Day 18 - Die Ark

Thursday, October 24

Soutkloof to Die Ark

10k + 5k/9mi

Sunny, Breezy, Slightly Cooler

 

 

My morning started off differently than any of the previous on the walk. When I crept out of my room to go to the kitchen to make my coffee before journaling, I discovered a huge metal gate pulled across the hallway and locked. I’d forgotten about the gate in the bigger house, and what I’d learned about it being a fairly common thing in farm houses. In case the house got broken into in the night, sleepers were safe. What that gate said about the sense of unsafety that still exists in the countryside made me sad. I think it was more habit than fear at that point, or maybe it was done to protect their guests. I didn’t ask and I wish I had. 

 

I went back to my room and journaled without caffeine. I also WhatsApped with Jane who had sent a lovely voice message the night before. She always made me feel better about things, simply by being her and by being my friend. 

 

When I heard the sound of metal moving, I got up and went to the kitchen to make my coffee. I found Karin there starting our breakfast and marveled at how easy she was having strangers in her house. Her ease put me at ease and I felt so at home as her guest. We chatted a bit, then I went out to the front porch to sit in the cool morning air. N. joined me for what would be our last morning visit. It was like talking to an old friend. She wanted to know how I was doing, especially after A.’s performance at dinner. She talked about what was coming for her, how hard it was to get what she was asking for, and how determined she was to make it work.

 

It was nice to have a relaxed morning. The walk ahead was only 10k, to be broken up by a long stop at a roadside café called Desert Rose. The others came in to the house for breakfast as I was still in my room getting ready. I came out in my bare feet without my packing completed, a slightly uncomfortable first for me. But I was drawn by the voices, and by the smells of Karin’s breakfast. There was an element of holiday in the air, in part because of the short walk and the anticipation of a coffee shop, in part because of the coming departures, and in part because of Cynthia’s excitement. 

 

Cynthia’s friend, Zunaid, had arranged for her to be interviewed and filmed about her walk for whistleblowers and that was happening at Desert Rose. The film-maker wanted the whole group to be involved, so there was a buzz of anticipation. No one, not even Cynthia really knew what was going to happen, or if they’d even show up, but the excitement was there nonetheless. 

 

 

Because of the short and direct walk, we would be without a chaperone again. Karin gave us clear directions, and there were signs. She had said she’d meet us at the entrance to the farm and take pictures at the farm sign with us, but that didn’t happen. She did follow us in her truck, stopped and said a last goodbye, then waved as she went on to the rest of her day. I was sorry to see her go.

 

 

The two men were waiting for Cynthia when we arrived at Desert Rose. We all got drinks and treats while she did her interview. At one point we were asked to sit next to her to make the interview look more casual, but when I got up be closer, I was asked to move again. She was amazing to watch: articulate, passionate, clear. Her heart shone through, and she was a natural in front of the camera. 

 

 

During the interview, I noticed a worker just beyond where we were sitting washing down a relic of an old car. It struck me as very odd that she was applying soapy water vigorously to a rusty hulk. I was reminded that there are many jobs done in South Africa that don’t really need doing or that could be done by machine more efficiently in order to provide work for people of color. 

 

 

We were all a little restless by the time the interview ended, and with all the conversation that followed. A. disappeared first, off to continue her arrangements for the next day. Wendy was close behind. I wandered away next to shop inside and to take pictures of the roadside oasis. I bought Coke and snacks for the night ahead. As I moved around inside and out, I reflected on the excitement of the morning, the adjacency to fame and what it does. There was a part of me that would have loved to be in Cynthia’s shoes, and that wanted to join in the post-interview conversations. To rub shoulders with the celebrity of the moment. But I was very aware that not giving in to that was part of my decision to step away from social media for the duration of the pilgrimage. Forgoing the flash of instant fame for a deeper more personal experience. I could be happy for Cynthia and walk my own new path at the same time. 

 

 

We eventually all moved outside of Desert Rose to begin the last leg toward Die Ark, our stop for the night. The cameraman wanted shots of us walking as a group, using a drone. There was a lot of stopping and starting, backing and forthing. At one point we had to re-do a stretch because A. was filming the cameraman. I finally had enough, and knew that Cynthia didn’t need my support any more. I needed to walk. At the same time Anna-marie was having a similar reaction, so the two of us set out while the others were still chatting.

 

 

We arrived at Die Ark very quickly and were greeted warmly and energetically by Bregda, our host. She not only remembered me from two years before, but remembered that I hadn’t showered that day because it was cold and rainy and the showers were a long walk from our rooms. She proudly showed us the new rooms, set in a courtyard that had a distinct Mediterranean feel, with the showers and bathrooms just a few steps out our doors. The kitchen was at the end of the walk, so coffee and meals were also right there. 

 

 

Each of the three rooms she had assigned us had three beds. Because N. was being put in a room singly, that meant the three friends would be in a room, and A., Cynthia and I would be in a room. The three friends and A. arrived shortly after we did. Cynthia and N. had gone back to Desert Rose to have lunch with the two men. All of the luggage was in my room, so I didn’t really pay attention for a while to what was there and what wasn’t. The friends grabbed theirs and took it to their room next door. I don’t know where A. was during that time, only that she wasn’t hanging out with me. 

 

The three friends got to the showers first, but I didn’t mind. Being first was really important to Clare in particular and I was beginning to enjoy letting her. It was getting easier to release my own urge to go first, and to appreciate the freedom that brought. And on this day because the walk was so easy, I wasn’t feeling particularly grubby, so it was easier to not care. 

 

 I visited with Bregda, followed her around a bit to get oriented, and then wandered the grounds by myself. I found myself wishing a little that I had stayed with Cynthia and N., feeling a little lonely and left out, but aware it was old patterns trying to assert themselves. I went to sit in the shade at tables outside the kitchen area, with my journal and a much-enjoyed Coke on ice. There were workers there at first, but they didn’t seem to mind my intrusion. The three friends joined and we chatted easily for a bit. 

 

Clare was more open than I’d experienced before. She talked about her pets - dogs and a tortoise - and her garden. I was struck, not for the first time, how much we had in common, and how in another life we might have been friends. I knew by then that she was a widow, had a boyfriend, and lived in a very lovely home. Even though she and A. disliked me pretty equally, I was less upset by Clare. I was afraid of her, of triggering her anger, but I felt like there was a space in which we could connect. 

 

It was revealed that A. would leave us the next day to go to Cape Town for a hearing about her visa status. She expected to be back that night, but there was uncertainty around that. She was also going to get medical treatment for her feet, and possibly buy new shoes. We wondered if she would stay away longer to miss the next two nights in the Moravian towns where the accommodations were more rustic. By then A. was thick with Clare and Anna-marie, despite the fact that they were still very hard on her. She told them things in private, some, but not all, of which they shared with the rest of us. 

 

I hoped during that conversation that I might use this new information to actually have a conversation with A. later as we were sharing a room – the three of us maybe forming a tiny connection. That turned out not to be. When Cynthia and N. arrived late in the afternoon and learned of the sleeping arrangements, Cynthia immediately moved to N.’s room, stating she couldn’t do A. again. That meant I was left alone with A. While not happy about that, I was also determined to accept the situation as a pilgrimage gift and to make the best of it. But just before dinner I noticed A.’s luggage was gone, too. I learned much later that she had pressured Bregda into opening another room for her so she wouldn’t have to be with me.

 

 

Late in the afternoon, we all piled into the bakkie for Bregda to drive us up the mountain to a viewpoint over the valley. As the oldest, I got the front seat, while everyone else and the dog climbed into the back. I was happy to have the time with Bregda. She’s easy to talk to and funny and full of life. There was a lot of happy laughter and chatter from the back as we rocked and rolled the rough road to the top. 

 

 

The last time I’d been up the mountain it was raining and completely socked in. This time we could see forever. The wind was a forceful presence both times, but not unwelcome in the sunshine of the afternoon. Bregda led us into a little shelter where we were served homemade kombucha and her famous date balls. The time had a ceremonial feel to it as we stood in an informal circle, enjoying the homemade treats and the huge heart of our host.

 

 

When it was time to head down, N., Wendy, Cynthia and I decided to walk. And what a glorious walk it was. Because we’d had such a short morning, it felt good to stretch out going downhill. There were wildflowers on the sides of the road, and we listened for (but didn’t hear) a particular bird Bregda had told us about. I found myself thinking what a different pilgrimage this would be if it were just the four of us. 

 

N. revealed that she was leaving us the next day as well. She would walk with us, and at the end, Bregda would bring her back to be picked up and taken to the first stop of her new walk. There was a chance she would rejoin us in a couple of weeks to do the West Coast before joining Anna-marie at the end to do the Peninsula.

 

 

I finally got my shower, and when I returned to the room after, it registered that A.’s gear was gone. When I walked into the kitchen for dinner, she was there with Clare and Anna-marie. She looked at me but didn’t say anything (reminding me of the farm worker’s look from the barn door), and I decided not to ask. Dinner was a little weird. The food and the setting were both incredible. Homey and delicious, warm and inviting. But there was tension in the air. 

 

 

Two impending departures were a lot to absorb. N. said she wouldn’t be rejoining us after all, but would meet Anna-marie at the end to go on to the Peninsula. The bed situation was uncomfortable, and probably could have been addressed, maybe should have been addressed, but I didn’t feel safe and couldn’t find the courage to start that conversation. I was feeling hurt by Cynthia’s move to N.’s room and trying not to. I was feeling relieved at the thought of not having to room with A., and trying not to. 

 

Still, there were lovely moments. Cynthia had brought me a ginger beer, which I enjoyed tremendously, both the drink and the thought. Wendy brought us all gifts, things she’d sewn as part of her business: arm protectors and belts to hold phones in bright colors. She was only with us for four more days, her departure planned from the beginning. Bregda came during dessert to give us directions for the next day. She’d given us the directions several times during the afternoon, the most important being a particular turn at the beginning. It would be another day without a chaperone, and she promised an easy well-marked way. She also promised she’d see us on the route as she was to drive our luggage to our next place. 

 

I slipped away from the table and out the door first. It was another day where I started feeling so hopeful, and ended exhausted and wondering if I could or even wanted to keep going. I settled into bed to journal and to respond to a message from Caroline who was turning out to be a huge unexpected source of encouragement and comfort. As I was writing, a WhatsApp came through from N. She, Wendy, and Cynthia were drinking rooibos in the kitchen and wondered if I wanted to join them. 

 

And in that way all my feeling left out and not quite belonging disappeared, for that moment at least. I walked down in my pajamas, joined the conversation and easy company and the laughter until everyone was too tired to continue. The second time I tucked myself into bed, I was unapologetically relieved to have the space to myself, and grateful for the gift of that small invitation. I felt held in Spirit, connected to the small still inner voice, whole. Caroline had asked earlier, “What whispers the spirit?” Mine was whispering, as I drifted off, to keep going. I had done much harder things in my life, although not always by choice. I was choosing to continue this pilgrimage, to keep my commitment, to accept everything as gifts of the spirit. 

 

As I write this, more than three months later, I notice that I am at the end of the journal I’d brought with me, expecting it to last the entire 40 days. It was a surprise to turn the last page and discover the back cover. I’d move into one of the two I bought in Kalk Bay the next day. The day just past, the one of this post, marked the halfway point of my pilgrimage. It would be a few days before I started to feel the gravitational pull of the end, but I was on the downhill now. The last words in the journal are from Hafiz. “But no vote outranks the still small voice within. Even in its silence, it provides clear and distinct guidance.”