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.”
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