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.”
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