Day 26 - Fork West

Friday, November 1

Elands Bay to Fork West

27k/16.7mi, 8 hours

Sunny, Partly Cloudy Early, Beach Breeze, Very Comfortable

 

 

I did not sleep well. When I got up to pee, instead of walking past a sleeping Cynthia to get to the upstairs bathroom, I went downstairs to use that bathroom. The stairs were steep and slick, so I had to wake up enough to be careful. By the time I got back upstairs, I was awake enough that going back to sleep took a long time. After doing that twice I decided to risk waking Cynthia, only to find her bed unslept in and the room empty. She had opted to sleep in the bunk room, I think so the bathroom would be free. The mystery of the situation was enough that I was awake for the day.

 

Paul and Audrey and the dogs brought breakfast just before 5:30. We had agreed to leave at 5:30, but apparently the others had decided we wouldn’t leave until 6:00. I wanted to leave with Cynthia as soon as we had our food, but Paul was insistent we all leave together. I had a really difficult time staying calm and not pushing back hard. I was tired, and tired of the three running the show, and tired of Paul’s casual arrogance. 

 

The food was weird: egg bite things that were inedible, naartjies which were lovely, and four granola bars for five people. I was irritated by that, too. We had a very long and hard walking day in front of us, and that wasn’t going to be enough to sustain us. There was yogurt and muesli so at least we started with something on our stomachs. Most of us also still had the sandwiches we’d made in Janet’s kitchen the day before.

 

I went out to the front yard to breathe, and to be away from the people I was angry with. Cynthia came out to check on me and to commiserate, and then we waited together outside for everyone to finally be ready to leave. We headed out at 5:40. 

 

 

The morning was glorious, the air clean and clear, the sunrise pinking around us, the sea quietly singing beside us. Pictures were taken and we managed the short beach walk toward the road (which I knew for certain I’d not done before) with little problem. Paul stayed with us as we passed the buildings and the cave we’d walked by the day before. He pointed out a path from the road toward the sea and told us that was our starting point. He did not accompany us to that stretch of the beach. 

 

 

I led us through a series of boulders toward the sand that would be our path for the next several hours. Memories of two years before, saying goodbye to Jane, my deep sadness at leaving her, continuing forward with Ina and Frikkie, were vivid and I would have loved sitting on those rocks for a while and reflecting. As it was, I took the memories with me through the rest of the day. 

 

 

There was a stretch of soft sand that challenged our forward movement, but it wasn’t long before we were walking on packed sand next to a friendly sea with a gentle breeze keeping us company. I walked alone, then with Cynthia, then with Clare, which was okay. Cynthia walked with A. for a while, then with Anna-marie, the two of them stopping to visit with a fisherman for a long time while the rest of us moved forward. We stopped for food at the 10k mark, enjoying Janet’s sandwiches especially. Our next stop was a spot Paul had said he’d meet us with water if we needed it and to pick up A. to take her to the next stop. Once A. was gone, I walked alone at the front, the two friends were in the middle, and Cynthia was at the back. She was barefoot and playing in the surf and clearly having a wonderful time.

 

I loved being alone and in front. No one to look at or to feel I had to accommodate. No tension. I had the entire coast and sky and sea to myself. I never lost sight of the others behind me, and I didn’t hurry, but I reveled in the gift of that time and place. 

 

 

We saw so many baby seals that by the end of the walk we were no longer stopping to watch them. The first one startled me by tearing by in front of me heading for the safety of the ocean. I hadn’t seen it lying higher up on the beach. There were several we walked right up to as they slept, and watched as they startled awake and made for the water as quickly as their little flippers allowed. There were a number of dead babies as well.

 

 

I was the first to discover a dead whale, a baby judging from its size, lying right at the waterline. It was still whole and I was able to spend time with it, studying it up close and wondering about its story, before the others caught up. I was so intent on my inspection of the whale, I lost sight of the tide, and found myself up to my ankles in water. So, I spent the rest of the walk in wet shoes. Thank goodness for wool socks which kept my feet comfortable. 

 

 

The best sighting of the day was of a penguin. I was still in front, alone. I saw something on the sand at the edge of the water up ahead, but at first was uncertain what it might be. I registered upright, black and white, small. Then it moved and there was nothing it could be but a penguin. As I approached it, slowly and carefully, it seemed unconcerned about my presence. Once I knew for certain what I was seeing, I stopped and waited for Clare to catch up with me. I needed to share the moment with someone, and even though I was reluctant to let Clare into my joy, she was all I had. She was less excited than I, but also got my excitement. Her love of animals clearly overrode her not-love of me, and so we shared that magical moment. 

 

This was the same kind of penguin I’d seen during the Peninsula walk. Clare said, “Jackass Penguin,” casually and with authority. And while it was a wonderful and magical sighting, the fact that it was alone on a beach on the West Coast, did not bode well for its survival. We stayed watching until it dove into the waves and swam away. I hoped it was swimming toward a family, but also thought it more likely it would become dinner for a shark before too long. 

 

We also spent the day following huge flocks of terns and plovers, punctuated by the occasional oyster catcher. They would be feeding and resting on the beach ahead of us, then take to the sky as we approached, wheel and spin in the air, then land sprinkling like fallen stars farther ahead. I never got tired of seeing them lift as one organism, and land ahead like they were guiding us.

 

 

Just 4k before we were to turn off the beach toward our destination, the four of us stopped for a snack at a picnic table in the dunes. Cynthia had been barefoot the entire day, and the other two took their shoes off there. I decided to keep mine on despite a deep love of walking barefoot in beach sand. I knew the road to the camp would be difficult, and I didn’t want to take any chances with my feet.

 

 

 

We were all tired and hot by the time the Cape Camino sign appeared up ahead. It was a steep climb up the dune to the road leading to Fork West. Clare and Anna-marie moved to the front when Cynthia stopped to put her shoes on because the deep sugary sand was burning her feet, and I stayed with her. It wasn’t too long before we found them stopped and putting their shoes back on. The four of us arrived at the compound very close together, where we found A. sitting outside with a beer in her hand, and a smug smile on her face. 

 

 

First a colored worker, and then two white men greeted us. They explained that Teresa, our host, was in Cape Town for a wedding and Cherilyn, her assistant, was gone on an errand. The men were apparently staying there, but I wasn’t clear what their relationship was to the place. The man who was clearly the leader gave us our information, all in Afrikaans. I asked for English when he was done. I actually had to ask several times, as he seemed not to understand that I didn’t understand Afrikaans. He was very friendly, and finally did give me the basics, but I was annoyed at having to work so hard when they knew there was an American coming.

 

When Ina and Frikkie and I stayed at Fork West two years before, we slept in the glamping tents. Cape Camino had arranged for us this time to stay in the backpacker quarters, saying we could pay the difference for the upgrade if we wanted. I had decided early on that sleeping in a dormitory would be just fine, so did not ask for the upgrade. 

 

When I finally understood that the dormitory was upstairs and the bathroom was downstairs and across the very large lawn where sheep were grazing during the day, I regretted my decision. I was also not willing to be the only pilgrim asking for special treatment.

 

As the guy showed us the kitchen downstairs from the dormitory, he pointed out the availability of alcohol. There was a lot. When I asked about options for cool drinks, there were none. He found some juice in the back of a cupboard, but otherwise my choice, and Cynthia’s, was water. At least there was ice.  

 

Cynthia stayed downstairs to talk to one of the men, so I found myself upstairs with Clare and Anna-marie. There I discovered that A. had claimed, again, the biggest and best room for herself. She had put things on the beds of the other two single rooms, so they were clearly claimed. What was left was a large room full of single beds. When I figured out what had happened, I said to the other two that I didn’t think it was right for the one person not completing all the legs to be getting the pick of beds, and then saving beds for her friends. 

 

Clare said I could have her room if I wanted, and moved her stuff to one of the dorm beds. After inspecting the rooms which were small and stuffy and smelled of must, I decided the open dorm room was a much better choice. I picked a spot where I could open a window and spread out over two beds. When Clare saw my choice, she moved back into the room she’d offered me. I made a joke about not biting and not stinking, but she moved anyway. 

 

Cynthia took the beds at the other end of the dorm, and we found ourselves sharing a light-filled, roomy space, where the musty smell was not nearly as strong. 

 

I had been struggling with the idea of getting up in the night, negotiating steep stairs and crossing a sheep-shit strewn lawn to go to the bathroom. I was irritated that Afrikaans was once more being used as a first choice, that the hosts had no idea they had an English speaker as a guest. A.’s choosing of the rooms and the clear division with Clare and Anna-marie that I couldn’t seem to find my way around, was a last straw.

 

I went back downstairs and found a chair outside the door in the shade, and sat, pondering my choices. I was more upset than I’d been at any time previously in the pilgrimage. It felt personal that Cape Camino was saving money by making us stay in a place without a bathroom inside the house. I was exhausted with A. always getting her way, and bruised by Clare’s frequent bullying sprinkled with confusing moments of friendliness. 

 

I looked up to see Cynthia sitting next to me. When she asked if I was okay, I said no, and found tears threatening to flood. I had not cried the entire time. I rarely cry in life, and I was surprised at the depth of my unhappiness in that moment. She asked if I’d like tea. I said yes. When she came out a little later, with a tray holding not only tea but an assortment of rusks, we found a table tucked in the far end of the porch, shaded by vines. We settled in and enjoyed our tea, talking about what had happened, and what could and couldn’t be done about it. 

 

By the time the tea and the rusks were gone, I had calmed. I was determined to stay. I figured one sleepless night because of the long hikes to the bathroom would not harm me. Cynthia and I recognized that we had ended up with the best sleeping arrangement available in that situation. That even when it looked like A. was winning, we weren’t losing. We managed to laugh at the situation. I will be forever grateful for that tea with Cynthia. Her reaching out in kindness was a gift beyond measure, one that gave me back my best pilgrim self. 

 

We all needed laundry done, and had discovered a washing machine in the building that housed the bathroom and the showers. The colored woman who was clearly in charge of that machine, agreed to do our washing if we would hang it to dry. We were all more than happy with the arrangement. I was surprised later to look over from the dormitory to see her hanging all of our things on the line, and even more surprised to find them folded on the beds upstairs at the end of the day. I’ll never know if she went above and beyond to keep us out of her space, or if it was out of kindness, but it didn’t really matter. I was beyond grateful and tipped her as generously as it seemed possible without going overboard. 

 

 

The afternoon unfurled slowly. I showered in the primitive space, organized my bags, followed the sheep around the yard trying, unsuccessfully, to pet one. There was no comfortable space to sit in the house, and no place to really be alone. The two men who greeted us were staying in rooms at the bottom of the house where the kitchen was. Shade was hard to find outside and the hard plastic chairs available to us uncomfortable. There was an outbuilding that held the fire pit for the braii and some chairs, but that space was occupied by A. and the two friends. 

 

I found myself back in the corner of the porch where Cynthia and I had had tea. I wasn’t entirely certain it was okay to be there. The ashtray on the table and shoes arranged close by made it clear this was not necessarily public space. But I figured someone would tell me to move if it mattered and settled in with more tea and my journal. The cool green solitude of that tiny corner was soothing and safe and I could have stayed there for the rest of the day. However, shortly after I sat down, a car arrived that essentially killed the peace of the afternoon.

 

Cherilyn had returned from her errand, which was to collect Teresa’s grandchildren and a friend who were to spend the weekend there. I watched them tumble from the car, all bright energy and noise and excitement. They all walked toward me, and went into the room right next to me. Cherilyn came with them and introduced herself (She had no memory of the dinner Ina and Frikkie and I had shared with her and Teresa) and told me it was okay for me to stay where I was. 

 

After the kids stashed their gear in the room, they all poured out into the yard. The brother, the slightly older of the two, and his friend ran around the yard and into another building in search of video games and out again. The sister, named Amai, was twirling on one of the metal poles supporting the porch not far from where I was sitting. She kept glancing my way, clearly hoping for an appreciative audience. I asked if she was in gymnastics, which instantly made me an ally. She said yes and after a few more spins, came to join me at the table. I asked her name, and her age (6), and what they were doing there (staying while parents were at the wedding with Teresa). 

 

She in turn wanted to know what I was doing and seemed not to really believe that an old lady would choose to walk all those kilometers over all those days. I told her I’d seen baby seals and a dead whale and a penguin that day, and showed her the short video I’d taken of the penguin. She found that fascinating and called her brother over to see it as well. She told me she liked my voice, which felt like a huge compliment coming from a six-year-old. Eventually she wandered off, leaving me happy to the core for our conversation.

 

Cherilyn had told us that dinner would be served at 6:00 at the long table in the kitchen area. Anna-marie and Cynthia and I were together when she told us. Anna-marie said she’d tell the other two. Cynthia and I found our way to the table a little before 6:00. We visited with Cherilyn as she set the table and laid the food out. She was as warm and friendly as I remembered, a single person who had become a member of Teresa’s family and was now serving as our host. At 6:00, there was no sign of the others, so for the first time the entire walk, Cynthia and I sat down and started to eat without them. 

 

They all arrived fifteen minutes later. Anna-marie apologized.  Clare said, angrily, no one told her. A. said she didn’t understand. Those responses, in my mind, summed the three up in a nutshell. Cynthia and I said Cherilyn had told us earlier, and continued to eat, offering to pass food as the others settled in. It was a bizarre meal. The entree, a Cape Malay cold pickled fish dish meant to be served as a side, was nearly inedible. One small piece was more than enough for the palate and definitely not enough to fill an empty pilgrim stomach. There was no rice to soften its impact. There was a carrot salad that was limp and wet. The green salad was beautiful and full of good things, but served without dressing. The best part was the loaf of homemade bread with the apricot jam.

 

When Cherilyn came in during dinner to sign our passports and to check we were okay, she mentioned she had bought koeksisters (a very sweet uniquely South African pastry) for dessert but forgotten them in Cape town. We were visibly and audibly disappointed. I wasn’t really sure why she’d told us about this thing we weren’t going to get. She saved the moment by reaching into the back of a cupboard and pulling out a chocolate bar for us to share. 

 

Cynthia left the table first. Her feet were very sore from all the sand walking. Anna-marie was in pain as well. The three of us went to bed fairly early. The other two joined the men and the other family members in the braii hut where they were fixing their braii dinner and drinking. Their revelry came through the open windows of the dorm, but I managed to drift off despite the noise. Around 9:30, Clare and A. came upstairs whispering loudly. Clare was on the phone in her room for a long time after. 

 

They woke me up enough I had to pee, so made the first of what would be a total of four trips downstairs and across the lawn to the bathroom. The first trip was uncomfortable because the braii hut was still full of laughing and partying people, and I had to walk past them. The midnight trip was actually pleasant, the air quiet and warm, the sky overcast. The yard was well-lit, so I felt safe. The 2:30 trip felt like routine, and I nearly stayed up then. When I awoke at 4:00, my usual rising time, I was happy the night was finally over. I knew the coming day was guaranteed to be better no matter what. Arni would be waiting for us on his farm with his ox Filet, his menagerie of animals, and his great big heart. 

 

 

 

Morning Journal

Friday, November 1

I haven’t considered much this walk my inclination to be swayed by group energy. It was one thing that bothered me about my first walk and that I’ve been working on since. I have done better this time, in large part because of the toxicity of the group. I still have to be careful with people I like – not to try to be more like them to fit in. 

 I wonder this morning how I let others’ reactions to me influence my ability to love myself. That on top of my inclination to offer the negative, a nugget of I-see-it-your-way that reveals another person’s weakness and makes me look more important (?). But if I do that with my friends as well as people I don’t know well but I’m willing to make judgements about, am I not doing the same thing to myself. Instead of accepting and loving the whole package. 

 I pick at the flaws to diminish affection and reduce connection. I judge this as good and that as bad when it’s all an important part of the whole. Light and dark both necessary for a soul to grow and thrive. Just as I can’t know another person’s path, how the dark and light interact for their growth and greater good, I also can’t really know how it works for myself. 

 So loving the whole requires facing the whole, accepting it, embracing it. Not cherry-picking what I think is acceptable, or what I think someone else might find acceptable. Not hiding or denying what’s not considered acceptable. I start with myself. This is the core of my work on this walk. To love myself most and best and deepest. To protect my tenderest self from bullies while remaining as open and vulnerable to life and to other people as I can. Loving others comes from the overflow, the example (Pat), the practice. A daily practice of self love? 

 “Gentle, nonconfrontational questions that pursue the truth, as you see it, can prevent a person from taking over all the power in a situation. This will save complex and gentle people from being reduced to the function of an external controlled role.” Anam Cara 

 How do I find those questions – gentle and nonconfrontational – in situations I feel attacked. How do I get to curiosity from defensiveness, to love from fear? 

 Jupiter prominence 

The smell of towels (and roughness) and sheets

As I write these stories from the pilgrimage, I’m aware that my morning journaling has become more and more full of questioning and sadness and confusion. When I read those deep feelings, I don’t always understand what my pilgrim self was trying to express. But I feel her pain and I applaud her courage. I realize she’s searching for truth and willing for maybe the first time to risk putting ugliness on the page. When the current version of myself considers putting her words on this forum, I feel her reluctance to let me share. There is shame tugging, and uncertainty. Are these words really true? Or is something else true? Will revealing these truths prove once and for all that we are broken beyond redemption? 

 If these words are true, then how can the feelings of joy and transcendence that come during the walking hours also be true? The last two phrases at the end of the entry are a reminder to me of the power of nature to keep me grounded, and my ability to find awe and wonder in the midst of turmoil. Jupiter was very prominent during these days, and so if the skies were clear at night, or early morning, that huge planet offered a steady light and companionship that felt personal. The smell of towels and sheets, sun and wind dried, never failed to comfort as I breathed deeply in or reveled in the slightly scratchy surfaces that felt like home.

 It’s one thing to risk writing that pushes into the shadows to reveal deeper truths. It’s another thing altogether to risk sharing that writing. But as I’ve learned over and over again, most recently with my decision (her decision) to take a break from Facebook, it’s in the sharing with someone else that makes me accountable to accepting and facing the truth. 

 If I could, I’d reach back and hold that brave pilgrim, hug her tight and tell her how grateful I am for her strength and courage. I would tell her that facing her pain and confusion, and her refusal to quit, have brought new light to our life. I especially wish I could give her a hug on the morning of the day to come. It’s a day that will stretch her beyond where she thought she’d be willing to go and expose feelings we’ve spent a lifetime trying not to have.

Day 25 - Elands Bay

Thursday, October 31

Redelinghuys to Elands Bay

0k + 10k/6mi

Sunny and Hot

 

 

I sat in the kitchen in my pajamas, facing the window that reflected the room back to me. It was still very dark out, and silent. I had come to relish this hour or so of time every morning, the freedom to just be with myself and my inner voices. This particular space felt sacred to me. I’m not sure why. I wrote for pages, my words and feelings a jumble of contradiction and questioning, loss and confusion. 

 

“I’m sitting in this experience, losing one distraction, one comfort, one illusion after another. My ego has taken hit after hit. I’m trying hard to accept the losses, and to find the new window. To be in a new space. But all I feel in this moment is loss. The extremity of the group dynamics leaves me no room for anything but being alone with myself.”

 

 

As I finished that last sentence, Janet came into the room. She greeted me warmly. She said last night’s dinner felt like home to her. I envied her hosting heart that allowed her to make family out of any group of people sitting around her table. I agreed with her, that yesterday did feel like home. I wasn’t going to unload my sadness and uncertainty, and there was truth in what she said. I had been so comfortable in the slow hours of yesterday’s pool and porch time, and felt held in the hospitality of the place. And if I were going to be completely honest, what home is without conflict?

 

Janet made her coffee in silence, giving me space I wasn’t sure I still needed. I continued writing for a while after she left, but wrapped things up as the others started to come into the kitchen. I left the table and headed to our room to get ready for the day with these words from Anam Cara lighting my way:

 

“When we perform an action, the invisible within us finds a form and comes to expression. Therefore, our work should be the place where the soul can enjoy becoming visible and present. The rich unknown, reserved and precious within us, can emerge into visible form. Our nature longs deeply for the possibility of expression in what we call work.”

 

 

Because this was another non-walking day, the morning routine was leisurely. The route I’d experienced before was now closed to pilgrims, a loss I felt deeply. The vlei we’d walked along was apparently no longer open to any excursions, so we were missing the wild abundance of birdlife and textures of light through grasses and over water. Cape Camino had not yet found an alternate route, so Janet would be driving us to Elands Bay, the beginning of the West Coast leg of the pilgrimage. 

 

  

There is a famous landmark in Redelinghuys, the 100-year-old Dutch Reformed Church, that burned in 2019. It’s not possible to be in the town for long without someone talking about it. There was no money for restoration, so it sits, a burned-out shell. From a distance, the remaining façade looks inviting and whole, if one didn’t know there used to be a bell tower above. I’d wanted to see it before, and it hadn’t worked out. This time I was hoping Cynthia and I could find it together. However, she had work to do. Clare and Anna-marie wanted to see it as well. I had a choice. I could let the hurt keep me from having an experience I wanted, or I could suck it up and go with them. I chose to go with them.

 

 

As the three of us set out into the bright blue morning, we talked about the church and nothing else. I’d seen it down a street we passed on our way to the manor, without knowing it was the church. As we approached the front, it was hard to see evidence of anything wrong. It wasn’t until we walked around to the back that the extent of the devastation became apparent. The property was surrounded by a fence and a locked gate. Anna-marie climbed over first, and I followed right after. Clare stayed on the other side.  

 

I wandered the grounds, contemplating the loss to the community and to history. Thinking about how some things can’t be replaced, or in this case even repaired. How a gathering place was just gone, and all the traditions and comforts that went with it. I considered the two women I was sharing that moment with and the disorientation of being on an adventure with people I knew for certain I couldn’t trust. I wondered, too, about the three of us with different stories to tell and feel. In the stillness of the morning and the whispers of church yard ghosts, I found peace and a lift that followed me through the rest of the day.

 

 

Once we’d returned to the house, it still seemed a long time before we could leave. I struggled with being restricted by other people’s choices, as I always do. But, as I was getting better at doing, I took the time as an opportunity. I wandered alone into the front yard where I’d seen Sunbirds the day before. The yard was a sanctuary of green leaves and bright flowers and so many birds. I got to watch the Sunbirds dining at yellow blossoms, and saw a Hoopoe fly by. There were birds I couldn’t identify but that made me so happy to watch.

 

Eventually we all gathered for the photo and then loaded our gear and finally ourselves into Janet’s car. Cynthia volunteered to sit in back, and watching her squeeze herself in amongst the luggage had us all laughing. The three others took the back, and I got the front, which I didn’t mind at all. The drive to Elands Bay was pleasant. Seeing country I had walked through previously from the window of a car made me long to be outside again. It also reminded me of the vastly different perspectives of the slow absorption inherent to walking and the speeded up everything traveling by car. 

 

We arrived at Elands Bay Guest House before 9:00 and were greeted by Paul, our host. This was the same place we’d stayed two years before, but he didn’t remember me at all when Janet pointed out my return status. After unloading the luggage and saying a sad goodbye to Janet, we toured the guest house. It’s a modern, two-story space, bright and colorful and inviting. Paul told us there were two bedrooms available downstairs and three upstairs.

 

Clare and Anna-marie claimed the downstairs before he’d even finished talking. Cynthia and I climbed the stairs to the second story to discover a huge open space, a separate suite with attached bathroom, a smaller bedroom, and a bunk room. Since A. was still downstairs trying to talk her way into a room with one of the other two, we chose our rooms. Cynthia got the suite because it had good space for her to work. I took the smaller bedroom. The suite bathroom was the only one upstairs, but that wasn’t a problem for us.

 

A. came upstairs to choose a room, her campaign to join the other two unsuccessful. She was left with the bunkroom to herself, which was roomy and had the benefit of all those beds to choose from. She was unhappy about dealing with the stairs, and about being away from her friends. I’m guessing the thought of walking through Cynthia’s room to get to the bathroom wasn’t appealing to her either. There was a room downstairs that Paul had said wasn’t available because someone was staying in it, but was leaving that day. We encouraged her to talk to him and ask if she could have that room. She did and we didn’t see her again until dinner. 

 

 

We had been told of a cave full of ancient paintings that was an easy hike up the beach. Cynthia and I set out as soon as the room situation was settled, with no need to shower or do laundry. We were still wanting to be away from Clare, wanting nothing to mar the potential magic of the morning. The air still held fragments of coolness, full of salt tang and gull cries. We enjoyed the sights: rowboats heading out to fish, abandoned buildings, seals. Every glance was a postcard picture, made more enjoyable because it was shared. We found the turn-off Paul had mentioned easily. The climb to the cave was rocky and tricky and a bit strenuous, but fun.

 

 

 

At first it looked like the cave was going to be very much like the one in Goedverwacht, with very little to see. However, once we got farther in, we were astonished by the number of paintings and the quality. The entire space was full of red handprints and paintings of elands, and there was evidence of fire at the back of the cave. There was a deep sacredness to the space that made us whisper our awe at what we were seeing. 

 

 

When we turned to go down, we discovered a road that would have made our ascent much smoother and easier. We took that to the bottom. From there we continued down the beach, looking for the path that would lead us to the start along the coast we would approach in the morning. I thought I might remember it, but we turned back without finding it.

 

 

We walked back toward the guest house, but turned off on a boardwalk that led us to the beach that we followed into Elands Bay. It felt luxurious to stroll a beach on a sunny and breezy day with surfers enjoying the waves and other strollers enjoying the mussel shell studded sand. My hopes of walking barefoot were quickly quashed because the blue-purple shells were everywhere. At one point we were joined by a big black dog who stayed with us until we turned off into town. She was clearly young, and very frisky, and seemed to be trying to tell us something. We eventually figured out she wanted us to toss shells so she could run and pounce on them. We never did see a human she was attached to, and we were both sad and relieved she didn’t follow us into town. 

 

 

Once off the beach, we stopped at one of the two places Paul had told us we might find lunch. It was a very rustic looking surf shop, the inside packed full of weird merchandise to purchase, the menu typical beach fare. We settled ourselves at a table outside and enjoyed some of the best fish and chips of the entire walk. We took turns wandering the inside to shop and I found a hat that served me well for the rest of the coast walk. 

 

 

After lunch we explored the very small space of town a bit, expecting to see the other three, but did not. Cynthia found the bank to get cash, and we headed back up the beach toward the guest house. On our way to lunch, neither of us had marked the entrance to the beach in our minds, so coming back, we missed the turn. When it felt like we had gone much too far, we turned in at a path that had a boardwalk, and for a bit we thought we might be in the right place. It turned out we were far beyond where we needed to be, so we made our way to the main road, which was familiar, and walked back to the also familiar turn toward the guest house.

 

We found the house empty. Cynthia settled in to work, and I wandered down to find the pool where I thought I might journal or read. I found the other three sprawled on the benches in the shade. They acknowledged my presence, but made no move to make room for me. I did not approach and ask for space, but instead sat on the edge of the pool with my legs in the very cold water. In a very short time, I got too hot, and it felt weird, so I went back in. I showered, did legs up the wall, read for a bit. 

 

Paul came in at 3:00 to talk about the next day’s walk, to show us the route to our starting place. Cynthia and I were hoping to set out very early on our own, but Paul wasn’t having it. I remembered what a difficult day it had been two years before with all the sand walking, much of it soft, and wanted to get a head start on it. I pushed back on his no, and he got a little upset, so I gave it up. I figured I could try again in the morning. 

 

I also challenged him on starting the walk on the Elands Bay beach. The leg was going to be 27k of sand as it was, and I didn’t want extra sand walking if we could avoid it. I told him we’d previously followed the same road that we took to the cave, so that we entered the beach much farther down. He insisted he always started on the closer beach, had never done it any other way. I knew what I knew, but also knew continuing to argue with him was not going to get me anywhere I wanted to be. It wasn’t until I’d returned home that I remembered that he had not been with us two years ago when we started. His wife, Audrey had led us to the starting place, along the road, not the beach. 

 

After he left, the three went up to the cave. Cynthia and I had told them a little about it, and confirmed the route. Dinner was supposed to be at 6:00, and we weren’t certain they’d be back in time, but decided not to push on that. Cynthia worked. I journaled and read. 

 

The day before, when the sting of Clare’s outburst was still so fresh, Cynthia and I had talked about no longer eating dinner together as a group. There was nothing beyond our own sense of wanting to be a part of a community that said we had to. Cape Camino, in their literature, encouraged pilgrims to walk their pilgrimage their way. It was not lost on me that Paul’s insistence on having his way was counter to that. 

 

Because our upstairs space had a table on an outside deck, and ample seating inside, I thought we might actually eat separately. However, just before Paul and Audrey were to bring our dinner over, Cynthia started to set the table downstairs, for five people. I helped her, mostly relieved that we weren’t going to be adding to the tension by making a stand. It also felt like we might be letting them win somehow if we let their behavior push us to changing ours. 

 

One of the things I’d noticed in the previous weeks was that often there would be a large spoon set at the top of the plate. That always signified there would be pudding (dessert) after the main meal. We loved seeing that spoon, and included pudding spoons in our settings that night, hoping for some sweet ending to the meal. 

 

When Paul and Audrey arrived with their dogs and our dinner, Audrey greeted me and did remember my previous visit. She was friendlier than I remembered, and I was glad to have that balance against what was feeling like conflict with Paul. Dinner was butter chicken curry, rice, and salad. No pudding, and for the first time the entire pilgrimage, servings were sparse. The conversation at the table was mostly about the cave and our adventures in town. It was awkward and a little tense, but civil. Then Clare and Anna-marie were trying to explain cardinal directions to A., who seemed unable to grasp the concept. Cynthia joined the conversation, and while it was weird to watch, somehow the whole interaction eased the tension. I sat without joining in, thinking it would make a great sit-com episode. 

 

 

Cynthia and I did the dishes together after dinner while the others continued chatting. A. thanked us on her way to her room. I went outside to see if I could watch the sunset from the lawn, but grew impatient standing on the lawn by myself, my neck cricked with the looking up. I went upstairs and found Cynthia hard at work when I walked through her room to the bathroom. 

 

 

Both of our rooms had balconies and large windows through which the sunset colors were blooming brightly. I went back next door to my room and settled into a chair outside and basked in the glory of the changing sky. The colors were some of the brightest I’d ever experienced, made all the more impactful as they set the clouds aflame. I was sorry to see the show end, but went to bed feeling full of awe and wonder.

 

From my journal: “It has been a great day with Cynthia, the sea, the sacred, the adventure of being on our own, exploring. Seeing seals, all the sea birds. The sea breeze. The freedom. I’m concerned about the sand tomorrow, but ready, too.”

 

Hafiz’ words for the day, “Climbing a mountain one can gather many beautiful stories. But to fly, you need to release them. . . . What is for you will not pass by you.”

Day 24 - Redelinghuys

Wednesday, October 30

Rus Roes to Redelinghuys Manor

10k/6mi

Sunny and Hot

 

 

I was up at 3:30 a.m., not fretting, but not settled either. It was far too early to venture out to the kitchen in search of coffee, so I read. The book, No Two Persons, was a perfect warm embrace of a story, full of light and wisdom and a story structure that delighted the writer in me. As I have since childhood, I found comfort and home in story and the magic of words. 

 

When I felt it was late enough to be out of my room, I crept past a sleeping Gezie into the kitchen. With the door closed behind me, I made my coffee as quietly as possible. It took two cups that morning to fuel me through all I had to say in my journal. There was a lot of anger showing up on the pages: at Cape Camino, that this was my Camino, at myself for signing on in the first place when I knew there was a risk of this very thing. Anger at the universe for allowing this. I had asked for a pilgrimage in which I had time to reflect and to get to know myself, to feel my way to the next stage of my life. 

 

Interestingly, I did not mention anger at Clare or A. in that journal entry. Even then, in my confusion and pain, I knew they were instruments, and not really my enemies. That didn’t mean I felt safe with them, but I did have enough strength to be willing to look deeper beyond their actions into my reactions. 

 

 

It was on this morning that it began to dawn on me that perhaps this pilgrimage wasn’t about making friends with my aging self or about figuring out what to do with my last years. That dawning was just a glimmer, however. I didn’t really believe I’d been wrong about the purpose of my walk.  There was still time for those lessons to emerge. That they didn’t and I didn’t notice until long after I returned home, is a testament to how little energy or focus I had for anything but dealing with what was going on in the group and inside of me. Which, as it turned out, was the gift the pilgrimage surprised me with. A gift I struggled to receive. 

 

The morning journal ended with: “I hate this enough I’m not sure I’d ever put myself in this position again. So I pray for wisdom, for clarity, for the right words, for right action, for breath. I pray for the ability to be here fully even as I long for the peace of home. I pray I can learn what I need to, that I not settle into bitterness, that I can keep my focus on my own work, my own soul, that I don’t let my ego drive the bus, that I don’t settle into the false comforts of addiction. That I be whole and act from my wholeness, not woundedness.”

 

And, as was becoming the case more and more, John O’Donohue’s words set me off into the new day with a feeling of being held, a feeling of hope.

 

“Real growth is experienced when you draw back from that one window, turn and walk around the inner tower of the soul and see all the different windows that await your gaze. Through these different windows, you can see new vistas of possibility, presence, and creativity. Complacency, habit, and blindness often prevent you from feeling your life. So much depends on the frame of vision – the window through which you look.”

 

 

There was a substantial sit-down breakfast where tension was masked in polite conversation and both Cynthia and I managed to avoid Clare. Alfie said goodbye to us and headed out into his farmer day. Gezie buzzed around, mother henning us all, as she also prepared to walk part of the way herself. The group pic was taken, and while the others lingered with Gezie, Cynthia and I headed out.

 

 

That two-hour walk was glorious and one of my favorite memories of the pilgrimage. It was not yet hot and the light held the magical quality only an African morning can. Cynthia and I were closer than we’d ever been, united in our woundedness and determination to not let Clare have any more power over our walks. 

 

Very early in the walk I heard a bird sound that registered as the bird Bregda had told us about. It started with a rapid clapping, followed by a high whistle, then silence. Repeated over and over again. We couldn’t remember the name of the bird so I WhatsApped Bregda and asked. She answered right away, and that connection made me inordinately happy. The bird was a Cape Clapper Lark. My first lark ever. They kept us company the entire morning. We stopped a couple of times, searching the distance trying to see the flapping ascent, followed by a dive to earth. Although far away, we did manage to watch a couple of the birds as they danced in the sky. 

 

Our need to be separate from the group kept our pace brisk, but we stopped often to take pictures, determined to soak in the peace and beauty. We did look back from time to time, but the road was empty. That felt like a gift. For a long time, we climbed gradually. Just enough for our legs to feel stretched, but not enough to feel difficult. We reached an apex beyond which a beautiful valley revealed itself. Fields in the shape of circles, potato crops as I remembered, looked like modern art or maybe alien messages. Even as early as it was, with no shade at all, the heat joined us as a welcome companion.

 

 

My excitement grew on the long slow descent into Redelinghuys. Elmie, who’d been our chaperone two years ago had opened an art gallery which I was eager to see. Janet, who’d been our host two years ago, was someone I’d connected with as a writer. One of my all-time favorite memories, not just of the previous pilgrimage but ever, was of the dinner with Janet and her husband, Rodrick. She had published a picture book, illustrated by her artist husband, that she showed us at that dinner table that night. Without planning or discussion, one of the other pilgrims and I read the book out loud, alternating pages. It was pure magic, full of Janet’s incredible story and our voices, all the hearts around the table open and celebratory and full of gratitude. 

 

 

The town was quiet as we made our way to the manor house that would be our stop for the night. It was as beautiful and inviting as I remembered it. It was only 9:30, earlier than Janet expected anyone. Still, she greeted us warmly, giving me a great hug. She asked if we’d be okay rooming together, and then put us in a sweet old-fashioned room across from two spacious and inviting bathrooms. Clare and Anna-marie would get the other double room, and A. the single. 

 

 

Cynthia and I dropped our packs, and headed back out into the morning. We wanted to be out of the house when the others arrived. Plus, our luggage hadn’t arrived yet, so we couldn’t shower. It felt nice to be strolling along without a pack and without feeling tired or worn at all. We had seen the gallery on our way to the manor house, and were happy to find it open on our return. Elmie greeted me like a long-lost friend, and Cynthia like a friend she’d just been waiting to meet. 

 

The gallery was a surprisingly light-filled eye-engaging delight. Full of work by not just Elmie, but other local artists, all displayed beautifully. We chatted and wandered the space happily. This gallery was Elmie’s dream come true, and I was thrilled for her success and evident happiness. She left us to shop, and we both found items that needed to come home with us. Cynthia’s shopping included gifts for my upcoming birthday, which she let me have a voice in. We were checking out, still chattering away with Elmie, when Clare and Anna-marie walked in. 

 

They still had their packs on, so hadn’t been to the manor yet. We clocked each other’s presence, then determinedly ignored each other. They made no effort to greet us, and we acted as though they weren’t there. We said our goodbyes to Elmie and left the gallery without acknowledging the two other pilgrims. I wondered what Elmie thought, or knew. She surely saw we were all pilgrims, and so were walking together. Cape Camino doesn’t have separate groups walking at the same time. Yet she said nothing to indicate there might be a connection. She was as warm and welcoming to them as she’d been to everyone else entering her space. 

 

 

Cynthia and I headed down the street away from the manor house. We had seen two tuck shops (mini-marts) on the way through town and decided to restock snacks and see what was on offer. The first store was familiar – the one Jane and I had visited two years before where she introduced me to NikNaks, and where we bought a feast of junk food to entertain ourselves with the rest of the day. As Cynthia and I wandered the aisles, I enjoyed the foreign brands and amazed at how many American brands I saw. I bought NikNaks in honor of Jane, and chocolate and Coke and sparkling water. The last three my go-to treats for the walk. 

 

We left the store and headed in the direction of the other one. There was a colored family waiting on a bench, and Cynthia started a conversation with them. I was reminded this was Cynthia’s country and that it was not mine, and of my discomfort and low-level fear starting conversations with people who may or may not be happy for my presence. I thoroughly enjoyed watching her regularly engage people in conversation no matter where we were. 

 

The other store was a lot smaller. The entire inventory could be viewed through the front door. Gezie drove up beside us, on her way home after dropping our luggage at the manor house. She got out and wrapped us both in her great mother hen hugs. We turned to watch A. make her way into town, having walked the last half on her own. Gezie had walked the beginning with all three of the other women. 

 

Gezie drove off, leaving A. and Cynthia and me standing awkwardly outside the store. We asked how her walk was and offered to walk A. to the manor house, but she refused, saying she’d rather be alone. We left her staring in a store window, and returned to the house. 

 

 

We found things quiet in the house. Janet emerged from the kitchen and offered tea. The three of us sat on her stoep (back porch) and enjoyed the tea and treats and easy conversation. Cynthia and I decided it was hot enough we were willing to brave the cold water of Janet’s pool. We spent a very long time in the water, paddling a little, chatting a little, soaking up the contrast between the hot sun and water just warm enough to be able to linger in it. 

 

 

The pool was more pond than anything. Janet had set up a small wooden ramp on the steps so frogs could find their way out to the lawn. Snails clung to the sides as we watched one solo frog swim across the bottom where algae was evident. Red dragonflies skimmed over the surface, enchanting me with their ethereal beauty and what they always represented to me in terms of hope.

 

 

When we’d had enough, we settled in the shade on our sarongs, chatting more. Janet had asked if we wanted lunch and said we could come in for it when we were ready. Instead, she brought it out to us, simple satisfying fare that tasted like a gourmet feast as most food eaten outdoors does. 

 

 

We took the tray back, got more ice for our drinks and our junk food for dessert and settled ourselves on the stoep. Cynthia worked. I spent the time on my phone messaging. My first task was to begin the search for transportation to Cape Town at the end of the walk in Langebaan, less than two weeks ahead. It felt good that I had people I could reach out to for help, that I had options available because of my previous connections. Cynthia stopped her work to help me as well. 

 

Then I reached out to my people. I wrote to Walt, and then Jane. I continued a WhatsApp conversation with N., who was struggling. She was finding her solo experience to be frustrating because she didn’t feel supported by Cape Camino, and was feeling ripped off in addition. We weren’t going to get to see her for the coast walk as we’d thought. She was still going to meet Anna-marie in Cape Town to do the peninsula together, and I was happy for them both, and hopeful that would give them an ending that healed and restored. 

 

I’d been chatting off and on with Caroline, finding comfort in her wisdom and optimism. I had told her about the blowup at Gezie’s, and was happy on this day to follow up with the gentle gifts that came after. Writing to people I loved and who loved me back, from the back porch of an old and beautifully restored manor house, looking out over gorgeous wetlands, relaxed from pool time and junk food, it was easy to claim a deep and abiding peace. 

 

While we were enjoying our stoep time, the other three arrived and settled on the other side. There was no conversation across the gap. We looked up when they came out, but they acted as though we weren’t there. It’s not until I write this in real time, that it occurs to me they were acting as though we had done something to them. No apology was ever offered from Clare. If anything, the three seemed glad for the division. 

 

 

Cynthia and I went in to take our showers. I went back to the stoep to journal and just enjoy the air and the wagtails wagging their way around the back yard. I had the place to myself for a long satisfying time and in that space found myself feeling better about everything and more willing to accept that this was the way things were, regardless of how I might wish otherwise. 

 

 

We gathered for dinner in Janet’s incredible kitchen. I loved that space almost as much as I’d loved the old wooden table in Karin’s kitchen. It was modern enough, but had an old-fashioned feeling, like a grandmother’s kitchen. The table filled the center and we filled the table, five pilgrims, Janet, and Rodrick. The meal was delicious – lasagna, bread, salad, with an incredible passion fruit dessert. The conversation and the atmosphere were awkward. Rodrick did his best to keep things light, telling funny stories. Janet reminded us of the magical dinner of two years previously. I asked her about her writing, hoping to open the conversation toward dreams and the fulfillment of them. It went nowhere.

 

Anna-marie, who had offered not unfriendly acknowledgement when she wasn’t with Clare, left the table early to meet friends who were visiting the area on the stoep. Cynthia was quieter than usual, which left space that Clare and A. filled to overflowing with complaints (Clare) and stories we’d all heard before (A.). The drinking that had started on the stoep in the afternoon continued throughout dinner. I sat and listened, and left the table as soon as it seemed polite. I was disappointed to not have gotten more chance to visit with Janet, but also not surprised that couldn’t happen in that place and time. It was hard not to contrast this dinner with the one two years before. 

 

If nothing else, the last two days had helped me focus on what really mattered. I was learning just how strong I was, and how much faith I had in pilgrimage as teacher and as a messenger of spirit. I hated the group dynamics and felt lonely much of the time. But then there would be reunions that made me so happy, and moments with Cynthia that made me awe-struck with wonder that I got to be in a relationship with such an amazing person. The walking itself was saving me from despair and filling me up every day. I wished the legs were longer, both for the comfort of the walk and so there would be less down time for all the drama to play out. 

 

As I did every night, I reminded myself of my commitment (no shaping events, acceptance of everything as essential to the pilgrimage), and comforted myself with the proven fact that I could do hard things. Now, I was also counting days (seven) to the arrival of Ina and Frikkie, and then five more to the end. I soothed my hurt with imagining how I’d write Clare’s story, and A.’s, remembering Anne Lamott’s quote about if people didn’t want you to write bad things about them, they should have behaved better in the first place. (By the time I reached Cape Town for my return home, I’d mostly let go of the thought of revenge writing, and had already begun to search for a new way to tell the truth of the pilgrimage.)

 

Hafiz’ words for the day: “Even if it doesn’t turn out exactly as planned, this a game-changing moment. Seize it.”