Day 30 - Schaftplaas

Tuesday, November 5

Laaiplek to Schaftplaas

Boat Ride + 21k/13mi

Windy, Sunny

 

 

When I first woke up, I didn’t know where or when I was. I lay still in the cocoon of my bed until the answers drifted through. I was in Ammie and Debbie’s friends’ house. Today was my birthday. 

 

I love birthdays. Always have. Mine for sure, but only slightly more than the birthdays of the people I love. This one had already exceeded my expectations, Arni’s gifts of time and cake and awareness, and Cynthia’s more than thoughtful gifts, making it an especially special day. This day would turn out to be a complicated one, and in hindsight I can see it as the perfect metaphor for life in later years. So many joys, but always shadowed by loss and sadness. With the unexpected, whether coming from inside or out, making equilibrium an always moving target. 

 

 

Today was also Cracklin’ Rosie day. The boat would take us up the Berg River through some of the most beautiful estuary land anywhere, and drop us off at a dock, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where we would begin our walk for the day. I loved that this was happening on my birthday, remembering, from two years before, the peace and joy of a couple of hours on the water surrounded by birds and blue sky and feeling the wind dance around us.  

 

I made my way into the living room, hoping to find coffee, but found Debbie sitting in the dark instead. She mentioned we’d be leaving in just a few minutes and apologized that we wouldn’t get the catching-up conversation I’d been looking forward to. I was disappointed. I had hoped to hear Debbie’s stories as a hospice nurse and to glean wisdom about facing death, but this was one more message from the Camino that my lesson on this walk was more immediate than that. 

 

Ammie joined us before I’d even had a chance to sit back, and we returned to their house in the dark. We had to be at the boat dock by 6:00, so there was little time to linger. Debbie asked us to leave our Camino passports with her as they hadn’t been signed the night before. She would bring them when she delivered our luggage at the end of the walk that day. I did have time for a coffee and a quick bite, and to get my pack sorted for the day.  I got birthday greetings and hugs from everyone but A. Clare’s and Anna-marie’s surprised me in their warmth and seeming sincerity. 

 

We managed to leave the house on time, despite discovering the blue booze backpack soaked and leaking on the garage floor next to our luggage, the smell of alcohol sharp in the air. It had apparently gotten knocked over hard enough to break something inside. We were all grateful the puddle hadn’t reached the other bags. Since we were all going – Debbie to bring the car back, Ammie to be our chaperone – the mess was left for her to deal with when she got back.

 

We were packed tightly into the car, but our anticipation of the boat ride ahead created a happy energy. Anna-marie and I sat together in the tiny way-back of the car, tickled that we could contort ourselves into the space. We arrived at the dock quickly, the sun just beginning to light the horizon. As we were getting out of the car and getting ready to board, Debbie discovered our food for the day had been left back at the house. 

 

 

Ammie talked to the captain, who was pretty chill about the delay. Debbie sped away while we settled ourselves onto the boat. We stayed clumped together at the back of the boat because she wanted to get a group picture before we left. The half hour wait passed fairly quickly. I spent the time enjoying the company of the small terrier who took his hosting duties seriously. 

 

During the wait we met our fellow passengers. There was the captain, Nico,  

and his wife, Wendy, and a young man who worked as crew. There were sisters, one of which was a wildlife photographer/tour operator, and the other an archaeologist. There was a young man who said he was on the boat looking for a way to create day trips for tourists. There was also a couple at the front of the boat that I didn’t meet as they stayed up there and I stayed in the back. 

 

 

When Debbie finally got back, she handed over the food, and took our picture from the shore. As she was waving us off, Wendy came out of the cabin with shots of whiskey to celebrate “the birthday girl.” Wendy thought it was Debbie’s birthday, missing that there was a second Deb in the party, and meant for us to raise our glasses to her before the boat got too far upriver. Ammie cleared up the confusion, and the glasses were redirected toward me as everyone sang Happy Birthday. 

 

Cynthia and I, after the toast, handed our full glasses to Clare and A.

 

 

I settled into a spot at the back of the boat, and while people moved around me, it felt like I was alone. For a long while all of the people in my party were in the pilot house or up front. I considered getting up and joining, but the solitude was too delicious to pass up. It was me, the water zooming past, the little terrier in my lap. The air was fresh, but not cold. The sky brightening gradually, losing its pink slowly. 

 

There were birds everywhere, and that’s where I focused. Wendy would occasionally name them as we slipped by. Many I knew from before. I didn’t even try to photograph them. Between our movement and their distance, I knew the pictures would be blurry, so I opted to be fully present and to set them in my soul with my eyes. 

 

Coots. Cape Cormorants. Gray Herons. African Darters. Pelicans. Flamingos. Egrets. Several kinds of Gulls. At least two kinds of Terns. A couple of different Kingfishers, my favorite a glimpse of a Malachite Kingfisher clinging to a long grass stem, looking for all the world like a National Geographic photo. 

 

 

Ammie came back a couple of times to check on me, and to bring food. First one of Arni’s birthday cupcakes, and later one of the egg bites Debbie had prepared for our walk. Wendy came back with coffee. Cynthia wandered back and sat with the archaeologist sister and I eavesdropped on their conversation. Cynthia pulled me into it, and time passed pleasantly as we got to know each other. The little dog came and went, his warm weight on my lap a comfort, his antics a delight to watch. The other three stayed in the cabin for most of the ride. 

 

 

All too soon we pulled over at a small rickety dock that was Cracklin’ Rosie’s turnaround point. We got off, waved the boat off, took pictures, and turned toward land and the rest of our day. The first order of business was finding bushes for peeing, and once that was accomplished, we followed Ammie up the road. The walk was mostly farm roads and mostly pleasant. Cynthia and I visited for a long time, both aware that we only had one more day where it would just be the two of us.  There were a couple of stops in the shade of trees for rest and snacks. 

 

Food was sparse. The food Debbie had gone back to get was shared with everyone on the boat, so there was nothing left for us to take on the walk. We all had snacks to fall back on, but a naartjie and an energy bar, on top of the hurried and sparse breakfast, were not enough to sufficiently fuel a 20k walk. Still, none of us complained, beyond observing the absence of a packed meal. 

 

 

We stopped at a farm house to use the bathroom and were greeted warmly by the family there. Our walk took us through two places that were unpopulated, one seemed abandoned and the other simply waiting to be occupied. We went to the back of the unpopulated house looking for (and finding) water. The day had grown hot and there was no shade, so we were going through our water quickly. 

 

 

 

I had noticed that the little toe on my right foot was stinging, so I took my shoes off while we rested against the side of the house. After pouring a ton of sand out of my shoes (some of the farm roads were deep sand), and pulling my socks off, I discovered a blister. It wasn’t just a red spot or a maybe blister, but a big bubble on the side of my toe. I decided I’d deal with it when we arrived, and gingerly slipped my socks and shoes back on. I also decided to not give it any emotional energy. It was a blister, not a commentary on my ability to be a pilgrim. That felt a little like progress.

 

 

Shortly after we passed the abandoned place, there was a fork in the road. Ammie led us a short way down one path, but stopped us and called the farmer to confirm our direction. He also asked the farmer to come get A., who had decided she couldn’t walk any further. It turned out it was good he called, because we were on the wrong path. We turned around and found the other path, and waited there for a bit while Ammie took A. back to the abandoned place to wait for her ride. 

 

 

The last stretch was a slog. We were all tired, and hungry, and hot. My blistered toe complained with every step, not big pain, but annoying burning. I tried to avoid it by shifting my gait, which helped a little, but also made me more tired. 

 

 

When we finally saw the gates of Schaftplaas, the horse farm that was our stop for the day, we all got a last burst of energy. I knew that cute cabins awaited us, and comfortable front porches, and horses to visit. There was no one to let us through the locked gates. Ammie didn’t have the code, and called someone. Eventually one of the colored workers let us in and we made our way past a large event center, and a paddock, to the cabins.

 

There we found A. lounging in a chair on one of the porches. She announced to the group that she had done us all a favor by upgrading her lodging so she would be in a cabin while the rest of us would be in the stables. Confusion followed. I was tired enough that I couldn’t really focus on, or understand, what was happening, beyond the fact that Clare took control. This was a time I was grateful for her. Eventually another colored worker came and told us we were to stay in a newly converted stable back by the gate we’d come through. She led us back the way we’d come, around the event center and down a dirt road. 

 

There we found the stable, converted, but just barely. There were bunk beds, but nothing for making tea. There were no chairs or tables, and there was nothing comfortable for sitting outside. The inside of the building was dark and airless, with no wifi. And worst of all, the bathroom was in a separate building so far away it made the situation at Fork West seem luxurious. 

 

Of course, Clare was the first to say no, but the rest of us were quick to echo her. The worker told us she had been told we could pay extra to upgrade to the cabins. She said that Cape Camino had approved the change, which seemed to confirm what had felt true the entire walk. They were doing whatever they could to save money, regardless of what that meant for pilgrims who were trusting them to provide reasonable accommodations. 

 

The worker led us back to the cabins. We decided together that we were going to stay in the cabins and let Cape Camino sort things out later. We also agreed that none of us were going to pay a penny extra for our stay. This time the appearance of the row of attached cabins with low walls separating the porches felt like an oasis. 

 

The doors were locked, and it appeared the host had been told of our decision because A. was upset that she’d been moved from her original place so we would all be together. When the host finally appeared, she apologized, although none of us were sure what she was apologizing for. She unlocked the doors of the three adjacent cabins that would be ours. 

 

The first cabin was the largest, with two beds downstairs. Clare and Anna-marie claimed it quickly. The second cabin was smaller, with one bed downstairs and one bed up a very steep staircase. And the third cabin was a single. 

 

 

Clare and Anna-marie were in their cabin exploring. Ammie, who had been with us the whole time as he waited for Debbie to come get him (and to bring our luggage and passports), sat in a chair on the porch of the middle room. Cynthia and I stood in the yard in front of the cabins, unsettled, exhausted, and unsure what to do next. A. walked by us, having claimed the single room, and told us that we were to take the remaining double room. 

 

I snapped. I turned and faced her and told her firmly and angrily that she did not get to tell Cynthia and me where we slept. She responded just as firmly and angrily, asking if one of us wanted to sleep with her, answering her own question before I could think of a reply. She turned and walked away. We were aware of Ammie sitting quietly, absorbing it all, and Cynthia and I apologized to him, sorry he had to witness the drama. 

 

We went into our cabin to figure out our sleeping situation. Cynthia offered to take the upstairs, to risk the very steep staircase, so I wouldn’t have to deal with it in the night. We couldn’t shower because our luggage hadn’t arrived, so we made tea, found rusks, and went to sit on the porch. I didn’t know where A. was at this point, I assumed with the other two. Shortly after, Anna-marie came over to ask if we’d gotten things sorted, probably to get our side of the story A. had told them. 

 

Cynthia then had her turn at snapping. She was visibly upset and on the verge of tears as she told Anna-marie how very not sorted she was. She talked about being ignored by them the entire walk, about how hard she’d tried to connect with everyone including A., about the unfairness of A. always getting in first and getting first choice of rooms. I listened, proud of my friend, and sad I hadn’t known the depth of her own pain as we’d walked together the last weeks. Anna-marie, who always wanted to smooth things over, seemed shaken by Cynthia’s revelations. 

 

When she left us drinking our tea with Ammie on our porch, Anna-marie apparently found A. and told her she couldn’t keep claiming the best room for herself. I don’t know what else was said, but A. got upset and went down to the converted stable we’d just decided we couldn’t stay in. 

 

Debbie finally arrived with our luggage. I don’t know how much she knew of what had happened that afternoon (Ammie had been on the phone with her off and on the whole time), but there was a coolness to her greeting of us. There were still hugs, but I felt a shift.

 

Included in the luggage was the freshly washed and dried blue backpack, full of booze. I heard Debbie apologize to Clare for the broken bottle and tell her she’d replaced it. On top of everything else she had to think about and do that day, she bought alcohol for those women.

 

She and Ammie said goodbye to the four of us, and took A.’s suitcase down to the stable. Ammie came back a short time later. He’d forgotten his pack on our porch. I asked if A. was okay. He said she wasn’t, but that he’d told her to think about things before she acted. Like she was thinking of leaving. 

 

 

After showers and laundry and settling, Cynthia and I sat on our side of the short wall separating the cabins, and Clare and Anna-marie sat on their side of the wall.  We talked for a long time about the A. situation, about Cape Camino’s part in the afternoon, about how we were feeling. A couple of horses wandered by, providing comic relief, especially as one came up behind Anna-marie and nearly knocked her over in greeting. It was by far the best and most connected conversation we’d had then entire walk.

 

Clare went down to check on A. and to ask her to come up to have dinner with us. A. refused, but later sent the worker who had helped us earlier up to get her wine and take it back down to her. 

 

Cynthia and I had decided we were staying put in our little two-bed cabin. The single was A.’s regardless of the situation. I did go over and take the rusks from the kitchenette for the morning because we’d eaten all the ones in the other cabins.

 

Sometime during the settling in process, we discovered our pilgrim passports were missing. I messaged Ammie, and learned Debbie had left them at their house in her rush to clean up the alcohol, get our luggage loaded, and get herself to work. She said she’d bring them to Schaftplaas the next day to get them stamped, and then take them to Hopefield, our next stop, and give them to us there. That seemed pretty complicated, especially since she was working on top of hosting, so we agreed she should bring them whenever it worked best for her. We would figure something out without them, and by that time the passports didn’t matter as much as they had in the beginning. Plus Clare had chosen not to get hers stamped at all the entire walk. 

 

When I messaged that information to Debbie, she didn’t respond. Neither did she respond when I thanked her for the sweet little book she’d made for me for my birthday. That on top of her slight coolness before, made me a little concerned about what she thought she knew about our situation with A. And I knew that A. would have laid on the victim aspect of her experience as thickly as she could manage.

 

Dinner finally arrived at 6:00, carried to us on a tray by a white woman we hadn’t met yet. We ate together at the table on Clare and Anna-marie’s porch. The roasted chicken, roasted potatoes, rice, pumpkin, and gravy were not hot, but we didn’t care. The food was delicious and nothing was left at the end. We felt bad that A. wasn’t eating, but were also glad to have her portion. I pulled out the KitKat bars I’d bought shopping with Ammie the day before for pudding.

 

 

Once back in our cabin, Cynthia and I both messaged Gabrielle. Cynthia told her exactly what had happened not only that day, but throughout the entire walk with A. She never did receive a response to that message. I reached out to ask if Gabrielle, who lives in Hopefield, would be able to meet with us when we were there the next day. Visiting her in her home two years previously had been a highlight. I made sure the message was light and friendly. Despite everything, I liked her a lot, admired her spirit and was in awe of her power and passion. That is still very much true. 

 

Gabrielle knew we were coming, and I’d been a little surprised she didn’t reach out first. She did respond to my message quickly, informing me she was headed to Cape Town on business the next day, but that she might delay her departure to see me. She said she wanted to meet Cynthia as well. She did not mention Clare or Anna-marie, but did confirm that A. had quit the Camino.

 

When we finally settled into our beds for the night, I remembered it was still my birthday. In the drama of the day, that had seemed far away and not important. I reveled in the messages awaiting me, from Walt and my brothers and friends from home and friends from the Camino. I had decided not to go on Facebook to check birthday greetings there, choosing to wait until I got to the end of the pilgrimage to return to social media. It was a surprisingly easy decision. One of the messages was from Arni, who confirmed that the hosts had been notified that A. was leaving the Camino. And so I received, although at no small cost, perhaps the best birthday gift I could have hoped for: the last week of my pilgrimage free of A.’s drama.

 

 

 

 

Day 29 - Laaiplek

Monday, November 4

Dwarskersbos to Laaiplek

12k/7.5mi

Cool, Windy, Partly Cloudy

 

 

After another night of broken sleep – a stomach ache and waking from a vivid pilgrimage dream not knowing where I was – I started the day on edge. It seemed that all my acceptance and good humor of the day before circled down some existential drain in the night. My journaling was full of anger at unfairness and at A. for always getting her way. It was also full of anguish and questioning myself and questioning the value of putting myself through everything. 

 

Toward the end of my journaling, Clare came downstairs. It was still pretty early and no one else was out of their rooms yet. She sharked around the space, circling and wandering without talking. As it was the second time she’d done something like this, I was really curious what she hoped to accomplish. Still, my courage failed and I didn’t ask.

 

 

Despite the angsty start, I was looking forward to the day. It was the day before my birthday, a day I’d anticipated eagerly in my planning for the pilgrimage. For one thing, I had decided I could take a break from my Facebook break to receive what I knew would be numerous greetings on my Facebook feed. I was happy to consider all the reconnecting I might do with people I shared love with. In my early planning, I also anticipated that I might get to feel extra special in a place that I held as so special.

 

By that time in the walk, however, I had let go of expecting anything in particular for my birthday. Clare had knocked the whole getting to feel special thing out of me. Peggy had mentioned she might try to join me for my birthday, but that seemed very unlikely at that point. Except for Cynthia, I didn’t think anyone remembered it was my birthday, and I had grown okay with that. I was at peace with whatever happened, and I was happy to feel that way – to know that perhaps there had in fact been some growth and healing happening in the last weeks. 

 

I was really good with just (just!) being in Africa on a pilgrimage as enough of a way to celebrate turning 73. The miracle of that, the miracle of a body that was thriving on that, the miracle of knowing I was loved, even if all my beloveds were not with me on my special day – it was more than enough. 

 

I was standing in Melodey’s kitchen making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (so happy for peanut butter!) when my eyes were suddenly covered from behind. I turned around to see Debbie smiling broadly at me and then enveloping me in a huge hug. Her husband, Ammie, was standing next to her. 

 

Two years before, Ina and Frikkie and I were invited to their house for lunch. They wanted to start being hosts on the Camino, and we were their trial run. It was a most delightful interlude with amazing food eaten in the company of two of the warmest, kindest, most thoughtful people I’d known. They walked with us to the next town, unofficial chaperones and guides through the small fishing village where we found souvenirs and ice cream. They were on my list of people I could hardly wait to see again.

 

 

Debbie was dropping off Ammie, who was our chaperone for that day. A day that would end at their house. We didn’t get going until after 8:00, which I wasn’t thrilled about, but also didn’t give much energy to. The morning was cold and windy, but invigorating. We didn’t even get past the houses of the village before we saw Melodey coming toward us. She had my lunch, which I’d pulled out of my pack looking for something, and forgotten to grab. It was nice to have one more hug and smile from her. 

 

 

I walked with Ammie for a long time, enjoying catching up with him and just being in his open and generous energy. Cynthia and I also walked together for a long time, which was starting to feel a little bittersweet.

 

We were days away from a huge change in our group. Cynthia’s daughter would be joining us, so our partnership would be shifting. Ina and Frikkie would also be joining, so for the first time I’d be with people who were both my friends and my age. There was also another huge change coming. One no one foresaw and one that shook us all deeply. 

 

 

There was a restaurant just opened for the day not too far down the beach.  We stopped for coffee, happy for the cappuccinos, the bathroom, and the chance to get out of the wind for a bit. While we were all seated together, Ammie brought up sleeping arrangements. Their house had room for four pilgrims. They’d be sleeping at a neighbor’s house and needed one pilgrim to join them. I volunteered gladly, happy for the chance to spend time with them separate from the group. 

 

As we proceeded up the beach, the wind picked up. We could see a huge area of menacing black sky ahead and were hoping it would somehow miss us. It didn’t. When it became clear we were about to be stormed on, everyone pulled on rain gear. I had not packed mine, assuming we’d have more of the sunshine we’d become accustomed to. Cynthia pulled out a plastic one-use poncho she just happened to have in her pack and helped me struggle into it as the wind tried its best to pull it out of our hands and whip it away. 

 

I’d barely gotten myself tucked into as much of it as I could when the sheets of rain pelted us. We tucked our heads and pushed forward, any exposed skin sandblasted by the beach being flung forward by the wind. For a while we could barely see and anything not covered by rain gear was soaked through. We looked back from time to time, in part to get relief from the assault of wind, rain and sand, and in part to see how our companions were doing. They were laughing, as we were, and pushing forward one difficult step at a time. 

 

The storm passed fairly quickly, leaving us with a calmer wind and sunshine to dry everything. We were energized and there was an air of celebration at having gotten through the storm. We were also grateful it happened on a relatively short walking day, that we were close to our destination, so there was no long-term discomfort. 

 

 

The beach, as it had been doing for our entire time walking it, offered us gifts from the sea. Interesting shells and stones, and on this day a newly dead shark. It was small and spotted and odd-looking, still soft when Ammie picked up its tail so we could get a better look. 

 

 

 

As we got closer to the spot where we’d leave the beach, Ammie pointed to a large tree ahead. That would be our turning point. By that time, A. was behind the rest of the group, but within sight. He took the four of us to his house and went back for her. He was gone for a very long time and we learned later A. had gone past the tree (not watching where we were ahead of her), and he had to chase her down. 

 

 

 

We all sat enjoying tea and being out of the wind and their sweet dog Daisy while waiting for our luggage. Cynthia had gotten a room with an en suite bathroom at one end of the house, while the other three got rooms at the other end. When our luggage arrived, I showered in Cynthia’s room, packed an overnight bag, and left my luggage tucked in a corner of her room. 

 

Ammie drove us into town for a grocery store visit. Cynthia stayed back to work, grateful for the quiet time and space. I shopped for pens, journals, and chocolate (for me and for Cynthia). Ammie had things on his list for our dinner and was looking for a treat for Debbie. Ammie and I ran into her also shopping for last minute items for our dinner. The other three were in the separate liquor section. I followed Ammie there when my shopping was done, and watched him buy wine for Debbie and non-alcoholic drinks for Cynthia and me. 

 

Clare and A. and Anna-marie stocked up in a serious way. I saw whiskey and wine and beer being taken to the counter. By this time in the walk, I was not paying much attention to their alcohol consumption because it was a steady and everyday thing and there was nothing I could do to change it. I was no longer recording any observations about the drinking in my journal, but I could always tell when the effects of alcohol became the prominent part of their personalities. 

 

Once the shopping was completed, Anna-marie left from the grocery store with friends to spend the rest of the afternoon with them. Ammie, Clare, A. and I went to the waterfront to visit a local and well-known coffeeshop. There we enjoyed the rustic surroundings, delicious coffee, and carrot cake. Afterwards he drove us around the harbor for a little sight-seeing, and then home. 

 

We found Debbie there working on dinner. She mentioned Arni would be stopping by to deliver A.’s walking sticks, which she’d left at his house. A. said her real estate agent would be stopping by later that day as well. 

 

When Arni arrived, he not only had A.’s sticks, but was also carrying a birthday cake and cupcakes. He looked like the cat that ate the canary, so pleased that he’d been able to surprise me. He said he knew from Cape Camino that tomorrow was my birthday, and that I wouldn’t be making a thing out of it, so he decided to do it for me. 

 

Arni, Ammie, Debbie, Cynthia and I all sat at the table. Clare and Anna-marie stood watching.  A. was in the lounge talking to her agent and a friend, and was unaware of what was happening at the table. They sang happy birthday and I blew out one candle and felt loved and celebrated and so happy. We ate cake and visited. A. ended my portion of the party when she came over and announced she’d just bought a house in Cape Town. She didn’t look at me, or acknowledge me in any way. The focus shifted entirely to her with congratulations and hugs.

 

I kept my ungracious feelings about her house purchase and her stomping all over my birthday celebration to myself. I wasn’t sure how an illegal resident could buy a house, and again amazed that A. was able to draw all attention to herself and get what she wanted no matter what. 

 

In the chaos of congratulating and clearing the table in preparation for dinner, Arni and I sat at the end of the table and visited. That was my favorite part of the entire day, and the best of the many gifts he’d brought that day. I was sad when he left. 

 

While Cynthia and I sat in the lounge waiting for dinner to be served, she gave me my birthday gift. It was the fabric I’d picked out with her in Redelinghuys, plus rooibos tea and a book and a sweet card. I was so grateful for her, for the companionship and care we’d shared over the last weeks, and that I got to be a recipient once more of her incredible generosity of heart.

 

Dinner was loud and happy. Both Cynthia’s dinner prayer and Ammie’s toast included my birthday, A.’s house, and our pilgrimage. The food was abundant and delicious: chicken cutlets, pasta, homemade bread, salad, and koeksisters for dessert. Wine flowed even more freely than usual. At one point I watched A. get up and go to the sideboard, coming back with a water glass filled to the brim with wine. 

 

Debbie was apologetic about the lateness of dinner and kept offering to take me to the house where we’d be sleeping. She was concerned how tired I looked, even though I was clearly (I thought) enjoying the evening. I insisted I was fine and could wait. She and Ammie cleared the table and put food away as quickly as they could, refusing offers of help. The others headed off to bed as we got ready to go to their friends’ house where we’d be sleeping. A. stayed up talking and was still talking as we went out the door to get in the car. 

 

As I stood outside waiting for Debbie and Ammie to separate from A., I looked up. The sky was hazy with a bright crescent rimming a grayscale shadow of the moon, and Jupiter just above, a beacon in the night. I breathed in the cold air and gratitude for the love I’d felt, received and given, that day. 

 

Our original plan had been to walk to the house, but as we drove through the cold dark and windy night, it turned out to be quite a bit farther than I thought. I was glad for the ride. By that time, I was tired enough that my connection to what was happening was blurring. The teenage daughter of the house greeted us outside and brought us in. Her two moms, who were sleeping away so we could have the house, greeted us, along with an ancient Golden Retriever and a very friendly ginger cat.  While Debbie visited with them, Ammie showed me to my room, reminding me we’d need to be up and out very early in the morning. 

 

I registered the flower and candy on my pillow along with the lushness of the bedding and the warmth of the room. South African hospitality extended to a complete stranger as a favor to friends. I fell asleep almost instantly, full of food and love and gratitude. My last day as a 72-year-old definitely a worthy end to an eventful year. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 28 - Dwarskersbos

Sunday, November 3

Bo Huis to Dwarskersbos

22k/13.7mi

Partly Cloudy to Mostly Sunny, Comfortable

 

 

I started the day standing outside alone watching the sunrise. The air was a brisk refreshment filled with birdsong and growing light as the sun climbed over the distant hills. I didn’t take pictures or ponder the day ahead (or even the day behind). I absorbed with intention, claiming those minutes to myself, breathing in the beauty and the solitude. I claimed wonder and awe that I, a farm girl from Idaho, an old woman now, could be there in Africa with nearly a month of walking its paths behind me. 

 

 

Arni drove us to the railroad tracks, telling us we’d know our destination in Dwarskersbos when we saw our host Melodey waiting for us. A. stayed behind to wait for Arni to drive her to a spot on the beach just 10k before the town. This would be our third day of beach walking, and by then my concern about the sand was long gone. However hard this walk had been two years ago, my body seemed more than up to the task this time. 

 

We walked in two pairs, leap-frogging each other throughout the day. We did not walk together at all, and it felt like an unspoken race from the moment we said goodbye to Arni. We saw a few seals, some terns and plovers and gulls, but mostly a forever of beach and sand and dunes. 

 

Cynthia and I had been beachcombing since Elands Bay, and part of our walk involved searching the sand for treasures of rock and shell. She sought flat dark squarish stones for a remembrance she would create for her whistleblowers at the end of the walk. I sought agates that I meant to take home to Walt to polish, and had to eventually stop looking because there were so many. At one point I reached down and picked up a conglomerate of shell and stone in the shape of a heart – a rich treasure. Cynthia was standing next to me and I gave it to her to give to her daughter, sad to let it go, but knowing it needed to be a gift of the heart from mother to daughter. 

 

Cynthia and I stopped to eat in the dunes at the 10k mark, far enough ahead of the other two, we enjoyed the entire coast to ourselves. They caught up more quickly than we expected, and before we could pack up and head out ahead of them, they walked past us. There were minimal greetings as they moved ahead. 

 

 

The village of Dwarskersbos appeared in the distance, all white houses looking like a mirage, for a long time seeming to pull farther away as we walked closer. Not long after our lunch stop, and not far behind the other two, we came across barefoot prints in the sand. Because we had the beach to ourselves, we figured it had to be A. That was confirmed a bit farther along when we saw arrows in the sand and a smiley face pointed towards the village. 

 

 

Clare and Anna-marie turned off the beach to eat their lunch at a picnic table in the dunes. Cynthia and I decided to try to catch A. and get to our hosts first for a change. The sand was hard and we were fit and determined, and the distance flew behind us. We met a couple with a dog coming toward us and asked if they’d seen a woman in pink at any point. They had seen A. and not too far back. Just on the outskirts of town, we saw her turn off into a parking lot.

 

When we got close enough to know it was A. for certain, we saw her waiting by a seawall. We assumed she was resting, or lost, and decided to move forward without letting her know we’d seen her. She did not look up at us, and we assumed (probably incorrectly) that she hadn’t seen us. 

 

We found ourselves on the other side of the village with no sign of Melodey when we realized something was off. I called her and learned we were supposed to turn off in the spot where we’d seen A. The entire walk back, Cynthia and I laughed at getting caught by our own childishness. The one time we tried to beat A. at her own game, we lost bigtime. 

 

 

 

Melodey was waiting for us, standing next to a tall pole on top of which was the Cape Camino sign. We’d missed that entirely in our urgency to slip past A. She greeted us with hugs and walked us up a street to her car, in which sat Clare and Anna-marie. A. was already at the house. First to arrive, and first to choose a room. 

 

When Melodey showed us the house and the bedrooms, she said she’d been told Cynthia and I were traveling together and so would room together. She was uncomfortable and a little brusque and I assumed A. had talked to Melodey and shaped her conversation in a way that would get her what she wanted. It worked. Melodey left us saying it was now up to us to decide who slept where, that she had done her part. 

 

Anna-marie ended up with the biggest room with an en suite bathroom. A. had a large room on the other side of the bathroom from ours. Clare had the entire loft area with beds and a separate seating area to herself. Cynthia and I shared a tiny room with two twin beds and not enough room for our bags to be open or for us to move around with both in the room.

 

I wasn’t upset. I was mostly amused, and a little in awe to have been so completely caught out. I was also finally done with trying to win a game I didn’t really care about beyond the unfairness of the outcomes. I saw my ego trying so hard to make winning important, mostly so they wouldn’t win – exactly the opposite of what I was seeking on this walk. I was also concerned that the hosts were being given an impression of me that wasn’t true and that went against what the pilgrimage meant to me. 

 

While waiting for the bathroom to free up so I could shower, I went out into the kitchen to chat with Melodey. I wanted to clear the weirdness I’d felt when we first arrived. She was so lovely to talk to. The condo was hers, and she lived in a separate part, so pilgrims got the main living space to themselves. She was unloading groceries and had bought an abundance of treats for us. She loved having pilgrims, meeting people from away, supporting the bravery of our endeavor. We chatted about malva pudding, my writing, my pilgrimage. She had read my writing from the first pilgrimage and said she loved my work. That made me so happy to hear. 

 

We did laundry in Melodey’s washer, which Anna-marie had said she’d hang outside for us all. However, the three wanted to go into the village to explore, so I offered to do it instead. I had considered going with them, always happy for the adventure of shops and new sights, but decided staying put was a better choice for that day.

 

In that way a most enjoyable and relaxing afternoon unfurled. When Melodey drove the three to town, Cynthia and I talked about our plan going awry and laughed at the knowledge that spiritually we were not being given any slack. We also came to the conclusion that if we’d arrived first as we plotted for, we still would have chosen the double room. Cynthia worked at a little table looking out over the sweet and very small garden. I snacked and enjoyed cool drinks from the honor bar and journaled and read and hung the clothes on the line. Happy. 

 

Melodey popped in from time to time to check on us. Anna-marie brought us chocolate from town, a thank you for the laundry. The other two ignored us completely. Dinner was served at the dining table in the middle of the space. We had the best lasagna of the three we’d been served so far on the walk. Melodey ate with us and the dinner conversation was the usual small talk along with Clare tearing apart Cape Camino and A. cutting in with her complaints. 

 

 

After dinner, and before dessert, Melodey offered to drive us to the beach to watch the sunset. Anna-marie, Cynthia and I took her up on the offer. The four of us stood watching the light change in the cold wind, all of us searching the sand at our feet for treasures. It was a lovely time, easy and relaxed, four women enjoying sacred space together. The sunset itself was quiet and subtle, but we were rewarded a few minutes later with flames of light extending across the sky.

 

 

Melodey joined Cynthia and me at the table for the malva pudding with custard poured over. The others ate their dessert sitting in the lounge just feet from us. Anna-marie joined us after the other two went upstairs, and the four of us sat for a long time as Melodey talked about her life and her dreams. 

 

 

The day was a good reminder to me why walking pilgrimage was so important to me, and why I loved Cape Camino so much. To spend time with a regular person who opened her home to pilgrims, to learn about her life, to experience her tremendous hospitality was a gift beyond measure. Just as with the farm wives, I found Melodey to be inspiring and someone I felt privileged to have met. And the lesson I’d received, the clear reminder that I still had a way to go in my own healing, while embarrassing, was also funny. Humbling rather than humiliating.

 

 

Hafiz’ words for the day seemed particularly apt: “Embody the love of curiosity and compassion, when everything in your world insists on smallness and predictability.”

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.