Day 36 - Saldanha Bay

Monday, November 11

Jacobs Bay to Saldanha Bay

14k/8.7mi

Sunny, Breezy, Cool

 

 

Octavia and her dad came for our luggage at 8:00. They would bring back our chaperones, who would meet us at the coffee shop. While we waited, Ina and I walked the labyrinth at the front of the place. It was, like Pixieland, a little kitschy and a little neglected, but still satisfying. The highway was right next to us, and the huge sign for Pixieland, so the place did not sing sacred space. 

 

Although not standard labyrinth practice, we chatted as we walked. We talked about the labyrinth itself, noting the plants and weird artifacts lying around. We talked about life, and our fellow pilgrims, and how strange it felt to be so close to the end. We talked about what was coming the next day: boat or no boat, how we were going to find our way to Langebaan from Mykonos without directions or chaperones. 

 

 

I took several photographs in the labyrinth and not one of them showed up on my camera later. This wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that happening, but the most obvious. In the several days previous to this, I thought I’d taken pictures, but couldn’t find them at the end of the day. There were pictures of Ina and Frikkie I knew I’d taken, but when I went to share them, they weren’t there. It was strange and a little unsettling. I decided that in my fatigue I wasn’t hitting the button hard enough when I thought I was catching a moment. It’s not something I had ever experienced before, and it hasn’t happened since. 

 

All during the pilgrimage, I was ambivalent about taking as many pictures as I usually do, thinking perhaps fewer pictures would mean greater inner focus. I knew Anna-marie was taking a ton of pictures and sharing them every day, so I had access to those memories. That last week, though, I felt some urgency to get photos that only I could shoot. When that didn’t work out, I accepted the loss, wondering if it wasn’t the pilgrimage’s way of confirming that I needed to stay focused on what was right in front of me. As I’m writing these stories, and noticing fewer and fewer of my pictures available for each successive day, I’m sad for the missing pictures. Mostly because of the memory trigger each picture provides. 

 

** A little research revealed that the likely culprit for the pictures not actually being taken is dry fingers. One contributor to that is aging. Another is the environment. Mystery solved.

 

Once the luggage was gone, Ina, Frikkie, and I walked over to coffee shop. The others walked the labyrinth or spent some quiet time in the courtyard, and joined us later. We all had cappuccinos and ate some of our packed lunches while we waited for the chaperones. They were two young colored men, both very quiet, and neither whose name I learned. We headed out around 8:30. 

 

 

 I was looking forward to the day’s walk, one I remembered as being really beautiful and scenic. We started out on the beach. There was some soft sand walking, but by that point in the walk it barely registered as difficult to manage. Our first stop was in rocks on the edge of the surf, where Ina and Frikkie shared their coffee with me for the last time. (Those pictures didn’t turn out either.)

 

 

We stopped one more time at the end of the beach walk, just before climbing dunes up to the street. It was a particularly beautiful spot. I found myself captivated by the waves crashing against some rocks right by the shore, and while the others sat and rested, I stood and shot picture after picture, trying to catch one perfect moment. (Those pictures did turn out.) While I was shooting, I placed myself firmly there, breathing in the charged air, listening to the crashing waves, feeling the sun and the breeze. 

 

 

 

The dune climb was fun and all too short. We found ourselves in a slightly industrial setting, all pavement and barbed wire and shades of gray. I could see the green hills ahead of us, but our walk took us away from them. Sometime that morning, our chaperone leader had talked in Afrikaans (neither of the young men spoke English) about our day’s route. I recognized the Afrikaans word for snake: slang. Ina explained to me that colored people were terrified of snakes. All that to explain why we didn’t get into the hills, much like what had happened in Wittewater. I, however, did not make the connection between the chaperone’s conversation about snakes and the route we took through the suburbs of Saldanha Bay, until we were in the middle of town. 

 

 

 

At one point, as we paused on the sidewalk so the group could re-form and stay together, I looked up and saw the hills again. I realized we were walking through the urban area we’d observed from above two years before. From that perspective it looked huge and sprawling with houses crammed together. From the street all we could see was what was on either side of us, and directly in front. The pilgrims were the only white people in sight. There was concrete everywhere: our walkway, the buildings, the fences between. The ground was scrubby, even when there was grass. The drabness was lighted occasionally by murals and brightly painted shops and laundry hanging on lines. And by the people whose home we were walking through.

 

We passed many groups of young men slouching about. Families passed us as they went about the business of their lives, while we tried to walk respectfully. People were friendly, if we spoke first. Women were more responsive than men. Engaging with children opened up conversations and brought out smiles. No one spoke English. The greetings that were returned to me often ended in Tannie or Oma, both terms of respect for an older person. It felt lovely.

 

 

We arrived at our hotel quickly, around noon. From the outside, it looked like a prison or a fortress: high walls and a metal gate. It also looked a little seedy. When we were let in, the young woman who would serve as our hostess, took us to our rooms. The interior was bright and inviting, with vivid flowers everywhere and stairs going in a variety of directions. Cynthia and Nicole were put in a room, and Clare and Anna-marie in the room next to them. Their rooms were spacious and modern feeling, clean and light. Ina and Frikkie and I were led down stairs and up stairs to a separate building. We walked into what looked like a suite, with a kitchen and couches and a long table for dining. They were given the bedroom right off that space. 

 

I was feeling a little uncertain by that time. I wanted a space like the other women had gotten. Being the last to be settled worried me a bit. So, when the host took me down some steps, down a narrow hallway, farther away from everyone, I was feeling concerned, and very alone. When she opened the door to my room, I laughed and restrained myself from hugging her in gratitude. She was clearly pleased at my reaction, and told me I was there so I could be close to my friends. I had a single room, nicely appointed, with a very large window, and my very own bathroom. I hit the jackpot. 

 

During the morning’s walk, Gabrielle had been WhatsApping me. She wanted to meet with Cynthia and me once we got settled into the hotel. When I told Cynthia, she was up for it, and we agreed it would be best if we didn’t tell the others (except for Nicole). I didn’t want to hurt Ina and Frikkie’s feelings, and neither of us wanted the inevitable drama that would come from the other two. Also, as difficult as they’d made the walk, and as challenging as they’d been, we knew what it felt like to be left out, and wanted to spare them that discomfort. 

 

It was surprisingly easy to slip out the gates without anyone noticing. Gabrielle and her little dog waited for us in her car. She drove us to a hotel overlooking the water, where we sat on their deck and had tea and cheesecake. The three of us talked for more than two hours. It was a lively and positive conversation. Both Cynthia and I talked about what the pilgrimage had meant to us. We asked questions about things that had concerned us and received answers that, if not completely satisfying, smoothed edges. There was a lot of laughter, and there were tears. 

 

We talked about Clare and A. in particular: their drinking, their anger and resistance to everything Cape Camino said the pilgrimage might offer. I don’t remember if we talked about N. It seems like we should have, but her situation was so complicated, and Peggy had dealt with it mostly, so maybe we didn’t.  We were able to tell Gabrielle that comparing Cape Camino to the Camino de Santiago was not serving them well, that it set people’s expectations in a way that were doomed to disappointment. It was the one bit of feedback that was received gratefully and without deflection.

 

Cynthia and I both raised concerns about Faizel, our chaperone on the Peninsula. Gabrielle’s version of the truth was quite a bit different from his, and it seemed he wasn’t nearly as neglected as he’d made it sound. Cynthia raised her concerns about the community center in Wittewater, and again Gabrielle’s vision was quite a bit different from our experience. We mentioned Clare’s campaign to expose the lack of chaperone pay, which Gabrielle countered. We talked about the Gezie situation: too many people, not enough support, her anxiety and stress. Gabrielle was not sympathetic, but rather seemed to think Gezie was making too big a deal of things, 

 

Most importantly for me, I vocalized for the first time the hardship of the pilgrimage, and how I believed it was necessary for the work I needed to do. I talked about Facebook withdrawal and having to repeatedly reaffirm my commitment to accept whatever came my way and to not try to shape events to my comfort. I talked about the difficulty of going through withdrawal when I was surrounded by people indulging freely in their addictions. I talked about challenging my ego, including living with Cape Camino’s very different treatment of me on that walk. I talked about the times I thought about quitting. I talked about my gratitude for Cynthia, and the hosts, and Cape Camino. I talked about my love of the farm wives, and my concern they were being taken advantage of. 

 

Gabrielle filmed each of us sharing our pilgrimage experience. I don’t remember exactly what I said there, and I haven’t seen the film because it was posted on Facebook. What I do remember is consciously focusing on the positive while acknowledging what was difficult and painful, without blaming anyone. Listening to Cynthia talk about her pilgrimage, I was once again impressed with how articulate she was and proud to have been part of her experience. 

 

After the hotel, Gabrielle drove us to the waterfront to show us where we would go in the morning to find Gerrit and the boat that would take us across the bay to Mykonos. When she dropped us back at our hotel around 4:00 we parted with hugs and smiles. The energy was happy and empowered. 

 

I knew that I hadn’t really changed Gabrielle’s mind about anything, just as I knew I had been careful to keep my feedback without anger or blame. Our hotel conversation, hearing myself, and hearing Cynthia, helped me grasp how important everything that had happened on the pilgrimage was to whatever it was I needed to learn. Changing any of it would have meant the loss of this huge gift I was just beginning to grasp the power of. That didn’t mean I wasn’t glad to see it almost over, or that I would ever want to repeat the experience. 

 

Now I was truly oriented toward the ending of the pilgrimage and the return home. Back in my room, I packed and sorted, and pulled out the last of the gifts I’d brought to share. I walked over to Cynthia’s room and gave her my travel yoga mat. I sat at the long dining table visiting with Ina, and gave her my nautilus shell necklace, something I’d planned before I even left home. She had admired a similar necklace two years before, and I wanted to fulfill that want. Her reaction on receiving the necklace lit up the room and my heart. Anam Cara, which had been such a comforting companion for the last weeks, was going to be left with Caroline, whose care had also brought such comfort.

 

 

We all gathered at the steps into our building for some photo fun. I had observed that except for Nicole, we all had gray hair. It seemed a picture highlighting that was called for. We lined up, just the women at first, and then with some serious urging, Frikkie joined. Nicole took the pictures. We laughed and jostled as different poses were struck, united by age and hair color.

 

 

When workers came in to set the table in our space where we’d all have dinner, I added my gifts to the place settings. Each person got a card, a wooden bird, and a bandanna. Writing the cards, even to the two women I had such ambivalent feelings about, felt like forgiveness and closure and love. When everyone came in, they were pleased to see gifts. Clare even made a small speech, and seemed very sincere in her thanks. 

 

People asked where Cynthia and I had disappeared to earlier in the afternoon. We said we’d gone into town and explored a bit, that we’d had tea and cheesecake at another hotel. All true, just not complete. It was hard not to tell the rest. 

 

Part of the dinner conversation was about what would happen in the morning. Clare was going to be picked up and taken to the airport to go home. Anna-marie was still uncertain, but leaning toward riding with the luggage transport to Langebaan. The rest of us wanted to take the boat, and Anna-marie had agreed to relay that to Gerrit. There was some question still about whether the conditions would make taking a boat possible, and how we would get to the harbor to catch the boat. We decided to let things sit until the next day. 

 

We didn’t actually know who was doing luggage transport at that point, and that was a point of anger for the group. As always, the anger was focused toward Gabrielle for not communicating more clearly, for being cavalier about what we as pilgrims should be dealing with. It felt like all the frustrations of the entire walk came to a head. The confusion about luggage transport and how we were to get to Mykonos and then how we were to find our way to Langebaan tipped the balance into anger that went beyond Clare’s usual discontent. 

 

During the group discussion, I stayed mostly quiet, as had been my choice for the entire pilgrimage. I agreed with what was being said, but I also felt loyalty to Gabrielle and Cape Camino. We wouldn’t be on that walk without her vision and tenacity. Pilgrimage was about letting go of expectations and being willing to suffer for the privilege of walking and seeking inner change. Everyone was wrong, and everyone was right. 

 

Later, in conversation with Ina, I did defend Gabrielle directly. Ina was operating on what had been said at the dinner table. I pointed out that some of the things she was being held responsible for, like not securing luggage transport, hadn’t even happened. Gabrielle messaged us eventually to tell us she’d hired a driver to take our luggage to Langebaan. 

 

 

Our last pilgrim dinner was fried chicken, roasted potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Simple and satisfying. I brought out the last of my chocolate stash for dessert. Everyone left as the sunset was just beginning to color the sky. Even with the upset about all the uncertainties, everyone seemed happy at the end of dinner and a little reluctant to end the evening. I thought back to our first dinner together, and felt gratitude at the contrast. 

 

 

I went to my room, but was feeling restless, so went back out to make tea. I found Ina also up, and so we sat with our tea and visited one last time. Part of our conversation involved me telling her that she and Frikkie should come to the States for a visit. She said they’d consider it in a way that felt more than the usual “I wish I could” response. 

 

The last words in my journal for that day: “It was a very good day and last night together. I’m at peace, feeling calm and happy, if exhausted. No word from Shawn.”