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.”