Day 18 - Die Ark

Thursday, October 24

Soutkloof to Die Ark

10k + 5k/9mi

Sunny, Breezy, Slightly Cooler

 

 

My morning started off differently than any of the previous on the walk. When I crept out of my room to go to the kitchen to make my coffee before journaling, I discovered a huge metal gate pulled across the hallway and locked. I’d forgotten about the gate in the bigger house, and what I’d learned about it being a fairly common thing in farm houses. In case the house got broken into in the night, sleepers were safe. What that gate said about the sense of unsafety that still exists in the countryside made me sad. I think it was more habit than fear at that point, or maybe it was done to protect their guests. I didn’t ask and I wish I had. 

 

I went back to my room and journaled without caffeine. I also WhatsApped with Jane who had sent a lovely voice message the night before. She always made me feel better about things, simply by being her and by being my friend. 

 

When I heard the sound of metal moving, I got up and went to the kitchen to make my coffee. I found Karin there starting our breakfast and marveled at how easy she was having strangers in her house. Her ease put me at ease and I felt so at home as her guest. We chatted a bit, then I went out to the front porch to sit in the cool morning air. N. joined me for what would be our last morning visit. It was like talking to an old friend. She wanted to know how I was doing, especially after A.’s performance at dinner. She talked about what was coming for her, how hard it was to get what she was asking for, and how determined she was to make it work.

 

It was nice to have a relaxed morning. The walk ahead was only 10k, to be broken up by a long stop at a roadside café called Desert Rose. The others came in to the house for breakfast as I was still in my room getting ready. I came out in my bare feet without my packing completed, a slightly uncomfortable first for me. But I was drawn by the voices, and by the smells of Karin’s breakfast. There was an element of holiday in the air, in part because of the short walk and the anticipation of a coffee shop, in part because of the coming departures, and in part because of Cynthia’s excitement. 

 

Cynthia’s friend, Zunaid, had arranged for her to be interviewed and filmed about her walk for whistleblowers and that was happening at Desert Rose. The film-maker wanted the whole group to be involved, so there was a buzz of anticipation. No one, not even Cynthia really knew what was going to happen, or if they’d even show up, but the excitement was there nonetheless. 

 

 

Because of the short and direct walk, we would be without a chaperone again. Karin gave us clear directions, and there were signs. She had said she’d meet us at the entrance to the farm and take pictures at the farm sign with us, but that didn’t happen. She did follow us in her truck, stopped and said a last goodbye, then waved as she went on to the rest of her day. I was sorry to see her go.

 

 

The two men were waiting for Cynthia when we arrived at Desert Rose. We all got drinks and treats while she did her interview. At one point we were asked to sit next to her to make the interview look more casual, but when I got up be closer, I was asked to move again. She was amazing to watch: articulate, passionate, clear. Her heart shone through, and she was a natural in front of the camera. 

 

 

During the interview, I noticed a worker just beyond where we were sitting washing down a relic of an old car. It struck me as very odd that she was applying soapy water vigorously to a rusty hulk. I was reminded that there are many jobs done in South Africa that don’t really need doing or that could be done by machine more efficiently in order to provide work for people of color. 

 

 

We were all a little restless by the time the interview ended, and with all the conversation that followed. A. disappeared first, off to continue her arrangements for the next day. Wendy was close behind. I wandered away next to shop inside and to take pictures of the roadside oasis. I bought Coke and snacks for the night ahead. As I moved around inside and out, I reflected on the excitement of the morning, the adjacency to fame and what it does. There was a part of me that would have loved to be in Cynthia’s shoes, and that wanted to join in the post-interview conversations. To rub shoulders with the celebrity of the moment. But I was very aware that not giving in to that was part of my decision to step away from social media for the duration of the pilgrimage. Forgoing the flash of instant fame for a deeper more personal experience. I could be happy for Cynthia and walk my own new path at the same time. 

 

 

We eventually all moved outside of Desert Rose to begin the last leg toward Die Ark, our stop for the night. The cameraman wanted shots of us walking as a group, using a drone. There was a lot of stopping and starting, backing and forthing. At one point we had to re-do a stretch because A. was filming the cameraman. I finally had enough, and knew that Cynthia didn’t need my support any more. I needed to walk. At the same time Anna-marie was having a similar reaction, so the two of us set out while the others were still chatting.

 

 

We arrived at Die Ark very quickly and were greeted warmly and energetically by Bregda, our host. She not only remembered me from two years before, but remembered that I hadn’t showered that day because it was cold and rainy and the showers were a long walk from our rooms. She proudly showed us the new rooms, set in a courtyard that had a distinct Mediterranean feel, with the showers and bathrooms just a few steps out our doors. The kitchen was at the end of the walk, so coffee and meals were also right there. 

 

 

Each of the three rooms she had assigned us had three beds. Because N. was being put in a room singly, that meant the three friends would be in a room, and A., Cynthia and I would be in a room. The three friends and A. arrived shortly after we did. Cynthia and N. had gone back to Desert Rose to have lunch with the two men. All of the luggage was in my room, so I didn’t really pay attention for a while to what was there and what wasn’t. The friends grabbed theirs and took it to their room next door. I don’t know where A. was during that time, only that she wasn’t hanging out with me. 

 

The three friends got to the showers first, but I didn’t mind. Being first was really important to Clare in particular and I was beginning to enjoy letting her. It was getting easier to release my own urge to go first, and to appreciate the freedom that brought. And on this day because the walk was so easy, I wasn’t feeling particularly grubby, so it was easier to not care. 

 

 I visited with Bregda, followed her around a bit to get oriented, and then wandered the grounds by myself. I found myself wishing a little that I had stayed with Cynthia and N., feeling a little lonely and left out, but aware it was old patterns trying to assert themselves. I went to sit in the shade at tables outside the kitchen area, with my journal and a much-enjoyed Coke on ice. There were workers there at first, but they didn’t seem to mind my intrusion. The three friends joined and we chatted easily for a bit. 

 

Clare was more open than I’d experienced before. She talked about her pets - dogs and a tortoise - and her garden. I was struck, not for the first time, how much we had in common, and how in another life we might have been friends. I knew by then that she was a widow, had a boyfriend, and lived in a very lovely home. Even though she and A. disliked me pretty equally, I was less upset by Clare. I was afraid of her, of triggering her anger, but I felt like there was a space in which we could connect. 

 

It was revealed that A. would leave us the next day to go to Cape Town for a hearing about her visa status. She expected to be back that night, but there was uncertainty around that. She was also going to get medical treatment for her feet, and possibly buy new shoes. We wondered if she would stay away longer to miss the next two nights in the Moravian towns where the accommodations were more rustic. By then A. was thick with Clare and Anna-marie, despite the fact that they were still very hard on her. She told them things in private, some, but not all, of which they shared with the rest of us. 

 

I hoped during that conversation that I might use this new information to actually have a conversation with A. later as we were sharing a room – the three of us maybe forming a tiny connection. That turned out not to be. When Cynthia and N. arrived late in the afternoon and learned of the sleeping arrangements, Cynthia immediately moved to N.’s room, stating she couldn’t do A. again. That meant I was left alone with A. While not happy about that, I was also determined to accept the situation as a pilgrimage gift and to make the best of it. But just before dinner I noticed A.’s luggage was gone, too. I learned much later that she had pressured Bregda into opening another room for her so she wouldn’t have to be with me.

 

 

Late in the afternoon, we all piled into the bakkie for Bregda to drive us up the mountain to a viewpoint over the valley. As the oldest, I got the front seat, while everyone else and the dog climbed into the back. I was happy to have the time with Bregda. She’s easy to talk to and funny and full of life. There was a lot of happy laughter and chatter from the back as we rocked and rolled the rough road to the top. 

 

 

The last time I’d been up the mountain it was raining and completely socked in. This time we could see forever. The wind was a forceful presence both times, but not unwelcome in the sunshine of the afternoon. Bregda led us into a little shelter where we were served homemade kombucha and her famous date balls. The time had a ceremonial feel to it as we stood in an informal circle, enjoying the homemade treats and the huge heart of our host.

 

 

When it was time to head down, N., Wendy, Cynthia and I decided to walk. And what a glorious walk it was. Because we’d had such a short morning, it felt good to stretch out going downhill. There were wildflowers on the sides of the road, and we listened for (but didn’t hear) a particular bird Bregda had told us about. I found myself thinking what a different pilgrimage this would be if it were just the four of us. 

 

N. revealed that she was leaving us the next day as well. She would walk with us, and at the end, Bregda would bring her back to be picked up and taken to the first stop of her new walk. There was a chance she would rejoin us in a couple of weeks to do the West Coast before joining Anna-marie at the end to do the Peninsula.

 

 

I finally got my shower, and when I returned to the room after, it registered that A.’s gear was gone. When I walked into the kitchen for dinner, she was there with Clare and Anna-marie. She looked at me but didn’t say anything (reminding me of the farm worker’s look from the barn door), and I decided not to ask. Dinner was a little weird. The food and the setting were both incredible. Homey and delicious, warm and inviting. But there was tension in the air. 

 

 

Two impending departures were a lot to absorb. N. said she wouldn’t be rejoining us after all, but would meet Anna-marie at the end to go on to the Peninsula. The bed situation was uncomfortable, and probably could have been addressed, maybe should have been addressed, but I didn’t feel safe and couldn’t find the courage to start that conversation. I was feeling hurt by Cynthia’s move to N.’s room and trying not to. I was feeling relieved at the thought of not having to room with A., and trying not to. 

 

Still, there were lovely moments. Cynthia had brought me a ginger beer, which I enjoyed tremendously, both the drink and the thought. Wendy brought us all gifts, things she’d sewn as part of her business: arm protectors and belts to hold phones in bright colors. She was only with us for four more days, her departure planned from the beginning. Bregda came during dessert to give us directions for the next day. She’d given us the directions several times during the afternoon, the most important being a particular turn at the beginning. It would be another day without a chaperone, and she promised an easy well-marked way. She also promised she’d see us on the route as she was to drive our luggage to our next place. 

 

I slipped away from the table and out the door first. It was another day where I started feeling so hopeful, and ended exhausted and wondering if I could or even wanted to keep going. I settled into bed to journal and to respond to a message from Caroline who was turning out to be a huge unexpected source of encouragement and comfort. As I was writing, a WhatsApp came through from N. She, Wendy, and Cynthia were drinking rooibos in the kitchen and wondered if I wanted to join them. 

 

And in that way all my feeling left out and not quite belonging disappeared, for that moment at least. I walked down in my pajamas, joined the conversation and easy company and the laughter until everyone was too tired to continue. The second time I tucked myself into bed, I was unapologetically relieved to have the space to myself, and grateful for the gift of that small invitation. I felt held in Spirit, connected to the small still inner voice, whole. Caroline had asked earlier, “What whispers the spirit?” Mine was whispering, as I drifted off, to keep going. I had done much harder things in my life, although not always by choice. I was choosing to continue this pilgrimage, to keep my commitment, to accept everything as gifts of the spirit. 

 

As I write this, more than three months later, I notice that I am at the end of the journal I’d brought with me, expecting it to last the entire 40 days. It was a surprise to turn the last page and discover the back cover. I’d move into one of the two I bought in Kalk Bay the next day. The day just past, the one of this post, marked the halfway point of my pilgrimage. It would be a few days before I started to feel the gravitational pull of the end, but I was on the downhill now. The last words in the journal are from Hafiz. “But no vote outranks the still small voice within. Even in its silence, it provides clear and distinct guidance.”

 

 

 

 

 

Day 17 - Soutkloof

Wednesday, October 23

Nuwefontein to Soutkloof

24 + 5k/18mi

Hot! 36C/97F

 

 

I was nearly giddy with joy when I set out on this morning. We were to leave by 6:00 because of the expected heat. N. had decided it was my turn to leave first, to have the pleasure of a road stretching out in front with no one else there. Cynthia had said she wanted to go at the back, her own way of finding solitude, and of showing kindness to A. There was no chaperone again, and we’d been promised good waymarking. Marina offered an app that showed directions, but I couldn’t access it on my phone, so the way ahead of me was mine alone.

 

 

After packing my lunch and saying goodbye to Marina, I set off down the stairs at the side of the stable before anyone else knew I was leaving. The light was magical and the air fresh and invigorating. I watched sheep on a hill in the distance, marveling at the colors of dawn light. I walked fairly quickly, enjoying the feel of my legs setting the pace without restriction, wanting to put space between me and the friends, wanting that rare gift of alone time more than anything.

 

 

When I stopped to watch the sheep, I looked back, and saw Wendy coming up the road behind me. Fast. I moved forward, trying to stay ahead of her, but had to stop and pee, so she caught up. I told her I was wanting alone time this morning, but that she was welcome to walk ahead of me. That was a concession I gave reluctantly, not really wanting to give up the open space ahead. She seemed a little taken aback, but said she just wanted to walk. I thanked her and we proceeded, with her just slightly in front. She was close enough that conversation was inevitable, and I eventually gave up the thought of it being a solo day. I liked Wendy, and on any other day, would have been happy for her company, so it was fairly easy to make the change.

 

 

However, when I stopped to sit on an upraised berm of dirt at the side of the road to eat, she said she would continue on. I enjoyed the solitude, but the promise of the morning had long since evaporated. Still, I loved the farmland and the songbirds and the brilliant blue sky. I came to a farmyard that looked vaguely familiar, but was unable to find the Cape Camino signs indicating which of the two possible ways to go. I headed in one direction, going mostly on instinct, and it was the correct direction. But a farm hand stopped me and told me to go the other direction, that the other lady had gone that way.

 

I followed his direction. The road was very steep, and it was getting hot, so I was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I ran into Wendy pretty quickly, but found her in a state of concern. She thought we were going the wrong way. We both felt the worker would not have given us bad directions, so were determined to continue forward until a crossroads where there would be a sign for sure if it was the right way. Before we found a crossroads, Wendy called Clare, who was in the farmyard talking to the farmer. He said two ladies had gone the wrong way. That would be Wendy and me. N. sent directions, which also helped.

 

While it was frustrating to be in the wrong place, to be lost, and to know we had some serious bonus miles for the day, that stretch of the walk was beautiful. We were up high and could see farmland for miles below us. At one point a pair of blue cranes flew overhead filling the air with their throaty warbly call. 

 

Wendy and I turned around and went back, a total of 5k added to the already long walk of the day. When we arrived back at the farmyard, we saw the worker who had misdirected us peeking nervously around the edge of the barn door. We never could figure out why he sent Wendy in the wrong direction. We did think he sent me so that Wendy wouldn’t be alone. I had to laugh at how my solo walk had turned out. While it was a bust where that was concerned, Wendy and I had a great story to tell.

 

We found Clare, Anna-marie, and N. sitting in the shade not too far down the road from the farmyard. No one had seen Cynthia or A. for a while, but they were behind somewhere. Wendy was completely out of water and found someone to take her to an outdoor spigot to refill her bottle. I would be sorry later I hadn’t gone with her to top off my half-full bottle. 

 

 

We all walked together for the rest of the day. For a long part of the walk there was no shade, and none of us had an abundance of water. Still, we moved forward mostly cheerfully and steadily. Clare continued her ongoing diatribe against Cape Camino, but ran out of energy to be angry as water grew scarcer and it grew hotter. She looked for stock tanks that might have fresh water, either to drink or to cool down in, but they were all empty or scummy. On one stretch, hundreds of butterflies danced along the side of the road, clearly attracted to the bushes growing there. They kept us company for a very long time, and provided welcome distraction. 

 

By the time we finally reached the farm at Soutkloof, we were all very hot, very thirsty, and very tired. Clare stopped before the farmyard to rest in the shade and gather her energy. N. and I went ahead to the main house where I’d stayed two years before. The son answered the door and walked us back down to the guest house, reminding us that his parents were now living in the smaller home. Because he was now running the farm and had a young family, they had moved into the larger house. He said Karin, our host, had gone to town and should be back soon. 

 

Karin and I had chatted when I made the decision to walk Cape Camino a second time. The first time she’d been our host for two nights and I’d stayed with her in the big house with some of the other women because the guest house couldn’t hold everyone. She invited me to stay in the house with her again, and I had been looking forward to that for weeks. 

 

We walked into the guest house where N. and I would wait for Karin to take us to the smaller farm house where she and her husband now lived. We discovered A. had gotten a ride, arrived a long time before us, and chosen the one bedroom in the house with an attached bathroom. And she saved the room across from her for Clare and Anna-marie. She was sitting on the porch of the house, with a beer, talking on her phone when we walked up.

 

I was furious about her choosing the best room for herself. And now saving rooms for her friends. It didn’t even impact me because I wasn’t staying in the guest house. It was the principle of the thing. Such a junior high thing to do, and so disrespectful of the rest of the group, all of whom were actually walking the entire route. I was aware that I was responding to the unfairness, and to A.’s complete lack of care for the rest of us. I tucked the anger away until I could safely release it onto the page.

 

While waiting for Karin, I drank so much water I had to make myself stop because I was beginning to feel woozy. I had been rationing my water for the last couple of hours of the walk, so was on the edge of dehydration. It was my own fault. I had a second water bottle I’d chosen not to carry because I didn’t want the extra weight. I could have refilled the one I carried when Wendy did hers, but I misjudged how much farther we had to go, and I misjudged the heat. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

 

I was alone in the guest house for quite a while. A. stayed on the porch, on her phone. N. walked back to look for Cynthia who was the last to arrive and alone, to make sure she was okay. Anna-marie went back to collect Clare on the edge of the farm. Wendy was off on her own.

 

When Karin finally arrived, I was so happy to see her. She’d been one of my favorite people from the first walk. Because we stayed with her for two days (because another host backed out at the last minute) there was more time to get acquainted. We had long satisfying visits sitting at the generations old farm table in her large kitchen. She took us to a county fair, and treated us like visiting friends. 

 

The smaller house was just as homey as the big one, but without the kitchen table, which I missed and Karin said she did too when I asked. N. and I each had a room to ourselves. Both rooms were spacious and welcoming. I sat in the kitchen and visited with Karin as she fixed dinner and did our laundry. Still feeling the effects of the day’s heat, I excused myself to lie down for a while. After twenty minutes of legs up the wall during which I dozed off, I felt so much better. 

 

When I got up, I found Cynthia had come to visit, so it was Cynthia, N. and me. My favorite combination. We hung the laundry on Karin’s umbrella line, and filled it completely as everyone had washed everything. Then we sat on the front porch in the shade and the heat of the afternoon gossiping a bit and then visiting more deeply. They had heard A. might be going to Cape Town in the next few days to attend a hearing to get her expired visa renewed. We pondered whether she’d stay away since she clearly wasn’t into walking and apparently her feet were getting worse every day. We also talked about N.’s imminent departure, and what that might look and feel like for us all. She was spending a lot of her extra time on the phone with Cape Camino, trying to make a change of itinerary work, and feeling extremely frustrated and unheard.

 

For part of that time, I was alone in the back yard hanging clothes, and I was as happy as I could be. There is something so satisfying about pegging clothes to the line, barefoot in soft grass, with the wind and sun helping. It was also fun when the others came to help. Anna-marie joined us at one point, and I was reminded how much I enjoyed her when she was on her own. Women together sharing a common task after a long hard day. 

 

 

Cynthia talked about her day beaming with joy. She had the day I had hoped to have. She walked with or in the vicinity of A. for part of the day, but once A. got a ride, she was completely alone on the road. She had plenty of water, and didn’t get lost, and was not impacted by the heat. The butterflies that I’d noticed were there for her, and as butterflies had been since the beginning of our pilgrimage, they were messengers of love and hope and magic. I was struck, as I continue to be writing this now, by the power of perception. We’d all had challenging days walking the same exact route that gave Cynthia her favorite day of the walk. 

 

 

Everyone came to the house for dinner. The first drinks were served on the front porch, despite the heat. It’s an interesting phenomenon of pilgrimage. You’re outside for hours every day, but when the walking day is done, the desire to stay outside is strong. It’s like your whole being is reluctant to give up the space and the air and the light. I would happily have slept outside had that been an option, especially on the warm nights. 

 

Karin’s husband, Andrus entertained us with stories, both before dinner and at the head of the table. I don’t know if there’s anything quite so wonderful as sitting at a family’s table in a country not my own, feeling valued and welcomed and enjoyed. Getting to see the love and the dedication and the history and the hard work, and falling a little in love myself in the embrace of that hospitality. 

 

When we sat, A. put herself next to me – again. I knew it was to be closer to Clare and Anna-marie, but was frustrated because her presence meant conversation with anyone was going to be hard. When it was time for grace, and we all held hands, she barely touched my fingertips. For the first time I really knew that she didn’t like me any more than I liked her. Maybe even less. 

 

Wine flowed freely, and A. got louder and louder as the evening went on. At one point she was so loud I couldn’t hear Andrus talking at the other end of the table, or Karin sharing recipes for the delicious dinner. We had leg of lamb for the second time in three days. Not one person said anything, and I was proud of us for that. I could have eaten lamb happily every day. The rest of the meal was also rich and abundant farm food: yellow rice, green bean casserole, a wheat berry and peach salad (we all asked for the recipe), and ice cream and toffee sauce for dessert. 

 

I left the table while the wine was still being poured and the conversation continued with A. at the center, too tired to even sit up straight, let alone maintain an air of interest. I was so grateful for my own room, the space and the quiet, and the comfort of a bed smelling of sunshine. I released all of the day’s drama and upset, and remembered the beauty – the image of the blue cranes flying overhead carrying me into a deep and satisfying sleep. 

 

Day 16 - Stable

Tuesday, October 22

Sandvlei Farm to Nuwefontein

16k/10mi

Sunny, Breezy, Hot

 

 

I was awake a lot in the night. A.’s snoring and the wind banging around in the yard were hard to ignore. At one point there was a bright light outside that left me unsettled, but it went out and I drifted back to sleep. When it was clear no more sleep was available, I crept into the kitchen, using my phone light, and turned the kettle on. I found a lamp in the sitting area which I turned on. As quietly as possible, I made my coffee and settled in to journal, trying to process all the day before had stirred up.

 

From my journal that morning:

 

“Not good sleep. A. snoring. The wind. My back more sore than it’s been in a while. I’ll need to do stretches this morning. I’m feeling a bit lost. A. for sure. I feel my eating filling space that would be best left to expand and explore. It’s likely N. will leave us and I’ll miss her smile, her accent, her adventurous spirit. I’m not sure now how I feel about trying to do a pilgrimage in a group of strangers. I have to trust this is all what I need for my own greatest good because I set the intention that this is a pilgrimage and I am seeking healing and growth. Clarity and insight. 

 

Can I be fully the self I’m trying to discover in the midst of drama and ego and acting out? How do I accept behaviors that have a strong impact on my walking and on my solitude when not walking? How do I overcome my own tendency toward the drama, toward gossip, toward wanting to help – to be a part of things? How do I be a friend, a friendly person, a good person, and still take care of myself? 

 

N. saying being alone in the group would be awkward was more true than I considered yesterday. There is not one person here I can really talk to about anything that matters to me. I can reach out to Caroline, who will understand better than anyone, but I’m not sure I’m meant to. Maybe this is the exact situation I need to begin to go seriously inward, to learn to trust that quiet voice more, to discover who I really am. 

 

I am not important here. No one is taking my picture or inviting confidences. I think this is a necessary thing for me to find my way past my ego and my addictions into my soul. Both ego and addiction are not quieting easily. Thus the food hunger, the inclination (mostly resisted) to make myself important. Not being important in this group doesn’t mean I don’t matter or that I’m not worthy. This group is only important to me as a teacher and as individuals I can care about as my companions on this journey. Can I learn here how to be in solitude and service at the same time?”

 

 

I felt better at the end of the writing, clarity and calmness always following the clearing of my heart. People had begun to stir before I finished, so the lights came on as I was getting ready to really start the day. I dressed and packed and ate the breakfast, yogurt and fresh fruits, Isobel had left the night before. She arrived at 6:45 with our packed lunches and stayed visiting as we finished preparing for the day.

 

 

We were walking without a chaperone, meant to follow the signs that had been posted along the route. No chaperone meant we didn’t all have to leave at the same time. N. had said the night before she wanted to walk alone, and intended to be first out. Isobel and I were chatting out front when N. headed out. The others were still finishing up their morning routines, so I took advantage of the space and left when I could still see N. in the distance. 

 

 

It was a glorious walk. All my favorites. Early morning light and air. Beautiful farm land extending forever in every direction. Farmyards with striking gardens and architecture. N. ahead of me so I didn’t feel lost or alone. As long as I could see her, even in the far distance, I knew I was okay. But alone. With all that time and space to process all that was bubbling to the surface. I didn’t see the others again until they arrived at the stables where we were staying. I stopped to pee at the side of the road, enjoying the wild privacy. I stopped once to snack, more out of a need to savor the morning than out of real hunger. 

 

 

My memories of walking this road two years before were strong. I could feel Jane beside me, and Ina and Frikkie close by. I remembered our laughter, and the stop we made at the graveyard just off the road, marveling at the history there. I held those friendships and that companionship close as a reminder that what was happening on this walk wasn’t inevitable. 

 

I was startled at my arrival in the farmyard of Nuwefontein. One minute I was following the wide dirt farm road, the next I turned a corner and there it was, instantly familiar and welcoming. It was a little before 11:00 – the walk had been really fast.

 

I found N. and Marina, our host, standing in front of the converted stables where we were to sleep. I got a big hug from Marina, and the three of us stood and chatted amiably for a long time. Marina remembered the two women from two years before who had been challenging. One could not be pleased no matter what. The other spent the evening paying very close and inappropriate attention to Melvan, Marina’s husband. I’d forgotten how smart and funny Marina is and our conversation made me happy. 

 

Because of her conversation with Peggy the day before, Cape Camino decided a way to help N. was to give her a private room whenever possible going forward. So she had a room to herself at the stable. I teased her about how the group was going to respond. She responded by offering me the room. I declined and went off to choose a room that I would end up, happily, sharing with Cynthia. 

 

 

Even though it was simple and very rustic, I loved the stable. Its cool and shadowed interior was cozy and surprisingly comfortable. There was a kitchen area at the end of the building that was nicely stocked with pilgrim essentials, including snacks to buy. The only discomfort was the outside seating area where the seats were hard, the shade unreliable, and the flies abundant. 

 

 

The afternoon passed slowly and mostly pleasantly. I ate the lunch Isobel had packed for us, and enjoyed ice cold coke and then water. With the increased heat, staying hydrated was becoming more of a challenge. Cold drinks at the end of a walk were heaven. The flies were annoying to the point we all eventually went to our rooms to rest and read and visit. Cynthia and N. set out for a long walk while I was in the shower. I followed them, thinking I might catch up, but stayed instead at the marshy area full of weaver nests and watched the birds building their nests. 

 

 

I had a conversation with N. that I found to be helpful and insightful. I was able to thank her for sharing so openly. She reminded me with her own story that I didn’t have to bend myself to please. I didn’t have to perform to be liked. And sometimes I wasn’t going to be liked no matter what I did, or no matter what. She talked about not wanting to be treated special in the group, but desperately wanting solitude, and away from the toxicity. One of the things I most appreciated about her was her honesty and her willingness to fight for what mattered to her. Ironically, in supporting her choice to leave us, I was losing one of the bright lights of my days. It was also clearer to me from that conversation that I was meant to stay and work my way through whatever was happening. 

 

 

At one point, when everyone was in their rooms, A. was on the phone on the other side of the wall from us. Her friend was on speaker, and we all heard, very loudly, ourselves being described as bitches whom A. just needed to ignore. It was clear we were meant to hear. 

 

Oddly, I was able to laugh at that situation. I was feeling much better about things after a day of walking alone and time to ponder. Marina’s warm welcome helped as well. I messaged Caroline, deciding that I needed to connect with someone I trusted and who I knew loved me and who understood pilgrimage. Our WhatsApp conversation felt like medicine and sunshine, water in a dessert. It was a mutual sharing and deepened our friendship and left me feeling so much lighter. I also talked to Walt and although our video connection didn’t hold, we were able to chat long enough that my homesickness receded. 

 

I felt more grounded and more determined than ever that I was exactly where I was meant to be, and that I had the courage and strength to learn the lessons this Camino had to teach me. 

 

In the late afternoon, Cynthia offered to walk N. through a yoga routine. Cynthia, in addition to her work with whistleblowers, is a trained yoga instructor (and a baker of artisanal breads). They offered to let me join, but I preferred to observe and to take pictures for them. The beauty of the energy between them on their mats in front of our rooms was inspiring to witness. Cynthia’s gentle instruction and N.’s fluid following felt like a dance that left them both, and me, feeling more peaceful and whole as a result. Cynthia practiced in the mornings whenever time and space allowed. We had planned before we met that I would join her, but I was consistently choosing journaling instead. 

 

 

Dinner was a delight. We walked down to the farmhouse where we sat and chatted for a while with both Marina and Melvan. Melvan is a great storyteller and had us all laughing easily. Wine was served and flowed abundantly. Their two children joined us at the table for dinner. The daughter at twelve was articulate and chatty and funny, much like her mom. The younger son was very quiet, but clearly enjoyed the chatter going on around him. I loved being in the company of that younger energy, and felt some envy at the life I was getting to witness for a short time. 

 

Earlier in the day Marina had talked about not being sure what to serve for dinner. She was going to do lamb, but had learned we had that that night before. We said we didn’t care, but she did. She mentioned bobotie, a South African dish of Cape Malay origins, involving curried minced beef (think hamburger) and an egg topping. It had been one of my favorite foods from before, so I was very happy she decided to go with it for our dinner. 

 

Marina and Melvan walked us back toward the stables after dinner. It was dark, the sky sparkling with stars, the air much cooler. We were very full and very tired, and I was feeling hopeful again. Earlier in the day, as I was passing the time with a book that would turn out to be a gentle and perfect companion in the days ahead, a passage stopped me. I read and re-read it, and copied it out, and felt its truth at the end of that day.

 

“And beauty – because yes, she was understanding beauty was an emotion, too. She’d gotten that wrong. Thought it was a thing, but it wasn’t. It was this motion, this wandering. This finding.” No Two Persons, Erica Bauermeister

 

Day 15 - School House

Monday, October 21

Oudekloof to Sandvlei Farm

24k/15mi

Sunny, Windy

 

 

 

I was up early, with all my morning routines finished, and with time on my hands, so I went exploring. The morning light was perfect for pictures and for breathing and for adventure. Andrew had mentioned a group of new cabins a distance from ours, so I headed out on the trail that led in that direction. To be alone at sunrise in the countryside is one of my deepest pleasures, and this time did not disappoint. I could have lingered much longer, except for the need to be at the house to start our walk. I ran into Wendy on my way back. She was doing exactly as I had done, and I liked her all the more for it.

 

 

Christine and Andrew were waiting for us in the kitchen, putting together our substantial packed meals. While the wrap, apple, juice, yogurt, dried fruit, and Twix seemed like a lot, it would turn out that we’d be glad for all of it before the day was done. Daniel, our chaperone, arrived while we were still trickling in. He is a horticulturist for Oudekloof as well as a handyman and an all-around interesting person. 

 

 

The day’s walk started with a very steep climb up a paved road that they use for tractor rides for tourists. We leveled out, cut through fynbos for a bit, then headed straight back down. The down part was steep, muddy in spots, rocky in others. Daniel let me go in front since I knew the way (it was down – hard to get lost) so he could stay in the back with A. Cynthia and N. were with me and the three friends somewhere in the middle. It was my favorite part of the day. A beautiful morning. Views forever. Challenging enough to feel satisfying to accomplish. Not slowed or hindered by anyone in front. 

 

 

At some point that morning, N. shared that there had been conflict in the cottage she shared with A. the night before. A. slept in and yelled at N. for not waking her up. N. stood up for herself and told A. to grow up. N. had been talking for days about wanting to walk alone. When she first signed up to walk, her plan had been for it to be a solo walk, but when offered our already established group and calendar, she went with that. I was unclear at that point whether N. wanted to be alone, or just be away from A., but I encouraged her to do what her heart was telling her. She was walking to figure some things in her life out, and the group dynamics were making it very hard for her to focus on herself. 

 

 

From the bottom of the hill, Daniel led us along a canal and through farmland. It was pleasant walking and an easy morning. When we got close to a highway that marked the halfway point, he asked A. if she was going to want a ride the rest of the way, or if she wanted to finish the walk. He needed to call ahead so her ride would be waiting when we got to the highway so that we wouldn’t have to wait. She said she would walk. 

 

We stopped at a farm just before the highway to use the bathroom. It was another example of someone in the group needing to go, there being no good option in the wild, and the chaperone asking a farmer if they could help. In this case the bathroom was one the workers in the farmyard used, so it was a bit rustic, but we were grateful for it nonetheless. While we waited our turn, we marveled at the huge prehistoric looking machinery hulking the yard. 

 

Just as we were getting ready to cross the highway, A. changed her mind. Daniel sent the rest of us across to settle in the shade on the other side and have our lunches while he called for A.’s ride. Because we were out in the middle of the country and there was no good place for A. to wait, Daniel decided he needed to wait with her. Everyone was frustrated, especially since we had many more kilometers to go before our destination and it was getting hot. He eventually told us we could continue on without him, but gave specific directions for where we were to stop and wait for him. 

 

We arrived at the crossroads Daniel had indicated very quickly. There was shade and there were rocks to sit on. N. got on the phone with Peggy from Cape Camino to see about how she might continue her pilgrimage alone. Cynthia and I walked a little farther on to a bridge Daniel had offered as a second option. We were hoping for shade and a river bank from which we might dangle our feet into cold soothing water. That turned out to not be possible. There was no way down to the water, no inviting river bank, and no shade. So, we went back and sat with the rest, and waited. 

 

 

After what seemed a very long time, a bakkie approached from our left. It stopped in front of us and released Daniel from the interior. We saw a driver, and A. smiling smugly at us (at least that’s how I saw the smile) and waving next to him. As we proceeded, finally toward our destination, it was clear Daniel was very upset. His vision for the day was not this. He walked far ahead of us, clearly needing alone time. N. made an effort to catch up with him and they walked together for a long time. 

 

 

We eventually arrived at the school house, hot and tired and so done with the day. A. was sitting inside with a drink, smiling, already having showered and chosen her bed for the night. I couldn’t even look at her, let alone talk to her. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t walking. That might have been okay if she’d done it in a way that was respectful to the group. It’s not unusual for a person to need a lift on a Camino, but she had turned it into, as far as I could see, a power play. I was beginning to have issue, also, with the fact that the least tired person of the group was getting first choice of sleeping accommodations. At that time, I had no idea just how much worse things were going to get. 

 

The schoolhouse is a lovely place, converted into pilgrim’s quarters, but also rented out for other occasions. One big open space, the kitchen, dining and sitting area is on one end, the beds in two rows dormitory style on the other. The two bathrooms were at the far end. There was a stage area that also held a bed. The front porch looked out over farm land. The back porch looked at a watering tank where sheep, and a variety of birds, gathered morning and night.  

 

Isobel, our host, arrived after we’d all settled in, to offer a farm tour later in the afternoon. Sandvlei Farm is huge – thousands of hectares on which are grown canola and wheat. She had a homemade milk tart (a custard pie) warming in the oven for our snack, and would bring dinner later, as well as breakfast the next morning. 

 

She had to come twice to get us all to the field where her husband and son were harvesting canola. The bakkie, necessary for driving across the field, wouldn’t hold all seven of us at once. I held back to go with Cynthia and N. in the second group. When I had been at the farm on my first walk, Isobel hadn’t been so available, and so I was happily surprised at how chatty and warm and funny she was. She was clearly proud of the farm, but she was also clear about her importance in the running of it. In addition to keeping the books, and the usual running of the household, she managed the school house rentals and made and sold soap. She also sold goose down. That was probably the most interesting thing I learned that afternoon. She had hundreds of white geese that she hand-plucked down from the chests of, as she held them in her arms, only to release them after to go and grow more down and live their goose lives. She talked, too, about various other enterprises she’d engaged in over the years, not only to bring in more money, but also to express her creativity and entrepreneurship. I was in awe of her in a way I hadn’t felt before, but that fit my state of wonder and admiration for farm wives in general. 

 

 

When we arrived in the field where two giant harvesters sat, Isobel’s husband was just leading the first group out of the cab of one. He walked us all around the outside, showing us how it worked to harvest the tiny black specks that were the canola seeds. He answered our questions patiently, but soon said they needed to get to work. The canola wouldn’t harvest itself. He mounted the first beast and lumbered off, setting its course along the edge of the unharvested canola. His son did the same, along a different edge, with the second harvester. We watched them for a few minutes and then headed back toward the farm house.

 

 

Isobel traded the bakkie for a larger vehicle into which we all crammed ourselves. She drove us to what she called their store, which was the large shop where equipment was stored and maintenance was done. She talked about the history of the farm that had been in the family for generations, about her sons and how they were stepping up, about how hard farming was. I was impressed and inspired, and so glad for the afternoon’s tour. 

 

As a group, we were beginning to feel split into camps. Clare and Anna-marie had taken A. under wing and had become her advocates and protectors. It was nice that someone still had the energy to be with A.’s chaos, but it was also hard to watch. They would correct her words and behaviors, telling her that if she was going to live in South Africa (which she was trying to do), she needed to act more South African. On the surface the conversations looked like they might be helpful, and A. seemed to take the words in stride, even as she ignored the advice. What I struggled with, watching from the outside, was that it felt like mean girl activity from junior high. They talked about her behind her back in unkind ways, their tone with her mocking and often cruel, and made it clear she was not quite one of them, but they interacted with her in ways that she saw as being included. 

 

I was aware my approach was no more kind, although in my mind, it was at least honest. I worked to not be in A.’s vicinity at all, and it was successful enough that there are large stretches of time, I don’t remember if she was there or not. 

 

Cynthia by then had stopped trying so hard to connect with A., but her deep politeness kept her engaged on a surface level, and she didn’t try to avoid A. as I did. Wendy was pretty independent of us all, including her group. She was definitely odd man out there, although there was no malice in the separation. Clare and Anna-marie were simply closer friends, and as a last-minute addition, Wendy was always a little separate. She was, however, easy and interesting to talk to and joke with. N. by then was starting to separate from the group, but especially from A. after the conflict of the night before. 

 

While N. was working to find a way to stay back and follow our group a day or two behind so she could be alone, A. was talking about needing to go to Cape Town. Apparently, she had been trying to get an appointment to appeal the denial of her visa renewal. She had moved to South Africa in January and had run out her visa. Her plan was to move to Cape Town, and she was also in the process of trying to buy a house. Being on the pilgrimage was a way for her to avoid immigration people while she tried to get a hearing. It was never clear why she felt she needed to leave Germany, where her father and two children lived, or how she was paying for any of her life on the wages of a piano teacher with one student. 

 

Isobel came with dinner, and food for breakfast, shortly after we returned. The food was amazing, even as the atmosphere around the table felt strained. Leg of lamb, pumpkin fritters, spinach, potatoes, rice, green salad, gravy, with meringues with fruit and cream for dessert. There was not as much alcohol available, so the group was more sober than previously. That may have contributed to the weird energy at the table. 

 

After dinner a game of Skip-bo got started at the table. Clare, Anna-marie, A., and N. played. I wasn’t invited, but would have declined regardless. Cynthia was on her bed. Wendy sat and watched. From a chair in the sitting area, I journaled and watched and eavesdropped. The tension at the table was so thick I wouldn’t have been surprised to see spontaneous combustion. Still, they persisted to the end of the game, after which everyone made their way to bed.

 

I had to laugh a little at my Hafiz inspiration for the day: “You have galaxies inside of you. Express them.” I was very afraid of expressing what was inside of me. The anger and frustration and resentment. The conflict between my commitment to accept whatever the pilgrimage provided as exactly what I needed and my desire be anywhere but in that group was becoming untenable. I knew that venting to N. and Cynthia had limited benefit, and that I didn’t want to contribute to the drama. I wanted to find a way to access a better version of myself in a very difficult situation, but I had no idea how I was going to do that.