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.”