Day 5 - Penguins

Friday, October 11

Simons Town to Scarborough

25k/15.5mi, 6 hours

Sunny & Warm

 

 

Penguins! This day gave me a happy reprise of penguins, a dassie, time with Peggy, and the Scone Shack.

 

After a short walk from Bon Esperance on city streets, Faizel opened a door and stood aside for us to walk through. I was not really paying attention, in my head and enjoying the balmy morning, so when I looked up to see three penguins sitting on rocks, I squealed. We had walked from city landscapes straight into an ocean fantasy. I’d completely forgotten they were on the itinerary. To be fair, they weren’t there in writing – this itinerary was bare bones compared to the one of two years ago. But here the penguins were, along with their giggle-inducing waddles and the wild sea dancing behind them. 

 

We stood and watched them for a much shorter time than I wanted. African penguins, also known as Jackass Penguins (for the sound they make), are tiny and comical and little works of black and white art. The colony that lives at Boulders Beach, where we were, is large and healthy. We didn’t enter the reserve, but skirted it on a boardwalk that paralleled the boundary fence. Their braying and trilling filled the air, as did their pungent scent. The temptation to reach through the wire to pet them was strong, but the signs everywhere warning that penguins bite, kept me in check. We passed birds of all sizes and stages of development, including one baby that was all fluff, feed-me beak, and fearful eyes. 

 

 

I was so focused on the penguins that I almost missed the dassie sitting on a fence right in front of us. Dassies are common in South Africa, considered with a similar mix of disdain and amusement as we often view squirrels here. They’re heart-tuggingly cute, so getting to see one so close was a huge treat. Someone in our group said they’re related to elephants and manatees, which I didn’t quite believe, but which was confirmed with research later. 

 

 

Much of the day’s walk was in the open, on pavement with the sea to our left. The easy terrain made for easy chatting, which made the time pass more pleasantly. Fifteen miles, mostly on pavement, is hard regardless of a person’s condition or the perfection of the weather or the beauty of the surroundings. With five of us walking, there was an abundance of opportunity for varied conversations and diversion from the discomfort.

 

We were joined for the day by Peggy and Danielle. 

 

Faizel, Cynthia, Deb, Danielle, Peggy

 

Peggy, the daughter of the mother/daughter team who created Cape Camino, is a truly kind and lovely person. Meeting her through email when I was planning my first walk with Cape Camino was my first experience with Western Cape hospitality. She found ways to address all my concerns, sometimes before I even had a chance to express the concern. She met me for dinner and walked with me for a leg on that first trip, time taken out of a very busy schedule to meet a pilgrim who will be forever grateful. 

 

Danielle was Peggy’s friend, although they looked like they could be sisters. Both of a certain age, long, lean, athletic, with quiet gentle energy. On first meeting her, I read Danielle as stand-offish and maybe a little snooty. As would become glaringly apparent to me throughout the pilgrimage, my initial impressions of both people and circumstances had more to do with my own insecurities and unsettledness than they did with anything else. Ironically, I will learn in just a few days, that initial impressions of people are not always so easy to overcome as they were with Danielle. 

 

I enjoyed catching up with Peggy. Her recent marriage and busy life. My life at home, including a new hip, since the last pilgrimage. I briefly considered bringing up Elephants Eye, but let that go, and was glad I did. She was walking as a fellow pilgrim, not as admin.  

 

 

I enjoyed just as much eavesdropping on her conversation with Cynthia as I walked ahead of them. Cape Camino had been initially concerned about the impact a whistleblower walking for publicity would have on the safety and serenity of the path for others. Cynthia in her quiet and articulate way laid out her purpose and her heart. Peggy, with her tender heart, asked all the best questions. A connection was made, and concerns eased. 

 

 

We stopped for lunch on a concrete pad, like a driveway, jutting out from the road we were walking parallel to. There were raised edges on three sides, providing seating for us. 

 

Cynthia and I had packed a lunch for Faizel that included the barbeque chips I’d bought for him the night before. Two years previously at two different lunch stops, he ate only from a bag containing dregs of chips. He even offered them to Caroline and me. I had bought him a fresh bag then, and so this one was in memory of that. He thanked me, and put the chips in his pack. I knew him well enough by then to ask if he was going to take them home and give them to his girls, a teen and a toddler. He laughed and said yes. Later that night, he sent me a video of the girls enjoying their special treat. 

 

Peggy and Danielle sat together on one side as we ate, Cynthia and I sat together on the middle leg, with Faizel on the third. It had gotten hot, so we were removing layers. Danielle, who was walking in a tank top, asked if anyone had sunscreen. I pulled mine out and gave it to her, our first connection. Suddenly she wasn’t so distant or inaccessible feeling, and my pleasure at the interaction was probably bigger than made sense. That pleasure and sense of satisfaction only increased when I needed to remove the long-sleeved shirt I was wearing under my t-shirt. Peggy and Danielle saw that I was stripping down to skin, and they stood up without comment and formed a barrier between me and Faizel and the road without breaking their conversation. It was such a smooth and completely girl thing to do, a glimpse into their strong connection. The warmth I felt being included in that is still with me as I write this. 

 

After lunch the walking got hotter and harder. We eventually moved away from the sea and found ourselves walking through areas of sparse forests and small farms, all on pavement. Faizel offered, as our energies were flagging, that the Scone Shack was ahead of us. Much like with the penguins, I was excited at the prospect of revisiting this incredible place that appears on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. 

 

It is quite literally a shack from which homemade scones and all the accompanying delights are served. The shack sits in the midst of a small farm holding goats and pigs and chickens and geese and ducks and peacocks. There is also a succulent nursery on the grounds. The seating is outside at picnic tables in rustic shelters. The birds wander around the tables looking for scraps and handouts. Diners are provided with fly swatters, not for flies, but to discourage the birds from getting on the tables. The whole effect is magical and out-of-time. 

 

 

I was late to our table because I got distracted by the goats and pigs. Everyone had ordered, so I made my way to the shack to do mine. After I ordered my drink, and a brandy pudding to share with the table, I found myself in conversation with a lady named Lucinda who was about to retire and very interested in walking this Camino. She asked a ton of questions, many having to do with walking at our age. It was fun and particularly satisfying to my Facebook-starved ego to have a minor celebrity moment. 

 

 

I finally got to the table just before the food began to come. Our server was a friendly and chatty young man whose company we all enjoyed. The food did not disappoint: scones, clotted cream, butter, peach and rose geranium jam, the brandy pudding. Some of us had hot tea, some coffee, some the iced tea served with bits of floating fruit. We sat and visited until all the food was gone, while Danielle mostly successfully kept us goose, chicken, and duck-free with the swatter. I was vaguely aware at one point of a rooster dashing away from our table with something in his beak. When I discovered much later that the remains of my lunch sandwich were missing from the outer pocket of my pack, I connected the dots. Clever chicken.

 

Part of the Scone Shack conversation included Danielle talking a bit about a podcast she does. I walked with her and Peggy for a while after and was delighted to hear her story. She was another of the younger women I kept meeting in South Africa who are doing powerful things to bring change into their world. Her podcast is Danielle’s gift toward healing her world. By the time the conversation reached its end, I was so grateful for the chance to know her even a little bit, and feeling embarrassed by my earlier judgement of her. 

 

The rest of the walk was a slog. We were tired and hot, and full. The scenery was uninspiring and the pavement was taking a toll. Reaching Scarborough felt like finding an oasis in the desert, in part because we were back at the sea, and in part because it meant an end to the walking. I was sad to say goodbye to Peggy and Danielle, who were staying in town, but at a different place from us. Faizel led Cynthia and me up a steep hill past beautiful vacation homes, up and up and up. I was determined not to whine this close to the end, even though my legs and feet were complaining plenty. 

 

 

We finally turned into a gate that led to a pretty and well-designed garden that stepped down to the front door of our house. We stepped into a full-sized kitchen, turned left into the art-filled living room and a view that was astonishing. The Atlantic and Scarborough spread out in front of us. After Faizel left, Cynthia and I went exploring and soon discovered we had an entire three-story luxury vacation home to ourselves. There was a pool on the bottom floor which we both soaked our very hot and tired feet in. 

 

Cynthia chose the bottom floor with the pool, a deck with fancy lounges, and a bedroom suite that would cost a pretty penny in a fancy hotel. I took the top floor with the doors that opened out to the view, the proximity to the kettle, and an outside shower (which I ended up not using in favor of the very posh inside one). The middle floor went unoccupied. The house had a name, Moya Mnandi, meaning gentle breeze in Xhosa. We marveled, a little uncomfortably, at the luxury of our place, but focused on enjoying every minute we had there. 

 

After trying, unsuccessfully, to find a way to get dinner delivered, we finally relented and walked down the hill into town. There were two restaurants in town, one of which was closed. Our remaining choice, called Camel Rock, was a pizza place that I had visited on my previous walk. It felt familiar in its rustic and open-aired charm that included a pizza oven in the shape of a camel. 

 

The best part of our experience there was getting our passports stamped. We had no actual host at the house, so this was our only chance. Our server, a young man eager to please, told us they didn’t have a stamp. The other restaurant did the stamping for pilgrims. We asked if he could sign ours then, just so we had something. He told us to wait a minute, and disappeared. We waited for long enough we were considering leaving, sure he’d forgotten us. When he finally appeared, a little breathless and a lot excited, he offered his solution with no small bit of pride. He had cut out little circles of the restaurant’s logo from an invoice, and affixed them to our books with blue tacky putty.  

 

 

We headed back to our house, wanting to get there before the sunset so we could watch from our balcony. We got there just in time. When the sun had disappeared, Cynthia headed downstairs to work and then settle in for the night. I settled onto the couch with tea, my journal and my phone, basking in the gentle breeze the house was named for, and watched the sky paint itself in vivid post-sunset colors until dark consumed them all. I wanted to get on Facebook in the worst way then. To share what I was experiencing in words and pictures. To connect with the people of this country I was learning to love on a new and deeper level. To read feedback that validated my purpose, my walk, my being. 

 

I had heard from both of my brothers that day, so I satisfied my urge for connection (and resisted the urge to Facebook) by answering their messages and sending them pictures. When it finally grew too dark for me to see anything beyond the deck, I called it a day and headed for bed. 

 

Hafiz’ message for the day: “Use some of your wonderful power to pardon every deed of your own past that you might still be in conflict with.”