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.