Day 9 - Wineland

Tuesday, October 15

Paardeberg to AA Badenhorst Wines

17+k/10.5m

Sunny and Cold becoming Hot and Windy

 

 

As would be my practice for most of the walk going forward, I was up first, finished with coffee, journaling, reading; dressed, packed and ready to go before the others. The quiet time was critical to my well-being, and I liked being out of the way in our shared space. On this morning, while everyone else was getting ready, I went outside to watch the sunrise and spend time with the sugarbirds, breathing in the clear air and eager to put my feet on the pilgrimage path. N. joined me in the silence and sacred space of dawn. 

 

 

We all walked down to the house for our promised coffee and toasties. Neither were ready, and Johan had not gotten suddenly sunny overnight. We gathered at the table, grumbling about his grumpiness, and I realized I was walking a thin line. On the last pilgrimage I’d struggled with getting sucked into group energy that didn’t represent what I was trying to be or believe because I wanted to fit in. One of my goals for this pilgrimage was make choices based on my own inner voice, not on the louder voices surrounding me. 

 

 

I left the table and walked into the kitchen where Johan was building our toasties. I asked if he minded company and if I could take pictures. He allowed as how that might be okay, never once looking at me or changing his expression. I stood watching him, asking all kinds of questions, learning interesting things. The cheese he was using was homemade. He owned hundreds of hectares of land, including wine land. The donkey we could see shared the paddock with horses and another donkey we couldn’t see. I eventually ran out of questions, and thanked him for his time. Our conversation did not change him, but it went a long way toward my being willing to forgive his gruffness. 

 

Johan came up a lot in the weeks that followed as a poor example of the famous Western Cape hospitality, and not the best representative for Cape Camino. It became a lesson in expectations for me, one of many this walk. I had experienced such incredible care and kindness and been made to feel so special on the first walk, and it was one of the reasons I came back. I don’t remember a single grumpy host from before. But, except for his gruffness, Johan was very hospitable. The house was lovely and clean and held all we needed to be comfortable. We were fed with substantial and rustic farm fare, and he provided both a sit-down breakfast and a packed one, more than what was required. He patiently (if not warmly) explained the day’s route to us as many times as we asked. While my preference would have been friendliness, I was certainly not harmed by my experience with Johan, and can now remember him with a smile.

 

After breakfast, I went outside to visit the donkey. I would love to have spent much more time with him and his gentle eyes and shaggy being, but the road called. It took a surprisingly long time for everyone to finish breakfast, make a last bathroom stop, gather gear, and be ready to go. I had to breathe in patience as one person after another had to go back for some forgotten item or make another last stop in the bathroom. Somewhere along the line it had been decided we’d all start together, I think in part because even with Johan’s directions, we were not completely certain of the route. Plus, however irrationally, it was harder to trust directions given grumpily than those given in warmth. There was also safety in numbers. 

 

 

Once away from the house, the world opened its arms wide to us. The air was cool, the sky clear, the sun just clearing the hills. N., Cynthia and I walked in front. A. was alone in the middle. The three friends took up the rear. In the beginning we stayed within sight of each other. The road was gravel, empty, and easy to walk. The mountain was on our right, as promised. Fields and fences were on our left. We were greeted by some very small horses.

 

 

A kilometer or so from the house, Anna-marie realized she’d forgotten something important and wanted to go back for it. The group of us stood for a bit, discussing how to proceed. It was decided she would go back alone; her two friends would wait for her at that spot, and the rest of us would go on. 

 

 

The walk was fun, and until the very end we were confident of our direction. I was beyond happy to be walking in the countryside, and with two women whose company I enjoyed. A. quickly fell behind, although we tried to keep her in sight. Cynthia drew arrows in the dirt at every crossroads and turn to help the others, and spent time fixing a Cape Camino way marker. The day grew warm, then hot, and there were some small hills, so we were sweating and feeling the exertion at the halfway point. We stopped to let A. catch up with us, and took pictures at the entry to one of the wineries. She was struggling, but told us she’d be fine and that we should go ahead. We had no idea where the others were, and hoped Cynthia’s arrows were helping them. 

 

 

The three of us were following signs to the winery that was our destination for the night, and missed a critical one. We turned left instead of right and found ourselves a couple of extra kilometers down that road at a cemetery. We could see our destination from there on the other side of a body of water, and there was no way there except to go back. 

 

We were tired, hot, and sweaty, but still in relatively good spirits, when we finally reached our guest house. The end of the walk was one of those where every turn feels like it should be the last, but then another leg stretches out ahead. There was no shade as the African sun beat down on us. It didn’t feel like we’d ever get there. The sight of our destination made us feel better instantly. A pretty house set in a grove of trees, offering an oasis of coolness and comfort. 

 

We were surprised to find A. already there and settled into a room. She had decided right after we left her that she couldn’t walk any farther, walked up to the door of the winery we’d left her at, and asked for a ride. Which was provided. She said she wasn’t feeling well, likely from the heat and dehydration. N. shared later that A. had told her she didn’t train at all for this walk, and had joined in part to avoid a visa issue she was having. So, while 17k felt like a good day for the rest of us, it would not have been easy for untrained legs.

 

 

It was late morning when we arrived, so we had a lot of day to spend ahead of us. The winery had offered to share their workers’ lunch with us, for an extra cost. N. and A. and I were the only ones interested. N. and I walked back under the unrelenting sun the kilometer or so to the kitchen and main part of the winery. Our host, Rochelle, was going to bring A.’s lunch to her at the guest house and check to see if she was okay. 

 

We were welcomed like honored guests, encouraged to serve ourselves first, and to find a spot on the expansive covered front porch. Wine was offered, as were cold drinks with ice. The food was amazing: lamb bone braai, chicken thigh, a fancy green salad, braai broodjies (think grilled cheese done over coals), and an ice cream sandwich for dessert. While we ate and marveled at finding ourselves in that amazing place, workers came up the steps to get their lunch. All were friendly, and one, who we learned later was a son of the owner, stopped to chat a bit, wanting to be sure we were having a good experience. 

 

I had thought workers’ lunch meant field workers, and that I’d be meeting the people who tended the grapes. It turned out to mean office workers and bosses. The only people of color were the ones who served us. Everyone was clean, except for us, still in our walking clothes. 

 

As we were finishing, Rochelle arrived with A. A. had decided she wanted to come to the kitchen to eat, despite all the effort Rochelle had gone through to take her lunch. A. joined us, refusing to eat her food, but asking for a bottle of wine. N. joined with her for another glass, while I played with one of the resident German Shepherds. N. offered advice to A. about how she might prevent a repeat of her challenges, and take care of her feet which were already blistered, but A. had an answer for everything. Eventually N. and I walked back, leaving A. with her wine.

 

 

The afternoon was spent showering, doing laundry, and hanging by the long lap pool at the back of the house. N. actually swam, while the rest of us simply soaked our tired and aching feet. The cold water was pure medicine. I enjoyed visiting with N. in the shade of the porch while two fat white geese grazed next to us. Cynthia and I had a chance to catch up as well. 

 

From the beginning of the pilgrimage, Cynthia planned to leave for two days to attend a niece’s wedding. Those plans had somehow been scuttled because a flight couldn’t be booked and so she wasn’t going. I had been impressed with the grace with which she accepted the disappointment and loss, and figured it was a huge Camino lesson for her. But then a flight was found, so she was going again, and scheduled to leave after our walk the next day. She was radiant with excitement and relief. I was happy for her and sad for me, to be losing my best pilgrim friend while things still felt tenuous with the group. 

 

Clare and Anna-marie were waiting for Rochelle to bring them beer, which she’d promised to deliver along with A. A., however, did not want to leave the porch and her wine source, so they had to walk up to get their drinks. 

 

I discovered the very large tree just outside our rooms was full of weaver nests. These beautiful birds who created works of art by weaving grasses and lichens and feathers into a container to hatch and raise their young were one of my favorite discoveries two years ago. I was delighted to be able to watch them so closely for as long as I wanted. 

 

When Rochelle brought the others back, she also brought our dinner and the next day’s food. We set the table and served ourselves from the generous casserole of lasagna, the gorgeous green salad, homemade bread and watermelon. Grace was spoken over held hands, and we dug in. I wasn’t sure I’d be hungry after the huge lunch we ate, but I’d underestimated the power of a pilgrim appetite. 

 

At some point in the meal, seemingly out of nowhere, Clare, who was sitting directly across from me, erupted. In the same loud and angry voice she’d used the night before, looking right at me, she declared Cape Camino was not a true pilgrimage and that we were not pilgrims. This was at best a slack-packing trip, and not a very good one at that. She said the pilgrimages in Europe were ancient and sacred, made pilgrimages by their antiquity and the thousands of people who’d walked them and the church support. She went on to complain about the cost, the hosts (Johan), the lack of structure. She insisted Cape Camino was a rip-off and had refused to walk the Peninsula leg as her friend Anna-marie was going to do because it was shady with all the added expenses. The entire time she kept her attention focused on me. I was shocked into silence, scrambling internally for a response which I didn’t find. N., visibly angry next to Clare, finally spoke up and said if dinners were going to be negative like this, she’d be eating in her room going forward. 

 

That stopped Clare and eased the tension. There was a collective breath after which the conversation returned to the practical matters of the next day. I was shaken and stayed quiet, trying not to show how upset I was, unsure why Clare had taken a dislike to me before I’d even had a chance to reveal myself. This was day one. I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate this situation and stay in my pilgrim space and commitment in the weeks ahead in the cauldron of that antipathy.

 

Cynthia and I washed dishes together, a task that was comforting in its companionship and mundanity. We organized the food for breakfast the next day, and left the kitchen with everything in order, shiny clean. I had a chat with N. in which I thanked her for speaking up and tried to begin sorting my feelings. I didn’t get far with that and found myself suddenly exhausted. I was in bed by 7:00 (Cynthia also), but had a hard time sleeping because everyone else was partying loudly outside our door. I was torn between feeling left out and wishing it would stop so I could escape into sleep.