Day 33 - Paternoster Hotel

Friday, November 8

St. Helena Bay to Paternoster

20k/12mi

Mostly Sunny, Breezy, Comfortable

 

 

Maggie was politely anxious to have us gone because she had a planned trip that she needed to leave for by 9:00. Trudy was joining her for this trip, but I didn’t learn that until later, and so was surprised when she didn’t join us.  One of our two chaperones, Valerie, arrived and after the usual pics, we set out.

 

 

Ina and I walked together for a long time, and enjoyed continuing our conversations from the day before. The relief of finally having someone to share the stories of this pilgrimage with was huge, leaving me almost giddy with the lightness of it. That Ina knew Cape Camino, and we’d shared the previous pilgrimage made it even more powerful. I thought that Cynthia was likely having a similar experience with Nicole. 

 

 

The group was all within sight of one another as we approached the park from which we accessed the beach from the neighborhood. There we met our second chaperone, whose name I never did learn, and another walker who was joining us just for the day. I was deeply and simply happy to be on the beach with dunes on one side, sea on the other, and Ina and Frikkie next to me. It felt like home. 

 

 

It turned out to be a hard walking day. The tide, which we expected to be going out for most of the morning, seemed to be coming in instead. That meant a lot of slanted soft sand. I was grateful my blister was done, and had been careful to be generous with my Vaseline routine in the morning. There were some long stretches of easier walking, paths that were friendlier, which made the day less difficult than it might have been. 

 

 

The beach was gorgeous and the ocean a comforting presence with its white noise roar and cooling breezes. We saw a baby seal, and many bok. We stopped for breaks more often than usual. Twice we nested into rocks at the edge of the sea, sheltered and enjoying our snacks facing water and sky. One stop was at Charlie Chaplin’s house. It’s a sweet little cottage sitting alone at the edge of the sea, a place we were told he visited. One of those times Ina and Frikkie shared their coffee with me, a reprise of our time walking together two years ago. That simple act brought our mutual friend Jane to mind and tears to my eyes. 

 

 

Another stop was at a beach where Valerie wanted to swim. She had been encouraging us to join in her swim the entire walk to that point, but had no takers. None of us wanted to be wet and salty and sandy for the miles we had ahead of us. None of us were thrilled to be standing on the beach watching her swim. We were even less thrilled when we were told we couldn’t go ahead because the other chaperone didn’t know where we’d be turning off the beach just ahead. 

 

 

This was one of the very rare legs where the chaperones made the walk harder. They didn’t communicate with each other, or coordinate the route. Valerie seemed mostly interested in bossing us around, or being smug when our choices left us in more difficult circumstances, even though she hadn’t offered guidance when we needed it. One time she and I were walking parallel to each other. I walked forward, missing the turn she took, but she waited until I’d moved quite a way farther down the beach to call to me. Another time the entire group of us was above the beach searching for a trail through the dunes. I looked down to see her walking on a flat stretch of beach, watching us struggle, shaking her head at our folly. The other chaperone was nice enough, but mostly on her phone trying to find out what to do from Valerie or making plans for after the walk. 

 

 

One long stretch of beach revealed a group of young men, some clearly children, at the shore line. At first glance they seemed to be playing, but the more we watched, the clearer it became they were working. Someone in our group said they were likely poaching mussels. So many questions were raised: Why weren’t they in school? Who were they working for? How worried would they be that we were watching them? They seemed to take no notice of us at all, and we finally moved on, a little rattled and saddened by what we’d just witnessed. 

 

When we finally found ourselves on the stretch of beach leading to the town, I spotted the red roof of a café that had been an oasis stop two years before. We’d all gathered at a table and had drinks and snacks and even met a woman who had walked pilgrimage in other places. I was looking forward to a cool drink and carrot cake, but the group was tired and only wanted to get to our hotel. I sort of got it, as we were so close, but also didn’t understand the hurry. 

 

 

The hotel was older and in need of an upgrade, but comfortable enough. Its claim to fame was the Panty Bar next door, where the ceiling was festooned with hundreds of pairs of “donated” panties. Because they’d been expecting 8 people, I got to have a room to myself. A. and I would have been rooming together if she were still walking with us. I was very grateful for the space and the solitude. 

 

After showers, Cynthia, Nicole, and I wandered through town. Clare and Anna-marie had gone earlier. Ina and Frikkie were resting. We found the harbor with a beautiful little shopping center that I remembered from before. We stopped in a couple of shops, then sat outside at a cat themed restaurant and enjoyed drinks and snacks. On our way back out of the shopping center we passed a gelato stand. Nicole bought us cones. We chatted happily with the young woman serving us in her brightly colored clothes and bright presence. 

 

Once back at the hotel, we saw Clare and Anna-marie sitting in the lobby, which consisted of a lumpy sunken-in couch and two chairs. They told us how to access Wi-Fi, where to get our passports stamped, and that dinner would be served in the dining room at 6:00. Our menu was chicken strips and chips (fries), and our packed lunches would be brought to us then as well. It was a friendly jokey encounter, and I was aware how much easier those two were with A. gone. 

 

I went to my room, got my legs up the wall and rested and read for a while. Then I went in search of Ina and Frikkie. We chatted then headed to the restaurant for dinner. It was decided we’d eat inside because the wind had turned cold. We were shown to a separate room where tables were pulled together for us. Everyone else slowly trickled in, and we ordered drinks. I had not brought money with me, thinking everything was covered. The drinks were not covered, but Frikkie paid for my diet Coke, which was really sweet.  

 

Our meals took a really long time to come, and when they did finally arrive, Clare demanded to know where our salads were. She insisted salad had been promised and she wanted it to be served. The server, and then a manager person, said they didn’t know anything about a salad, and eventually Clare begrudgingly let go of it. So much for easier. 

 

The food was surprisingly good, a kid’s meal that satisfied. We even got ice cream with chocolate sauce for pudding. When they delivered our packed meals at the end, we were all thrilled at the bounty of them: toasties, peeled hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, juice, candy bars and apples. 

 

During the wait for our dinner to be served, we talked about our last day’s walk. When I walked two years before, our route had taken us through an industrial area that was safe but ugly and not pleasant walking. Cape Camino’s solution was for pilgrims to take a short boat ride across the bay to a resort called Mykonos and then walk from there into Langebaan, the final stop of that leg. 

 

I had eagerly anticipated the boat ride from the planning stages of the pilgrimage. We were expected to make arrangements on our own with the boatman, Gerrit, and it seemed reasonable that we’d do that as a group. It also made sense to me that either Ina or Clare or Anna-marie be the people to make contact because they spoke Afrikaans, Gerrit’s primary language. Anna-marie messaged him and he called her right back. We got the cost (R350/person), and learned he could only take 5 people at a time. It was a 20-minute trip, so two trips weren’t a big deal, or he might have access to a second boat. Also, the wind might be a problem, in which case we’d all need to be shuttled to Mykonos. 

 

Anna-marie said she and Clare might shuttle regardless, neither of them eager to take the boat. The rest of us were excited about the boat. I was grateful that I wasn’t alone in my desire for the boat, because I wasn’t willing to challenge Clare on my own. She kept wanting to know why we couldn’t walk, what was wrong with the route, who cared if it wasn’t pretty. She added that to her very long list of grievances against Cape Camino. Anna-marie messaged Gerrit again and told him at least 5 of us would want his services on Monday morning. 

 

 

When I settled into bed that night, luxuriating in the space and quiet, enjoying a last cup of rooibos, I thought about the fact that there were only four walking days left, and five until I was headed home. I was both reluctant to lose the pilgrim rhythms and freedom, and so ready to have this particular pilgrimage behind me. I wasn’t sure I’d learned what I came to learn, or if any transformation at all had happened. I wasn’t as excited to get back on Facebook as I thought I’d be, but was looking forward to reconnecting with all the people I’d been away from the last long month. 

 

 

I didn’t expect anything huge to be revealed in the next few days, but was determined to be as fully in them as I could manage. I’ll admit there was a small part of me that still hoped for some big magic that might make sense of how hard I’d found the whole walk. A big ta-da. A ray of light from the heavens moment. I breathed gratitude for Ina and Frikkie, for Cynthia and Nicole, for my strong body. I prayed I’d find the lessons in my time with, and forgiveness for, Clare and Anna-marie and A. 

 

I curled around Hafiz’ words in the dark of my 33^rd room in a row, and let sleep come.

 

“You are an exquisite temple for a magnificent being who yearns to be known, loved, charted. Explore the vastness of your soul’s dimension. Treasure awaits.”

 

Morning Journal

 Morning Journal

Friday, November 8

 

I’m very tired. Slept well. Feet are tender. The sand walking takes a toll all the way around. Last night was so fun, but a little overwhelming. The atmosphere will be lighter going forward with Ina and Frikkie. It appears I’ve lost Cynthia entirely to Nicole. She’s so happy to have her here. I expected a shift, but maybe not so complete. I’m okay with it. Don’t mind being the single. The two who are up and awake now may not be thrilled having me as their third for the next 4 nights. I’m good with whatever, so relieved to have A. gone. I can do anything for 4 days. 

 

I would like to enjoy these days. My fatigue is the thing making it harder. Today will likely be a social day, although I would prefer to be alone. It’s hard to bring myself out into the open enough to be friendly. Maybe it’s time to start coming back into the world. I will grab moments as I can. Being odd man will help that. 

 

Food was better yesterday, maybe because of the huge hit of protein in the morning. It’s almost impossible to focus on nutrition, especially now when hunger is powerful and I’m too tired to sort one hunger from another. Maybe knowing that will help when I get home. I can’t feed fatigue with food. 

 

For the entire pilgrimage to this point, I copied only bits from Anam Cara that spoke to me during my morning journal time. On this particular morning, the following poem felt like it appeared as a beacon to guide me through my fatigue to the finish line. I copied it into my journal in its entirety, and so I offer John O’Donohue’s wisdom here now.

 

For the Traveler

 

Every time you leave home,

Another road takes you

Into a world you were never in.

 

New strangers on other paths await.

New places that have never seen you

Will startle a little at your entry.

Old places that know you well 

Will pretend nothing

Changed since your last visit.

 

When you travel, you find yourself

Alone in a different way,

More attentive now

To the self you bring along,

Your more subtle eye watching

You abroad; and how what meets you

Touches that part of the heart

That lies low at home:

 

How you unexpectedly attune

To the timbre in some voice,

Opening in conversation

You want to take in

To where your longing

Has pressed hard enough

Inward, on some unsaid dark,

To create a crystal of insight

You could not have known

You needed

To illuminate

Your way.

When you travel, 

A new silence

Goes with you,

And if you listen

You will hear

What your heart would

Love to say.

 

A journey can become a sacred thing:

Make sure, before you go,

To take the time

To bless your going forth,

To free your heart of ballast

So that the compass of your soul

Might direct you toward

The territories of spirit

Where you will discover

More of your hidden life,

And the urgencies

That deserve to claim you.

 

May you travel in an awakened way,

Gathered wisely into your inner ground;

That you may not waste the invitations

Which wait along the way to transform you.

 

May you travel safely, arrive refreshed,

And live your time away to its fullest;

Return home more enriched, and free

To balance the gift of days which call you.

 

Day 32 - Rimpelwit

Thursday, November 7

Hopefield to St. Helena Bay

40 min. drive + 20k/12mi

Sunny, Breezy

 

 

Even though this day was another very early start, I made time to dip into Anam Cara and to journal:

 

John O’Donohue’s words: “The imagination works on the threshold that runs between light and dark, visible and invisible, quest and question, possibility and fact. The imagination is the great friend of possibility. Where the imagination is awake and alive, fact never hardens or closes but remains open, inviting you to new thresholds of possibility and creativity.” 

 

My words: “I start this day in peace and calm. My coffee in my space, a rooster crowing in the distance. Early start, so not a lot of time, but I feel more centered this morning. More ready for what the day brings. I pray to stay present, to feel whatever comes without trying to avoid or shape. I pray for joy in these last days, for clarity, for new questions, for new answers.” 

 

 

Fabian, the headmaster of Hopefield Primary, and our driver, Nathan, arrived in a large van at 5:45. After they chatted with Elaine and we said a sad goodbye to her, they drove us 40 minutes north to a restaurant called Alegria at the east end of St. Helena Bay. Our destination for the day was a home on the far west end of St. Helena Bay. 

 

 

Our chaperone, Madoda, was not there yet when we arrived because he’d been told to arrive at 7:00. The 20-minute wait felt long. We were all ready to start walking. Once he did arrive and took time to greet each of us, he set a surprisingly slow pace for the morning. Cynthia and I were in front with him, and the other two took up the rear. Clare complained later that Madoda was walking too fast, which I laughed at (inside only), because I felt like we were going way too slow. 

 

 

Madoda is a quiet serious young man whose claim to fame on the Camino is that he’s distantly related to Nelson Mandela. He remembered me from two years before, or he did his homework and knew I was a return pilgrim. Either way he made a point of visiting with me. After a bit, I deliberately held back so Cynthia could walk and talk with him, knowing how much it would mean to her to get to know this young man. 

 

 

I diverted myself from the sludge of the pace by soaking in the view as we walked along the ocean. Every time we stopped to wait for Clare and Anna-marie to catch up, I turned toward sights that offered glories of water and sky and rocks and boats and seaweed. Breathing in the sea air did a lot to calm my impatience, and I made a special point to stop and absorb moments that I knew I would be missing in just a matter of days. 

 

 

The route alternated between stunning rocky beaches and massive abandoned fish processing factories and litter-strewn fields. Civilization in the form of a highway and shops and clusters of homes was just a couple of blocks away, and we occasionally found ourselves in the midst of it all. Horns honking, gas fumes tickling, people hurrying by without so much as a glance up at us. Fortunately, that was a small part of the day. It was also a reminder of what we were returning to all too soon.

 

 

Anna-marie had her heart set on stopping at what was supposed to be the best fish and chips shop on the West Coast, located somewhere along the harbor. I hadn’t been paying much attention to the search for the shop, and was surprised when we found ourselves standing in front of it before 9:00. Of course it wasn’t open yet.

 

 

There were people inside the shop, and above it. Somehow it was communicated to them (in Afrikaans) who we were and what we wanted. We were told they would open early, just for us, just as soon as the first batches of fish and chips were done. While it’s not a common thing for me to have fish and chips for breakfast, I have nothing against it in principle. 

 

The shop was small and unassuming. A counter and a case and a refrigerator of cool drinks. The menu was snoek and chips or hake and chips. The thought of having that singularly Western Cape fish in fish and chips made me happy. Plus, the quietly subversive act of eating fish and chips so early in the day bonded us as a group – all of our inner girls delighted at breaking the breakfast rules. 

 

 

The woman behind the counter seemed to respond to our delight at being let into the store early. She smiled throughout the entire time we were there. When it was my turn to order, she let me choose my own piece of snoek. I learned later that we were charged by the weight of the fish. No condiments were offered, although bottles of sauce were for sale on a shelf nearby. It turned out no condiments were necessary. It was without a doubt some of the best fish and chips I’d ever eaten.

 

I stood outside the shop as I waited for everyone to finish ordering and get their food. Just as we were walking away, I looked back to thank the lady who’d helped one last time. It felt like that kind of friendliness and joy should be acknowledged. She caught my eye, as she served the person in front of her, and we ended up blowing each other kisses. 

 

 

The group of us found a picnic table by the water and settled in to enjoy our breakfasts. The smell of the fish and fries and fat, overlaid by the salt and diesel smell of the harbor, was heady stuff. Soon we were surrounded by gulls, a smaller variety than I was used to, and much more polite than the gulls from home. They waited watchfully at a short distance from our table, and accepted our offerings greedily, but never got too close. 

 

 

Madoda led us away. We were full and satisfied, and ready to walk again. A short distance from the harbor, Anna-marie decided she wanted to stop for coffee. None of us knew exactly where the coffee shop was, and we would have had to go in toward the busy part of town to search. We ended up moving on without the coffee stop, but the next small shop we came to, Clare insisted on stopping. While it wouldn’t have been my choice to stop again so soon after our big fish and chips adventure, I never minded wandering shops and seeing the different brands and offerings. I bought an ice cream and ginger beer, both of which I enjoyed tremendously as we continued our walk. 

 

We arrived at the Stompneus Point Lighthouse, which I remembered from before, much sooner than expected. Cynthia was particularly delighted, saying it was her first lighthouse. She climbed the steps and walked around it taking in the incredible views. I wanted to be delighted, too. I love lighthouses, find them romantic and mysterious in their tall white solitude, and remembered how magical this one had felt before. 

 

 

On this morning, all I felt on our approach was tired and sad. It might have been the strange breakfast, or it might have been my annoyance at being at the mercy of Clare and Anna-marie’s moods all morning and Madoda’s slow pace, or it might have been my fatigue. Whatever it was, I sat on a rock, and breathed and tried to absorb what was beautiful around me. It wouldn’t have taken much – a kind word perhaps – to break the dam of tears stopped just at my throat. I waved at Cynthia, feeling her joy, and glad for her. 

 

Our walk forward from the lighthouse was a long hot sandy stretch of beach followed by a long hot stretch of streets as we wound our way to Rimpelwit, the name of the guest house that was our destination. I knew we had arrived when I spotted a Cape Camino flag, and then the beautiful tile fronted stairs ascending the side of Maggie’s house. As I moved from the street through a tunnel of foliage toward the yard, I could see a person standing on the patio as though she were waiting. And she was. Waiting for me. 

 

It was Ina. She and Frikkie had arrived earlier in the day. The last time I saw them two years before had been outside a restaurant. We had separated the day before, me to spend the night at Pumpkin House, and them to go to Frikkie’s brother’s. They were having breakfast and I was with Hanli, my host, who was swimming on that beach. Ina rushed out of the restaurant when she spotted me and we hugged like long lost friends, so happy to see each other again, although it had only been hours since our last contact. We had just spent the last 25 days walking together, and a bond was formed in that time that would prove to be even stronger than I knew. When I reached out to them earlier in the year to tell them I was walking again, they decided to join me. It was only 5 days this time, but I would take what was offered gratefully. 

 

 

The hug I got from Ina on Maggie’s patio was like sunshine after a long long stretch of cold rain. We were laughing and talking over each other, pulling away to sit, but then hugging again. Frikkie was behind us – I’d walked right past him – taking pictures. After I hugged him hello, and grabbed something cold to drink, Ina and I sat side by side, and began to catch up. She had gifts which she needed me to open right then.  Jane, who had been our favorite companion on the first walk, and whom I’d hoped could join us this time, had sent a birthday gift and cards. Ina gave me a small picture of Table Mountain, which she’d asked a friend to paint.  

 

 

Maggie, our incredible host, found me for a hug in the midst of the catching up conversation. Her warmth and welcome were as impressive as I remembered, her hospitality spread out on the table in the form of endless cool drinks, ice, and homemade snacks. I was so focused on Ina and Frikkie that I missed the distribution of the beds completely. When I finally made my way up the stairs, I discovered I would be sharing a room with Clare and Anna-marie. It seemed we were the threesome now. 

 

The suite we shared consisted of a space with twin beds tucked under windows, a small kitchenette, and a separate bedroom next to the bathroom. At first, I thought they were being considerate letting me be close to the bathroom, but I realized later I was given that space so they could share their space. That they wanted me to be separate from them. Regardless, I was grateful for my bed and the bathroom right there, and that I was essentially alone. 

 

It was a full and very satisfying afternoon. My funk of earlier evaporated in the presence of my friends and the warm familiarity of Maggie’s home. I met Cynthia’s beautiful and bright daughter, Nicole, and enjoyed their clear joy at being together.  Ina and I found each other throughout the day, taking up our conversations as though no time or space had happened. I loved watching the others with her, how she won everyone over with her laughter and stories. That her first language was Afrikaans didn’t hurt either.  

 

She had brought along the book she’d made of the pictures of the pilgrimage we’d walked together before. When she sat at the table on the patio with it, everyone gathered around, taking turns looking and listening to Ina’s stories. It was so much fun to reminisce and to anticipate the new memories we were about to make together.

 

Ina was concerned about the walking. Frikkie was having health issues, and Ina felt she wasn’t as fit as before. After hearing the A. stories, she didn’t want to be the reason the group was slowed down. I assured her that there was no way what they were doing and what A. did were even remotely the same. Plus, we were supposed have two chaperones going forward, so they could walk at their own pace without fear of slowing anyone down. 

 

I asked Maggie if her friend Trudy was going to walk with us the next day, as she had two years before. Maggie said she wasn’t, but offered to call her and invite her over so I could visit with her. On the previous walk, the day Trudy had walked with us had been one of the hardest of that pilgrimage. 

 

We were a large group, including four pilgrims and a large number of women from Maggie’s neighborhood, Maggie and Trudy among them. Our chaperone had left us halfway, and no one knew exactly where we were to turn off the beach into the town. It was a very long walk on sand under a hot sun. Ina, Frikkie and I powered ahead, our pace much faster than the rest of the group. At some point the others grew upset that we’d gone ahead. Trudy told me at the end of the day that if that’s what pilgrimage was, she didn’t want anything to do with it. At the time, I felt bad, and responsible for her feelings – that I hadn’t been considerate enough, that I’d been a bad pilgrim. I had tried to reach out to her afterwards, but never received a response. So, this felt like a chance at redemption and reconciliation.

 

 

Trudy did come over that afternoon, and seemed happy I’d asked for her. We hugged and I told her how bad I felt about before, and she said she felt bad, too. She sat and visited with us for a while, catching up with Ina and getting to know Clare. Trudy brought up the American election, clearly in the same camp as Clare, and so I let her talk without reacting. I asked if she was going to walk with us the next day. She said she’d see what she could do to make that happen. It turned out she didn’t show up, and I learned later that she had plans to be out of town, so there was no way she could have joined us.

 

 

Debbie and Ammie showed up with our passports, and to collect Madoda, while everyone was still downstairs and settling in. They were so happy to see Ina and Frikkie, and it was fun to see that reunion. I got hugs from them both, but there was a definite coolness. Neither of them made an effort to chat with me. I stayed on the fringes of their conversations, hoping for a glimpse of their affection. While that didn’t come, Debbie did say to me just before they left that when N. stayed with them, she had filled them in on the whole A. story.  She said she had a better picture of what was behind the confrontation with A., but I still felt the distance and coolness, like despite knowing a bigger part of the picture, Debbie’s vision of me was irreparably damaged. 

 

I was sad and a bit unsettled when they left. Without a chance to really talk to Debbie, without her hearing my perspective, without knowing what she was really feeling, I was left with only uncertainty. I was also aware that even though there’d been what seemed to be a reconciliation with Trudy, something still felt withheld, and off. It was a struggle to keep shame at bay, and to not try to reassure myself by drawing other people into the situation. But it was a struggle I won, and that was no small victory. I’d done all I could in the circumstances. If Debbie and Trudy had decided to dislike me, there was nothing more I could do to change their minds. 

 

 

We began to gather for dinner. Maggie had set a beautiful table outside on the patio for ten. Our two chaperones for the next day, friends from the neighborhood, joined us at the table. I went upstairs to get Cynthia and Nicole, who had been tucked away in their room all afternoon. There was a lot of laughter and many stories were told around the table. The food was incredible: meatballs, new potatoes, corn on the cob, sausages, deconstructed salad, pasta salad, pickled beets, malva pudding and ice cream for dessert.  Clare and Anna-marie kept saying it was the best meal they’d had the entire pilgrimage. I think probably because it wasn’t lasagna. 

 

 

Part of the conversation was about the different ways people carried water on a walk like ours, and the different levels of potability of water in different places. The water we’d been drinking in the Western Cape was perfectly safe, but did not taste particularly good. Clare said she solved that problem by putting a bit of whiskey in her water bladder every day. 

 

There was a long and loud discussion about when we would leave the next day. With high tide due at 9:00 in the morning, there was no way we would avoid soft sand walking. One of the chaperones wanted to leave no sooner than 8:00, and insisted the heat of the day wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t see how that could be true, but held my tongue, because it was clear she wasn’t open to listening. Besides, Clare was wanting to leave earlier, so I could sit back and let her fight the battle for all of us. It was finally decided we’d leave at 7:30. Still far too late for my liking, but I let it go. 

 

When dinner was over, Maggie invited us inside for tea (or stronger). Cynthia and Nicole declined, and I followed them upstairs. It would have been nice to be in the group, but I was tired, and had had enough socializing for one day. I was relieved to tuck into bed. Even as the laughter and conversation drifted up the stairs, and I felt a tug to join, I was happy with my choice. 

 

I messaged with Caroline, firming up our plans for her to drive me from Langebaan to Cape Town in just five days. Much earlier in the walk, Clare had arranged for a driver to take her and Anna-marie and A. to Cape Town from Langebaan. She asked me if I’d like to join them and share the cost. I said yes, pleased to have that arrangement taken care of at the time. But as the walk progressed, I was less and less enthusiastic about spending the last hours of my pilgrimage in the company of the people I’d struggled so hard to endure. When I asked Caroline to take me, I’d sort of (conveniently) forgotten my previous commitment, and knew that night that I was going to have to tell Clare soon. I wasn’t looking forward to that.  

 

As always, part of my bedtime ritual involved massaging Vaseline into my feet, and thanking them for carrying me over the miles of the day. I noticed my blister was much better that night, no pain and no swelling. I also noticed how tender my feet were in general. With 400 miles or so on my shoes, they were no longer cushioning the way they were designed and so not supporting quite as well. It was a familiar problem, and I was grateful to know my shoes and I both had the miles left in us needed to get to the end. 

 

I snugged myself under the covers with my journal, just enough energy left to record the day. I started with these words: “I end this very full day in peace, in bed with tea.”

 

I ended the entry with Hafiz’ words: “You don’t need to make every decision on your own. And you don’t need to take others’ advice in order to feel secure in your decision.”

 

Day 31 - Hopefield

Wednesday, November 6

Schaftplaas to Hopefield

22k/13.7mi

Clear, Sunny, Hot, Some Breeze

 

 

I got up at 4:30, still very tired and off-balance from the previous day’s events. Our packed breakfast was set to be delivered at 5:15, so I would have had time for at least a short journal, but I sat outside with my coffee in the fading dark doing nothing. It had been several mornings in a row that I hadn’t been able to journal because of our early starts, and I was missing the release of it. While not quite as comforting, simply sitting quietly alone listening to the wake-up chorus of birds for the ten minutes it took me to drink my coffee helped restore my equilibrium. The food arrived right on time. Our chaperones for the day, Robert and Lucan, arrived at 5:30. 

 

When we were packing our meals, Anna-marie said that A. had left already, a friend having come to pick her up very early. Because there were five meals, we gave the extra to our chaperones. A. would decide later that she was owed that meal, going on our group site and wanting to know where it was. Anna-marie informed her of our decision to share it. 

 

I was puzzled about why she even cared about the meal if she’d already left. It didn’t occur to me to question whether it made sense that A. left so early given that she was always the last to be ready. We learned later from Anna-marie that A. had hidden at the side of the event center watching us as we walked through the gates. She came out to talk to Clare and Anna-marie when she was sure Cynthia and I were far enough ahead we wouldn’t see her. 

 

I loved walking out in the early morning when the air was still cool and the light was always pure magic. Even tired and with an annoying blister that would make the day more challenging, I was happy. The relief of having A. gone was palpable, and everything felt lighter.

 

 

Robert and I walked together in the beginning. The chaperones for this leg are always from the Hope Farm, a recovery center for young men working hard to rebuild lives ravaged by substance abuse. The last time I walked this leg, I’d found the two young men to be open and happy to talk about their lives. It was just as true this time with Robert. My own recovery journey had begun decades before, but the most recent challenging of addiction with Facebook made our conversation feel fresh and significant. 

 

We were joined at one point by the director of the Center, a cheerful middle-aged woman who struggled the whole walk. She brought a friend and an adorable dog that spent the entire walk stalking the grasses we traveled through. Robert’s attentions were divided between pilgrims and friends who were always a bit behind us, but he managed it well. Lucan seemed to spend his time at the back with Clare and Anna-marie.

 

 

Once we left the farmland behind, we had a huge grassy field to traverse. There was a road of sorts, but it was sandy and uneven and overgrown. We were excited to see bok watching us from a distance, and glad the dog didn’t spot them.  The three random ostrich eggs sitting in the road made us all stop in wonder. My blister didn’t appreciate the shifting ground, but I had wrapped it that morning and it was mostly background noise. 

 

 

We stopped for a rest and a snack on the other side of the field. As we sat on the ground, getting food from our packs, I discovered a tick on my sleeve. Further inspection revealed more than 10 on my clothes. I used a piece of foil to pick them off and squish them. At the end of the day, I found two more on my body. (Writing this months later, I still shudder a little at the memory.)

 

 

We continued along a nicely flat and sandy road running through more developed country than earlier. The area had a slight industrial feel, so when we saw a huge structure at the side of the road, we thought it was an unfinished frame for something. It turned out to be “The World’s Largest Chair” according to Robert. We discussed whether we should climb up into it for a group photo, but we kept walking past, maybe because it had a slight malevolent air. 

Our next stop was a large touristy padstal called Plaasmol. It had food and animals and kitsch and trees. We all got drinks and scones and settled outside on a table in the relief of the shade. We chatted and enjoyed the Weaver birds pecking at the ground around us. I took my shoes off to give my feet a chance to breathe, and for some relief from the burning blister. 

 

A movement caught my eye, and I looked up to see Gabrielle striding toward our table. I got up to greet her, meeting her halfway in my bare feet, and we shared a happy hug. As we turned back to the table, she said something to our chaperones that had them all laughing. Then she turned to Cynthia, and talked to her for a bit. She said she was on her way that minute to Cape Town, so wouldn’t see us in Hopefield, but would try to catch us in Langebaan, our last stop, for a real visit. Her eye contact was with me and Cynthia the whole of the conversation. There really wasn’t a chance for anyone to get a word in before she turned and hurried away, tossing her farewell like a bouquet as she went. She had not acknowledged Clare or Anna-marie at all. 

 

Cynthia and I talked afterwards about how awkward that encounter was. We knew how we would have felt being completely ignored like that. However, it seemed Gabrielle had read Cynthia’s message, and that perhaps the hosts had been talking about Clare’s extreme negativity regarding Cape Camino. 

 

 

We finished our food and drinks, put shoes back on, and headed away from the padstal. Our exit took us past two zebras standing close enough to pet (I resisted), clearly unconcerned about the humans on their road. The road took us past old train cars that had been collected in anticipation of creating cabins for sleeping, but was clearly a dream left to rust. There were gates to climb, which barely slowed us down. 

 

 

When we came to a particularly imposing gate with a sign that said private property, Robert mentioned the route we were meant to follow took a right there and went into a field with a sandy path under the by now very hot sun. That path would form a box that ended on the other side of the private road. He asked if we’d rather get through the gate and shorten our walk. We were game, happy to skip the heat and the sand, especially since he didn’t seem too concerned we’d get into trouble. We joked that we would simply say we were tourists who didn’t know better, and maybe work up some tears, if we got caught.  

 

We came to a place where there were buildings on the side of the road, and a young man came out to greet us. He wasn’t smiling. Robert and Lucan approached him and they had a long conversation in Afrikaans. By the end, everyone was smiling, and we got to continue forward, no tears necessary. We never did learn what was said, but we were escorted the rest of the way by two men, who unlocked that gate so we didn’t have to climb over it. It was all very friendly, but Robert said that next time he’d be going through the field instead. 

 

From that point forward the road was tar and the walk less interesting. It was hot. My blister burned. The scone and clotted cream sat heavy. And I was still looking for ticks. Even with all of that, I was happy to be walking, to be free of A.’s energy, to be getting close to the end of the pilgrimage. 

 

Our guest house was right on the edge of town down a street that was dry and scrubby and uninviting. But once through the gate we were surrounded by trees and flowers and I heard chickens across the yard. Elaine, our host, was warm and welcoming. There were two big rooms available to us. I somehow missed the choosing of spaces, and was happy for once to let it happen without my input. Cynthia and I got the larger of the two rooms, but ours had a bunk bed, which we knew Clare would not want to deal with. Cynthia took the main room where the bunk was, leaving me with a separate bedroom. There was one shared bathroom attached to my room. The place had an old sort of worn feeling to it, but was clean and comfortable. There was also a nice spot outside our door for sitting in the shade. 

 

Without the visit to Gabrielle’s house, there was a long afternoon ahead. Elaine offered to do laundry for us, and to drive us into town if we wanted to wander. The only catch was we had to be ready quickly, which meant no time to shower first. Cynthia wanted to take advantage of the extra time to work, and the other two wanted to rest. For me the adventure was more appealing than the shower, so it was just Elaine and me heading toward town in her little car.

 

She drove me across a beautiful bridge into Hopefield, and dropped me off at a place called Simply Bee. A family-owned business, it is famous for not only the honey it sells, but also a myriad of beauty products made from bee byproducts. I wandered the bright and inviting shop, enjoying the displays, and tasting various honeys. The choices were just overwhelming enough I left without buying anything but a piece of carrot cake and a Coke. I sat on the porch enjoying my treat and solitude and soaking in the small-town energy for a very long time. 

 

I wandered back the way Elaine brought me toward the main street. I stopped in a gallery, a gift shop, a grocery store (where I stocked up on drinks and snacks), and a lovely organic shop where I was invited to sample cheeses. I found biltong and droëwors for Cynthia there. That was the town. So, I walked slowly back across the bridge in the heat, savoring, as I always do, being alone in a strange place.

 

When I got back to our room, I found Cynthia hard at work. After we’d greeted and I’d shared my adventure and snacks with her, she looked at me sadly and asked if I wanted to know the results of yesterday’s election in America. I had done a tiny bit of research, and so had a good idea what she was going to say. We talked about it for a little while, then I got my journal and phone and headed outside.

 

I just sat for a bit, absorbing, trying not to let the news all the way in. I could feel fear hovering, looking for an entry point. I had to accept that I was in the minority with my beliefs and feelings. We (America) had been through this before, and survived, and while I knew things would be really bad for a long time, I chose hope that good would win in the long run. What else could I do?

 

I called Walt and it was really nice to hear home and love and familiarity. I wrote, finding some satisfaction in finding myself at the end of my second journal. I took clothes off the line and folded, a task that never fails to soothe. I wandered back inside and then Anna-marie came over and drank tea and visited for a while. 

 

 

Shawn, the chef at Hope Farm, delivered our dinner and our lunches for the next day. He was large and friendly, filling the space with his energy and presence. He also brought a dinner for Elaine and asked us to give it to her when she returned home. Clare and Anna-marie came over and we ate at our tiny table in the kitchen space. There was barely room to move, but the atmosphere was genial. Clare was not pleased that we were having lasagna for the fourth time. We laughed it off and dug in, especially appreciating the Greek salad, even though we’d had that too many times to count. They had their drinks, while Cynthia and I had the ginger beer I’d brought from my afternoon adventure. 

 

Toward the end of dinner, we saw Elaine arrive home. Anna-marie did the dishes while the rest of us sat at the table chatting, and then Elaine came over to sign our passports. We gave her the dinner Shawn had left, as well as our leftover salad. She sat and visited with us for a long time. A psychologist by training, she wants to run retreats focused on whole body work. She talked a lot about self-love being a key, which struck a chord and a connection to my pilgrimage.

 

On the ride into town earlier in the day, Elaine had mentioned that she and Gabrielle were good friends. I found myself wishing I could be a shadow in the corner when they reconnected after our stay in Hopefield. I also marveled a bit that these two women, one a warm earth-mother and the other a sharp politician, could be friends, and that I liked them both.

 

When Elaine walked back across to her house, Clare and Anna-marie went to their room to watch a movie. Cynthia had more work to do, so I settled in my room to journal. While I was deeply tired, I was also aware that the feeling of lightness that started the day was still very much present. Having A. gone made everything easier. 

 

I would be home in exactly a week. It was weird to ponder. What I felt more than anything at that point was exhaustion. But along with that came a clarity and an ease. Fatigue that deep means no energy for resistance (or at least less energy) and a bigger willingness to accept whatever comes. It would have been easy at that point to face toward home, but the next week held such promise that I didn’t want to miss any of it. 

 

I had Ina and Frikkie to look forward to the next day, and I was still hopeful that Shawn would find me. Hanli waited for me in Langebaan. In a moment of inspiration, I’d messaged Caroline that evening and asked if she’d be willing to pick me up in Langebaan and take me to the airport for my return home. Her reply was immediate and affirmative, and she said she’d already been thinking along those lines. Maybe the last week of this pilgrimage would be so full of love, the pain of the previous weeks might be ameliorated a bit. 

 

I hadn’t drawn a Hafiz card for several nights, so his words on this night seemed especially powerful. “Your job is to open the door and discover the adventure that awaits beyond it. The sun and sky seek your YES, and the world will change because of the risks you take. You are a creator and you came here to explore the possibilities.”