Day 10 - Blau Porselein

 Wednesday, October 16

AA Badenhorst to Blau Porselein

18k/11mi

Sunny and Hot, Breezy

 

 

Standing alone in the kitchen making my coffee (fresh ground beans, French press!) I noticed it was not so shiny and neat as Cynthia and I had left it the night before. The evidence of the party was everywhere, including a partially full bottle of whiskey and many empty wine bottles. That explained the shrieking and loud laughter. 

 

I was still feeling shaken from Clare’s rant, and in my journal that morning I tried to find a way to make meaning and to figure out how to be with Clare going forward:

 

“So many times yesterday, N.  said, ‘It’s the South African way.’ I wonder if that applies to Clare’s anger. I feel like I want to talk to her, not to defend Cape Camino, but to share my experience of her country and this walk from an American perspective. I am asking for guidance here, to know when, what, if. To not fall back into old patterns but to offer words and energy that have a chance of healing.”

 

I did not want to strike back in anger and I didn’t want to make things worse. I also believed that because this was a pilgrimage, for me if not for Clare, I could trust that whatever arose was offered as an opportunity for me to go deeper than I might have otherwise. A gift, regardless of how painful to receive. I reminded myself of my commitment for this pilgrimage: to not shape things to my preferences, to accept whatever arose without resistance, to not escape whatever was happening down the rabbit hole of social media. 

 

“There is a part of me that still wants to be liked and seen as special. That wants to make special connections. There is a saying that someone else’s opinion of you is none of your business. It’s important for me to stay focused on my inner journey, to be myself without trying to shape that to please anyone. To allow my passions and enthusiasms, my clumsiness and missteps to be seen and to embrace them myself.”

 

By the time others started wandering in, I was more settled and ready to embrace the new day. My focus was on my own responses and challenges, and I was determined to find my best self in this and operate from there. As I stood on the back porch, breathing in the brilliant sunrise, I felt a deep gladness for the day ahead. 

 

 

While waiting for the others to be ready to walk back to where we’d had lunch the day before to meet our chaperones, I wandered outside to enjoy the weavers. Their chatter and bustle filled the morning air, and whatever raggedness still existed from the night before, fell away in their company. As I stood looking up, a very small polka-dotted guinea feather drifted down and landed right at my feet. My heart leapt at the thought that I’d just received an angel message, a bit of encouragement and hope. But when I looked up, all I saw was a very worried looking male weaver looking back at me. It became clear that he had dropped the feather as he was working on his nest, and he wanted it back. I set it back on the ground and walked away, sad that it wasn’t an angel, but thrilled at the understanding.

 

Once up at the main house, we had to wait for a bit for our chaperones, Al and Jerome, to arrive. We had two because of A.’s issues the day before. Jerome spent the day with A., while Al guided the rest of us. He was friendly and professional, just right for keeping us on track without being pushy. 

 

 

 

The day was farm road walking, so very pleasant, even as it grew hotter and hotter. I was glad for my decision to wear shorts for the first time. While A. and Jerome stayed mostly separate from the group, the rest of us walked in different combinations throughout the day. Cynthia and N. and I often found ourselves together. I had time with Wendy and Anna-marie. I avoided Clare and she made no effort to change that. I also spent a fair amount of time walking ahead and alone and really enjoyed that.

 

 

We walked past a vlei (wetland) full of nesting birds. The air filled with their songs and their calls and the cattails and grasses swayed with their activity. I could have spent the day there happily. I saw my first blue cranes of the walk. South Africa’s national bird, they are elegant and stately with their gray blue feathers and sweeping, downturned comma of a tail.

 

We stopped at a farm and ate our breakfasts in the shade of a large tree. Al had asked the caretaker if we could use his bathroom and he agreed. That level of hospitality is amazing to me. He was friendly and welcoming as several women he didn’t know trooped through his house in dusty shoes. While waiting for the group to finish, I entertained myself petting his sheep and admiring the biggest fluffiest rooster I’d ever seen. 

 

 

 

The rest of the walk was lovely, even as we grew hotter and more tired. Until Clare got into a tizzy at the end of the walk about chaperone pay. She’d been interviewing Al who told her he didn’t get paid extra for chaperoning and was told his pay was the tips pilgrims gave. She insisted Cape Camino was supposed to be paying and they weren’t. This of course fed right into her animosity toward C.C., and she would spend the rest of our time on the walk continuing to look for evidence to support her beliefs about the Camino. (In a conversation with Gabrielle later, I learned that C.C. does indeed provide the hosts with pay for the chaperones.)

 

 

The larger group arrived at the sign to Blau Porselein, our farmstay for the night, first. A. and Jerome were not that far behind. There was still a short distance to walk, and A. decided she couldn’t walk any further. We had to wait at the sign while a ride was secured for her. 

 

 

Teresa, our host, was waiting for us when we trudged into the very large farmyard. Our luggage was not. She assigned us to our spaces for the night. The three friends got the house I’d stayed in two years before. I remembered it as a cute, nicely decorated space with a separate kitchen area and a large room full of beds. A., N., and I (and Cynthia’s luggage) got a second house, this one much larger. We each had our own room, and there was a kitchen and dining room and a huge living room. 

 

 

Until our luggage arrived, we couldn’t really do much. I introduced myself to Teresa, who had not recognized or remembered me, by reminding her that her son had been my chaperone on the previous walk. It was a little strange to not be remembered, but it was also another reminder that I was not doing this walk for my ego. Even if my ego had other ideas about my choice. The others explored the grounds while I renewed my friendship with the family’s dogs: a pack of energetic yappy dachshunds and a very large and lumbering mastiff who left trails of drool in his wake. I also discovered a large beverage dispenser in our kitchen full of ice water and sliced citrus that felt like finding gold. 

 

People would congregate on the shaded porch of our house in various combinations while we waited. At one point, Clare and I found ourselves seated together. She was friendly and opened the conversation making reference to the last two days being in the past. It felt like the possibility of an apology. She asked questions, like she was trying to get to know me, and I answered as openly as I could, all the while not trusting what she’d do with the information. She answered my questions openly, revealing a more complex person than the angry one I’d met first. My comment in my journal about that conversation was, “We’ll see.”

 

Once the luggage finally arrived, there was a flurry of activity. The three friends disappeared into their house. Cynthia used the shower of our house and got ready to be picked up and taken to the airport. I would keep her luggage with mine until she returned. I waited with her on the porch until Shawn arrived. I was thrilled to have this extra chance to visit with him, and happy to know my two friends were going have time together.

 

With Cynthia gone, I took my shower, took advantage of the solitude and space to sort my things, and did some laundry in the bathroom sink. It was a pleasure to be able to hang clothes on the line just behind our house, instead of draping them wherever, as was often the case. Chores done, I wandered down to the river running through the farm where I found Clare, Anna-marie, and N. We’d been told we could swim, but the current was too swift and there was no good bank, so we settled for sitting at the edge with our feet in the cold water. I didn’t stay long, unable to get comfortable on the rocky shore with the sparse shade occupied by Clare and Anna-marie.

 

 

I wandered the farm in the company of the dogs. I found big flocks of chickens in two places, and the shed I’d been delighted by on the previous walk. The words on the side, “One day I want to. . .” made me smile. The motorcycle seemed to be offering to transport the reader to the end of the sentence. My answer this time was the same as before. One day I want to write and publish a book that people will read and feel better for the reading. 

 

We eventually all gathered on the porch of our house while waiting for Teresa to call us to dinner. The conversation was pleasant and easy. Clare seemed softer. A. was quieter. Everyone got to talk. It was a happy and hungry group that walked across to the main house for dinner. We walked through the kitchen, greeted by the whole family, and found the table in the dining room set for company. Us. The meal, eaten after grace spoken over held hands again, was delicious and abundant. Roasted chicken. Couscous with roasted squash. Green salad with pineapple. Carrot cake for dessert. We sat and talked and laughed for a long time, with one of the dachshunds at my feet the entire time.

 

Eventually we all went back to the larger house to play Skip-bo, a card game Clare had brought with her. I’d learned that’s what they were doing the night before. Clare and A. had drinks. N. and I had tea. Wendy sat on the couch next to us and read a magazine while we played. It was a lot of fun. Lots of laughter and giving of grief. Lots of good-humored grace when I made mistakes while relearning the game. 

 

I went to bed that night hopeful and cautiously optimistic. I missed Cynthia. I was pretty certain, even that early in the walk, that I wasn’t going to find a soul friend in this group. There would be no Caroline or Jane or Ina and Frikkie this time. But I had Cynthia, and if I could find a way to be comfortable and feel accepted, to fit without sacrificing myself, to understand and like my fellow pilgrims, that could be enough. 

 

Hafiz’ words for the day, “Now is not the time for action, but for waiting.”