Morning Journal

Morning Journal Entry

Friday, October 11

 

 

Slept remarkably well – way more than eight hours. Feeling rested, sore back noisy this morning. Much calmer about things this morning. Letting go – last night’s “Retreat” card a clear validation of my choice. It’s so easy to get drawn into the need to shape, to control, to be understood, even when the stated intention is to accept whatever is in front of me, to surrender to it, to embrace. 

 

Just texted Walt – check-in only. Feels right to do. I get small waves of missing home, have to pull myself back to the present. My awareness of my tendency to grumpiness when I’m tired is important. When we arrive at BE last night, I hated the room, felt overwhelmed, wanted really only to go to bed and sleep. But sitting for a bit, a shower, tea, legs up the wall, and everything looked brighter. Accepting that initial reaction as a stage, not the end, is helpful. Also choosing not to give voice to the fear and the things I don’t like is critical. 

 

I think about preferences – part of the point of pilgrimage is to not let my particular preferences be the primary reason for choosing my responses to things, or even for choosing what I do. A strong part of me would prefer to be at home with Birdie and the cats on my couch, drinking my coffee, playing games. 

 

Except the inertia of that was killing my soul and keeping me from being fully alive. I do not feel the exhilaration I’ve felt before, although there are moments. Like when our server place last night’s dinner in front of us. I was hit with a wave of deep gratitude at the abundance and beauty of that meal, sitting comfortable, dry, warm, looking at the ocean, next to a comfortable and interesting companion who is well on the way to becoming my fried. I felt the moment completely. I have said since the first Camino that this is where I feel most alive. In part that’s because I’m not participating in the numbing activities I fall back on at home to make time pass. 

Day 4

Thursday, October 10

Muizenberg to Simons Town

15k/9mi, 5 hours

Cloudy off & on, Mild temps

 

I didn’t sleep well. The room was too warm, my stomach complained about two ice creams and greasy fish, and the slight soreness I’d noticed walking back from the beach grew just enough I couldn’t get comfortable. When the clock on my phone finally said 4:00, I was relieved. I grabbed my stuff and went out into the main area where there was a kitchen and a comfortable couch. Coffee in hand, I settled in to write and read, soothed by John O’Donohue’s words, and lighter for getting the swirl of thoughts from my head onto the page. After a couple of hours, as the darkness outside the window eased, I went back to the room. Cynthia was awake, so we got ready and went downstairs early for breakfast which started at 7:30.

 

Faizel was already waiting for us, sitting with coffee. We chatted with him as we ate the cold breakfast and while we waited for the hot breakfast. The subject of Chapman’s Peak came up. We were meant to hike it on our way to Hout Bay, the next to last Peninsula day. When I initially saw it on the itinerary, I had thought it meant we’d be walking along the highway, which is one of the most scenic drives anywhere. Cape Camino had said it was too dangerous two years ago, but people run and bike the road all the time. I thought they’d relented. Apparently, it wasn’t that, but that we were meant to actually do the hike over the peak. Considered challenging, it’s also one of those hikes like Elephant’s Eye, that is more than worth the effort. I was apprehensively excited.

 

Faizel had other ideas. He had decided it was going to be too hard for two older ladies (both the road walk and the hike), and that we would Uber over and spend an extra day exploring Hout Bay. I argued, upset to be written off in that way, and confused about why he was messing with the itinerary Cape Camino had set. He stood firm while at the same time saying we’d see as the day grew closer. We had until Sunday to figure it out. 

 

When Caroline arrived to join us for part of the walk, I was still upset, but set it aside as we all walked out into a warm and beautiful morning. I tried to explain to her what had happened because she knows Faizel and I thought she might be able to convince him to change his mind. Her response was neutral at best and it became clear that I was not going to find an ally in her. Cynthia was also being quiet about the proposed change. I knew the only thing I could do to get myself back into the day and the gifts it had to offer was to change my approach. I returned once again to my commitment to accept the pilgrimage as it unfolded. I was disappointed, and unsettled, but deciding to stop fighting against Faizel gave me peace enough I knew I was making the right decision. As we walked along the coast, I found a moment with him and told him I’d go along with whatever he decided. 

 

On our way out of Muizenburg, Faizel led us to a kramat, a Muslim shrine where a holy man is buried. There are more than twenty kramats in the Cape Peninsula. These holy places are visited by Muslims as a sign of respect and worship. As Faizel told the story of the holy man buried in this spot, we watched a hawk soaring overhead. In the same way butterflies seemed to be signs for Cynthia, these hawks were speaking to Cynthia. That it appeared on holy ground made the sighting feel even more significant.

 

 

The walk itself was storybook perfect. We passed through a series of small beach towns: St. James, Noordhoek, Sunny Cove, Kalk Bay, Fish Hoek, Glencairn. The sand was friendly and warm. The ocean gave us music for the heart and balm for the eyes, and whales in the distance. Kalk Bay gave us shops where I found new journals, and a Khoi shaman dressed in burlap who lives in the mountains and was selling some plants like sage. We stopped and chatted with him for a long time, absorbing his calm and welcoming energy. All three of my walking companions met people they knew. For both Caroline and Cynthia, they were people who offered validation for their work. Faizel seemed to know everyone, or be related in some way. We stopped at a pier to watch a man set out snoek (a popular fish) to dry. We stopped at a tidal pool so Caroline could swim and met a chatty woman with a chubby pug who was reluctant to see us walk away. We watched a group of men trying to launch a large fishing boat from dry sand, with no success. 

Caroline left us before we arrived at Simons Town because she had to go to work. I was sad to see her go, but happy knowing both she and Andrea would be joining us in a couple of days. 

 

I recognized Simons Town from the outskirts. We walked past the hotel I’d stayed at before, now an addiction recovery center. Farther down the main street we stopped at a laundry where Faizel’s wife works. Sophia was beautiful and lovely to talk to, and it was easy to see why Faizel was so proud of her. 

 

From the laundry we walked and walked and walked until we were well out of the main square. It’s always hard walking farther than you think you’re going to, no matter how far or how unchallenging. By the time we arrive at our guest house, a beautifully restored old home, we were tired and footsore. Too much pavement walking at the end of a day is hard on feet. 

We were greeted warmly by Alex, the owner of Bon Esperance. She led us through the grand old house past gorgeously appointed and furnished rooms, through a door to the outside, down a couple of narrow paths to a separate room that looked nothing like the others. It was more rustic, and less inviting. Separate. It did have a kitchenette and a small table and chairs to sit in. The beds were comfortable. The bathroom was clean. If we moved the chairs, we had room for our luggage. 

 

As it seemed to every time we stopped for the day, it took me a bit to let go of what I hated about the new place and to settle into what I liked about it. To let it unfold and to remember it was only for one night, and that I was a pilgrim. I had to remind myself every single time to be grateful for what was, to let the strangeness and discomfort have their say and then to let them go. 

 

By the time we showered, did legs up the wall, had tea, and got ourselves organized, I was feeling much better. Neither of us wanted to walk the mile back to the square for dinner, both because it had gotten hot, and because we didn’t want to be walking back in the dark. However, we knew we had to get there somehow because we were hungry, and our stash of snacks wasn’t going to be enough. We went in search of Alex to find out about getting a ride. We found her in the kitchen, friendly, open, happy to chat with us. It turned out she was friends with Jenny who owned a tuk tuk business (with the whimsical name Hakuna Matuktuk). She contacted her, and Jenny came to collect us a short while later. 

 

We smiled and laughed the entire way to the square with Jenny chatting happily over the road noise. She dropped us off at the restaurant, a café named Fran’s, she had recommended, and told us she’d collect us in a couple of hours. Because it was late in the business day, Cynthia and I wandered the town before we ate. We walked into a small market, and like a couple of kids who haven’t seen candy before, exclaimed out loud at the array of chocolate available. The clerk laughed at us, and at our explanation for why we were stocking up on chocolate and other snacks. He didn’t seem to quite believe us when we said we were pilgrims walking a 700k path – on purpose.

Hunger drove us to Fran’s where we found friendly people, a beachy atmosphere, and one of the best meals I ate the entire walk. We were seated with a view of the bay and the military ships docked there, a reminder that Simons Bay is a naval base. I enjoyed a sugar-free Coke while waiting for our food, a drink I don’t indulge in at home, but that became my go-to comfort whenever I could get it on this walk. The sharp fizz, especially served ice cold, cleared cobwebs and created energy, and felt like luxury personified. Our lamb curry arrived looking as appetizing as it tasted. It was served with a side of sliced bananas, something new to me. Cynthia explained it was for cooling the spice of the curry. This was one meal there were no leftovers for.

 

After dinner we wandered the small square outside the restaurant as we waited for Jenny. We discovered a series of benches, each dedicated to a different area of land that was stolen from colored people and given to whites during apartheid. It was a sobering reminder of a terrible time in South Africa’s very recent history, and the impact in human terms. Cynthia talked about her own family’s experience during apartheid in a way that focused on how they rose above the injustice to create a life in which they could flourish. I thought about Faizel, living in a township in poverty, making a life that feels always on the edge of collapsing, but also flourishing in his own way. A deacon of his church, married and raising two girls, a respected elder of the community, working to bring awareness to the indigenous people of the Cape Region. I thought about my own deep privilege as a white American, how much I am allowed to take for granted even as in my own country people are still trying to overcome the long-term effects of slavery. 

 

The ride back to our guest house with Jenny was quiet. It was still daylight, but we were both reflective and tired. Still, when we arrived, we parted with Jenny as old friends and counted our tuk tuk adventure as a complete success. Cynthia and I tucked ourselves into our beds, she with her work, me with my journal, both of us with one last cup of tea for the day. I could hear in my head Facebook nattering at me from my phone, trying to draw me in. I ignored the voice, something that was getting slightly easier, and drew a card instead. 

 

Hafiz’ message for the day: “When you let go of what no longer serves you, you can see more clearly who you really are and what next steps are in alignment with your greatest good.”

Day 3

Wednesday, October 9

Silver Tree Estate to Blue Bottle Guest House, Muizenburg

7k/4.3mi, 1 ½ hours

Overcast & Warm

 

From my journal on this morning: “If yesterday’s walk gave us the testing and hardship of pilgrimage, last night and this morning revealed the deep gifts of pilgrimage.” There are two days of this pilgrimage that stand out as completely joyful and full of light, where I feel such a strong connection to life and myself that I can’t imagine anything better. Even though the ending was less than ideal, today was one of those days. 

 

I slept hard the night before, woke at 5:00 (which is late for me) refreshed and eager to meet the day. I padded out to the kitchen in search of coffee and found the food for our lunches laid out along with our breakfasts. The coffee maker was ready to start – no instant to make do with today. I was so grateful for this unearned care, for the hospitality I remembered as a highlight from my first time in South Africa. 

 

With coffee in hand and the birds outside singing up the sun, I curled up on the couch to journal. I pondered whether to reach out to Peggy and Gabrielle, the creators of Cape Camino, with feedback about the Elephant’s Eye hike. I returned to my initial commitment to accept this pilgrimage as it unfolded, and decided I’d offer feedback to them at the end – if they asked for it. Facebook’s pull was a little less tidal as I wrote, but I did answer texts from friends, so that helped with my need for contact. I reflected on my growing relationship with Cythia, marveling at her strength and commitment to helping the world heal. 

 

Sheila got up and visited with me for a bit. She was preparing to visit a school for which she’d been providing supplies. Today she was going to read to a class. I’d checked out the pile of books and found myself wishing I could go with her. I miss kids. I miss reading to kids. I found myself wondering if I could find a way to bring kids back into my life on the other side of the walk. 

 

We made a relaxed start of the day since the walk was going to be so short. After a continuation of the conversation we’d started the night before, and a leisurely breakfast, Sheila drove us to the gate on her way to the school. Faizel was waiting for us, his usual smiling self. I was over my irritation of the day before. Cynthia and I had talked at length about the benefits of the Elephant’s Eye experience. We figured if we could get through that day in one piece, and feeling great the next morning, we could handle anything the pilgrimage could throw our way going forward. 

 

Elephant’s Eye turned out to be the most physically challenging day of the pilgrimage. There would be difficult walks ahead, but we faced them all with equanimity, knowing what we were truly capable of. If only that same thing held true for the social and emotional challenges that were lying in wait ahead of us. 

 

This morning’s walk found us on sidewalks following a road inland that eventually brought us to the coast. We were accompanied by pied crows, a particular pair engaged in what I assumed was a courtship dance in the air. Spring’s energy and color was infectious. The walk was fun and fast and we arrived at Blue Bottle Guest House before it felt like our bodies had even warmed up. Our room was ready and our luggage was waiting, even though it was just 9:30. Zaid, who introduced himself as an intern, got us sorted and went out of his way to make sure we were happy. The bed in the room was made as one double bed, so we asked that they separate them. There was no problem with that, but I felt bad a little later when we noticed a woman pressing the single sheets that would be used to remake our beds. 

Cynthia and I settled on the deck outside our room with rooibos and the sandwiches Sheila had made us . We enjoyed the sun and the birds and each other’s company for a bit. I saw my first sugarbird, the ribbon tail flowing behind a wonder to behold. Then Cynthia needed to work – in fact she was really glad for the short walking day so she could get caught up. That left me to my own devices for the day. Muizenberg is a small beach town which I had enjoyed on my previous walk. I figured I would be fine exploring on my own, trusting I’d find my way around from memory.

 

I set out, enjoying the 100 steps down from the guest house to the street level. I made sure I marked where I entered the street and where I turned to get to the main street. Shops looked familiar, the sea air promising peace and renewal. I strode happily, enjoying the stretch of my legs and the freedom. I turned toward the beach, anticipating the railroad crossing that marks the entrance to the shops and walkway and cabanas. 

 

It was the wrong turn, too soon as it turned out. I found myself on a completely unfamiliar street, with the beach to my right, but not visible on the other side of dunes. There was no one around, and I was aware that walking alone in a town in South Africa was not necessarily smart or safe. I kept moving forward assuming I’d find an entrance to the beach at some point. I was happy to see a sign that said Sunset Beach, and even happier to find myself on the beach. I walked back in the direction I’d come from, enjoying the sand under my bare feet and the waves’ percussion providing a perfect walking rhythm. 

 

 

It didn’t take long before I saw Muizenburg’s trademark cabanas ahead and I knew I was getting close to the spot I’d been aiming for. There were also people. Families with kids playing in the sand. Teens in groups doing what teens do everywhere when hanging at the beach. Surfers. Single walkers of all ages, shapes and skin tones. 

 

I made my way to the sea wall, with the shopping and parking behind and the ocean in front. One of my favorite memories from two years ago was sitting in that same exact spot with Caroline and Andy while they took turns swimming and I marveled at my presence at a beach in South Africa. I messaged with Caroline while I sat this time, sharing memories and my new experience. I watched a little girl with her bucket and shovel engaged in the serious business of moving sand. A group of people in Arabic clothing caught my eye. The men in their white robes and caps stood on the sidewalk and watched their wives, in full burkas, walk down to the beach. I watched the wives play in the waves at the edge of the sand, then return to their husbands. 

 

I decided to walk and ended up following the group as they made their way to a large van. They made me think of the Mennonite people from home we often see vacationing in groups, dressed head to toe in their traditional clothing.  I loved that we all were enjoying the sea at that moment in time, and that all the things that might separate us in life didn’t matter right then. 

 

My walk took me past them to a long boardwalk that followed the ocean to the next town, St. James. We would be doing this walk the next day, but I needed to move, and Faizel had said it was safe. It wasn’t until I got back to my perch in Muizenburg that I wondered whether he meant it was safe for two of us, not necessarily for a solo walk. 

 

That walk was glorious. The ocean danced against rocks, sending spray high. The boulders were mossy and craggy and prehistoric looking. The walkway was busy, and I found people returning my smiles and greetings more often than not. Once I reached the cabanas at St. James, I considered going further, but decided not to push my luck. When Cynthia and I talked about it later, and Caroline even later, it turned out to be a good choice. Being a lone woman walking in St. James proper was considered risky. I turned around, my usual brisk pace much slower as I soaked in the perfection of light and air and water and ground. I didn’t want to get back in a hurry and I felt my whole body relaxing into the groove. 

 

Once back to the Muizenburg waterfront, I walked along the shops until I found the ice cream shop. I took my cone back to the sea wall and sat to enjoy the cool sweetness and the perfection of the day. I noticed two women of color sitting a bit farther down the wall, and it seemed they were watching me. When I made eye contact with the closest woman, she came over to me and asked if I needed domestic help. I told her I was a pilgrim from the U.S. and so couldn’t offer her work, and she turned away with little emotion and no further conversation. They left shortly after. 

 

I asked Cynthia later if that was a normal interaction and if that’s how people found work. She said it was not, and that hiring someone that way was really risky. Most domestic help was found through word of mouth. Regardless, I admired the woman’s courage.

 

It was afternoon when I decided to head back to our place to see if Cynthia could come out to play. She was ready for a break, so we walked to the beach together. We picked up shells, people-watched, got ice cream. For the longest time we sat on the sea wall being entertained by a large group of women in Barbie pink t-shirts taking surfing lessons. We walked back to the room to rest for a bit, then returned to the waterfront for a dinner of fish and chips and more people watching. 

 

On our way back from dinner, I was aware that my legs were a little sore. Nothing like it might have been, though, and I was happy about that. As we waited at a stop light, a man approached us and asked for money. We said no, neither of us wanting to get our purses out in front of him, on this semi-deserted street. He followed us from a distance, speeding up when we did, but never getting closer. We both breathed a sigh of relief when we turned up the street toward our guest house and he turned back. 

 

It was still daylight when we settled in for the night. Cynthia went back to work. I tried to read. And fought the urge to check Facebook. There were an increasing number of enticing notifications on email from Facebook. Like it was desperate to get me back. I was too tired to journal or to read for very long, and Cynthia was busy. I was hit with a huge wave of homesickness that passed quickly, but that took my breath away. There was nothing to distract myself with. Except Facebook, which had always been the perfect thing for filling time in an entertaining way. And now that was out of reach.

I could have broken my fast. No one would have cared, and in those over-tired moments the comfort would have been most welcome. But I had made a promise to myself, and I knew I was getting less and less enjoyment from Facebook while spending more and more time there, and I had already survived a week without it. Surrendering to homesickness or the call to Facebook would mean I'd return home unchanged. That felt more untenable than the considerable discomfort crawling under my skin. Today would not be the day I gave in. I turned out my light, settled into the freshly ironed sheets, and drifted into sleep.