Nadine Walks - stories of trekking and travel

Day Two on the Pennine Way: Torside to Standedge, 12 miles

August 17, 2018

My second day on the Pennine Way, compared to the first, was glorious. And oh man, did I need it!

The sun was shining brightly and the report at breakfast was that the weather should be clear for the next week, at least. And breakfast, for the record, was also glorious: my first full English of the trip. A bowl of cereal, two sausage links, scrambled eggs, a thick slice of ham, tomatoes and mushrooms and baked beans and toast and juice and coffee. It was delicious and also too much but I ate as much as I could and then ordered a packed lunch to carry with me.

Sitting at the next table was Margaret, also from California, and she told me how she had also gotten lost the day before, by walking along Kinder River. “Those footprints you saw were probably mine!” she said. It never occurred to me that I might have been following someone who had also gotten lost.

Margaret was staying two nights in The Old House B&B, and taking advantage of their transport service, so she had already walked the second day and would be driven to a point about 15 miles further on. She told me and David about a shortcut around one of the reservoirs, and our B&B host confirmed it, and I was careful to make a note in my guidebook. We were directed to the best way to get back to the path from the B&B, and so I hoisted my pack and set off across the neighboring field.

Within just five minutes, I was walking back to the B&B to ask for clarification. I’d been wandering around the field rather aimlessly and feeling kind of silly and honestly, I think I had lost a little confidence the day before, when I’d made several big navigational mistakes. My B&B host once again pointed me in the right direction, and finally I was on my way.

The day’s walk was just beautiful. There were some challenging sections, mostly in the first four miles which climbed and climbed up to Black Hill, but even that part wasn’t so bad. The sky was clear blue with huge fluffy clouds and for awhile there were sheep at every turn. I hadn’t yet grown used to the sheep (spoiler: I would pass hundreds and hundreds of sheep nearly every day of the walk), and it was so amusing to approach and see how close I could get before they would spook and run a few feet away.

And as I climbed up towards Laddow Rocks I was totally alone, and the views stretched out behind me, wide and vast. My legs, despite the strain of the day before, felt good, and I was happy and energized and excited for what was ahead.

One of the most beautiful moments of the day (and maybe of the entire trip) was when I turned off the road towards Wessenden Head Reservoir. There was a great slope of green hill that stretched down from the top of the path, and sitting at the top of the hill was an older woman on a wooden kitchen chair. Darting and racing all around the field in front of her were at least a dozen dogs, maybe more. They were all shapes and sizes and colors, and there were two women amongst them, who seemed to be their handlers. I still haven’t figure out what, exactly, they were doing or where they were from: one of the women would occasionally throw a ball and the dogs were run after it, or sometimes when one might begin to stray too far the other woman would call him back. I watched the dogs for a few minutes and then the woman in the chair began to talk to me. She told me that she had very recently found out that she had cancer, and by some coincidence she had discovered these women with the dogs on Facebook, and they invited her out to this hillside.

She sat there, with a blanket wrapped tightly around her legs, the sun on her face and a dozen dogs racing at her feet. “I think this must be some version of heaven,” she said.

A little further down the path- after I ate my sandwich on a rock in the sunshine- I attempted the shortcut that our B&B hosts and Margaret had told me about. I studied my map, I made a left at the end of a reservoir, I followed the path and I had no idea what went wrong! I reached what I thought was the end of the path and I couldn’t figure out a way to go forward, so I gave up and retraced my steps (it was around this point that I began wondering just how many miles I was adding on to this whole Pennine Way thing). Just when I got back to where I had attempted the shortcut, I ran into Nigel and Judy, the friendly couple who had shared a taxi with me on the way to Edale.

Shortcut on the Pennine Way, Wessenden Reservoir

Shortcut gone wrong!

We ended up walking together or close to each other for the last few miles of the day, and despite my failure with the first shortcut, we ended up taking another when a very friendly local man explained the best way to get to our lodgings in Standedge. This time- finally- I figured out the right path.

My lodging for the night was a campsite around the back of The Carriage House in Standedge. I’d brought my tent and some camping supplies with me because there were a couple nights along the way where I couldn’t find a bed in a B&B or a hostel or bunkhouse. I also figured that if my plans needed to change or I ran into any trouble, having a tent with me would allow for some extra insurance.

But camping is still a relatively new thing for me; I’ve been car camping only a couple of times, and really, the only thing that gave me any sort of confidence to attempt camping along the Pennine Way was the three nights I spent in my tent on Cumberland Island several years before.

Before I left for my trip, I meant to practice setting up my tent- and I did, just one time. But when I unfurled everything from my pack on the grassy lawn of The Carriage House, the material looked alien and the color coded tabs indecipherable. I flipped the tent and the footprint and the rain cover around a few times and weaved the poles together and clipped things here and there and, eventually, I had something that looked like a standing tent. I realized that I could have used one more stake, and I wasn’t sure if I’d used the stakes that I did have in the correct way; with the first strong gust of wind, I worried that the tent was going to be flapping around too much.

I stood back, with my hands on my hips, and surveyed my work. Good enough. I walked around the side of The Carriage House to find the shower blocks so I could clean up, and then I went inside for a glass of wine. Later, I met up with David and we ate dinner together, and then around 9pm I somewhat reluctantly went outside to see about sleeping in the tent. Once the sun went down the temperatures dropped and I put on every layer of clothing I had in my pack and tucked myself deep in my sleeping bag. But I was cold, and stayed cold all through the night- tossing and turning and trying my hardest to sleep. I think I finally got comfortable around 5am once the sun started to rise and the tent began to warm back up. A little late for a good night’s sleep, but it was enough. Mostly, I was relieved that my first night of camping was over, and I let my tent out in the sun so the dew could dry while I went inside and had another full English breakfast.

Ready for Day 3!!

Day One of the Pennine Way: Edale to Torside, 15 miles (that somehow turned into 20)

August 13, 2018

I woke up at 4:30am, and then again at 5:30am. The sun was shining bright in the sky and it felt impossible to fall back to sleep. I was alone in my bunk room and the air was cool outside the open window, and when I looked out I could see clouds in the distance.

I put on my hiking outfit and rolled up my sleeping bag and began to remember how to arrange my backpack. I was moving slowly. Breakfast was a coffee sachet and a banana and a granola bar, and by 7:00 I was dressed and packed and ready to start my long walk.

The Pennine Way starts in the small village of Edale, a 45-minute drive east from Manchester, and the track immediately heads into farmland and open countryside. As I was halfway up the first (very) small hill I began to breathe heavily and it felt as though I was being pulled backwards, as though there were two hands on my backpack gently tugging, and tugging. My pack was heavy, heavier than anything I’d walked with ever before. Only 15 minutes into the walk, I began to worry that because of the weight I was carrying (a weight that included camping supplies), this walk might be a bit of a challenge.

And the first real challenge of the day was Jacob’s Ladder, a series of steep steps that climb and climb and climb, dropping you off at Edale Rocks. Step by step, inch by inch, I made it to the top and as soon as I did I felt my first raindrop. And then more, and more, so I took off my pack and pulled out my raincoat and then kept walking. The rain, at first, didn’t seem so bad, but within minutes I was walking through thick clouds, rain pelting me from every angle, the wind blowing fiercely so that no part of me was left dry. My hiking pants quickly became wet and cold against my legs and I was only an hour into the day’s walk. I found the best cover I could, and I huddled under the overhang of a rock and took off my pants and changed into my long underwear and rain pants, much like I did that time when I walked Hadrian’s Wall. “Already prancing around the Pennine Way in my underwear”, I thought.

My guidebook says this about the first day: “The Pennine Way throws you straight in at the deep end. If the weather is poor, it may also test your navigation and equipment as you skirt around the notorious Kinder Scout and ascend the remote summit of Bleaklow.”

Ahh, truer words were never spoken! The Pennine Way certainly did test my navigation skills (or lack thereof) on that first day; as I crossed Kinder Scout and made my way across what felt like the ridge of a mountain (though honestly I had no idea because I couldn’t see a thing), I focused so carefully on the faint path at my feet. The trail wound in and out of large rocks and sometimes it was really difficult to tell where I needed to go. Visibility was also extremely poor, but for awhile I managed to follow the path.

Here might be a good time to say something about the signage on the Pennine Way: well, there could be more of it. There were many, many times along the trail where it seemed as though the path divided and there was no clear indication of which way to go. I quickly learned that I needed to follow my guidebook closely, and by doing so I always figured out the way. But on that first day, when it started raining, I hadn’t wanted to take off my pack and dig through and get everything wet looking for my guide, so I foolishly thought I could just follow the path without much trouble.

Well, the first trouble came at Kinder Downfall. I was suppose to cross over the river which is mostly dry unless there’s been really heavy rain, and it involved a rather sharp left turn. It had been a long time since I’d checked my guidebook and I was oblivious to the fact that I needed to cross a river or make a left, and I assumed that a signpost would indicate where I needed to go. The other complicating factor was that I just couldn’t see a thing. There should have been sweeping views, and a rocky cliff face, and I should have been able to see a path on the other side of the river bed. Instead, all I could see was the trace of a path at my feet, and I just continued to follow it straight on.

Straight and straight and straight, along a mostly dry river bed. For a long time I didn’t even question whether I was still on the Pennine Way or not; I was on a path, there were footprints in the mud which meant that others had come before me, and there were even a few cairns- those large pile of rocks which, to me, mean that I’m on the right path.

How long did I walk? A mile? Two? Eventually, the path faded into obscurity, and suddenly there were half a dozen different directions I could walk in. I tried a few of them, I tried to see a way forward, I turned around and around looking for something, for someone, but there was nothing.

So I turned around, because it was all I could do. I knew that if I retraced my steps I would eventually get back to what I knew was the Pennine Way, and so I walked back, for one mile or maybe even two, and I found a cairn that I knew was on the path and I took out my guidebook and luckily there was a break in the rain and I sat and I thought and I thought. I noticed that I needed to cross the river, but with visibility still being so poor, I couldn’t quite figure out where I was supposed to go.

And then, emerging from the fog and the mist, was a man wearing a black raincoat. I could see him in the distance, slowly moving closer, and I sat and waited until he was nearly upon me and then I said, “Are you on the Pennine Way?”

His name was David, from LA by way of Liverpool, and he took out his own guide and we studied the maps and together figured out where we needed to turn. By even more great luck there were two men coming from the other direction and they were able to point out the path to us. I chatted to David for a few minutes and then I continue on ahead of him, grateful and happy that I was finally back on the way.

And then, before long, I made my second mistake of the day. This one was just plan stupidity and lack of focus; I was tired and wet and worried that the path was much more difficult to navigate than I’d expected, and I turned too soon and headed down a very steep, very large hill, so confident that I was going the right way until suddenly it was clear that I wasn’t. I turned around, I looked up and up at what I would have to climb. This was actually one of the hardest moments of my entire walk- that feeling of knowing you’ve already walked so long and so far, of feeling wet and cold, of knowing you still have so far to go, and then looking at this really steep hill and knowing that you need to retrace some very difficult steps.

One by one, I did it. I got back to the top and ate half my sandwich and changed my socks and then kept walking. The rain started again, and then didn’t stop for the next two or three hours. Wet and cold, wet and cold, I rummaged through my pack until I found my buff and I wrapped my numbed fingers in it like a muff, as best as I could.

The last few miles of the day followed Clough’s Edge, a high and narrow path through ferns, before a very steep descent down to Torside. The entire time I was so worried that I was on the wrong path, because it felt like it had been hours since I’d seen a sign for the Pennine Way. Maybe it had been hours. My legs were so tired and the path was so steep that I had to watch my footing carefully. Finally, finally, just as the skies began to clear, I reached the bottom of the descent and saw a sign and knew that I was close to my destination. The sun burst from behind the clouds, warming my face for the first time all day. I was exhausted, but I had made it.

I had a room at The Old House B&B reserved for the night, and I was grateful for it. A clean towel and a bar of soap were laid out on the bed, the shower was hot, and there were supplies for making tea in the kitchen. There are no dinner options at the B&B or anywhere nearby, but the hosts of The Old House offer to drive guests to The Peels Arms a few miles away. I went with David- my trail angel from earlier in the day- and we spent our evening talking about rain and gear and our feet and where we were going the next day.

I told him how I was wearing hiking shoes, and not boots, and that I wasn’t concerned about falling or twisting an ankle. “I don’t have the slimmest ankles in the world,” I told him. “Not good for high heels, but great for walking and hiking.”

David held up his beer glass. “To sturdy ankles!”

So this was day one: long and difficult and wet and at times defeating. But in the end, I could feel the sunshine on my face and I had the company of a fellow hiker over a warm meal in a cosy pub, along with a room of my own and a clean towel. This was all the fortification I would need; when I woke up the next morning, I was ready for whatever the day would bring.

The Pennine Way: the adventure begins

July 31, 2018

Here I am, finally getting around to writing about my walk on the Pennine Way. I finished the 268-mile trail about four weeks ago (!!), and I have so much to say, so I figured I should probably get started.

I didn’t really think I’d blog while on the walk, and mostly because I didn’t have a computer or iPad or keyboard with me. But even if I had, I think it still would have been challenging. My days of walking were long, and usually rather exhausting. Many of my evenings were solo, but it was all I could do to go find dinner, return to my bunkhouse/hostel/tent, read a few chapters of my book and then go to bed… usually by 9:30 (if not earlier). So these reports are, sadly, not coming to you in real time (spoiler: I finished the walk! I made it out alive!!).

So, let’s begin. My first thought is this, and I probably say it with every trip: travel amazes me. It throws you into these new situations and suddenly you are having coffee with someone you met on your flight, or are now friends with the bus driver, or are sharing a cab with a couple you’d met only minutes before. This kind of sums up my first day of travel, as I left the US for England: I had all of these really wonderful, friendly, helpful connections with the people around me. I lucked out on my flight; I had the aisle seat, a man from Goa, India, had the window seat, and no one was in the middle (otherwise it was a pretty full flight). The man (whose name I now forget) made a few comments throughout the flight, but we mostly kept to ourselves. But when we landed in Dublin and had a two-hour layover, he suggested we go find some coffee together, and I agreed. Just like that I had a new friend, and we spent the time talking about travel. He was intrigued by my long walks and I answered lots of questions, and it was the perfect thing to help with my transition from regular life into my summer adventures.

Next step: getting to London and catching a train to Edale. I’d made the train reservation months before but for some reason I didn’t give myself much time to get from the airport to my train, especially not with all of the errands I needed to do: ship a box of extra luggage up to Scotland, purchase a SIM card for my phone, find a grocery store to stock up on food for the first few days of the walk. The only thing I managed to do was ship my extra luggage, and I made it just in time for my train. One of these years I’ll remember what it’s like to not sleep on the flight and to arrive in Europe with jet lag, and maybe I’ll actually give myself an extra day of adjustment before I start a long walk. (One can hope).

This is a good place to note that, in the flurry of shipping some of my things ahead to Scotland, a few items got a bit mixed up. I had my backpack and smaller day pack and packing cubes and gallon-sized ziplock bags spread out in the corner of a small post office, trying to very quickly load my pack with my hiking stuff. I was sweating from the heat and anxious about catching my train, and for the most part I got things where they needed to be, with a few exceptions: all of my pens went in the box to Scotland (this would prove to be very annoying over the next few days, not having a pen). So did my bag of Sour Patch Kids (my hiking candy!!). On the other hand, in my hiking pack was a navy blue men’s sweater, that I was returning to a friend later in my travels once I got to my writer’s retreat. That’s a bit of a story in itself, but I realized that I’d forgotten to remove the sweater once it was already too late, so it meant that I’d need to carry it across England.

In the end, I made my train and arrived in Sheffield, where I had to get off and make a connection to go the rest of the way to Edale. But when I looked at the displayed timetable I didn’t see my train posted. It turns out there was a strike (happening on that particular Tuesday, along with Thursday and Saturday), so my train wasn’t running. Ahh, my first challenge! I was directed to a bus station and a couple of very friendly workers helped me figure out the two buses I would need to take that would hopefully get me to Edale. The first one, the #272 from Sheffield to Castleton was fine, but when I arrived in Castleton there were no other buses in sight.

My bus driver, who was waiting around until he could leave for his next run, suggested I look up time tables on my phone. I explained that my phone didn’t have any data (the first time on this trip that a SIM card would have come in handy!!), and after a few minutes he came over with his phone and tried to help me find my bus. We looked and looked and finally he said, “I’ve been driving buses for 30 years, and if I can’t figure this out then I think you’re out of luck.”

There were two people waiting nearby, they had backpacks and were reading signs and scrolling through their phones. They’d been on the first bus with me and I thought I overheard one of them mention the Pennine Way, so I walked over and asked if they were trying to get to Edale.

“We are!” exclaimed the man, whose name was Nigel. “We’re going to walk the Pennine Way.” He was with his wife, Judy, and the three of us talked about the walk and then how we were going to get to Edale. Eventually, Nigel found a cab company that was willing to drive out and pick us up, and before long (and after I ran into a small shop and bought a sandwich and a large bottle of water for the next day), we were on our way.

I was tired when I finally arrived in Edale but I had the adrenaline that travel and a new adventure always seem to provide. Our taxi driver was very concerned about the fact that I needed to walk an additional 10 minutes down a small path to get to my bunkhouse; she suggested that she could drive me there but I insisted on walking. After all, soon enough I’d be starting a much longer walk.

I’d made a reservation for the Stables Bunkhouse at Ollerbrook Farms, and I had the place to myself (something I would soon discover to be a trend on the Pennine Way… I think bunkhouses are the way to go!). My room had a window that looked onto a field of cows and the hillside beyond, and the kitchen had a fridge where I could keep my breakfast and lunch cold for the next day. I grabbed dinner in a nearby pub and ate to the sounds of a World Cup game on TV (Russian vs Egypt), then made my way back to the bunkhouse and was in bed by 9pm.

Despite the challenges, I thought this first day was a really good way to kick off my adventure. Things hadn’t gone quite according to plan, but it all worked out okay, especially with the help of others. I thought that maybe it was all a bit of an omen- would my walk have more challenges ahead? (For sure). Would I meet kind people, would I rely on them for help? (Yes, and yes). Would I have to sometimes readjust, and come up with a Plan B? (Oh yeah).

And these are all reasons that I travel. Real life has some challenges, but for the most part I know what to expect. I have my routines, I have my people. Sometimes, it’s just really good to shake things up, to go some place new, to throw yourself into the unknown. To go off, and have an adventure.

And this one had just begun.

That it Might Last Forever

July 15, 2018

How do I begin to write about my walk on the Pennine Way? I’m at my writer’s retreat in France now; I finished my walk 11 days ago. I’m here to work on other projects, but I know I also want (and need) to write about this walk.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

Each walk I do is so different, my experience with it is so different. As I walked the Pennine Way I thought- I don’t need to do this again. It’s beautiful and wonderful but it’s also hard and that hill seemed endless and one time on the Pennine Way is enough.

But yet, I sit here in a small village in France and I wonder who’s out there, hiking the Pennine Way right as this very moment. I think of them with their packs and their walking sticks and I’m envious. I wonder if they have the beautiful weather that I had. If the bogs are still mostly dry. If the heather has turned purple.

I jotted down some words, some memories this morning, and I think this is as good a place as any to begin. I’ll blog more- surely- about this walk in the weeks and months to come, but for now, here is what the Pennine Way was to me:

It was openness, it was the moors. It was the Brontës. It was walking in the soft morning through the bracken. It was reading chapters of Jane Eyre and eating thin ginger biscuits in empty bunkhouses.

It was a cappuccino from the good looking owner of the highest pub in Britain. It was a Greek meal and a glass of good wine on a terrace with a girl from Norfolk. And fish and chips in a pub with a man from LA by way of Liverpool and talking about Meatloaf and toasting to sturdy ankles (mine).

It was the full English breakfast.

Half pints turned into pints, and restaurants that stopped serving food in the early evening and cold quinoa from a bag and a loaf of bread.

Rescuing a lamb stuck in a fence, retreating from a field of bulls and being helped over a high stone wall by a man running a race.

It was entire days of walking alone, it was struggling over the stiles and figuring out the locks on gates. Taking the shortcuts. Missing the shortcuts. Conversations about life and death, and how an endless field with racing dogs and a seat in the sun was probably some version of heaven.

It was hills and mountains with names like Bleaklow and Cross Fell and Kinder Scout and Great Shunner Fell and Pen-y-Ghent and The Schil.

It was not thinking I had the strength to get over these hills, and counting to ten with each step, and repeating this over and over until I reached a top I thought might never come.

It was 268-miles minus the 20 I skipped with a train ride, plus (possibly) an additional 20 I added with wrong turns and mistaken detours.

It was learning not to follow what I thought was a path along Kinder River.

A pack that started heavy and grew heavier, and learning how to shoulder that weight. Four blisters and aching feet, sunburn on the tips of my ears and a fall into the soft grass that startled all of the sheep.

Walking through a heat wave and discussing the weather with everyone I met.

Nights in a tent wrapped in a borrowed sweater, wind that pushed me sideways, air and a sky that made me feel alive. Dry and prickly heather weeks away from its bloom, puffy white flowers growing from the bogs, a deer bounding along train tracks, and the constant scattering of hundreds of sheep.

Tarns and burns and crags and fells and becks. The moors and the mountains. My stride, sometimes slow, sometimes fluid, as I moved through this landscape.

A small tub of Wensleydale ice cream on a bench in the shade. An apple on a rock in the sun. A muffin and a cold coffee drink in the middle of the heather when I thought I couldn’t walk any further. So many rounds of Babybel cheese and flour tortillas.

A clear blue sky nearly every morning. Horse flies and honesty boxes and bad coffee. Duckboards and slabs. Signposts with a white acorn.

And: standing alone at the top of a great expanse and feeling as though this might go on and on, and that it might last forever.

One Week to Go

June 11, 2018

One week. One week!! You’d think after all these years of planning summer adventures and long walks and reunions with friends and writer’s retreats in the hills of France, I wouldn’t feel the same kind of excitement or nerves that I always do.

But thank goodness this hasn’t gotten old yet. I’m a week away from this year’s long summer journey and I’m feeling that exact same mix of thrill and anxiety that I always do. I write about it every year, too: here are ruminations from 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017.

This year’s “check-in before the big adventure” feels most similar to what I was feeling before my very first Camino, which is a little strange. I’m worried about my gear and the weight of my pack and the fear that I haven’t trained nearly enough.

So let’s rewind just a little, and fill you in on what’s been happening in the past month in regards to my trip.

I’m starting off in England, with a plan to walk 15-days on the Pennine Way, beginning to end. Here’s a map from my guidebook that might give you a bit of context as to where the Pennine Way is, and the route it takes:

My plan for the Pennine Way was to stay in a mix of bunkhouses and hostels and B&B’s, much like I did on both the West Highland Way and Hadrian’s Wall Path. In fact, I found an itinerary for a Pennine Way walk that allows a walker to stay almost exclusively in bunkhouses and hostels, and so I planned for this route, hoping to save some money.

The only flaw in this plan was that, even months in advance, some places were fully booked, including several large youth hostels (though, as my mom pointed out, these are youth hostels that are most likely being used by the youth of this world. As hard as it is for me to admit, my days of being considered a ‘youth’ are probably long behind me. So I should graciously take a step back for the Girl Scouts and Boy Scouts and youth groups who are taking up the beds in the hostels). But then I discovered it wasn’t just the hostels; B&B’s were booked too, and it’s all boiled down to this:

I’m going to camp on the Pennine Way.

Well, sort of. I’m bringing a tent and any other accompanying gear I might need, but I’ll probably only camp a couple nights (at established campsites with showers and toilets and a nearby pub with warm food). It’s a long and complicated story of how I can’t find any accommodation for one night on the trail, and I honestly can’t come up with a better solution than to bring a tent.

And part of me is really excited about this: I get to add a new element to this year’s walk, I get to push and challenge myself, I might fall in love with backpacking and sleeping outdoors, etc.

But the real problem is this: I’m adding an awful lot of weight to my (new) pack for just a couple nights of sleeping outdoors. Yesterday I loaded up my pack with everything I plan to take and the pack was a whopping 26 pounds and I really have no idea if this is reasonable or not. What I do know is that it is nearly twice as much weight as I started with on my first Camino (though, for the record, I packed so little for that first Camino that I ended up buying things along the way). I think I’ve averaged around 15-18 pounds on my other walks, and while an increase of 8 pounds might not seem like a ton, I felt every ounce of it as I walked yesterday.

And this is why I feel like I did before my first Camino. I’ve been researching gear and making multiple trips to REI and buying things and returning things and I’ve been trying to go on as many hikes as I can. A few weeks ago I threw a bunch of books in my pack and hiked with about 20-21 pounds and I was getting used to that, but the addition of another 5 might as well have been akin to adding a boulder to my pack.

I’m going to weed through my stuff and get rid of whatever I can, and then, well, hope for the best.

I can do this, right? Right. Right! As ever, I hope to blog a bit while I’m walking, but in an effort to shed weight I’m not going to bring a keyboard or iPad, so any writing that happens is going to be my thumbs on an iPhone screen (but once I arrive at my writer’s retreat I’ll have proper writing tools, have no fear). So there may be short updates here, but I’m also planning to update photos on Instagram, and maybe even on Facebook. You’re welcome to friend/follow/sign up/stalk/whatever it is we do these days on social media; as ever, I’m so happy to be able to share parts of my experience with all of you.

There are so many other wonderful and amazing parts of this trip: Paris and Sète and La Muse and more walking somewhere and reuniting with old friends and I’m excited about every single part of it. I still feel so grateful that I have the kind of life where I can do something like this, and so grateful that, despite the very hard, hard things in this world, I can find this pocket of beauty and freedom and adventure and joy.

So I think this is where my mind is this year, as I prepare to head off to Europe again: I’m nervous and excited about the physical challenge ahead, but I’m also seeking abundant beauty and joy.

It’s my wish for all of you as well, in these months ahead: pockets of freedom and adventure, moments of abundant beauty and joy.

More soon.

No Room at the Inn! Small Shoes!

May 15, 2018

Minutes ago, in a flurry of excitement and anticipation, I dug through my drawers and cabinets, assembled clothing and toiletries and trinkets, and put it all together in my old Camino pack.

“Off on an adventure!” you might be thinking. “Where is she headed to?” you might be asking.

These are fine observations and questions but the answer is: Nowhere. Not yet.

But then why am I loading up my Camino pack? All I can really tell you is that I feel as though my summer trip is right around the corner. Today was just a Tuesday in the middle of May but it felt like one of those days that immediately precedes a big adventure. The air was heavy and humid and hot, the trees were bursting with green, I had off from work and so it felt like the normal pace of the last 9 months was pulling to a close. School’s out, summer’s here.

Not yet, not yet, I still have a month to go. One month! But just one month, and maybe that’s why I can practically taste my next journey. I’m in those final weeks where it feels like time just slips away so quickly, when there is still so much left to do, when every day I need to look at the great big list I’ve made for myself and try to manage to check at least one thing off.

And today, I let the excitement wash over me. My first stop on my summer trip will be the Pennine Way, a 268-mile route through the mountains and hillsides that are said to make up the backbone of England. I paged through my guidebook and began to re-read the blogs that had been part of my research months ago.

Along with the excitement was a sudden burst of nerves, the kind that always hit me, but this time they feel early. There’s still so much I need to do, but I have nearly 5 weeks and haven’t I already done this sort of thing before? Many times before?

Yes, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. This route will be challenging, and the first days start off with a bang and I just haven’t been hiking like I normally do at this time of year. And this isn’t Spain, this is England- northern England- and what if it rains every day? What if the June days are unseasonably cool? What if I get turned around and stuck in a bog?

The blogs warn of stream crossings that can swell if there’s been rain, and now I think to myself, “I need to pack my Crocs, too.” The blogs also warn of the heavy mist that can obscure the way, and I worry at this as well. When I’m walking, I tend to have a good sense of direction and have really never gotten lost, or strayed far from the path. But what if the Pennine Way is different than the West Highland Way, or Hadrian’s Wall Path? What if I am, actually, vastly underprepared?

Now is probably the time when one of you should write in and tell me to stop over-thinking this, and you’d be right to do so. This walk may indeed be my most challenging yet, but I’ve also read many accounts that say the way-marking is better than ever, and that big stone slabs have been laid down over the boggiest portions of the trail. These things assure me.

Usually by now I’ve checked in with some updates on my planning, so here we go…

The planning has been intense!!

On a Camino, you really don’t need to do much planning, outside of your flight, your train/bus/taxi to the start of the walk, and maybe the first night’s accommodation. But walks in the UK are a little different, at least for a non-camper like me. Since I’ll be staying in a mix of B&B’s, hostels and bunkhouses, I need to make sure they I have my beds reserved. Because I’m not going to carry a tent, it would be a little risky to just show up and expect to find a place to sleep. And on the Pennine Way, there are sometimes great distances between towns or villages, so if one place is all booked up, I might be unable to walk the distance to the next.

I pre-booked my lodgings for both the West Highland Way and Hadrian’s Wall Path, but each of those walks were only 5 days long. I’ll walk the Pennine Way in 15 days, and including a night before my start and an extra night in Scotland at the end, I’ve had to research and book 17 different places! I knew this going in, but the organization and communication and details were another thing altogether once I’d started.

I’ve run into a little trouble here, and I’m not out of the woods yet. There are a couple places along the route where accommodation seems- already- to be all booked up. I’m not sure how this is possible; my guidebook talks of all the lodging options in one particular town along the route, and says, “Unless the Rolling Stones decide to play in Middleton Village Hall, there is always going to be plenty of choice.” Well, I looked into every single option in my guidebook, then scoured other options online, and everything is booked. I literally checked to see if the Rolling Stones were going to be in town (had to do it!), and I can’t find any reason that there is no accommodation available. And this has happened at multiple different towns or villages along the route, where I’d been planning to stay. So far I think I’ve figured out most of my nights, and have had to alter my route a bit, but it isn’t all bad. One of the changes I’ve had to make now has me stopping in Haworth, home to the Brontës, a stop that I thought I would have to miss. It does mean that the day out of Haworth will come in at a whopping 26-miles, but, well, I’ll deal with that when I get there.

But there are still a couple nights’ lodging that I need to figure out, and and another curveball has been how to figure out the best way to make a quick phone call over to England from the States. I won’t go into the details here, but it took me far too long to come up with a good solution (but I think I have the solution- Viber Out. I got through to one of the hostels this morning, so something must have worked?).

The other snafu to my summer adventuring has been the shoes. Oh, the shoes! Something I thought I had figured out 4 years ago, when I bought that first pair of Keen Voyageurs and have been singing their praises ever since. Well, maybe I have spoken too soon, or maybe I have jinxed myself, or maybe this is just what companies do: they constantly change things up because they think they need to be bigger or better. But when it comes to shoes that fit wide feet, oh please, leave good enough alone!

I bought my new pair of Keens and giddily took a photo of all the old pairs and this new one and thought to myself, “How lucky I am to have a shoe that fits.” But then I wore them for a few walks around my neighborhood, and then on a 6-mile hike, and I don’t think there’s any way that I can take them to England for the Pennine Way. The shoes have changed; I’d heard rumors of this a few months ago, but this new pair I bought confirmed it for me. I’m not sure what it is, exactly, but the shoe feels a little shorter and my toes feel crowded. I think the width is still there, so maybe it’s the length? But my toes hurt in a way that they never have before, and that was just after a 6-mile hike.

In any case, I’m at a loss for what to do. I’m running out of time so I need to figure out something quickly: either buy a half size larger and hope they work, or maybe try a different model altogether. I stopped by REI last weekend to see if I could try the Voyageurs on, but they are no longer being sold in the store. Someone working there said they thought that a new model of the Targhee is actually the same thing as the Voyageur, just with a different look (does this make any sense??). I tried them on but I wasn’t ready to make a decision- I’m still mourning the loss of my good ol’ Keen Voyageurs.

No room at the Inn and shoes that don’t fit… not exactly good omens for this adventure, huh?

But it’s all part of the fun, isn’t it? This is what travel is: it throws us out of our comfort zones, it makes us need to think on our feet, we need to make adjustments and accept change and sometimes just face the unknown with openness, and trust.

And in the end, I’m going to have shoes on my feet and a bed to sleep in, one way or another. I’m sure my walk through England is going to have some difficult moments, maybe entire days that are challenging, but it’s going to be beautiful and amazing too. History (my own, over these last four summers) has certainly proven that.

(photos from my springtime walks)

Making our choices

April 12, 2018

When I haven’t written in awhile, I like to begin a post with where I am, and what I’m doing. It centers me, it gives me a place to start. It sets the scene.

And while I wish I could be reporting in from some exotic place (or, Europe, which is still quite exotic in my mind), I’m where I usually am at this time of the year. Sitting at my kitchen table, the one that’s covered with a bright yellow table cloth. There’s a dill plant on the table that my mom gave me this past weekend (so if any of you have recipes you love that feature dill, I’d love for you to share them!). Playing on Spotify is Phoebe Bridgers’s album, Stranger in the Alps, and I’m eating some crackers and cheese and drinking a glass of seltzer with lime.

What else can I tell you? It’s 6:15pm and the sun is shining and it’s so nice to have these longer hours of daylight, and the approach of a warm spring. It’s been a slow approach, and not consistently warm yet, but I think those days are right around the corner.

It feels as though so much is right around the corner, and that’s a good feeling. Two weeks ago I took a small trip to the mountains of Virginia, where I hiked and explored and did a little writing and took stock of the first three months of the year. And then I thought about what the focus of the next few months would be about, and all of a sudden it felt like time was moving quickly. Even though work is busy and my days feel full and I can’t wait until I head off to Europe in mid-June, I also want to slow time. Not the days, necessarily, but the years. I want to slow down the years.

Where am I heading with this? I don’t know. Today, a student I work with was telling me how much trouble she’s having about choosing between two colleges. “Why can’t someone just decide for me?” she said.

I looked at her. “Because it’s the first really big decision that you have to make on your own. It’s practice for life, in a way. Because actually, besides loss, I think that’s one of the hardest things about life. You have your one life, and you have to figure out what you’re going to do with it. You’ve got to make decisions about which direction to take and no one does it for you.”

She buried her head on the couch and I heard her muffled voice from under the pillow. “Why if I choose wrong? It’s so hard because I don’t get this time back. And I don’t want to waste it.”

We don’t get time back. Maybe this is one of the hardest things about life, too. I think about this a lot, with where I am in my life, with the things I want to do, with what I want for myself. I want to be doing exactly what I’m doing now: working with kids and living in my beautiful neighborhood and visiting my friends and family and traveling in the summers and writing in the evenings at my kitchen table. And, also, I want to live in a tiny attic apartment in Paris and buy a baguette every day from the corner boulangerie and write a novel. And, also, I want to be married and raise a child and buy a small home somewhere close to the woods and a lake.

And I want to hike the Appalachian Trail (maybe). And I want to see a giant panda in China. And I want to live in Maine. And I want to set up a darkroom and develop pictures and have exhibits in local cafes and galleries. And I want to have dinner parties and children’s birthday parties. And I want a garden. And I want a yard with a magnolia tree.

Sometimes it feels like to chose any one of these things means to give up another. Sometimes I think I have the time to do everything. Sometimes I worry that it’s already too late.

I don’t have much regret with the choices I’ve made so far in my life, but what does sometimes keep me up at night is the thought that my time is so precious. It’s so, so precious. I like what I’m doing and how I’m living but there is always a voice whispering, “And what else? And what else? And when? And when?”

I don’t have any big changes just on the horizon, but I also know that time does not wait for me. I have to make my choices even if it means that one choice might eliminate another. I have to make my choices because one choice might lead to another. I have to make my choices because time marches on, and the years in my one life slide by, and slide by, and slide by.

The years slide by, but to have this time at all is such a gift. What a beautiful thing, to get to make choices in my life. To be free, to have an education, a roof over my head and crackers and cheese on the table before me. To get to choose my direction, to have so many choices.

So, happy spring my friends, here’s to another season, the one that ushers in new life and growth. Let’s make our choices, and see where they take us.

Ode to the Keen Voyageur; a Camino shoe review

February 27, 2018

They say that the two most important items on a Camino (or, any long-distance walk) are your backpack and your shoes.

I’d have to agree with this, though I’d probably go a step further and say that the most important items are your shoes. A well-fitted pack can really help you in your journey, but I think you can get by with just lightening your load and adjusting your straps in the right way.

But the shoes? In the wrong pair of shoes, you are probably going to run into trouble. Shoes that are too tight can cause blisters, shoes that are too loose can cause blisters, not to mention other annoying problems (and Camino-ending injuries like tendonitis).

As I prepared for my first Camino, I knew how important finding the right pair of shoes was going to be, but I was nervous. Even in my every day life, I have trouble finding shoes that fit my wide feet (though this isn’t helped by the fact that I get discouraged very easily when I go shopping). My solution is to slap on a pair of flip flops and call it a day.

But this strategy would not work on the Camino.

I went to REI and walked around the store in a dozen different shoes, most of them trail runners that were recommended to me when I mentioned that I would be walking the Camino. A trail runner is light weight and would keep my feet cool when walking during the hot summer months, and one pair in particular felt great on my feet. It was a pair of Salomons, and I forked over some cash, took them home, and over the next few weeks wore them on my training hikes.

Before long I had the same problem that I’ve had with so many other shoes in my life: what once felt great in the store, soon began to pinch against the sides of my toes and the widest part of my foot. I knew that my feet would swell even more on a month-long walk than on a 5-mile training hike, so back they went to REI.

On my next visit, I decided to look at the hiking shoes, rather than the trail runners. I knew I didn’t want to buy a boot (there may be others who have had success in boots, but if you’re going to do a long-distance walk in hot summer months, I would stay away from boots), but there was this category of shoes that seemed to be something between a sneaker and a boot.

A hiking shoe. That seemed right.

I bought a lime green/gray pair of Keen Voyageurs and I never looked back. That was 4 years ago, and I’ve gone through 4 pairs of the exact same shoe. In a week or two, I’ll be buying my 5th pair.

I’ve mentioned these shoes a lot on this blog, and I’m going to go a little more in-depth here. I know that this shoe isn’t going to work for everyone, but if I had read somewhere that this was a great shoe for a wide-footed-long-distance-walker, then I probably would have started here, and saved some of the hassle and discouragement of searching through other shoes first.

First up, some specs: The Keen Voyageur is a low-profile hiking shoe, with water resistant leather material, mesh insets, removable metatomical dual density EVA footbeds (I have no idea what all of this means, but I do know that these footbeds provide really good arch support). They have a wide toe box and a high traction rubber outsole, which means the shoe has good grip on rough terrain, and they weigh in at 13.3 ounces.

Here’s what I make of all of this: the shoe is sturdy and supportive, but also breathable and lighter than a hiking boot. The weight took a bit of getting used to, but not in any big way. You’ll notice that they are heavier than a sneaker, but it’s a quick adjustment.

Thoughts on breathability (I might be making up this term): this was an important factor for me, especially since I was walking in the summer. If the shoe didn’t allow for much air circulation, then I knew my feet would get really hot and this could potentially (and most likely) cause blisters. And my verdict was that I think the mesh on the shoe allows for just enough air to keep my feet cool (enough). A sneaker or a trail running shoe is going to be even more breathable and much cooler on the foot, but as long as I took off my shoes while I was on breaks, my feet were fine, and never too hot. Over 4 summers of long-distance trekking, I’ve only gotten one problematic blister (on the bottom of my foot) which I think was due more to high mileage at the beginning of my pilgrimage, some rocky and uneven terrain, and not stopping enough for breaks than it was due to the shoes.

Thoughts on waterproofing: First of all, this shoe is not waterproof. I remember there being a lot of talk about this in REI, and it was making my head spin. The Voyageur is a water resistant shoe, which is why this shoe is much more breathable than a boot or a waterproof shoe. Basically, ‘water resistant’ is on the bottom rung of the water protection ladder. It won’t keep out water in the same way that a waterproof or water repellent shoe will, but they are designed to protect your feet from minimal water exposure.

My experience: when I walked in a light rain or a mist, the Keens kept my socks and feet dry. It was only walking in heavier rain for hours that left my socks damp and/or downright wet. I had day after day of rain this past summer on the Chemin du Puy, and my socks were never more than a bit damp and that never caused blisters. It was only on my first day on the Camino del Norte, when I walked in heavy rain all morning, that I could feel water squishing out of my socks with every step I took. Now, I haven’t walked in a ton of rain on my trips, but I have walked in England and in Scotland, and my feet have stayed pretty dry (my friend Heather even marveled at my dry socks after a wet morning on Hadrian’s Way. She was wearing sneakers, and her socks were pretty wet). So with a little over 100 days of walking on long-distance trails over the past 4 years and only one day of wet feet? I think those are pretty good odds.

Thoughts on performance: Having never actually hiked in any other shoe or boot, I have nothing to compare these to. All I can say is that I love the Keens for walking and hiking. The grip does well on rocky surfaces, the shoe isn’t too heavy but it is supportive. I suspect that I have rather sturdy ankles (no one will ever call my feet elegant), but I’ve never fallen or twisted an ankle, and I do think a supportive shoe helps prevent this. Now, if you’re going to go hiking in the wilderness for hundreds of miles I can’t exactly attest to how well these shoes will do- that might be a situation that calls for a hiking boot. But for long-distance walking over different types of terrain, including pavement, this shoe holds up extremely well.

I get a new pair every year because I put a lot of miles on them, and the tread begins to wear. I’m finally counting my miles this year so I don’t have exact numbers yet, but I’d say that I average at least 1,500 miles in them every year. If you’re looking for a pair of hiking shoes to use for shorter distances (or just for walking around!), then I’m sure these will hold up for several years.

Thoughts on sizing and fit: The wide toe box was the big selling point of this shoe for me, and I almost couldn’t trust it. Would a shoe really give me enough room across the widest part of my foot, and not squeeze my toes together like so many of the other shoes in my life? Even with some foot swelling on the very hottest summer days, the shoes never cramped my feet or gave me any nasty blisters. Now, it’s probably important to mention that I order a half size larger than my regular size (I’m an 8 1/2, and order a 9 in these shoes); this extra space is to account for any swelling that I might encounter on a long distance walk. I may have to come back and update this post, because I’ve read rumors that this year (2018), the shoe is running smaller than normal, so it might be necessary to go up yet another half size.

One other note is lacing (though this can apply to any shoe, not just the Keens); before my first Camino, the good people of REI taught me a special way to tie my laces that helped lock down my heel. Then, before my third Camino (I think?), I encountered some pain on the top of my foot whenever I hiked, so I learned that I could skip a couple of the loopholes so that the top of the shoe didn’t press down on my foot. All this is to say that the difference between an almost perfect shoe and a perfect shoe may all be in the way you tie your laces. (This sort of sounds like a metaphor for something…)

Finally, while I typically give myself at least 1-2 months to break in these shoes before I take them on a Camino, I’ve read reviews that state they can be worn straight out of the box. I’d still recommend breaking in any pair of shoes before a long trek, or to at least make sure you wear them enough to know if they’re a good fit for your feet.

I encountered a bit of Camino magic with these shoes; towards the end of my first day on the Camino Frances, while I was on the descent to Roncesvalles, I noticed a girl walking ahead of me. I caught up to her and we smiled at each other shyly, and then I looked down at her feet. She was wearing an identical pair of Keen Voyageurs! I commented on them, and then we continued to walk together for the next two weeks (until she ended her Camino in Burgos). She was my first, and one of my best Camino friends.

But it’s not just pilgrims on the Camino who wear these shoes; I’ve recommended them to friends and family, and my mother is about to buy her second pair. They are a supportive and comfortable shoe that can be used for every day wear, they can be taken on a walk around the block, and they can be taken on a walk across Spain.

The Keen Voyageurs aren’t for everyone, but if you’re planning a Camino or are in the market for a new pair of shoes, I think they’re worth a try. I can’t sing their praises enough.

Happy walking!

(Note: Some of the links in this post are affiliate links; if you purchase something through one of these links, a small advertising fee will come to me, at no additional cost to you)

“Going Back Again”; Thoughts on Repeating Travel Experiences

February 19, 2018

The older I get, the more I keep learning about myself.

I thought I would have had at least the most obvious things about myself figured out by now- I am, after all, well into my 30’s and while I hopefully have a lot of life left to live, I’ve also been around the sun a few times now, enough to know some basic truths.

Like… I still really like the color yellow. And giant pandas and wearing flip flops and listening to the Beatles. At my core, I’m optimistic and friendly and always try to see the best in people. I really like people, but I’m also an introvert, so I can’t be around them all the time.

Stuff like that.

But then there are the things that should be obvious, and when I finally pick up on my own patterns it’s like something had to smack me over the head to make me see what should have been apparent years and years ago.

There was this day when I was out for a walk, it was probably 3 or 4 years ago, and it came to me in a flash, this realization, this truth: I love trees. And I had always loved them, I have very distinct memories of riding my bike around my neighborhood as a child, and always making a point to notice my favorite trees. And the magnolia that grew in our backyard, how I would marvel every spring at the petals that would seem to burst into bloom overnight, and if I looked out my brother’s bedroom window the view would be nothing but those pink petals, it was like magic. And more and more examples of things like this but it wasn’t until recently that I actually realized: ‘Oh, I like trees.’

Bear with me through this meandering introduction to what this post is really about; it’s been a long day. (Or, maybe, it’s just been a long winter and I feel very out of practice with crafting a blog post).

My thoughts have been on traveling lately, as I look ahead to this summer and try to figure out what I want to do and where I want to go. Here’s what I do know: almost inevitably, I’ll be headed back to Europe again.

I say ‘inevitably’ because, while there are other places in the world that I’d really like to travel to, I’m still very drawn to Europe.

And of course I am! Because when it comes to things I love, I’m a repeater.

Maybe there’s a real and technical term for this, but for now I’ll just stick with ‘repeater’. I repeat experiences, I go back, I return… and I love doing this.

I think the psychology of this is really interesting, but I’ll save that for another post. For now, I’m just struck by how often I’ve repeated experiences in my life when I could have been off trying new things or going to new places, and it’s like it just now occurred to me that this has been a pattern for a long, long time. And so maybe it does make some sense that I keep returning to Europe, that I keep returning to the Camino, that I keep returning to my writer’s retreat at La Muse, that I keep returning to Paris and to France.

Another trip to Paris

Maybe this predilection was set for me as a child; when I look at my very earliest experiences of the joy of returning to a place, I think of the beach vacations my family would take every summer. We’d load into our station wagon (three kids across the back seat and we all dreaded being in the middle), and drive 10 hours down to North Carolina- just above or below the Outer Banks, I’m not quite sure exactly where we were- and we’d rent the same beach house and spend a week with my extended family.

I adored these trips, and one of my strongest memories is the mounting excitement I’d feel as our car crossed the bridge over to Emerald Isle, as we’d approach our rental, as I’d walk in the door and run around the rooms and look for all of the familiar things. The couches! The sailboat mirror! The spiral staircase! The room with the bunk beds! It felt like another home, and returning there felt a little like being home. And there were the reunions with the people I loved, too: my cousins, the girl next door (whose family rented the same house at the same time every year just like us, and we’d write to each other throughout the year- “Remember the 10th!” we would always sign off, and I still remember that beautiful day when the waves were calm and the sun was warm and at 11 years old we couldn’t imagine anything more perfect).

So, you know, I’ve been doing this for a long time- settling into a place and learning to love it. The physicality of it, the features, the feelings, the people. And because of those beach vacations, this tendency is linked strongly to travel. When I experience something beautiful in some ‘other’ place, I form a connection with it, and I am drawn- strongly- to return.

My summer trips have been following a pattern lately: a long walk, and then several weeks at La Muse. Or La Muse, and then a long walk. And that’s going to be the case again this summer. La Muse is already set, this will be my fourth time there, and the third year in a row that I’ve spent my July in the hills of the Montagne Noir in southern France.

Why do I go back? The feelings I have as I sit in the Jeep driving up the winding roads towards Labastide are the very same ones I had as a child when we’d arrive at our beach house. I look for all the familiar landmarks in those hills, I look for the sign saying that we’ve arrived, I look for Homer and I look for my friends and I suck in my breath when I walk onto the terrace, I breath the air that smells faintly of chestnut trees and lavender. I’m going to be staying in the same room this summer as I did last summer, and this feels like a sort of home to me, a room that- for a moment- is all mine. A place I can return to where I feel so happy, like the best version of myself.

And it’s not just La Muse. I thought to write about all of this tonight because, as I plan out my summer, I’m also trying to decide on which Camino I might want to walk. I was starting to feel rather committed to trying out a new path- the Camino Aragones (a 165km path that crosses the Pyrenees to the south of St Jean Pied de Port, and links up to the Camino Frances in Puente La Reina). This would be a great option, given my time frame- travel days not included, I have 7 days to walk after my stay at La Muse. And this would be a new experience, the path is supposed to be beautiful, the pilgrim infrastructure good, the Camino spirit strong.

All of this, and yet, I think I might want to walk the beginning of the Norte again.

It’s a thought that’s been nagging at me, and I keep pushing it back, telling myself that it’s too soon to repeat a path, that there are too many new ones out there for me to try, that there’s no point to repeating something again so soon. I walked the Camino del Norte from Irun to Oviedo in 2015 (and then finished the rest of the route in 2016), so it’s only been a few years. And if I’m being honest, I could easily repeat any of the walks I’ve done since I started this Camino thing (including the long-distance treks I’ve done in Scotland and England), so why am I feeling so drawn to the Norte?

I’m not sure, but I don’t know that I need an answer. I think with a lot of things in life- and especially with a Camino- it’s important to listen to whatever is calling you. And I think the only reason that I’m hesitating is because it is, yet again, another experience that I’m going to be repeating.

I’m curious what all of your thoughts are about repeating experiences, especially as it relates to traveling. Would you return, again and again, to a place or a city or a country that you know you love? Or would you feel like it’s more valuable to always travel somewhere new and different? Does it depend on what you want out of the experience?

If I do the Norte again, I’m sure I’ll put my own unique twist on it, something different than the last time I walked. And I’m sure that the entire experience will be different- with any luck, my first day out of Irun will have good weather and outstanding views, something I missed that first time around (oh, the rain and the fog, and the wringing of socks in the middle of a field). My plans aren’t set- I still have months until I have to make any decisions- but I’m really leaning towards walking part of this path again. And right now, it’s putting a smile on my face. It feels right.

Sometimes that’s all we really have to go on, isn’t it? Just a feeling, some push in our gut that tells us we’re on the right track.

And I can see how this is important to me, to the person that I’ve always been- the one who likes giant pandas and magnolia trees and beach houses with spiral staircases- that the return to a place I love allows me to fall into an even richer experience of that place, a deeper connection, a return to my best self, a reminder of where I’ve been and maybe even where I’m going.

Yes, a reminder of where I might be going. A yellow arrow, a marker, to guide me along my way.

24 little nuggets of wisdom for walking the Camino de Santiago

February 7, 2018

I’ve been talking to several people lately who are going to embark on their first Camino sometime later this year. I love hearing their enthusiasm, their questions, their worries, and it makes me remember those months before my own pilgrimage. There was so much I didn’t know, so much research I tried to do, so much I learned in such a short amount of time.

But I couldn’t learn it all, and there was so much I needed to figure out along the way. And so because I’m in a very nostalgic mood, I thought I would put together a list of tips that I gathered as I walked the Camino Frances. This is not a very informative or even necessarily helpful sort of post, so if you’re in serious preparation mode right now, then you might find more help elsewhere. But it was stuff like this that I remember reading before my first Camino, the kinds of words and images that made me think- “Am I actually about to be doing all of these things? Am I going to be having these experiences?” And I could feel the little ball of excitement in my chest expand.

So here they are, 24 little nuggets of wisdom for walking the Camino de Santiago:

Begin with a single step.

Your walking stick might just become your new best friend.

I may or may not have shipped the piece of wood I plucked off a hillside in Northern Spain home to the States…

Hang out with people in a different age bracket than you.

Fill up/top off your water bottle every time you pass a fountain. There should be plenty of fountains along the way, but this ensures that you always have more than you need.

Bring an empty container along with you on the day that you pass by the wine fountain. (I’m not necessarily saying that you should fill it up and drink it during the day’s walk, but rather that it will be convenient to have a vessel for sampling the wine. Or, you could be like me, and just stick your face under the wine stream and hope that you don’t make a mess. There’s a picture of me doing this, but it will never, ever see the light of day).

Whenever possible, stop for second breakfast. I didn’t even realize this was a thing until I walked the Camino, and once I did, it quickly became my favorite thing.

Soak your bare feet in every cool stream that you pass.

Sleep in the bunk by the window: you might be able to watch the moon and the stars, plus you might be able to have some control over whether the window is opened or closed (hint: crowded albergues on hot nights = open windows. But not all pilgrims may agree…)

In larger towns/cities, look for the menu del dia. Similar to the pilgrim menu, it tends to offer higher quality, regional food at a fabulous deal.

If you come across an albergue offering a communal meal, stop here and dine with your fellow pilgrims, and always offer to help prep and clean up.

Don’t be tempted to think that a donativo albergue means a free albergue. Pay what you think the service and accommodations are worth; some of my best experiences were in donativo albergues, with kind hospitaleros, communal dinners, coffee and toast in the morning, a generous spirit and a sense of community and care. You can certainly choose to drop only a few coins into the can, but I’d encourage everyone to take a moment and think about what the experience was worth to you. Without ample donations, these albergues will struggle to remain operational.

Even if you’re not typically an early riser, do it anyway, and walk at sunrise. The sun will be at your back, so don’t forget to turn around and take in the splendor.

You’ll get a deeper tan on the left side of your body than on your right. I have no tips for this. And unless you wear sandals, you’ll get an intense sock tan. Even in the depths of winter, I can still see my Camino sock tan.

Take the detour.

Eunate is closed on Mondays. Go there anyway.

Magnum White ice cream bars are the best thing you’ll ever taste on a summer day on the Meseta.

Don’t dread the Meseta. The path through this stretch of land known as the breadbasket of Spain may be long and straight and monotonous, but there is great opportunity for insight here. Use the time to walk alone, walk in step with the rising sun, and consider the world around you. Consider the world inside yourself, too.

Visit the chickens in the church in Santo Domingo, and consider the miracles in your own life.

Whenever you stop for a break, take off your shoes and socks and let your feet air out. This can help prevent blisters! Plus, it just feels really good to feel fresh air between your toes. (Also, consider coating your feet with a thin layer of Vaseline before putting your socks back on. I’m convinced it helped me avoid (most) blisters).

Push your limits. This could mean a lot of things: a 40km day, making a friend who doesn’t speak your language, trusting that you’ll find a place to sleep even if all the albergues are full, accepting help from a stranger.

Try the pulpo.

Consider yourself lucky if you happen upon a festival in a small village while walking to Santiago. And always stop for awhile and join in the festivities.

Embrace the rain (I’m still working on this one).

Always, always, walk your own Camino. This is the most important one, which means that you can feel free to ignore all of the tips above. Everyone will have opinions, and everyone will have the things that work for them (boots vs sneakers, sock liners, bed bug prevention, how many km per day to walk, how fast/slow you should go, carrying your pack/shipping it ahead, etc). One of the most beautiful things about the Camino is that you can do this pilgrimage any way you want, any way you need. No one walks your Camino, but you.

If you’ve already walked the Camino, what are some of your favorite little nuggets of wisdom?

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