Day 17 - Soutkloof

Wednesday, October 23

Nuwefontein to Soutkloof

24 + 5k/18mi

Hot! 36C/97F

 

 

I was nearly giddy with joy when I set out on this morning. We were to leave by 6:00 because of the expected heat. N. had decided it was my turn to leave first, to have the pleasure of a road stretching out in front with no one else there. Cynthia had said she wanted to go at the back, her own way of finding solitude, and of showing kindness to A. There was no chaperone again, and we’d been promised good waymarking. Marina offered an app that showed directions, but I couldn’t access it on my phone, so the way ahead of me was mine alone.

 

 

After packing my lunch and saying goodbye to Marina, I set off down the stairs at the side of the stable before anyone else knew I was leaving. The light was magical and the air fresh and invigorating. I watched sheep on a hill in the distance, marveling at the colors of dawn light. I walked fairly quickly, enjoying the feel of my legs setting the pace without restriction, wanting to put space between me and the friends, wanting that rare gift of alone time more than anything.

 

 

When I stopped to watch the sheep, I looked back, and saw Wendy coming up the road behind me. Fast. I moved forward, trying to stay ahead of her, but had to stop and pee, so she caught up. I told her I was wanting alone time this morning, but that she was welcome to walk ahead of me. That was a concession I gave reluctantly, not really wanting to give up the open space ahead. She seemed a little taken aback, but said she just wanted to walk. I thanked her and we proceeded, with her just slightly in front. She was close enough that conversation was inevitable, and I eventually gave up the thought of it being a solo day. I liked Wendy, and on any other day, would have been happy for her company, so it was fairly easy to make the change.

 

 

However, when I stopped to sit on an upraised berm of dirt at the side of the road to eat, she said she would continue on. I enjoyed the solitude, but the promise of the morning had long since evaporated. Still, I loved the farmland and the songbirds and the brilliant blue sky. I came to a farmyard that looked vaguely familiar, but was unable to find the Cape Camino signs indicating which of the two possible ways to go. I headed in one direction, going mostly on instinct, and it was the correct direction. But a farm hand stopped me and told me to go the other direction, that the other lady had gone that way.

 

I followed his direction. The road was very steep, and it was getting hot, so I was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I ran into Wendy pretty quickly, but found her in a state of concern. She thought we were going the wrong way. We both felt the worker would not have given us bad directions, so were determined to continue forward until a crossroads where there would be a sign for sure if it was the right way. Before we found a crossroads, Wendy called Clare, who was in the farmyard talking to the farmer. He said two ladies had gone the wrong way. That would be Wendy and me. N. sent directions, which also helped.

 

While it was frustrating to be in the wrong place, to be lost, and to know we had some serious bonus miles for the day, that stretch of the walk was beautiful. We were up high and could see farmland for miles below us. At one point a pair of blue cranes flew overhead filling the air with their throaty warbly call. 

 

Wendy and I turned around and went back, a total of 5k added to the already long walk of the day. When we arrived back at the farmyard, we saw the worker who had misdirected us peeking nervously around the edge of the barn door. We never could figure out why he sent Wendy in the wrong direction. We did think he sent me so that Wendy wouldn’t be alone. I had to laugh at how my solo walk had turned out. While it was a bust where that was concerned, Wendy and I had a great story to tell.

 

We found Clare, Anna-marie, and N. sitting in the shade not too far down the road from the farmyard. No one had seen Cynthia or A. for a while, but they were behind somewhere. Wendy was completely out of water and found someone to take her to an outdoor spigot to refill her bottle. I would be sorry later I hadn’t gone with her to top off my half-full bottle. 

 

 

We all walked together for the rest of the day. For a long part of the walk there was no shade, and none of us had an abundance of water. Still, we moved forward mostly cheerfully and steadily. Clare continued her ongoing diatribe against Cape Camino, but ran out of energy to be angry as water grew scarcer and it grew hotter. She looked for stock tanks that might have fresh water, either to drink or to cool down in, but they were all empty or scummy. On one stretch, hundreds of butterflies danced along the side of the road, clearly attracted to the bushes growing there. They kept us company for a very long time, and provided welcome distraction. 

 

By the time we finally reached the farm at Soutkloof, we were all very hot, very thirsty, and very tired. Clare stopped before the farmyard to rest in the shade and gather her energy. N. and I went ahead to the main house where I’d stayed two years before. The son answered the door and walked us back down to the guest house, reminding us that his parents were now living in the smaller home. Because he was now running the farm and had a young family, they had moved into the larger house. He said Karin, our host, had gone to town and should be back soon. 

 

Karin and I had chatted when I made the decision to walk Cape Camino a second time. The first time she’d been our host for two nights and I’d stayed with her in the big house with some of the other women because the guest house couldn’t hold everyone. She invited me to stay in the house with her again, and I had been looking forward to that for weeks. 

 

We walked into the guest house where N. and I would wait for Karin to take us to the smaller farm house where she and her husband now lived. We discovered A. had gotten a ride, arrived a long time before us, and chosen the one bedroom in the house with an attached bathroom. And she saved the room across from her for Clare and Anna-marie. She was sitting on the porch of the house, with a beer, talking on her phone when we walked up.

 

I was furious about her choosing the best room for herself. And now saving rooms for her friends. It didn’t even impact me because I wasn’t staying in the guest house. It was the principle of the thing. Such a junior high thing to do, and so disrespectful of the rest of the group, all of whom were actually walking the entire route. I was aware that I was responding to the unfairness, and to A.’s complete lack of care for the rest of us. I tucked the anger away until I could safely release it onto the page.

 

While waiting for Karin, I drank so much water I had to make myself stop because I was beginning to feel woozy. I had been rationing my water for the last couple of hours of the walk, so was on the edge of dehydration. It was my own fault. I had a second water bottle I’d chosen not to carry because I didn’t want the extra weight. I could have refilled the one I carried when Wendy did hers, but I misjudged how much farther we had to go, and I misjudged the heat. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

 

I was alone in the guest house for quite a while. A. stayed on the porch, on her phone. N. walked back to look for Cynthia who was the last to arrive and alone, to make sure she was okay. Anna-marie went back to collect Clare on the edge of the farm. Wendy was off on her own.

 

When Karin finally arrived, I was so happy to see her. She’d been one of my favorite people from the first walk. Because we stayed with her for two days (because another host backed out at the last minute) there was more time to get acquainted. We had long satisfying visits sitting at the generations old farm table in her large kitchen. She took us to a county fair, and treated us like visiting friends. 

 

The smaller house was just as homey as the big one, but without the kitchen table, which I missed and Karin said she did too when I asked. N. and I each had a room to ourselves. Both rooms were spacious and welcoming. I sat in the kitchen and visited with Karin as she fixed dinner and did our laundry. Still feeling the effects of the day’s heat, I excused myself to lie down for a while. After twenty minutes of legs up the wall during which I dozed off, I felt so much better. 

 

When I got up, I found Cynthia had come to visit, so it was Cynthia, N. and me. My favorite combination. We hung the laundry on Karin’s umbrella line, and filled it completely as everyone had washed everything. Then we sat on the front porch in the shade and the heat of the afternoon gossiping a bit and then visiting more deeply. They had heard A. might be going to Cape Town in the next few days to attend a hearing to get her expired visa renewed. We pondered whether she’d stay away since she clearly wasn’t into walking and apparently her feet were getting worse every day. We also talked about N.’s imminent departure, and what that might look and feel like for us all. She was spending a lot of her extra time on the phone with Cape Camino, trying to make a change of itinerary work, and feeling extremely frustrated and unheard.

 

For part of that time, I was alone in the back yard hanging clothes, and I was as happy as I could be. There is something so satisfying about pegging clothes to the line, barefoot in soft grass, with the wind and sun helping. It was also fun when the others came to help. Anna-marie joined us at one point, and I was reminded how much I enjoyed her when she was on her own. Women together sharing a common task after a long hard day. 

 

 

Cynthia talked about her day beaming with joy. She had the day I had hoped to have. She walked with or in the vicinity of A. for part of the day, but once A. got a ride, she was completely alone on the road. She had plenty of water, and didn’t get lost, and was not impacted by the heat. The butterflies that I’d noticed were there for her, and as butterflies had been since the beginning of our pilgrimage, they were messengers of love and hope and magic. I was struck, as I continue to be writing this now, by the power of perception. We’d all had challenging days walking the same exact route that gave Cynthia her favorite day of the walk. 

 

 

Everyone came to the house for dinner. The first drinks were served on the front porch, despite the heat. It’s an interesting phenomenon of pilgrimage. You’re outside for hours every day, but when the walking day is done, the desire to stay outside is strong. It’s like your whole being is reluctant to give up the space and the air and the light. I would happily have slept outside had that been an option, especially on the warm nights. 

 

Karin’s husband, Andrus entertained us with stories, both before dinner and at the head of the table. I don’t know if there’s anything quite so wonderful as sitting at a family’s table in a country not my own, feeling valued and welcomed and enjoyed. Getting to see the love and the dedication and the history and the hard work, and falling a little in love myself in the embrace of that hospitality. 

 

When we sat, A. put herself next to me – again. I knew it was to be closer to Clare and Anna-marie, but was frustrated because her presence meant conversation with anyone was going to be hard. When it was time for grace, and we all held hands, she barely touched my fingertips. For the first time I really knew that she didn’t like me any more than I liked her. Maybe even less. 

 

Wine flowed freely, and A. got louder and louder as the evening went on. At one point she was so loud I couldn’t hear Andrus talking at the other end of the table, or Karin sharing recipes for the delicious dinner. We had leg of lamb for the second time in three days. Not one person said anything, and I was proud of us for that. I could have eaten lamb happily every day. The rest of the meal was also rich and abundant farm food: yellow rice, green bean casserole, a wheat berry and peach salad (we all asked for the recipe), and ice cream and toffee sauce for dessert. 

 

I left the table while the wine was still being poured and the conversation continued with A. at the center, too tired to even sit up straight, let alone maintain an air of interest. I was so grateful for my own room, the space and the quiet, and the comfort of a bed smelling of sunshine. I released all of the day’s drama and upset, and remembered the beauty – the image of the blue cranes flying overhead carrying me into a deep and satisfying sleep. 

 

Day 16 - Stable

Tuesday, October 22

Sandvlei Farm to Nuwefontein

16k/10mi

Sunny, Breezy, Hot

 

 

I was awake a lot in the night. A.’s snoring and the wind banging around in the yard were hard to ignore. At one point there was a bright light outside that left me unsettled, but it went out and I drifted back to sleep. When it was clear no more sleep was available, I crept into the kitchen, using my phone light, and turned the kettle on. I found a lamp in the sitting area which I turned on. As quietly as possible, I made my coffee and settled in to journal, trying to process all the day before had stirred up.

 

From my journal that morning:

 

“Not good sleep. A. snoring. The wind. My back more sore than it’s been in a while. I’ll need to do stretches this morning. I’m feeling a bit lost. A. for sure. I feel my eating filling space that would be best left to expand and explore. It’s likely N. will leave us and I’ll miss her smile, her accent, her adventurous spirit. I’m not sure now how I feel about trying to do a pilgrimage in a group of strangers. I have to trust this is all what I need for my own greatest good because I set the intention that this is a pilgrimage and I am seeking healing and growth. Clarity and insight. 

 

Can I be fully the self I’m trying to discover in the midst of drama and ego and acting out? How do I accept behaviors that have a strong impact on my walking and on my solitude when not walking? How do I overcome my own tendency toward the drama, toward gossip, toward wanting to help – to be a part of things? How do I be a friend, a friendly person, a good person, and still take care of myself? 

 

N. saying being alone in the group would be awkward was more true than I considered yesterday. There is not one person here I can really talk to about anything that matters to me. I can reach out to Caroline, who will understand better than anyone, but I’m not sure I’m meant to. Maybe this is the exact situation I need to begin to go seriously inward, to learn to trust that quiet voice more, to discover who I really am. 

 

I am not important here. No one is taking my picture or inviting confidences. I think this is a necessary thing for me to find my way past my ego and my addictions into my soul. Both ego and addiction are not quieting easily. Thus the food hunger, the inclination (mostly resisted) to make myself important. Not being important in this group doesn’t mean I don’t matter or that I’m not worthy. This group is only important to me as a teacher and as individuals I can care about as my companions on this journey. Can I learn here how to be in solitude and service at the same time?”

 

 

I felt better at the end of the writing, clarity and calmness always following the clearing of my heart. People had begun to stir before I finished, so the lights came on as I was getting ready to really start the day. I dressed and packed and ate the breakfast, yogurt and fresh fruits, Isobel had left the night before. She arrived at 6:45 with our packed lunches and stayed visiting as we finished preparing for the day.

 

 

We were walking without a chaperone, meant to follow the signs that had been posted along the route. No chaperone meant we didn’t all have to leave at the same time. N. had said the night before she wanted to walk alone, and intended to be first out. Isobel and I were chatting out front when N. headed out. The others were still finishing up their morning routines, so I took advantage of the space and left when I could still see N. in the distance. 

 

 

It was a glorious walk. All my favorites. Early morning light and air. Beautiful farm land extending forever in every direction. Farmyards with striking gardens and architecture. N. ahead of me so I didn’t feel lost or alone. As long as I could see her, even in the far distance, I knew I was okay. But alone. With all that time and space to process all that was bubbling to the surface. I didn’t see the others again until they arrived at the stables where we were staying. I stopped to pee at the side of the road, enjoying the wild privacy. I stopped once to snack, more out of a need to savor the morning than out of real hunger. 

 

 

My memories of walking this road two years before were strong. I could feel Jane beside me, and Ina and Frikkie close by. I remembered our laughter, and the stop we made at the graveyard just off the road, marveling at the history there. I held those friendships and that companionship close as a reminder that what was happening on this walk wasn’t inevitable. 

 

I was startled at my arrival in the farmyard of Nuwefontein. One minute I was following the wide dirt farm road, the next I turned a corner and there it was, instantly familiar and welcoming. It was a little before 11:00 – the walk had been really fast.

 

I found N. and Marina, our host, standing in front of the converted stables where we were to sleep. I got a big hug from Marina, and the three of us stood and chatted amiably for a long time. Marina remembered the two women from two years before who had been challenging. One could not be pleased no matter what. The other spent the evening paying very close and inappropriate attention to Melvan, Marina’s husband. I’d forgotten how smart and funny Marina is and our conversation made me happy. 

 

Because of her conversation with Peggy the day before, Cape Camino decided a way to help N. was to give her a private room whenever possible going forward. So she had a room to herself at the stable. I teased her about how the group was going to respond. She responded by offering me the room. I declined and went off to choose a room that I would end up, happily, sharing with Cynthia. 

 

 

Even though it was simple and very rustic, I loved the stable. Its cool and shadowed interior was cozy and surprisingly comfortable. There was a kitchen area at the end of the building that was nicely stocked with pilgrim essentials, including snacks to buy. The only discomfort was the outside seating area where the seats were hard, the shade unreliable, and the flies abundant. 

 

 

The afternoon passed slowly and mostly pleasantly. I ate the lunch Isobel had packed for us, and enjoyed ice cold coke and then water. With the increased heat, staying hydrated was becoming more of a challenge. Cold drinks at the end of a walk were heaven. The flies were annoying to the point we all eventually went to our rooms to rest and read and visit. Cynthia and N. set out for a long walk while I was in the shower. I followed them, thinking I might catch up, but stayed instead at the marshy area full of weaver nests and watched the birds building their nests. 

 

 

I had a conversation with N. that I found to be helpful and insightful. I was able to thank her for sharing so openly. She reminded me with her own story that I didn’t have to bend myself to please. I didn’t have to perform to be liked. And sometimes I wasn’t going to be liked no matter what I did, or no matter what. She talked about not wanting to be treated special in the group, but desperately wanting solitude, and away from the toxicity. One of the things I most appreciated about her was her honesty and her willingness to fight for what mattered to her. Ironically, in supporting her choice to leave us, I was losing one of the bright lights of my days. It was also clearer to me from that conversation that I was meant to stay and work my way through whatever was happening. 

 

 

At one point, when everyone was in their rooms, A. was on the phone on the other side of the wall from us. Her friend was on speaker, and we all heard, very loudly, ourselves being described as bitches whom A. just needed to ignore. It was clear we were meant to hear. 

 

Oddly, I was able to laugh at that situation. I was feeling much better about things after a day of walking alone and time to ponder. Marina’s warm welcome helped as well. I messaged Caroline, deciding that I needed to connect with someone I trusted and who I knew loved me and who understood pilgrimage. Our WhatsApp conversation felt like medicine and sunshine, water in a dessert. It was a mutual sharing and deepened our friendship and left me feeling so much lighter. I also talked to Walt and although our video connection didn’t hold, we were able to chat long enough that my homesickness receded. 

 

I felt more grounded and more determined than ever that I was exactly where I was meant to be, and that I had the courage and strength to learn the lessons this Camino had to teach me. 

 

In the late afternoon, Cynthia offered to walk N. through a yoga routine. Cynthia, in addition to her work with whistleblowers, is a trained yoga instructor (and a baker of artisanal breads). They offered to let me join, but I preferred to observe and to take pictures for them. The beauty of the energy between them on their mats in front of our rooms was inspiring to witness. Cynthia’s gentle instruction and N.’s fluid following felt like a dance that left them both, and me, feeling more peaceful and whole as a result. Cynthia practiced in the mornings whenever time and space allowed. We had planned before we met that I would join her, but I was consistently choosing journaling instead. 

 

 

Dinner was a delight. We walked down to the farmhouse where we sat and chatted for a while with both Marina and Melvan. Melvan is a great storyteller and had us all laughing easily. Wine was served and flowed abundantly. Their two children joined us at the table for dinner. The daughter at twelve was articulate and chatty and funny, much like her mom. The younger son was very quiet, but clearly enjoyed the chatter going on around him. I loved being in the company of that younger energy, and felt some envy at the life I was getting to witness for a short time. 

 

Earlier in the day Marina had talked about not being sure what to serve for dinner. She was going to do lamb, but had learned we had that that night before. We said we didn’t care, but she did. She mentioned bobotie, a South African dish of Cape Malay origins, involving curried minced beef (think hamburger) and an egg topping. It had been one of my favorite foods from before, so I was very happy she decided to go with it for our dinner. 

 

Marina and Melvan walked us back toward the stables after dinner. It was dark, the sky sparkling with stars, the air much cooler. We were very full and very tired, and I was feeling hopeful again. Earlier in the day, as I was passing the time with a book that would turn out to be a gentle and perfect companion in the days ahead, a passage stopped me. I read and re-read it, and copied it out, and felt its truth at the end of that day.

 

“And beauty – because yes, she was understanding beauty was an emotion, too. She’d gotten that wrong. Thought it was a thing, but it wasn’t. It was this motion, this wandering. This finding.” No Two Persons, Erica Bauermeister

 

Day 15 - School House

Monday, October 21

Oudekloof to Sandvlei Farm

24k/15mi

Sunny, Windy

 

 

 

I was up early, with all my morning routines finished, and with time on my hands, so I went exploring. The morning light was perfect for pictures and for breathing and for adventure. Andrew had mentioned a group of new cabins a distance from ours, so I headed out on the trail that led in that direction. To be alone at sunrise in the countryside is one of my deepest pleasures, and this time did not disappoint. I could have lingered much longer, except for the need to be at the house to start our walk. I ran into Wendy on my way back. She was doing exactly as I had done, and I liked her all the more for it.

 

 

Christine and Andrew were waiting for us in the kitchen, putting together our substantial packed meals. While the wrap, apple, juice, yogurt, dried fruit, and Twix seemed like a lot, it would turn out that we’d be glad for all of it before the day was done. Daniel, our chaperone, arrived while we were still trickling in. He is a horticulturist for Oudekloof as well as a handyman and an all-around interesting person. 

 

 

The day’s walk started with a very steep climb up a paved road that they use for tractor rides for tourists. We leveled out, cut through fynbos for a bit, then headed straight back down. The down part was steep, muddy in spots, rocky in others. Daniel let me go in front since I knew the way (it was down – hard to get lost) so he could stay in the back with A. Cynthia and N. were with me and the three friends somewhere in the middle. It was my favorite part of the day. A beautiful morning. Views forever. Challenging enough to feel satisfying to accomplish. Not slowed or hindered by anyone in front. 

 

 

At some point that morning, N. shared that there had been conflict in the cottage she shared with A. the night before. A. slept in and yelled at N. for not waking her up. N. stood up for herself and told A. to grow up. N. had been talking for days about wanting to walk alone. When she first signed up to walk, her plan had been for it to be a solo walk, but when offered our already established group and calendar, she went with that. I was unclear at that point whether N. wanted to be alone, or just be away from A., but I encouraged her to do what her heart was telling her. She was walking to figure some things in her life out, and the group dynamics were making it very hard for her to focus on herself. 

 

 

From the bottom of the hill, Daniel led us along a canal and through farmland. It was pleasant walking and an easy morning. When we got close to a highway that marked the halfway point, he asked A. if she was going to want a ride the rest of the way, or if she wanted to finish the walk. He needed to call ahead so her ride would be waiting when we got to the highway so that we wouldn’t have to wait. She said she would walk. 

 

We stopped at a farm just before the highway to use the bathroom. It was another example of someone in the group needing to go, there being no good option in the wild, and the chaperone asking a farmer if they could help. In this case the bathroom was one the workers in the farmyard used, so it was a bit rustic, but we were grateful for it nonetheless. While we waited our turn, we marveled at the huge prehistoric looking machinery hulking the yard. 

 

Just as we were getting ready to cross the highway, A. changed her mind. Daniel sent the rest of us across to settle in the shade on the other side and have our lunches while he called for A.’s ride. Because we were out in the middle of the country and there was no good place for A. to wait, Daniel decided he needed to wait with her. Everyone was frustrated, especially since we had many more kilometers to go before our destination and it was getting hot. He eventually told us we could continue on without him, but gave specific directions for where we were to stop and wait for him. 

 

We arrived at the crossroads Daniel had indicated very quickly. There was shade and there were rocks to sit on. N. got on the phone with Peggy from Cape Camino to see about how she might continue her pilgrimage alone. Cynthia and I walked a little farther on to a bridge Daniel had offered as a second option. We were hoping for shade and a river bank from which we might dangle our feet into cold soothing water. That turned out to not be possible. There was no way down to the water, no inviting river bank, and no shade. So, we went back and sat with the rest, and waited. 

 

 

After what seemed a very long time, a bakkie approached from our left. It stopped in front of us and released Daniel from the interior. We saw a driver, and A. smiling smugly at us (at least that’s how I saw the smile) and waving next to him. As we proceeded, finally toward our destination, it was clear Daniel was very upset. His vision for the day was not this. He walked far ahead of us, clearly needing alone time. N. made an effort to catch up with him and they walked together for a long time. 

 

 

We eventually arrived at the school house, hot and tired and so done with the day. A. was sitting inside with a drink, smiling, already having showered and chosen her bed for the night. I couldn’t even look at her, let alone talk to her. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t walking. That might have been okay if she’d done it in a way that was respectful to the group. It’s not unusual for a person to need a lift on a Camino, but she had turned it into, as far as I could see, a power play. I was beginning to have issue, also, with the fact that the least tired person of the group was getting first choice of sleeping accommodations. At that time, I had no idea just how much worse things were going to get. 

 

The schoolhouse is a lovely place, converted into pilgrim’s quarters, but also rented out for other occasions. One big open space, the kitchen, dining and sitting area is on one end, the beds in two rows dormitory style on the other. The two bathrooms were at the far end. There was a stage area that also held a bed. The front porch looked out over farm land. The back porch looked at a watering tank where sheep, and a variety of birds, gathered morning and night.  

 

Isobel, our host, arrived after we’d all settled in, to offer a farm tour later in the afternoon. Sandvlei Farm is huge – thousands of hectares on which are grown canola and wheat. She had a homemade milk tart (a custard pie) warming in the oven for our snack, and would bring dinner later, as well as breakfast the next morning. 

 

She had to come twice to get us all to the field where her husband and son were harvesting canola. The bakkie, necessary for driving across the field, wouldn’t hold all seven of us at once. I held back to go with Cynthia and N. in the second group. When I had been at the farm on my first walk, Isobel hadn’t been so available, and so I was happily surprised at how chatty and warm and funny she was. She was clearly proud of the farm, but she was also clear about her importance in the running of it. In addition to keeping the books, and the usual running of the household, she managed the school house rentals and made and sold soap. She also sold goose down. That was probably the most interesting thing I learned that afternoon. She had hundreds of white geese that she hand-plucked down from the chests of, as she held them in her arms, only to release them after to go and grow more down and live their goose lives. She talked, too, about various other enterprises she’d engaged in over the years, not only to bring in more money, but also to express her creativity and entrepreneurship. I was in awe of her in a way I hadn’t felt before, but that fit my state of wonder and admiration for farm wives in general. 

 

 

When we arrived in the field where two giant harvesters sat, Isobel’s husband was just leading the first group out of the cab of one. He walked us all around the outside, showing us how it worked to harvest the tiny black specks that were the canola seeds. He answered our questions patiently, but soon said they needed to get to work. The canola wouldn’t harvest itself. He mounted the first beast and lumbered off, setting its course along the edge of the unharvested canola. His son did the same, along a different edge, with the second harvester. We watched them for a few minutes and then headed back toward the farm house.

 

 

Isobel traded the bakkie for a larger vehicle into which we all crammed ourselves. She drove us to what she called their store, which was the large shop where equipment was stored and maintenance was done. She talked about the history of the farm that had been in the family for generations, about her sons and how they were stepping up, about how hard farming was. I was impressed and inspired, and so glad for the afternoon’s tour. 

 

As a group, we were beginning to feel split into camps. Clare and Anna-marie had taken A. under wing and had become her advocates and protectors. It was nice that someone still had the energy to be with A.’s chaos, but it was also hard to watch. They would correct her words and behaviors, telling her that if she was going to live in South Africa (which she was trying to do), she needed to act more South African. On the surface the conversations looked like they might be helpful, and A. seemed to take the words in stride, even as she ignored the advice. What I struggled with, watching from the outside, was that it felt like mean girl activity from junior high. They talked about her behind her back in unkind ways, their tone with her mocking and often cruel, and made it clear she was not quite one of them, but they interacted with her in ways that she saw as being included. 

 

I was aware my approach was no more kind, although in my mind, it was at least honest. I worked to not be in A.’s vicinity at all, and it was successful enough that there are large stretches of time, I don’t remember if she was there or not. 

 

Cynthia by then had stopped trying so hard to connect with A., but her deep politeness kept her engaged on a surface level, and she didn’t try to avoid A. as I did. Wendy was pretty independent of us all, including her group. She was definitely odd man out there, although there was no malice in the separation. Clare and Anna-marie were simply closer friends, and as a last-minute addition, Wendy was always a little separate. She was, however, easy and interesting to talk to and joke with. N. by then was starting to separate from the group, but especially from A. after the conflict of the night before. 

 

While N. was working to find a way to stay back and follow our group a day or two behind so she could be alone, A. was talking about needing to go to Cape Town. Apparently, she had been trying to get an appointment to appeal the denial of her visa renewal. She had moved to South Africa in January and had run out her visa. Her plan was to move to Cape Town, and she was also in the process of trying to buy a house. Being on the pilgrimage was a way for her to avoid immigration people while she tried to get a hearing. It was never clear why she felt she needed to leave Germany, where her father and two children lived, or how she was paying for any of her life on the wages of a piano teacher with one student. 

 

Isobel came with dinner, and food for breakfast, shortly after we returned. The food was amazing, even as the atmosphere around the table felt strained. Leg of lamb, pumpkin fritters, spinach, potatoes, rice, green salad, gravy, with meringues with fruit and cream for dessert. There was not as much alcohol available, so the group was more sober than previously. That may have contributed to the weird energy at the table. 

 

After dinner a game of Skip-bo got started at the table. Clare, Anna-marie, A., and N. played. I wasn’t invited, but would have declined regardless. Cynthia was on her bed. Wendy sat and watched. From a chair in the sitting area, I journaled and watched and eavesdropped. The tension at the table was so thick I wouldn’t have been surprised to see spontaneous combustion. Still, they persisted to the end of the game, after which everyone made their way to bed.

 

I had to laugh a little at my Hafiz inspiration for the day: “You have galaxies inside of you. Express them.” I was very afraid of expressing what was inside of me. The anger and frustration and resentment. The conflict between my commitment to accept whatever the pilgrimage provided as exactly what I needed and my desire be anywhere but in that group was becoming untenable. I knew that venting to N. and Cynthia had limited benefit, and that I didn’t want to contribute to the drama. I wanted to find a way to access a better version of myself in a very difficult situation, but I had no idea how I was going to do that.  

 

 

 

 

 

Day 14 - Oudekloof

Sunday, October 20

Wittedrift to Oudekloof - Tulbagh

20k/12mi 

Sunny, Cool, Windy

 

 

I was surprised to see our chaperones, Jan and Gavin, waiting in the kitchen when I went in a little after 7:00. We had decided to leave late that morning because the walk was designed to be only 11k. They came for breakfast and to visit. Older gentlemen and best friends, they were happy to share their time and their country with us. I was really happy to see Jan. He had been my chaperone before, and we had a really fun walk together despite the fact that it had been a cold and rainy day. He gave me a huge hug, told me how brave he thought I was, and how brave I was two years ago for walking alone. 

 

The amazing hospitality we were experiencing continued with a sit-down breakfast of yogurt, fresh fruit salad, muesli, and French press coffee. While we ate, Dorothy made sandwiches for us to take, which she packed with a variety of sweet and salty snacks. Clare came around and collected our tips for Dorothy’s laundry services, even though we usually handled that on an individual level. I did get to find Dorothy just before we left to thank her for her exceptional care of us, and to tell her that Carol would be really happy with how we’d been treated. 

 

When we set out, Jan stayed back to be with A. because he spoke German. While I was sorry to not get more time with him, Gavin was chatty and friendly and easy going. We walked through the historic town, past the restaurant from the night before, and to the organic garden that had made such an impression on me two years before. The same young man welcomed us in and stayed close by as we wandered the grounds that felt like a lost garden in a fairy tale.

 

 

Once we left town behind and entered farm land, Jan and A. went left for the shorter and official route. Gavin led the rest of us to the right on a path that would wind through orchards and fields, giving us more walking and more time outside in what was an absolute poem of a day.  Blue skies and breezy. A blue crane sighting. Nectarines inventing new colors in the salmon and coral family. Espaliered apples, forming rows of tidy hieroglyphics. Francolins bursting from the fields in frenzies of fear and wild squawking.

 

We passed two fishermen, set up for a day of it, and clearly enjoying their time. We watched as one caught a fish and brought it in, while the other helped land it. It was huge and ugly, like a catfish, not something they would eat, but would pass on to other people in the community. We clapped and congratulated, and moved on. 

 

 

Still tender from the day before, I walked at the back a good deal of the morning. The three friends were together, and N. and Cynthia walked together. I used the time to soak up the beauty of the morning, but also to sort through feelings and to try to put things into perspective. 

 

 

Anna-marie had observed in passing how strong my body was. There was an element of surprise and respect in her comment. She was always funny and light-hearted, fun to be around. I found her joined-at-the-hip friendship with Clare to be curious. Wendy had asked me outright if I was “teetotal” too. I knew she wasn’t drinking, but her question made clear her story around alcohol might be related to mine. I was really beginning to appreciate my times with her. Cynthia and N. and I had long interesting conversations both as three and in pairs. While they were never as deep as I hungered for, I felt the possibilities of friendship growing. Clare still clearly didn’t like me, but made efforts to seem friendly. Except when she was needling. A. was the only one I had little connection with, but that seemed true for everyone. With all that taken into consideration, I was as much a part of the group as anyone else. Certainly not in a way I would have chosen, or still wished for, but good enough that I could continue the walk in peace and trust that I could learn and grow. 

 

 

The group stopped at Montpelier, a winery and venue, and met up again with Jan and A. We all scattered in different directions. The grounds are huge and beautiful, with magical corners and shaded trails leading to mysterious destinations. I found a bathroom then sat with Cynthia at an outdoor table to eat our lunch. Somehow it became known that wine tasting was available, and as the rest of our companions, including the chaperones, headed up a path, following a musical beckoning, we followed.

 

 

We ended in the midst of a grove with a long table at the center. Once seated, a server came and orders were taken. With the exception of Wendy, Cynthia, and me, the group decided on a full wine tasting that involved six different wines. I had a Coke, finished my packed lunch, and sat and listened and watched for a while. The woman offering the wine was good at her job, describing each one in literary and olfactory terms. Her pours were generous, one bottle divided five ways. I got up and wandered and took pictures, enjoying the greens and shadows and whimsical art scattered around. 

 

Eventually, the three of us not drinking got restless and asked if we could go on alone. I had walked alone from this place two years ago, so knew it would be safe and relatively straight forward. Jan agreed that would be fine and gave directions for finding our way toward Oudekloof to Wendy. I didn’t pay much attention, practicing letting someone else be in charge. Cynthia didn’t hear the directions because she was busy getting her pack ready. 

 

When we got to the entrance of Montpelier, I asked Wendy which way we were to go. She admitted she hadn’t really listened to the directions. There was a sign, however, and we followed the direction we thought it was indicating. I had the navigation on my phone up, and for a while it looked like we were on course. Except my phone kept telling me our destination was getting farther away. We turned around and when we arrived back at Montpelier, a closer reading of the sign indicated we were to have exited the venue in the opposite direction. We walked back through, following signs that led us to the correct exit. 

 

Unsure about the others, we decided to keep going without checking on them. It wasn’t long before I began to recognize the landscape, and we proceeded with happy energy. Actually, the entire being-lost time was mostly fun. While we didn’t like feeling lost, or dumb, the walk itself was easy and interesting. And once we found our way, we laughed at ourselves, and complimented ourselves on finding a way to make the walk long enough to feel significant.

 

 

There is a creek to cross on the way to Oudekloof. I had to be driven across two years before because it was running strong and high. This time it was friendlier, but still ankle deep. I waded through with my shoes on, knowing there was just a short distance farther to go. Cynthia and Wendy took their shoes off and danced across the water, posing for photos halfway across. When we got to the entrance to the farm, I was satisfied with the day, and feeling light and happy. 

 

It's a steep climb up to the farm itself, one we walked easily, but wondered how A. would manage. Andrew, our host, greeted us at the top, waiting with lavender lemonade on ice and a warm welcome. His wife, Christine, was not there, which surprised me. On my previous walk she was more present than Andrew, although both were consummate hosts. He informed us her cancer had returned and they were at the place where they decided to end medical intervention and rely more on natural remedies. She would see us at dinner, however.

 

He walked the three of us past the main house, up a tractor path, to a collection of cottages overlooking the valley. Our group on the previous walk had stayed at a guest house on the other side of the property, so this was entirely new. He dropped Wendy at the cottage that could house all three friends. He said there were three other cottages available and Cynthia and I could choose. We could have each had a cottage to ourselves, leaving N. and A. to share the last one. Knowing how tense things were getting between those two especially, we said we’d share a cottage so they could each have their own. It turned out they shared a cottage anyway; we were never really sure why.

 

Our cottage was so lovely. Two nice bedrooms. Cynthia gave me the one with the bathroom, which meant she’d had to come through to use it, but that was the only inconvenience. A well-stocked kitchen – meaning plenty of coffee and tea supplies, lots of milk, and rusks. A sitting area looking out on a green yard and the valley beyond. Even a table and chairs on the deck, although the wind made sitting out not quite perfect. 

 

 

Once chores and showers were done, we found ourselves at the pool. The view from there was enough to lift a heart from any sadness. I had intended to journal, but ended up just sitting and absorbing and basking. Cynthia was in the sun, I was in the shade, but I joined her at one point, the both of us sharing what felt like an especially sacred time. 

 

The wind joined us and provided quite a show. It came and went like a wild tide, making trees dance and whip and gyrate. The sound was hypnotic, like the ocean, only much much louder. Also like the ocean, it was both fear and awe-inducing, energizing in its wild unharnessed presence. 

 

We heard the others arrive and get settled in. We learned later that A. had actually been the first up the hill, and had managed it just fine. The cottage N. and A. shared had a hot tub which they fired up (literally – it was wood heated), and it became a gathering place. When I went up from the pool to say hi, everyone was very happy. I was happy to let them be, glad for the friendliness and equally glad for the space the grounds offered. 

 

At one point while Cynthia and I were at the pool, A. came down and swam. It was interesting to watch her do endless laps, her facility in the water impressive. I appreciated seeing a side of her that wasn’t helpless or manipulative, glad for an expansion of my knowing of her. Friendly words were exchanged, but no real conversation. 

 

 

The afternoon was as relaxed and soul soothing as the walk had been. I did eventually settle in to journal, outdoors on the patio but out of the wind, while Cynthia worked in her room. We walked back down to the main house for dinner as the wind danced around us. Before we got through the front door, we were greeted by chickens and a cat, all of whom seemed to think they needed to be inside as well. 

 

Christine greeted us with hugs and her signature warmth. She was thinner and had deep shadows under her eyes, but otherwise the same incredible woman I remembered. Andrew offered drinks, including wine they had produced, and got us seated in front of the fireplace where bowls of popcorn were placed around. Their seventeen-year-old son wandered in and out, and offered a polite greeting, but his place at the dinner table remained empty. Christine stamped our passports and told stories. 

 

From my journal: 

 

“When she talked about plants, flowers, fynbos, she lit up. Talked about the beauty of the tiniest of flowers, unseen yet ‘doing her thing.’ I got an image of hope, I see today, a tiny bit of color and light tucked in the fynbos, radiating her bit of light unaware and unconcerned about her size or position. All plants are ‘her’ to Christine from her conversation. She talked about the tiny spider orchid (she had discovered on a walk through the fynbos), found and showed us pictures, pointed out the tiny girl dancing and the purple stripes. As I watched her, I marveled at her grace and dignity. Her focus on living, her continuing to allow people into her home, her ability to express joy.”

 

 

We lined up to serve ourselves at their kitchen island before finding seats at the nicely laid table. The food was delicious: oxtail with naartjies (satsumas) in the sauce, pasta, roasted sweet potato and beet root, with chocolate mousse and more naartjies and whipped cream for dessert. The conversation flowed, a testament to Andrew and Christine’s talents as hosts. Anna-marie and Clare were quieter than usual, although Clare managed to snark about how boring the long straight stretches of walking were. N. was her usual happy and congenial self. Cynthia and I waited to be asked before we tried to jump in. A. was quiet at first, but got herself wound up about her usual topics of complaint about all things German. Andrew gently redirected the conversation to someone else, so skillfully I don’t think A. noticed.

 

As was the case every evening, the conversation turned to what we might expect for the next day. We were to meet at the main house early to collect our packed meals and to meet Daniel, who would be our chaperone. It would be a 24k day, long and hilly and likely hot. Andrew told A. to call at the halfway point if she couldn’t do the whole thing and needed a ride. He made reference to her blisters, which I hadn’t been aware of. Apparently, she had several, and had damaged her big toes. It was hard to understand, how a person who claimed several previous pilgrimages could be so unprepared and poorly shod for this one.

 

We walked back to our cottages in the windy dark. I marveled at the moon and the bright planet keeping it company. I found Orion, looked for but didn’t see the Southern Cross. Yesterday was resolved and mostly healed. Today had been a gift to be savored. Tomorrow would take us to the farmlands, my favorite section of Cape Camino. Hafiz’ words for that day were both lullaby and poetry that whispered frequently in the days after. 

 

“Let your soul bones curl into a soft wonder.”