Day 13 - Wittedrift Manor

Saturday, October 19

Gouda to Tulbagh

17k/10.5mi

Sunny, Cool A.M.; Sunny Hot Afternoon

 

Even though I hadn’t slept well, mostly because of the partying outside our gates and the barking dogs inside our gates, I was eager to start the day. Our chaperone, Loedolf’s sister, Mariette, had stopped by after dinner to meet us and to discuss our starting time. She had been my chaperone before, and since it was just the two of us walking then, we had a deep and satisfying conversation that lasted the entire leg. We greeted happily with heartfelt hugs. She told me she had taken the walk just to see me again. I’m pretty sure she’s the only chaperone for that leg, but it was a nice thing for her to say.

 

For the first time, I put on shorts for the day. Walking in capris had gotten uncomfortably hot in the afternoons, and my ankle tan was starting to look very weird. Except for the rare rainy day, shorts would be my go-to for the rest of the walk. This was also the day I got serious about sun screen, applying it every morning to any skin that might be exposed during the day. It was springtime and while there had been unseasonable cold and rain before I arrived, our days were getting sunnier and hotter. African sun is just enough more intense than what I experience at home that it would have been easy to burn badly without feeling too hot. 

 

 

The group gathered in the kitchen of the main house for breakfast at 6:45. Even though hosts are required to only provide one meal, many offered both a sit-down breakfast and a packed meal. We got both here. Excellent Nescafe coffee with homemade muffins, homemade rusks, and wrapped sandwiches. The sandwiches, made with homemade bread, were unbelievably good. 

 

 

Mariette arrived a half hour later, and after the required group pictures, we set out. The beginning of the walk took us past an informal settlement, one I remembered from before. It’s a huge area full of makeshift dwellings and garbage and people trying to make a life. The residents are all people of color, initially kicked out of their homes because of apartheid. The settlements formed in areas that are unfit for development and exist without municipal services like electricity and water. Someone said that the ANC, the current ruling party of SA, moves people into settlements, promising them better lives, in hopes of garnering votes. 

 

 

Once past the settlement, even as I carried my concerns with me, the walk became fun. Woods, water, fynbos. Some hills. We walked past an enclosure full of goats, one of which had its head stuck through the wire. Several men were sitting nearby, watching us closely, friendly but wary. Anna-marie took a picture of them, and they objected. She promised not to show it to anyone, which seemed to ease them.

 

I had a nice long chat with Mariette, catching up on her family and her life. N. told me later that when she walked with Mariette, she talked about her avid support of our former president running for office again. That Mariette believed the world would be in big trouble if he didn’t get elected. I don’t know why, but I was surprised. I hadn’t been surprised when Clare began declaring him to be a great businessman at every turn. I was glad Mariette hadn’t shared any of that with me, that I’d been able to just enjoy her as an interesting person. 

 

 

 

We came to a large and very busy highway, which we crossed to access the old highway that would be the next part of our walk. There was something out of time feeling, almost post-apocalyptic, about walking on a roadway that used to carry all the cars we could see below on the new highway. Everyone was in good spirits. I walked with Wendy for a while, and then Anna-marie. N., and Cynthia and I were often together. 

 

At one point the road was flooded, so we climbed up a steep bank to the railroad tracks to go around the water. It was a group effort, with lots of laughter and sweat. A. was refusing to even try, but Clare and Mariette were able to talk her into it and helped her up. Walking the tracks brought back childhood memories and the romance of following rails into the unknown world. Before long we arrived at a ladder which would take us back down to the road. The ladder was metal, narrow, and a little daunting, but everyone made it down easily. 

 

 

We found ourselves at a huge nursery, which would be our lunch stop. When I walked before, it had been closed, so I was thrilled as we walked past roses and succulents, into a building full of plants and pots and happy shoppers. I was a little sorry I couldn’t be one of those shoppers. We settled ourselves at a table next to the deli. Some people wandered, some found the bathrooms, some ordered drinks and sweets. I got more of the ginger beer from the night before, for me and for N. and Cynthia. We ate our sandwiches and chatted and relaxed. 

 

When it was time to go, we left A. behind. She was waiting for Loedolf to come get her and take her to our next place. The rest of the walk was sloggy. We were on pavement. It was hot. And again, the walk was 5k longer than the itinerary had promised. The power of disappointed expectations to make a walk harder never seemed to diminish. 

 

 

We finally arrived in Tulbagh, and our home for the night, Wittedrift Manor. The manor house had been bought and restored by an Irishman a couple of decades previously. He filled it with art and antiques, and created a place where ghosts and humans might feel equally at home. Carol is the host, and I had really enjoyed her on my first visit. She went out of her way to make sure everyone under that roof was happy and comfortable, and even drove me around the Tulbagh Valley. She was traveling this time, however, and had send me a message saying she was sorry to have missed me. 

 

In Carol’s stead we got a lovely young woman named Dorothy from Zimbabwe. She was warm and accommodating. When we asked if we could do laundry (the washing machine was visible from the kitchen), she said she’d do it for us. Since it had been days of washing necessities by hand, we all had a lot that needed to be washed. She seemed undaunted by the hugeness of the task she’d taken on. I gave her everything I had, except for the dress I slipped on. Until my shower and clean underthings, that dress was all there was between me and the rest of the world. Our laundry was returned to us that afternoon, tumbled dry and folded. 

 

While waiting for Loedolf to arrive with our luggage and A., Dorothy showed us the rooms available and left us to sort ourselves out. The three friends got the larger room automatically. The four remaining of us had two rooms to share. Cynthia decided she’d room with A., which left me with N. Since returning from the wedding, Cynthia was trying hard to make a connection with A. It wasn’t working well, but sharing a room was meant as an offer of friendship. Because by then everyone was struggling with A. in their own way, we were glad for Cynthia’s kindness. N. and I let Cynthia choose which of the two rooms she wanted as a thank you. 

 

 

Eventually we all found our way outside around the pool. The yard was partially shaded at that point, the pool surrounded by trees and comfortable furniture. At one end was a huge tree full of weavers and their nests, making a delightful ruckus as the males worked hard to create something the females would find acceptable. We sat with our feet in the cold water, relaxing and happy. The day’s drinking began, as it did most afternoons, with a round of beers. Dorothy came out and took a group picture that Carol had asked for. The wind picked up and we got cool, so people started to drift away for naps or work or other diversions. 

 

 

Clare wanted to watch some motorcycle race on television. The main living room had a huge big screen television, which she turned on and settled into a couch to watch. Cynthia was settled in a shady area on the deck to work. N. was swimming. I lost track of the others as I wandered, trying to find a comfortable place to be, trying to figure out what to do with myself. Anna-marie and I played in the yard for a while. For a long time, Cynthia and N. and I sat together and chatted amiably about everything and nothing. A. was a topic as we tried to figure out why she was even walking and how best to be comfortable with her. 

 

We all ended up inside to wait for 6:00 when we could walk into town for dinner. Clare was still occupying the living room and enjoying her races. I didn’t want to watch television and was going to go to my room, the only other comfortable place to be. Clare turned the sound down as concession, and we all sat chatting with motorcycles racing on the big screen. Just before it was time to leave for dinner, it was decided that a glass of wine before dinner was a good idea. It took time to get the bottle, to pour, and then to drink, so we were much later leaving than I was comfortable with. 

 

Wendy and Cynthia, the other two not drinking, seemed not too concerned or too put out by being delayed so more alcohol could be consumed. I breathed, and kept my impatience to myself, but was really unhappy that one more time alcohol was a huge factor in the social fabric of our group. I have been sober for decades now, and have no problem being with people who drink. Like a special occasion drink. I do struggle with being in a group where what I consider to be excess alcohol consumption has a huge impact on group dynamics. I was already feeling a little outside the circle because of the language thing. The more people drink, the more the tenor of the group changes, and the more not included I feel. 

 

I was aware this was a gift in a way, although a gift I would gladly have foregone. Not feeling connected to the group gave me a huge opportunity (I started to write, “forced me to” and thought better) to do the thing I had set out to do on this pilgrimage. To not be swayed by group energy. To look inward. To examine my own addictions and seek to end my reliance on them – Facebook specifically. I think it made things harder to be newly sober in the midst of people who were indulging in their substances without hesitation. 

 

Dinner was a huge gift. 

 

Carol had arranged for us to have dinner at the restaurant she owned in town, called Readers Restaurant & Grill. A very cute and historical building with cat décor (and a real cat) on the inside, the restaurant was empty when we arrived. After several minutes of us calling out, a large woman of color emerged from what turned out to be the kitchen. She didn’t smile or greet us, and actually seemed to wish we hadn’t appeared.  She brusquely told us where to sit, and disappeared back into the kitchen. A comparison was made to Johan. 

 

When she came back out, the group asked about wine. It took a long time for decisions to be made about what kind and how much. Once that was done, she told us the menu for the night.  She listed several items, so many we thought we were going to have to choose. It turned out it was a tasting menu and we would be served everything she mentioned. 

 

The food was pretty amazing: a pureed soup of root vegetables, home baked bread, asparagus and carpaccio, green salad, sirloin, chicken skewers, ostrich, hamburger with cheese and bacon, mash, chips, sweet potatoes, roasted greens, and malva pudding with ice cream for dessert. Wine glasses never seemed to empty and the group grew louder and more boisterous as the evening wore on. They worked to engage our host, and she was drawn in and thawed quite a bit. She smiled and joked and answered questions equably. 

 

At one point another party entered the restaurant and were seated at the opposite end. An old man with huge caterpillar eyebrows came to visit with us, telling us they were there to celebrate his 87^th birthday. He stood and chatted with us for a long time, soaking in our good wishes and enjoyment of his company. He came over a second time just before they left, and bid us farewell as if we were long lost friends.

 

We left the restaurant for the short walk home three hours from our arrival. I was exhausted, soul sore, and near tears. The worst kind of alone is in a group of people. I longed for an alone that gave me space to be myself, without the struggle of what had become for me toxic group dynamics. I fell into bed hoping that a good night’s sleep in clean pajamas would carry me to a new day full of gifts that weren’t quite so painful.