Day 27 - Bo Huis

Saturday, November 2

Fork West to Bo Huis

6k/3.7mi

Cool Beachy A.M. to Partial Clouds to Warm to Cool Evening

 

 

Despite the night’s many treks outside, I woke up rested and calm. I set myself up at the table downstairs, which was already laid for breakfast. The new loaf of bread filled the room with a yeasty homey fragrance. I studied the array of food, planning what to pack, but knowing it didn’t really matter because it was such a short walking day. 

 

I made my coffee, took one of the homemade muffins, and sat to journal. That morning’s journaling was full of reflection about choices. 

 

 

“One of the good things about the A. and Clare situation is that it forces me to choose my responses, my actions, carefully. Much like with my mom, I look at their behavior and choose something else. I’m asking myself what would be the most ethical, healthy-adult thing to do. I don’t think to ask what would be the most loving thing, but that’s the essential question. First, the most loving thing for myself. And that doesn’t mean against anyone else, but with a focus on what will make me more whole, more connected to myself – my soul. Being loving is also about acceptance. Accepting my own weaknesses – yesterday’s response to A. and the bathroom situation. In that acceptance can come change. Because of Cynthia’s kindness with the tea, I was able to gather myself and mostly let go. I was able to stick to my commitment to not demand change, to not try to shape this pilgrimage, especially as it’s happening.”

 

Cynthia had gotten up to make the trek to the bathroom and stayed up to visit. Anna-marie joined us shortly after, and we had a lovely conversation. Cynthia talked about her daughter who would be joining us in a few days to finish the walk with her. Anna-marie teared up, happy for Cynthia and wishing her own daughter could be with her. It was a rare moment of vulnerability that made me like Anna-marie even more. 

 

I stayed to finish my journaling when they headed upstairs to get ready for the day. Clare came and sat down across from me. She said nothing, but dug through the bowl of energy bars and chose one (the one I’d had my eye on – of course). I continued to write, describing the weirdness of the situation as it was happening. I did look up at her and say good morning, but her presence felt aggressive, a challenge of some sort. When she finally got up to leave, we exchanged polite words, but I was left a little rattled.

 

 

I wonder about that moment with Clare, and how I interpreted the silence. Silences with Cynthia were comfortable, a mutual giving of space and respect. Silences with A. felt like avoidance, neither of us wanting to talk to the other. This silence with Clare felt so awkward, and while I read it as aggressive, there’s a chance it was something else. What if she wanted to talk to me and didn’t know how to start? What if I had been friendlier and made it easier for her? What if I had been brave enough to tell her how she made me feel? What if I had been able to love her and not feel the need to protect myself from her?

 

 

We didn’t start walking until 8:00 because the route was so short and we didn’t want to arrive too early. Cynthia and I headed out first, plodding through the deep sand leading to the beach. The men had offered to drive us to the dunes at the top of the beach, but it was a beautiful morning, and the walk was already so short, we declined. As I write those words, I realize I’m not actually sure what the other three did, whether they walked or rode to the beach entrance. I doubt that A. would have been willing to deal with that stretch of very soft and deep sand, but I can’t say for sure. We actually didn’t see them again until they arrived at Arni’s farm. 

 

The beach and the morning were glorious – the sky painted with clouds on a bright blue canvas, the sand firm and inviting. We found ourselves at the sign directing us off the beach just 2k beyond where we started. We looked back up the beach and saw only sand and sky, no fellow pilgrims, so it felt like we had the entire world to ourselves. 

 

 

We arrived at a place with many old buildings, which Arni explained later was where his family used to stay in the summer to be close to the sea breezes and water. The rest of the walk was on farm roads through fields. We crossed a railroad track that invited us to follow its parallel paths into an unknown horizon. We resisted and continued toward Arni’s farm. 

 

As we walked, Cynthia talked about what it’s like to be colored in South Africa. About being raised to speak properly, about what doors are open and what doors are still closed. I found myself admiring her even more than I already did, amazed at her lack of bitterness, her grace, her capacity for joy, her heart for rebuilding and moving forward. 

 

 

We saw tortoises on the side of the road, and found an ostrich egg just sitting on the road. We saw an ostrich on the road ahead of us, just before we arrived at the herd of cattle gathered by the gate we needed to go through. They shuffled out of the way begrudgingly, eyeing us suspiciously the whole time.  Not too much later we turned into Arni’s driveway, and squeezed through his gate where tumbleweeds had congregated, making it look like a scene from the old West. 

 

When we arrived in the farm yard, we saw Arni ahead talking to two men. While we held back so he could finish his conversation, his giant schnauzer, Dougal, spotted us. He came bounding at us after I called his name. I’m not sure if he remembered me from two years before, but he was very happy to be petted and adored. When the conversation was over, Arni came toward us and I got a great hug, then another. It was as if no time had passed.

 

 

My stay at Arni’s farm two years ago was one of my favorite days of the entire pilgrimage. He was a new host for Cape Camino, and we felt so lucky to be his first guests. His warmth and generosity made us wish we could stay forever. It didn’t hurt that he had a pet ox named Filet who stuck his head through the kitchen window for apples. It was just Ina and Frikkie and me at that point, and the four of us felt deeply connected from the very beginning. That night, Ina and Frikkie went to bed early, and I stayed up to visit with Arni. We ended up talking late into the night about everything – our histories, religion, life. He was one of the reasons walking Cape Camino a second time had called to me. 

 

 

Arni greeted Cynthia as though they were already friends. He led us to the house where the five of us would be sleeping. The house was the family home previously. Arni lived in a smaller house next door. He showed us the three nearly identical rooms available, and we chose the one across from the bathroom. Cynthia took her shower, and I walked back to Arni’s place with him to meet his Egyptian goose baby, while he watched for the other three to arrive. I told him a little about the weird group dynamics, and in typical Arni style, he was intrigued and curious rather than put off. I held the gosling and greeted Filet and petted Dougal and enjoyed being back in the warmth of his kitchen and company.

 

While we were in the kitchen, N. called. She had been one day behind us for a while and occasionally sent pictures and messages. I was thrilled to hear her voice and hollered a hello across the room. She didn’t respond to me at all, and I found myself hurt beyond what seemed to make sense. Even when Arni told her I was standing there, she didn’t ask to talk to me or offer any greeting. Even as I absorbed the sting and began the adjustment to this new understanding of our relationship, I knew N. and Arni would have a great time together, and I told him so. 

 

When the others finally arrived, we all went into our house where Arni pointed them to the two remaining rooms. Clare and A. shared one, and Anna-marie took the solo room. When Cynthia and I offered to give her our room so she could be close to the bathroom, she declined. She said she didn’t care where she slept, and that she was done with all that nonsense. That turned out to not be entirely true, but it was nice to hear nonetheless. 

 

 

The afternoon passed pleasantly. We sat outside and ate our sandwiches from Fork West. We all took turns with the gosling who was the most entertaining of creatures, all fuzz and fluff, still holding the shape of the egg it had so recently emerged from. We laughed at its antics as it scurried around in search of insects to eat, frequently falling over and then falling asleep in someone’s arms. Cynthia was particularly taken with it, lying in the grass with it for a very long stretch.  

 

 

We followed the numerous pea fowl around the yard, most of them born there the previous year. Several times we were treated with the magnificent tail feather display and never tired of the beauty of it. We did get a little tired of the constant racket they made, but not so much it took away from the pleasure of the day. 

 

 

Dougal stayed close, taking advantage of free hands for petting, maybe a little jealous of all the attention the gosling was getting. We fed apples to Filet through the kitchen window, and toured Arni’s studio. His art was as beautiful and compelling as I’d remembered. I gently petted his ancient and bony cat sleeping in his desk chair. We watched Arni start a braii fire at the side of our house and prepare the stew that would be our dinner. Potjiekie (pronounced poy-key) is a traditional South African stew cooked over a fire for hours in a cast iron pot for which the dish is named. Once it was cooking, he took us in his car to a padstaal (farm stand) down the road. I searched unsuccessfully for chocolate, and Arni bought coconut tarts for our pudding. 

 

At one point I followed Arni into his house while he was preparing salad for dinner just to chat. He asked after Walt and suggested I bring him to stay if I ever came back. He also proposed a regular WhatsApp check-in once I returned home, saying it could add value to both our lives. I agreed readily, even knowing how slim the chances of either happening. 

 

 

We all eventually settled on the stoep to watch Arni tend the stew. He told stories of his animals and his life that had us laughing and eager for more. Anna-marie said stoep stories was a South African tradition of gathering on the stoep to share stories and gossip. She said it made her happy that we were getting this experience. It made us all happy, and for a while it felt like the group tensions eased as we laughed and relaxed ever more deeply into the comfortable furniture and evening air. At one point I looked up to see A. whispering to Clare while looking directly at me. She turned away when I caught her eye. I was pretty sure whatever they were saying wasn’t complimentary, but shrugged it off, determined not to let a junior high moment hijack such a lovely time. 

 

 

Anna-marie had set her alarm to remind her to move to the side of the yard where she could watch the sunset. When it went off, I followed her and stood with her as we shared a long moment of wonder and awe. She got very emotional about the beauty and the fact that we were there to witness and experience it, which made me feel more connected to her than ever before. Clare arrived and began directing Anna-marie where to stand and point her camera for the best pictures. 

 

I reflected on the bookending of these often very challenging days with a halleluiah chorus of colors at dawn on one side and the pastel lullaby colors of sunset on the other. And how sometimes the colors at sunrise and sunset traded places so it was hard to tell which was which. But at every standing to absorb the dawning or waning light I felt alive and safe and held in the arms of something greater than the sometimes extreme pain of the pilgrimage. 

 

Finally, the stew was done, and we all moved inside for dinner. Cynthia, A. and I set the table, while Arni got the food ready. It was delicious: the stew of beef, potatoes, and a foraged asparagus-like vegetable called veldkool; rice; a good green salad; and the coconut tarts from the padstaal. Arni was the consummate host, inviting everyone into the conversation. 

 

The American election came up, and Clare once more praised her favorite candidate for his business acumen. Arni’s response was that often the best businessmen are ruthless and not well-liked. I said what I always said in these situations, that I voted before I left and that I was afraid for the outcome. Somehow A. then got control of the conversation with her complaints about Germany and her opinion that whatever was wrong with Germany was America’s fault. 

 

When it was clear no one could eat another bite, Arni started clearing the table. As had become our habit as a group, we’d passed and scraped and stacked our dishes. Cynthia and I got up to help when he insisted on doing the dishes. We tried to talk him into sitting while we washed, but he wasn’t having it. I heard Clare mutter under her breath that we should just let him if he wanted to. As she sat at the table doing nothing to help, which was a clear pattern for her by then. (Not that any of us needed to help, or that she was wrong for sitting. But her general sense of entitlement – “I paid for this” - and her need to disparage us for wanting to help were annoying.)

 

Once the kitchen was clean, we sat again for tea and coffee. By then, however, everyone was tired, and my hopes of recreating the magic of two years previously evaporated slowly. Arni went back to his house and we all retreated to our rooms. Sleep came for me so quickly I didn’t have a chance to journal or read or even reflect much on what had been a very full and happy and soul-filling day.