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.”