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.”