Thursday, October 17
Blau Porselein to Riebeek Kasteel
17k/10.5mi
Cloudy & Cool, Partial Clearing Late Afternoon
Today marked two weeks since I left home. I was feeling both homesick and like I could do the walk forever. Which was a feeling I recognized from previous walks.
I was settled into a pilgrim routine, something I find both energizing and comforting. Starting the day in solitude, reflecting, with words from my heart and words of wisdom from my reading. Dressing in the same clothes every day. Doing foot care morning and night. Eating whatever food was provided, and always being just a little hungry no matter what. Swinging on my pack, the weight of it grounding and familiar. Walking. Arriving, usually tired and sore and grimy. Shower, laundry, food, social time. Journaling to record the day, and mine for the nuggets of meaning and insight that emerge during the miles of one foot in front of the other. Sleeping in a different bed every night. Day after day after day. Simple. Hard. Compelling.
Because this was my second Cape Camino, I anticipated enjoying the routine in the days ahead of mostly farm roads and incredible hospitality.
Because I’d had so much time the night before to organize myself, the morning was slow and easy. I worked to challenge my natural impatience and to savor the time rather than push against it. Left to my own devices, I would have packed and walked, and been on the road just before sunrise.
Our luggage had to be ready by 7:00 so it could be transported to our destination where our chaperones for the day would be picked up and brought to us. Teresa’s husband brought our breakfast when he came to collect the bags. The food was abundant and delicious: giant blueberries, pecans, apples, bananas, sandwiches, and hard-boiled eggs. We would receive hard-boiled eggs with our packed meals almost every day going forward. An easy and compact source of protein, they made sense. However, they got old, for me at least, really fast, and I often traded my egg for someone else’s banana.
While we waited for the bakkie (pickup truck) to return with our chaperones, I wandered the farm one last time. The sheep had not been let out of their enclosure into the pastures yet, so I got to stand and watch them for a long time. All had been shorn recently. All but one were plump and healthy looking. It was the scrawny one, taller than the others, that caught my eye. Besides looking ill, or maybe just very old, it was constantly being shoved aside by the other sheep. Outcast in the midst of the herd. I would love to have known the story, and found myself wishing I could save it somehow. That in saving it, I might be saving a part of myself.
After visiting the chickens one last time, and a last look at the shed with the words, I joined the others already gathered in the farm yard.
Teresa’s husband told farming stories as we waited. The bakkie finally arrived with Barry and Linda, a retired couple who were doing their first solo chaperone with us that day. They were warm and friendly. Barry was a talker and a story-teller, a retired engineer who had accomplished much in his career. He had some extreme views about climate change that he shared freely, with no apparent awareness or concern that his audience might think otherwise. Linda was quieter and less confident. She got sucked into Clare’s questioning of Cape Camino’s practices and ended up agreeing with Clare’s conclusions based on her one previous conversation with a chaperone. Linda was also the one who stayed toward the back to make sure A. was okay.
The walk was beautiful and a perfect blend of flat and enough hills for balance. The air was cool and even misty from time to time. We climbed over gates, and went through gates. In the beginning with a lot of laughter and silliness, after a while without pause or comment. We walked past pomegranate orchards, and studied the blossoms to see how the fruit was formed. We walked past a crop-dusting plane and the runway, which had been only a field two years before.
Shortly after that, we walked through a pasture full of young bulls. Barry was concerned they might be aggressive, and suggested we go around. I talked him into staying on the path, convincing him they would be more afraid of us than we were of them. I was a little concerned then, when a very large bull with a ring in his nose, stood and faced us with a less than friendly face as we approached. But he let us pass, and the other bulls barely registered our presence.
We walked through sheep pastures, and past a fenced farm where one sheep was tangled in the barbed wire. A group of workers was talking nearby, either unaware or unconcerned about the sheep. I waved to get their attention, and then moved in that direction, fully intending to free the sheep myself. That got them up and they had it freed quickly. What might have been a friendly exchange felt weird and uncomfortable. They looked at us in a way that made me glad we had chaperones, and that one of them was male. I thought I might have been overreacting, but N. mentioned later that she had the same feeling about them.
Shortly after, we stopped at the main farm house, where Barry went in search of the farmer to ask if we could use the bathroom. The farmer’s mother was staying there and invited us in after contacting her son who was away on business. She was cordial, but told Barry and Linda that in the future pilgrims were to use the office bathroom up the road. We found the office area a short distance farther, and picnic tables in the shade, where we ate our lunches.
Clare and I walked together for a while. Her conversation was mostly about Cape Camino and money and how they were ripping people off. I listened and tried to explain that I found no problem with them. I also felt that I couldn’t say too much because as an American, with the favorable exchange rate, I had a distinct advantage. I knew how expensive the pilgrimage was for locals, but the value received for the cost seemed, even with the rand, to be more than fair.
I enjoyed Anna-marie and Wendy, both funny and interesting. N. and I gravitated toward each other often, already connected by our pilgrim hearts and goals. I didn’t visit or walk with A., mostly because she was always in the back, and unlike the others, she made no effort to connect with anyone. The others would hang back from time to time to include her, but she seemed to prefer to walk alone.
We arrived in Riebeek Kasteel much faster than I expected. The stop at the olive place before we got all the way into town was both familiar and fun. I enjoyed the tasting of all the olive products, but didn’t buy anything this time because I didn’t want to carry it for the next month. We wandered the gorgeous building and courtyard a bit, taking pictures and seeking the warmth of the sun that was emerging.
Our next stop was the coffee shop where we were to meet Anniki, our host for the night. While Shawn is the official host of Riebeek Kasteel, he facilitates securing the guest houses for pilgrims. The group settled itself around a large table outside to order coffees and to wait for Anniki. She came out of the coffee shop after our server let her know we had arrived. She looked exactly the same as I remembered: solid, blonde, older, maybe a bit shy, but also sweet. When I introduced myself, she told me she had been told the American was returning, but she didn’t remember me or my stay from two years before.
We took our time with the coffee, entertained by Anniki and her husband, but eventually were ready to move on. She walked us, very slowly, through the neighborhood to her pretty house with the vibrant front garden. She took us down her driveway to the rooms. Two were lower level and next to each other. One had been my room before. Each had two beds, so in that way were pretty equal. Clare claimed the bigger of the two rooms there for her and Anna-marie. N. and I had agreed to share, and I said I’d like a different room this time, so Wendy and A. got the smaller room. Anniki walked N. and me around the building, up stairs, to a room that was a complete unknown. It turned out to be spacious, with a view over the garden and through trees to the east.
I enjoyed N. as a roommate. She was easy to talk to, open about her life and why she was walking. I admired her strength and adventurous spirit, and her desire to grow, to find answers on the Camino. Because she’s so much younger than me, I had to resist mothering her, offering advice that I wouldn’t have taken at that age either. I was concerned about the amount of alcohol I’d watched her consume, knowing from experience how problematic that could be. But she wasn’t asking for help, and so I kept my peace. She also inclined toward solitude, so we could be together in silence comfortably.
While Shawn had been in contact, we weren’t going to get to see him until dinner. He had a family emergency and so his plans to spend the afternoon with us were changed. I was disappointed, but also sad for him. The group of us decided to walk into the main part of town together after showers and a short rest. The others came up to check out our room, and later Wendy came alone and hung out with N. and me for a while. We had a lovely visit about not much at all. I found myself beginning to appreciate Wendy for her quirkiness and her independence. She was a seamstress who was known in their town for making sportswear. She had made all of the bright spandex outfits she wore on the walk, and some of the clothes Clare and Anna-marie wore.
When N. and I went downstairs to meet for the walk into town, everyone was wearing their Cape Camino t-shirt but me. I wore mine every day to walk in, so it wasn’t “evening wear” for me. At Anna-marie’s request, I went back upstairs and put mine on (a clean one – I had three) so we presented a united front.
Although she’d been invited, A. did not join us. She said she needed to stay back on work on her immigration issues.
The five of us walked together, laughing and chatting, carefree, enjoying the sunny afternoon, until we found the main street. N. and I wandered shops in one direction while Clare and Anna-marie wandered in the other. Wendy headed in yet another direction in search of a historic church she wanted to take pictures of.
Four of us ran into each other in a deli called Deli-Co’s that is well-known in the area for high quality meat. N. and I found sweets, while Clare and Anna-marie went for the biltong and droëwors. Biltong is like American jerky, only 100 times better. Not processed, but cured, slices of meat rather than ground. Droëwors is like a pepperoni stick, but like biltong more whole food than not.
We left the store nibbling on our purchases. N. was going to a winetasting place back up the street with Clare and Anna-marie. A. had been spotted in town and ended up joining them there. Wendy was still off on her own. I walked back to our house alone, enjoying the freedom and silence of my solitude, pleased at my ability to find my way, while at the same time feeling just the tiniest bit left out.
Shawn picked us up at 6:00 to take us to dinner. The four wine tasters were very happy. Clare hugged Shawn when they met, and gushed. Everyone else shook hands a little more calmly. Wendy had not participated in the wine tasting, which I found surprising, but also lovely. I would not be the only sober one at the table. Shawn was his usual ebullient and generous self, joking and telling stories, filling the van with happy chatter. He drove us to a winery overlooking the valley, the view breathtaking. We wandered the empty grounds for a bit, took pictures with the big “8” sign, and then headed back to the van to get out of the cold wind.
Back in town, Shawn parked and took us into the Royal Hotel. It is one of the oldest in South Africa, built in 1862. Walking through was like walking back in time – the dark woods and colonial architecture leading to a gorgeous garden in the back where it would not have been a surprise to see people from that era strolling together with a parasol between them.
Our restaurant was just across the street where a table had been set for us and we were greeted warmly.
Dinner was interesting. Shawn was clearly tired and working hard to stay in host mode. A., N., and Clare continued their wine tasting with bottles ordered for the table. Food was ordered and enjoyed. My fatback with mash and broccoli and crème brulee for dessert was one of the best meals of the walk. Conversation stopped and started. There was laughter, but it felt a bit forced, or a bit drunk. A. was trying to do business with Shawn at the table, wanting him to help her with her immigration problem.
At one point Clare, who was at my right leaned over me to talk to Shawn, who was at my left. She asked him to offer feedback to Cape Camino about Johan. She told the story of his grumpiness in detail and discussed how he was not a good host and bad for Cape Camino. She wanted Shawn to make sure Cape Camino knew how awful Johan was. I sat back to get out of the line of fire, and watched the conversation with interest. Shawn responded carefully and politically, trying to soften what Clare was saying about Johan, but also promising to pass her information along.
We were all more than ready to be done with the day by the time we left the restaurant. Shawn’s driver took us back to the house so Shawn could return to Cape Town to be with his family. We would see him the next day when he brought Cynthia back to us from the airport. As he had on my visit two years previously, he promised to come find me later in the pilgrimage and take me out for a meal so we would have time to catch up.
While I was happy for glimpses of Shawn, it wasn’t enough. I had really looked forward to spending time with him on this walk. Our initial connection was so strong. We had talked for hours, easily, like we’d been friends for years. He is a rare person who radiates light and acceptance and who finds joy and humor in every situation. Even in the midst of pain and hardship, he’s still so full of a love of life I aspire to. My disappointment at not getting more of him served to remind me this was a very different pilgrimage, and I needed to focus on being grateful for what was right in front of me. Not being remembered by the last two hosts also served to help keep me present and my ego in check.
Getting ready for bed, I reminded myself, again, of my commitment to accept whatever the pilgrimage provided without resistance, to not shape things to my preference, to seek answers inside myself not outside. I wanted to challenge expectations and to do things differently as I faced my days without the rush of social media. I slipped between the sun-dried sheets gratefully, happy that I’d kept my commitment for one more day. As sleep drew me down, Hafiz’ words followed: “When you let go of what no longer serves you, you can see more clearly who you really are and what next steps are in alignment with your highest good.”
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