid and I followed Faizel on a path down the hill into Hout Bay. It was a lovely walk with glorious views. We ran into Brent and Donita who would be our chaperones the next day. Brent said they had the day off together because they had thought we were with them on this day. Everyone laughed, like getting a date wrong like that was no big deal. Brent told us where to meet them in the morning and they headed up the hill for a Sunday picnic.

 

 

All too soon we were at the bottom of the hill and in a regular town. Busy street, stores, and a coffee shop that called us in. That it was named after a city at home famous for coffee made me smile. Zunaid treated us all, and we settled into a table outside to enjoy both the caffeine and a great conversation. I mostly listened as the other three talked about their country both historically and politically, as well as the state of the world. The subject of the upcoming American election was raised. I said, as I would dozens of times in the coming weeks, that I had voted before I left, and that I was afraid.

 

 

We eventually, and a little reluctantly, started out again. It was hard to walk away from the richness of that conversation. There was a long stretch of sidewalk walking before we arrived at The World of Birds Wildlife Sanctuary and Monkey Park. I happily paid for Faizel’s entry, while at the same time wondering why Cape Camino hadn’t covered it if this was a part of the itinerary. He knew his way around, clearly having been there before. When I asked, he said he brings pilgrims there regularly. When I asked if he’d brought his girls there, he said no. So often in my travels I meet local people, there to help guide me, who don’t get to experience the wonders of their own countries because they can’t afford them. I’m never sure what to do with that beyond giving whatever generosity I have to offer.

 

 

 

All of that faded to the background once we were on the path in the midst of birds in enormous enclosures. There is little I enjoy more than being surrounded by birds, and getting to be in the presence of what for me were exotic birds was a thrill. Huge birds of prey. A flamingo enclosure where there was no barrier between us and the birds. Walking through enclosures with bright birds nesting and going about their bird business. A prehistoric-looking cassowary, considered the world’s deadliest bird. An encounter with a huge white pelican where we stood above the enclosure and he came up so that his head was level with mine. We had a long conversation while I admired his beauty and he apparently found me fascinating. There were also small wild cats, guinea pigs, meerkats, and so many monkeys. 

 

 

We walked the entire sanctuary and were satisfied and ready to go when we found ourselves back at the entrance. It was another hour of sidewalk walking before we arrived at Brightwater Lodge, our stop for the night. I remembered the old couple who had hosted me two years previously as kind but tired. The new owner, Alex, was waiting outside talking to neighbors as we arrived. He greeted us warmly and energetically, showed us to our room, then spent a long time orienting us to town. I was reminded what we had to look forward to in the weeks to come. The hosts of Cape Camino are its heart and soul, what brought me back a second time. While our hosts on the Peninsula had taken good care of us, and Alex was one of the best, the hospitality awaiting us was more personal and homey. 

 

Zunaid and Cynthia wanted to go to lunch, and Faizel would join them. I wanted to find the market at the waterfront that I remembered fondly from before. I said my goodbyes to Faizel then. Our parting hug felt full of friendship, despite my frustrations throughout our week together. I was grateful for my time with him, for his work and character and story. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him again, but also that we would stay in contact. 

 

They headed out, and I headed upstairs to clean up for my adventure. When I set out toward the waterfront, walking solo, I got that sense of joy and excitement that always comes when I’m heading into the world on my own. Alex had given good directions so I quickly found myself at a pier full of shops and people enjoying a Sunday afternoon with fish and chips and ice cream. I got my own ice cream and enjoyed being a tourist among tourists for a while. I couldn’t find the market I remembered and after wandering for a bit, I asked tour guides on a double-deckered bus. I was directed farther down the street than I’d gone before, told it was a ten-minute walk from there. 

 

I began walking, a little uncertainly. Nothing looked familiar or remotely like a market, even as I looked ahead. There were no other tourists, only an occasional man walking in the other direction. I kept going as clouds covered the sun and rain started to spit a little and the temperature dropped. I decided to get myself to the next landmark, and then would turn around if the market or an indication of the market hadn’t appeared. I was startled by a woman appearing at my elbow who looked familiar. She said she was going to walk me the rest of the way because this street didn’t look safe for me to be walking alone.

 

Her name was Rosalyn. She was one of the guides I’d spoken to just a few minutes before. When she saw me walking up the street, on the wrong side of a wall that separated the waterfront from where I was, she made the bus drop her off to help me. She’d just started working for the company, and was discouraged from what she was doing, but said she was taking her break and could do what she wanted with the break. We walked together for another five minutes or so, getting wet in the just more than misty air, until the sign for the market, and lots of shoppers, appeared in front of us. I hugged her fiercely and gratefully, full of awe and wonder at what had just happened. 

 

The market was familiar and crowded and not as appealing as I’d remembered. The same booths were offering the same merchandise. While there were some items, pottery in particular, that I might have wanted, I didn’t want to carry anything big over the next few weeks. So, I wandered a while and then headed back. On the way, I was happy to see the restaurant where we were to meet Brent and Donita the next morning, so I knew how to get us there from the guest house. I made sure I stayed inside the wall, finally understanding my mistake earlier, and found myself back at the pier without incident. I traveled the stretch of beach and street that took me to the guest house quickly, by then cold and damp and tired, ready to settle in.

 

 

However, the day was not yet done. Caroline picked us up a short while later to drive us to dinner at a seaside restaurant called The Dune. We were joined by Andy, and later by Caroline’s friend, Linda. Linda is a writer who had just begun publishing a newsletter. We sat next to one another and enjoyed sharing writer stories. For the first time in a very long time, I found myself describing myself as a writer and growing excited at the prospect of nurturing that part of my soul once more. As I described my Facebook withdrawal, I was encouraged by her understanding. I began to really believe there might be a great gift waiting for me behind my sacrifice of social media. 

 

There were moments of that evening as it grew dark outside and the windows became mirrors when I sat back and marveled at the amazing company around me. Strong courageous women, my tribe. As we parted, we offered doors of possibility for seeing each other again. Cynthia and Caroline were going to work together after the pilgrimage. Linda was going to contact me to do an interview for her newsletter. Caroline said she’d try to join us to walk another leg a bit later. Andy and I just said it wasn’t possible we wouldn’t see each other again, so we trusted something would manifest so we could. Cynthia and I would move across the Western Cape the next day to continue our pilgrimage, while the others would stay on the Peninsula and get on with their lives of quiet world-changing action. I felt so connected to them all that it felt impossible that we would ever end. 

 

I was completely exhausted when we got to our room, but could not get to sleep. I was so excited by the evening’s conversations and what they might mean for me going forward. I kept thinking about the very long day this had been, a tourist day that turned out to be full of meaning and spirit and fun and magic. A day so chock full of gifts it would be a long time before I could absorb them all. A day that ended with a WhatsApp from Caroline sharing a Facebook post from my dearest Shawn, the driver and host and friend from two years ago who would be picking us up the next day to take us to the Winelands. 

 

 

Day 6 - Dolphins

Saturday, October 12

Scarborough to Noordhoek

20k/12mi, 6 hours

Mostly Sunny or Overcast, Pleasant

 

 

Caroline and Andy arrived with Faizel around 7:00. Cynthia and I showed off our house and marveled at our great good fortune as the other two women marveled along with us. The five of us headed down the hill, through a sweet community garden, toward the beach.

 

 

What a glorious walking day this was. The views could not have been more breathtaking. The blue sky dotted with picture book clouds. The ever-changing colors of the ocean – greens and blues and grays bordered in the finest white lace. A singular sand dune in the middle of nothing. A postcard lighthouse. Dolphins dancing in the surf. There was some rock scrambling, one of my favorite things, a lot of beach walking, some road walking on generous verges overlooking the ocean. 

 

 

The company was just as wonderful. One of my favorite things about pilgrimage is that you can be in a group of people without talking or expectation for anything other than walking. But then the conversations that come while walking are often deep and reflective. They can also be simple and full of wonder, like when we sat and watched the dolphins for the longest time.

 

 

 

I felt a little separate all day, often walking ahead alone. There wasn’t anything wrong, but my whole being seemed to need the movement and solitude. While the others were taking off shoes and walking barefoot in the waves, I was walking at speed, allowing my legs to set the pace. There is a certain rhythm and pace for me that allows the inner noise to quieten, that allows me to become a part of the air and earth I’m traversing. I think I was seeking that. The inner noise was harder to still on this day, despite the near perfection of the conditions and the company. 

 

 

About halfway, we stopped in Kommetjie, a tiny beach village, for coffee. I recognized the café from two years ago with happy memories of the food and the luxury of a sit-down break in the middle of a walking day. Whether it was the familiarity or my pensive state of mind, this time the place had little impact beyond the pleasure of an icy cold Coke on what had become a hot day. 

 

 

We headed back out toward the beach, passing a huge dragon kite in the air that made us all stop and exclaim. The rest of the walk along the beach was long and less delightful than the morning. We were wearying and ready to be done. Still, I breathed the sea air in deeply, and strode strongly, mostly alone. The occasional breeze and the comforting voice of the waves whispering kept me company. Just before getting off the beach to head into Noordhoek, there are the remains of a shipwreck. It’s picturesque, and it was much much closer to the edge of the sea than two years before. When we figured out it wasn’t a tide related change, we were all astonished. That was sobering, to think that the waters had risen that much in such a short time.

 

Finally, we were off the beach and in the town of Noordhoek. Vacation homes lined the shaded streets along with the occasional restaurant. The street looked familiar, and Faizel pointed out the entrance to the place I had stayed before.

 

I had been happy to see that I wouldn’t be staying at that place. Although it was beautiful, the owner had been openly harsh and demeaning to the help, in my hearing. I wrote about the experience, and shared it with Cape Camino when I had the chance, expressing concern that a host like that was everything Cape Camino was there to fight against. I thought they’d listened to me, but learned later that we were in an alternate lodging because the original place was unavailable. Not because of a stand taken against meanness and racism. It took me a while to work through the disappointment.

 

The five of us finally arrived at our place, a guest lodge behind a wall on a busy street with a guard at the gate. We were impressed with the spacious grounds and beautiful gardens when we walked through the gate. The courtyard was shaded and airy and decorated for a wedding. It soon became clear the wedding was their focus and we were to stay out of sight and out of the way.  Cynthia and I were shown to a room at the side of the lodge, definitely out of the way, with a narrow walkway between us and the wall at the street. 

 

Caroline and Andy said their goodbyes. I was happy to know it wasn’t a final farewell. They would be joining Cynthia and me the next night in Hout Bay for dinner. Our final night on the Peninsula.

 

The room was perfectly fine, but a far cry from our three-story house. We imagined the wedding party enjoying much finer accommodations in the center of the lodge. The space was cramped, but Cynthia and I were good by then at making things work with our gear and giving each other room. We both did some laundry in the bathroom sink, and found spots of sunshine outside the room to drape things. We giggled at the picture of the wedding guests in their finery coming in through the gate as our underwear hung drying in the bushes just out of their sight. We were also proud of our pilgrim problem-solving and ability to adapt.

 

As Cynthia and I walked to the nearby shopping center to find dinner, we reflected on our Peninsula walk coming to an end. There was only one more night before we moved ahead to the Winelands to begin the next leg. It seemed like no time had passed, and it seemed like a month had passed. Despite the things we didn’t like, the lack of good organization and having to find dinner every night, we loved this part of the walk. All of our dinners that week had turned out to provide some magic to cap our days. We enjoyed each other’s company and appreciated the ease we found together. We were also looking forward to getting to the countryside and to meeting the five fellow pilgrims who would be joining us. 

 

Dinner at a sports bar called the Toad was lovely, eaten on a covered patio surrounded by weekend revelers on dates and families out to enjoy the gentle evening air. While I try not to eat American food when traveling, I had a hamburger out of curiosity. It was good enough, as were the “chips”, although American fries are much better. I had to ask for ketchup, tomato sauce there, and the bottle had clearly not been opened in quite some time, a dark ring of dried sauce rimming the edge and cap. It was a good reminder why I don’t order American food away from home, but still a decent meal. We stopped at the ice cream shop across the square from our restaurant and got cones for the walk home.

 

Once settled in for the night, with exuberant wedding toasts and applause in the background, Cynthia worked from her bed, and I worked to finalize our plans for the next day. A man named Marius had been responsible for transporting our luggage for this leg. He and I messaged frequently and I had come to like him very much. He was kind and considerate and funny, and our luggage was always where it needed to be, often much earlier than we expected. I contacted him when it became clear we’d need a ride over Chapman Peak, and he was available. I was looking forward to meeting him in person. I wasn’t completely settled with not getting to do the hike, but resolved to make the best of what was offered: walking down from the toll gates on Chapman Peak Drive. 

 

Hafiz’ words for the day: “Now you just need to realize the astounding achievement of just being. Just being who you ever are!”