Friday, October 25
Die Ark to Wittewater
20k/12mi
Sunny, Warm, Comfortable
This was the best day of the entire pilgrimage; one I recall often with great pleasure and no small amount of awe.
From my journal that morning: “I’m unsettled. Feeling like I’ve lost my focus. Food is part of that, but figuring out how to be in this chaotic group is hard and I’m not sure I’m managing it well at all. It was a huge gift to have this room to myself. I should thank A. I think part of what’s going on is I don’t have as much quiet time to reflect here. I feel some pressure in the morning to get going. But I don’t have to be first today. I can go at any time. I’m a little afraid to try alone again after two days ago, but I need to give it a shot.”
When I was in the bathroom getting ready, I realized that the two little birds who had been stuck there yesterday were still there. They were sitting up on the transom, occasionally flying against the window, and despite the door being left open and our attempts to shoo them out, they had managed to stay imprisoned. The obvious and very rich metaphor of their situation walked with me into the day.
There was a strange energy in the group that morning. The departures were a part of that. I took my time getting ready, not really seeing anyone or having conversations. I did find N. to say goodbye and to give her a gift. Even though she was going to be with us until we arrived in Wittewater, I wanted to make sure I had a quiet moment alone with her. I wandered into the kitchen to find food, and munched while I packed my lunch.
It was 6:00 and I realized I was ready and no one else was. All I had to do was start walking. I told Anna-marie I was going – she was the first person I found when I realized I should probably tell someone.
I set out into the morning, down the long driveway up to the gate to Die Ark. The gate was closed, locked, and I didn’t have a code for the keypad. I stood and studied it for a minute, unsure how to proceed. Then I realized the centers of both gates were wide open, and I could just walk through. So I did. And continued into the morning feeling a little like an escaped prisoner.
I came to the highway and turned left, as we’d been directed, got to the next turn that held the tricky choice Bregda had been warning us about, and stayed to the left over a gate as told. I had an entire field in front of me, with trees to the side. Shortly after I climbed over the gate, I saw my first Cape Camino sign, so I knew for certain I was on the right track.
For once, I worked to slow my pace, to savor the air and the sights and the delicious freedom. One farm gate threatened to stop me. It was locked and tall with no easy way to find a foothold and no way to go around. After studying it for a few minutes, I found an approach that worked surprisingly easily. The pride I felt at getting over that gate was way out of proportion to the challenge of the task. I checked behind me from time to time, but did not see any of my fellow pilgrims until the end of the walk. The morning unfurled ahead on the farm road like a magical ribbon, offering enchantments that would not have been out of place in a fairy tale.
My first sighting was a dead bird lying in the road. It was newly dead, still whole and soft. It was beautiful in the morning light, its browns blending into the road as its body would soon. The textures of its feathers were an art display, and I felt so privileged to be able to stand and study it alone, without interruption. It looked like a young bird, and I wondered at its story, ended all too soon, but that would just as soon provide sustenance for other creatures’ stories.
I followed the road around a bend and saw directly ahead a blue crane standing in the middle of the road. We studied each other for a bit until he scurried away and finally took flight over the field. This was my third significant crane sighting on this pilgrimage, and by far the closest. Birds have always been magical to me. The Bald Eagle, America’s national bird, never fails to take my breath away, or to appear at times when I need to be reminded of both my own strength and inspirational strength available from a being with wings. The Blue Crane, South Africa’s national bird, was serving the same role on this pilgrimage. When I looked up the symbolic meaning later, one word stood out: bravery.
I was still marveling at that encounter when I noticed a body of water up ahead, and then a creature standing in the road next to the water. At first I thought dog, and then jackal, until I saw the ears. I was seeing a bat-eared fox. We studied each other for a very long time. He stood his ground in the middle of the road. I crept forward, stopping after each step, but never taking my eyes from him. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to end the visual conversation, but he eventually slipped into the grasses around the pond when I moved forward a little more quickly.
I looked for him when I got to the pond, but saw no sign at all. However, just a bit farther up the road I saw what I thought was him scurrying across the road into the field. I couldn’t quite figure out how he’d gotten there so fast, until I realized I was seeing a much smaller fox, probably his mate.
Deeply moved by the entire encounter, I needed to share it with someone. I sent a long voice message to Caroline, standing in the road, describing my time with the foxes in a hushed and reverent voice, not wanting to break the spell of the morning. Later, when she responded, she suggested it had appeared as a spirit animal for me, which made complete sense given the fairy tale air of the morning. A little research revealed this sentence, “Foxes can be good spirit animals for people who are creative, going through complicated situations, or need to make choices.” Fearlessness and adaptability were also traits associated with a fox sighting.
My head and heart were full to overflowing as I proceeded forward, so when a motor bike pulled up next to me, I was a little startled. It was Bregda’s husband coming to do work at one of the houses directly ahead, and I think, to check on me. We chatted for a bit and I was surprised to learn that they owned all of the land I’d been walking on so far, including all of the houses up ahead. He reminded me that the first of the two bathroom stops Bregda had arranged for us was in one of those houses. He drove off, but then stopped and opened a gate and waited for me to walk through, and closed it behind me. Then he was off with cheerful good wishes for a good walk and I was left feeling like I’d encountered a knight on the road.
When I came to the home that was our first bathroom stop, I remembered it from two years before. Megan and her eleven-year-old daughter Anushka and their ginger kitten greeted me in the yard. I admired the kitten as Anushka escorted me into the house to direct me to the bathroom. She warned me about the quirky door, and waited in the hall for me. When I came out, she put the kitten into my arms, where it immediately started purring. I cuddled the kitten, asking Anushka questions about it and about her. She told me she got to stay home from school to help with pilgrims when they came through. She also told me I could come visit the kitten any time I wanted. I asked if I could take the kitten with me. She got the joke, laughed, and told me her mom would kill her.
Anushka walked me to the yard gate, and then to the first farm gate on the road, closing it after I walked through. She told me to turn left at the next gate, and then I’d be fine going forward. I thanked her and walked away, and then startled when I heard her running up behind me – in bare feet. She said she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss the turn, so we walked together, chatting companionably, until the next gate. By that time, I was wishing I could keep her with me forever. She was everything I’d loved about teaching fifth graders, and everything I loved about my own younger self. I asked if we could do a selfie together. She readily agreed, and took over the process like a pro. I was really sorry to watch her walk back, but so lifted by our encounter.
I walked on, supremely happy, feeling completely well, determined not to stop until the three-hour mark. That took me to the second home that Bregda had arranged as a rest stop. I recognized that one as well. Set off the road a bit, it was very lush, and very loud. The front porch was full of small yappy dogs who began warning the world of my presence the minute they saw me. There was a sprinkler going in the front yard, so there was no way to get to the front door without getting soaked. I waited a bit, hoping the by now hysterical yapping would bring someone, and when it didn’t, I continued on.
I ate an orange and some dröewors as I walked. I meant to stop but I was now walking through active farm land where people were working on both sides of the road. There were tractors going here and there, and workers tending plants under huge white shelters. I was the only white person there for most of that stretch, and likely a very odd sight walking on the side of the road carrying a pack. People were friendly, though, waving as I walked past, occasionally offering an Afrikaans good morning, which I returned gladly.
I made the next turn past railroad tracks, relieved to find the Cape Camino sign, and found myself in countryside again. Shortly after, just before a bridge crossing the Berg River, Bregda pulled up next to me on her motor bike, wearing a polka-dotted helmet, with her dog perched behind, pulling a trailer that held our luggage. She offered kombucha and her famous date balls and friendly conversation. She told me A. had been collected, and that everyone else was very far behind. I was able to tell her how much I appreciated her hospitality and I got brave enough to ask for the date ball recipe. She offered it gladly, giving it to me there verbally and sending it to me later as well. Sometime during that conversation, one of us called them date bulbs, and that’s what they are now in my mind, and on the recipe card.
She drove ahead, telling me I didn’t have that much farther to go. She was going to wait at Wittewater for N. to arrive so she could drive her back to Die Ark where someone would take N. to the starting place of the next leg of her walk. That meant I’d get to see Bregda one more time, and I was glad for that.
As always seems to be the case, the end of a walk is never as much fun as the beginning. But the end of this day was more fun than the mornings of most of my other days. Probably because I was spinning with all the morning’s magic. I had seen Wittewater in the distance, tucked up against some hills for the entire walk. When I arrived at the town sign, it seemed like no time had passed. There is a very steep hill up into town, which I remembered as daunting and exhausting, but found surprisingly easy this time.
I walked down the main street of the town straight into the gates of the community center where we’d be spending the night. It was 10:30. Bregda was sitting on a chair outside the front door talking with a couple of the women who were our hosts. The approach to the community center is not inviting at all. The building is surrounded by a very high fence and the grounds are dry and scrubby with only one large tree providing shade in the front. The building itself was squat and in desperate need of paint and a bigger porch and some flowers.
Bregda introduced me to the two women, and showed me the inside. This stay was one of the hardest of my last visit. No hot water, no electricity for a large part of the time, no heat, toilets that didn’t flush without water added to the tank, no shower, no wifi, and eight people crammed into a very tiny sleeping space. Some improvements had been made, and the women were clearly proud of their work. The matching frilly bedspreads and ruffly curtains were testament to their energies. There was also a shower head (still no hot water), and the toilets worked. They had set up a snack and drinks table in the sleeping area, clearly intending for us to stay out of the kitchen while they finished getting our dinner ready.
As the first to arrive, I had first choice of bed. Very aware of my feelings about A. always choosing the best for herself, I made a considered choice. There was a room right in front of the bathrooms that held two beds. The larger room held five beds and the snack station. There was little space for our luggage. I left the two-bed room for Clare and Anna-marie. I took the first bed in the larger room, the one closest to the bathroom. I found a place on the floor for my bag, so that Wendy and Cynthia would have the extra beds for their stuff. It felt like the right combination of considerate and self-care, and I was pleased with my choice.
While we waited for the others to come, Bregda and I had a nice long conversation about everything and nothing. We were both glad to see the three friends coming up the road toward us. I was ready for a shower and a rest, and I knew she wanted to get home to get on with her day. While they got settled in, we stayed outside waiting for N. and Cynthia. Bregda couldn’t leave without N.
Eventually we spotted them, but they turned off before they got to our gates. We thought they might have taken a wrong turn, so I walked down to find them and bring them back. They had in fact turned into a tuck shop for a drink, and invited me to join them. The three of us sat outside enjoying our ice-cold Cokes out of bottles for a long time. I felt a little guilty about Bregda, but was not going to end this time any sooner than I had to. A woman approached us as we sat talking, and asked questions about our pilgrimage. She was quite chatty, told us she was there for a church thing in the next town over the next day, where we were headed next. She suggested we might join her there.
It was finally time to finish the walk, and we made our way to the community center. Bregda was not upset, but eager to get going. We all said our goodbyes to N. and waved as she waved back from the back of the wagon with the dog tucked up right next to her.
Once they were gone, the five of us remaining went inside. It was a relaxed, peaceful and mostly pleasant time. Everyone took a shower, the warmth of the day making the water bearable, although the lack of drainage made the experience a little icky. We snacked and visited with the center ladies. When they left, we ate dinner and sat to visit and to later watch the sunset. Clare brought up American politics, again, but the conversation stayed low-keyed until I could change the subject. Wendy brought out candy from her stash for our dessert, as she was leaving in two days and wouldn’t be needing it. Anna-marie told us A. wouldn’t be coming back until at least Monday.
As we sat outside, with the gates locked so we couldn’t leave and no one could get in, we felt a little like animals in a cage at a zoo. People would walk by, some greeting us, some simply staring, some ignoring us completely. The community center is in the colored part of town, so all of our visitors and hosts were of color. At one point a group of children stopped at the fence, and Clare found treats to share with them. I commented on the caged-in feeling and both Clare and Anna-marie said it would still be safe if the gates were left open because we had the support of the community. However, when I suggested the possibility of getting on the other side of the gates to stroll the community, they said that wouldn’t be safe.
We all headed in when the sun was down, and settled into our beds. The feeling in the room was friendly and easy. Clare and Anna-marie seemed happily nested in their shared space, and to not mind people trekking through to get to the bathroom. I liked sharing space with Wendy and Cynthia. No drama. No conflict. And for the first time on the walk, the teetotalers outnumbered the drinkers. Both Jane and Caroline, my soul sisters from the first pilgrimage, had been messaging with me, a bonus on top of an already rich day. I went to sleep feeling strong and happy and loved, knowing this was a day to be treasured. It was a day I’d return to later when the numbers swung back in favor of the drinkers and the chaos returned.
No comments:
Post a Comment