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!”