Nadine, Author at Nadine Walks

A Perfect Camino Day; Day 25, Herrerias to Fillobal

July 22, 2014

Once again I’m not sure exactly where I am. Somewhere in Galicia now, about 4km before Triacastela. Not having a guidebook, a friend or group to always walk with, or any set plans can be a wonderful thing: I usually start my day with a general idea of where I might end up (I have an outline of stages that Mirra tore out of her guidebook to give me before she left, and sometimes I ask to look at guidebooks that others carry, to give me an idea of what the next few days will be like). But the beauty of not having a set plan is that I can go wherever I want, whenever I want. I wanted to do a few short days, and thought I would stop in a town about 3km back, but when I passed the albergue I saw a group of about 40 teenagers talking and laughing in the courtyard, and I didn’t even break my stride; I walked right past and decided to head to Triacastela, where most of my friends are.

But I’m here instead, in a small village, sitting at a table outside the bar, in a little grassy area with chickens running around and a dog sleeping under a chair, a small apple tree to my right and a mountain view directly ahead. When I saw this space I doubled back to the albergue and checked-in. I’ll catch up to my friends eventually, maybe even tomorrow. For now, like I did a few days ago, I’m craving peace and quiet.

The last few days have been great, but as ever, my Camino experience continues to change and evolve. This time is very different from the beginning. It’s different from the Meseta, it’s different from the last time I wrote.

I am constantly thinking about the balance between time that I need for myself, and time that I want and need to spend with others. Three days ago I was feeling a bit down, and just a bit lonely. I’d chosen to go off on my own and separate myself from most of the people that I knew, and I think that experience was good for me, despite feeling lonely.

But all at once, things changed (and this is one of the greatest things about the Camino). I’d written my last blog post when I was in Rabanal, where I thought I didn’t know a soul. I went to hear the monks sing a vespers service in the village’s small church, and when I came out of the church I felt relaxed and settled. As I walked into my albergue I saw a group of people eating at a picnic table, and a girl looked over to me. It was Saskia, an American who I’d met at some point during my first week here, and continued to see every 3-4 days throughout the walk. The people she was with offered me the leftovers of their pasta dinner, and then I made some lentils and opened the small bottle of wine I’d found in the supermercado (along with the wine, I’d found earbuds for 2 euro, which was perfect since I’d lost mine a few days before. The small shop in Rabanal came through in a big way!).

So I had a simple, delicious dinner that night, and a good, long heart to heart with Saskia.

And I felt revived heading into the next day. More calm and settled about the time I spend alone, but also more aware of the time when I want to be with others.

I have so much to share about every day here, that when I don’t write for several days I have no idea where to start. I could write a thousand words about Cruz de Ferro and leaving my two rocks; I could write a thousand words about the new people I’ve met and the conversations I’ve had with them; I could write a thousand words about the Dragonte route and its beauty and challenges.

Maybe at some point I’ll catch up and share more stories. But for now, I want to share my nearly perfect Camino morning, and what was overall a really great Camino day.

I woke up this morning at 5:45, after a solid 8 hours of sleep. This has never, ever happened on my Camino, and poor sleeping has left me pretty exhausted. But last night was wonderful, I was in a small, quiet albergue, on a bottom bunk with no one above me and no snorers in the room.

I packed my things and left while everyone else continued to sleep, and as I made my way out of the village I ran into John, a Scottish man in his 60’s. I’d met him a few days before, and we spoke for a minute about the 8km climb we had ahead of us, and then I moved on ahead (later, I saw Joe and Adele, who told me they’d run into John later in the day, and he called me a ‘greyhound’ because of how fast I started climbing up the mountain. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a greyhound, but I DO walk fast, and probably faster after a good night’s sleep).

I climbed 4km and after yesterday’s extremely challenging climb (along with 6 other pilgrims took an alternate route called Dragonte which involved three mountains; we were the only 7 pilgrims on the route that day), I was able to climb fairly easily. Just as I was really tiring, I reached a town and, like a mirage, I saw an open bar (at 7:20am!). So I sat and enjoyed a cafe con leche and a croissant, and then climbed the next 4km to O’Cebreiro and I felt like I was flying.

It helps that I wasn’t carrying any food in my pack. Often I have at least one can of tuna (and at some point on this Camino I was walking around for 4 days with three cans of tuna fish), but I usually have more. The other day I was noticing how heavy my pack felt, and I mentally scrolled through what I had shoved into my bag that morning: half a baguette, a big chunk of cheese, a hard boiled egg, two peaches, an apple, a bunch of cherries, a tomato, two cans of tuna, and a bag of candy. Way too much, and I’m amazed I could fit it all into my pack. But at this point on my Camino, walking for over three weeks, I can handle carrying a lot.

But this morning I felt light, and it was probably because I didn’t have an extra 5 pounds of food in my bag. On the way to O’Cebreiro I passed a small town where I saw the Italian group outside having breakfast. They cheered when they saw me and Carol stood up to give me a hug. Laura, the 12 year old, asked where I was staying that night, and said she hoped it was the same town where she would be.

I continued my walk, meeting a man from Chile who was walking very slowly, but smiling constantly. I made it to O’Cebreiro, stopped for another cafe con leche and tortilla, then ran into Ibai on my way out of town. We accidentally walked a kilometer or two on the main road, realized we went the wrong way, then doubled back to find the natural track.

Today’s walk was breathtaking. I crossed into Galicia, and I’ve heard that this is the nicest part of the Camino, and from today, I can believe it. The weather was beautiful, there were near constant mountain and valley views, there were cows and chickens and horses and dogs everywhere. Quaint villages, so much green, and as the day progressed I had a lot of time to walk alone.

But I also met several new people today and had some great conversations, and it reminds me of how incredible this experience is. Geraldine and David have been walking since St Jean but today was the first day I encountered them; Anti started her Camino today and I met her minutes into her walk.

I walked with and passed by friends I’ve gotten to know over the last several weeks, I’ve had moments of connections with people I’d only just met, and I had time to myself to enjoy the beauty of where I am and how magical this experience has been.

And now I’m in this tiny town with a cold drink and the sun slowly setting into the mountains. I’ll have dinner soon with some new friends, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and walk… somewhere. About 6 days until I reach Santiago, and I’m trying to soak up as much of this experience as I can.

Next Post: Day 28 on the Camino Frances

The Camino finally gets difficult (subtitle: Spanish guys on bikes, and dogs); Day 21 on the Camino, Villares de Orbigo to Rabanal

July 17, 2014

There have been many points during this Camino when I’ve wondered when it was going to get hard for me. I actually started to feel a bit guilty about it- it was like my entire experience had been charmed, and only good things were coming to me.

I think things changed a bit today. Today was tough.

And it was tough all around: physically, mentally, and emotionally. For the first time, I really started thinking about home, and sort of wished that, for a few days at least, I could go back home and things could be easy. I wished I could take a day trip to the beach, I wished that I could sit on my couch and drink endless cups of coffee, I wished that I could hang out with my friends and shop at Trader Joe’s and do all of my normal stuff.

I think a lot has caught up with me, finally. This is my 21st day of walking, and I think I’m tired. My body is still handling this walk pretty well, but my feet hurt more than ever before. I have a few new blisters developing. Maybe I ate something a bit off for lunch today, because there was an hour or two when I felt a bit sick.

And for the first time, I ended my day’s walk earlier than planned, because I just couldn’t walk any further. I think part of the problem is that I’ve started to feel a bit invincible; even though I ended today’s walk early, I still walked nearly 37 kilometers, and most of that was a gradual uphill climb. I’m not sure why I thought that another 40+ kilometer day wouldn’t be too hard, but I did. And I felt just a bit defeated to realize that I’m tired, and that today, for the first time, I got tired of walking.

My experience last night was wonderful and just what I needed: sleeping in a beautiful albergue. Peace and quiet. Time to write and reflect. I had dinner with two Germans and that was also quiet and simple. Because of the language barrier, none of us talked much, but it was a comfortable meal (and delicous: jamon and melon, grilled meat with tomatoes and onions, ice cream for dessert and good wine and bread).

As I walked away from the albergue this morning (after a breakfast of coffee and toast with jam and honey), I thought about what a great decision I’d made, and how much I needed some time to myself.

But today, after a hard walk and not seeing many pilgrims on the road, I walked into this town hoping to see someone I knew. And there was no one. Only new faces, and it’s so strange to not know anyone. This is the first time it’s happened, and it feels a lot lonelier than I expected.

I found the municipal albergue and picked a bed, but quickly realized that I probably made a mistake and should have looked around at the other albergue options. I scraped my back twice of the underside of the top bunk bed, the shower was ice cold, and the windows bang loudly in the wind. Not many people are staying there, and the place has a hollow and sad feeling to it.

But, here’s the great thing about the Camino: either the day will improve and I’ll run into people I know or I’ll get a good night’s sleep or I’ll eat a good meal… or it won’t improve at all but tomorrow morning I’ll move on. Every day I get to move on, and sometimes that’s hard because I’m leaving people or a place that I really love, but sometimes that’s needed, because I need to move on to something better.

And even on this hard day- my hardest Camino day so far- there’ve been some good encounters. Namely, Spanish guys on bikes, and dogs. Three bikers stayed in the same albergue as I did last night, and as I was lying in bed around 9:30pm, winding down and looking at things on my phone, one of them started talking to me. I told him, in the kindest way possible, that I’d just separated myself from the people I knew for some needed time to myself (in other words: I want to be alone!). They were still sleeping when I left this morning, but I ran into them at a cafe in Astorga, after walking about 15km. The guy who’d talked to me last night came over and exclaimed, “You left without saying goodbye!” and then, “Wow, you walk pretty fast.”

Later I’d stopped at a cafe for some ice cream (on these hot days my new routine is to have some post-second breakfast, pre-lunch ice cream), and while sitting at an outdoor table in the shade, talked to another Spanish bicycler who’d also stopped. It’s only happened a few times, but I really like the conversations with bikers. They are experiencing the Camino in such a different way than the walkers do, and I like the fleeting but sweet nature of the encounters.

And then there were the dogs. This entire time on the Camino I’ve never had a dog come over and say hi, and it’s happened twice today. Right now I’m sitting outside at one of the village’s only bars, and right away an old, sweet dog came over to me, sat down, and waited to be pet. He settled in, then laid down, and has been keeping me company as I write.

I think about how people say that the Camino provides, and there’s just something about this dog that makes me think that his presence is not entirely a coincidence. I’m happy that he’s here.

So finally, things got a little challenging today. I always expected that at some point this would happen. But I’m hoping that things turn around a bit in the next few days, and the Camino shows me some more of the magic that I’ve come to know.

Next Post: Day 25 on the Camino Frances

To stay or not to stay; alone and together, Day 20 on the Camino: La Virgen Del Camino to Villares de Orbigo

July 16, 2014

I have a ‘note’ in my phone of things that I’ve jotted down since starting the Camino. Advice from others, tips on albergues, song and movie recommendations, etc. I just glanced at it and at some point I’d written: ‘Leon- DON’T stay at the monastery’.

Guess where I stayed in Leon two nights ago?

It could have been worse, but it was the second night in a row of not great accommodations. Hot, crowded, not super clean. But the shower pressure was great and they provided breakfast so I really can’t complain. And this is what I’ve learned when it comes to albergues and towns on the Camino: it’s all hit or miss. Sometimes I’m going to stumble on an amazing place or stay in an amazing town, and sometimes I’m going to stay in some real dives. But especially as I’ve let go of planning, I’m realizing that I just need to take what comes: the good, and the bad.

And really, the bad isn’t so bad. My Camino continues to be pretty amazing, and I’m still not sure how I’ve gotten so lucky. I want to believe that some of it is my outlook (today’s walk was super hot, next to a busy road for just about the entire 30k; I tried to find the alternate, scenic route but somehow was fed back to the main road, and at some point I lost my headphones. And my feet hurt more than they ever have, I think because it’s been so hot and they started to swell. But sitting here, settled into an albergue, drinking a glass of red wine with lemonade (it’s delicious!), I’m feeling good, despite the sub-par day). So some of it is my outlook, but some of it is just pure luck. My body is holding up, my spirits are holding up, and I’ve met the best people. I’m lucky.

Getting through the Meseta, and coming in and out of Leon, presented some challenges. And some were challenges that I hadn’t been expecting. I came into this walk knowing that I was walking alone, and the more I walked, the happier I was that I was here alone. Mirra and I paired up, and I think we were a great match for each other: we usually walked separately, and I think always felt that we could each go off and do our own thing when we wanted or needed to.

After Mirra left I was looking forward to truly walking some of this Camino on my own, but then I met some new people, and one in particular who I liked being around. In Leon I was faced with a decision: continue on by myself and do my own walk, or stay with someone and no longer have a solo Camino.

Maybe the decision never had to be so black and white, and maybe the decision I made- to continue on my own- will change and evolve as I keep walking. Maybe I will meet my friend at some point on the way, or at the end, and I will want to make a different decision. But for now, what has felt right, is to go off on my own for awhile.

Trying to figure all of this out- the social part of the Camino and the friendships and the connections and the hellos and goodbyes- has probably been the most challenging part for me. In real life, I don’t meet people like I do here. Every day, on the Camino, I have so many conversations, sit with so many different people and have coffee, or lunch, or wine, or ice cream. And I’ve loved this part so much. So much more than I expected.

And if I’m not careful, this Camino could turn into one big party. It would be so easy to stick with the people I’ve gotten to know, to always have meals with them and drink bottles of wine, and walk and listen to music and sing and dance. And there’s some appeal in that- a lot of appeal.

But I’ve realized that I’m not just here to meet people and have fun. That part has been important, and I think I’ve done a stellar job of it. But I’m here for something a bit more, and now is the time to figure some of that out.

So today I walked very much alone. I’d stayed at an albergue just on the outskirts of Leon last night, and I expected to now know many people there but it turned out that so many of my favorite people were there (this happens a lot). But it was also just what I needed: to make a big salad and share with a few people I’d gotten to know, but weren’t close with. To sit after dinner and play cards with the four Italians I always see in the mornings when we all stop for coffee. To stay up with Laura, the 12 year old Italian girl, and Nolan, the 10 year old Vermont boy, and have them show me card tricks.

Today’s walk was challenging, but overall I was happy that I made the decision to be on my own. I stopped for coffee, I stopped for ice cream, I stopped to put my feet in a cold river and eat tuna and cheese and cherries. Since I lost my headphones I sang to myself- long songs, like American Pie and Thunder Road.

I passed through a tiny town and wasn’t sure if I should stop or continue on for another 15 kilometers, and then I saw the albergue. A yellow building with painted blue shutters. I glanced in through the open door and I swear I saw a little paradise, and then I was convinced of it when I walked in further. This is the most beautiful albergue I’ve stayed in: a small courtyard in the middle of the building, a wrap around porch on the second floor with wooden chairs and an old couch and pots of bright red flowers. My room is beautiful, with wooden floors and large French windows that open up to the main village street. The bathrooms are modern, there is a small kitchen, and I was offered coffee when I checked in. Perfect.

And for tonight, this is just what I needed, and what I’ve been craving. A beautiful, peaceful place where I don’t know anyone too well. Time to sit by myself and write. Sitting here at the village’s only bar, drinking wine and lemonade, with two Germans at the table with me. Sometimes we talk, sometimes they talk and I write. It’s easy and relaxed, and always a reminder that even when I choose to be alone, I’m never really alone. But for now, alone in the way that I want to be alone.

Next Post: Day 21 on the Camino Frances

Day 17, Somewhere on the Meseta

July 13, 2014

I have no idea where or how to start this blog entry. The Camino continues to be amazing and surprising, but I can’t even remember where I was this morning or even the name of the town I’m in right now. Every day packs in more- scenery and thoughts and experiences and people and conversation and wine- and it’s hard to sort it all out in my head.

I’d thought that the time after Mirra left, after Burgos, would be different, and it has been. I’ve adjusted, I think, to not having my best Camino buddy with me, but I’m still not sure how I feel about these past 5 days. I’ve continued to have fun, I’ve continued to meet people, and I’ve sort of picked up a new ‘buddy’- Adam, from Ireland. But it’s still so different, and my feelings about it all change from hour to hour.

Right now I’m at a bar (again- in these small towns especially there’s nothing to do before dinner but take a nap or have a drink. I should probably be napping, but it’s too much fun to go to the only bar in town and sit around a table with all the Pilgrims who happened to stop in the same place). I’m alone at the table but 5 minutes ago there were at least 10 other people here. We’d heard that the village’s only store just opened, and everyone rushed to buy food for the long walk tomorrow (and since we’re in the Meseta, there are some incredibly long stretches where we pass through nothing but wheat fields for nearly 20 kilometers). Adam offered to pick up some food for me which is perfect: someone to help me out, and a stolen few minutes of peace and quiet. Me at an outdoor table typing away, the local villagers chatting and drinking coffee.

Except for Adam and another Irishman I met two days ago, I didn’t know anyone at this table. It is a vast difference from the first two weeks of this trip, when I would walk into a town and be greeted with waves and smiles and cheers and hugs and jokes. I’ve met so many people on this Camino, and have connected with so many in small but meaningful ways.

I think of Blas as my Spanish grandfather: he’s probably closer to my father’s age, but there’s something about him that reminds me of my grandfather. He is charismatic and knows everyone. Once his day’s walk is finished he strolls around town in his button down shirt, smoking a pipe, drinking an espresso. When I arrived in Ages he came over to greet me and tell me where the good albergue was, and Vicool, who I’d been walking with, whispered to me, “He’s a pilgrim? I thought he was the mayor of this town.” I met Blas about a week ago while I was walking. We were the only two around and I’d stopped to take a photo, and he offered to take one of me. We started talking-slowly, because he doesn’t know a lot of English- and after about 30 minutes I knew that I had someone looking out for me. Every time I’d arrive in a town and run into Blas, he would give me a big hug and make sure I was doing okay. Today was probably the first time I’ve arrived somewhere and have not been greeted by Blas.

Jerome I only met a few days ago, at the tiny albergue, St Nicolas (which I probably need to devote an entire blog post to). 12 of us stayed there, and I hadn’t known anyone. It was the first time in two weeks that I separated myself from the people I’d been walking with, and I was a bit nervous to meet new people. Jerome walked right up to me and shook my hand, he’s a French guy from Paris, probably in his mid-twenties (but doesn’t tell anyone his age). We sat on the grass in the back of the albergue, and after 10 minutes I was giving him English lessons and he was telling me about the girl he’d walked with for 2 weeks who had to stop her Camino because of tendonitis. They’d fallen in love and promised to meet in Santiago at the end of July; Jerome told me that he’d given up on love but then he met Delphine, and now all he could do is trust that she will show up in front of the cathedral. For the past few days I’ve seen Jerome when I showed up to the town where I’d be spending the night, and he would give me a look and tap his watch, indicating that I was walking too slowly.

A few days ago I saw Saskia after losing track of her for over a week; the last I’d heard she had spent the night with a Frenchman in the mountains. She insists that the actual story is not as fascinating as it seems, but I disagree. A night with a Frenchman in the mountains is nothing but intrigue.

Two days ago, in Carrion, it seemed like we were all together: Blas and Jerome and Saskia. Ibai and Susie and Helen. Adam and David and the Italian mother and daughter that I see every morning for coffee, and the Italian man who chooses the same albergues as I do. I saw the Koreans all over town. But now, I’m with an entirely new group of people, and it was all I could think about as I walked today, down an ancient Roman road through the north of Spain.

At some point today, I think I reached the halfway point of my walk. I only know this because others have mentioned it; I haven’t been paying close attention to how much I walk each day, or how much the kilometers and miles are accumulating. I’m a little surprised that I haven’t been keeping track, but on the other hand, the miles don’t really seem to matter. In fact, they’re sort of flying by.

I still love walking. I love it so much, that I feel sort of bad when people are talking about how hard or boring or long a day was, then ask what I think. My reply, almost always, is, ‘I thought it was great.’ I got some crazy stares today, when I talked about how much I loved the long, straight road that went on for miles. I walked alone, and since it’s an alternate route that not many people take, I couldn’t see anyone in front of me or behind. It was perfect.

But for as much as I’m loving this walk, the section we’re in now is harder than any of the days that have come before. There’s little shade, so the days are hot (although I have lucked out with the weather: so far, Spain in July has been unseasonably cool). I spent the past few days walking with people, and while I’ve loved the conversation and chance to really get to know some of the people I walk with, it’s also been hard. I love walking alone, and since just about all of my post-Camino walking time is spent socializing and meeting up with other Pilgrims, I really crave the solo-walking time. I got some today, and I felt like new person: once I got into the rhythm of my walk, the kilometers flew by and my head felt so much more clear. I could start to think about some of the things that I’ve experienced here.

And here are some highlights:

I left a pair of shorts in Hontanas, but passed a market in Fromista and picked up a pair of ‘lounge pants’, which are unlike anything I’d normally wear but they’ve ended up being perfect.

I had my foot kissed by an Italian man (this was part of the St Nicolas experience), and that same man suggested that I stop walking for a few days and stay at the albergue and help out: cleaning and cooking. I’m still not sure if he was serious or not. (and, for the record, I didn’t stay).

I stood at the top of a large hill and took a photo of four Italians standing in the middle of a labryinth of rocks; as they posed for the photo they shouted out: ‘Mucho gracias Espange!!’

I walked on a long straight path of the Meseta with Ibai and Adam, with Creedence Clearwater playing and the road stretching on for miles. I talked about mix tapes and driving and we joked that we were on a really long, slow road trip.

I waited in a cafe in Carrion with Susie, Ibai and Adam for three hours yesterday morning; Ibai’s shoes were stolen, and I refused to leave for the day’s walk until a shop opened and he could buy new shoes. There’s been a lot of theft in the past few days at this point on the Camino, and it’s so unsettling. I’m keeping my things close and being extra vigilant.

The day after Mirra left I walked to the small village of Hontanas. I walk fast and I arrived early so I secured a bed, showered, and set up at an outdoor table with my journal and a glass of wine. I was feeling a bit lonely but I compensated for this; for the next hour or two I was the welcoming committee for all of the Pilgrims coming through town, and I even convinced Adrian- the tough Spanish military guy with a heart of gold- to stop and have a drink with me before moving on to the next town.

People come and go all of the time here, but I think it’s really hit me in the past few days. I know it’s probably because I’m now around all new people, but I’m having a hard time accepting that so many of the people I’ve met in the last few weeks have now moved on. Or I’ve moved on past them. I think, from my experience over the last 17 days, that I will see some of these friends again. But some are probably gone forever, and I think that will have to be okay. And I guess that’s like life. People come and go, and at some point, that has to be okay.

And so tomorrow, I’ll continue to walk. Still on the Meseta, still on a long flat road, still moving slowly through this country. Still losing people, still meeting people. Saying goodbye, saying hello.

Next Post: Day 20 on the Camino Frances

Camino angels, the big city, saying goodbye; Day 12 on the Camino, Ages to Burgos

July 8, 2014

Before I started the Camino, I’d done a lot of reading and research about it. One of the things I’d read was that the path was sort of divided into thirds: the first 10 days were mostly about the physical part of the journey. The biggest focus would be the pains and changes of your body. The second third was about the mind: you walk long, hot days through the Meseta, a region where this is no shade, a flat path, no distractions. A lot of time to spend in your head. I’ve heard different interpretations about the final third of the way: some say it’s about putting it all together. Some say it’s about coming to life.

I’ll be curious to see if my Camino falls into thirds, or into any kind of distinct sections. Already I can see how it might happen: today, for the first time, felt like I was moving into a different stage of this journey.

I’ve been around mostly the same people for the past 12 days, and it’s been wonderful. I guess this has been my Camino family, and it’s a large one. But it’s changing. Mirra will leave tomorrow and I know that this will affect my Camino. In some ways I’m excited for the change, even though I wish Mirra would stay and she and I could finish in Santiago together. But being on my own could be good heading into the Meseta. Even though I spend hours walking every day, I feel like there hasn’t been enough time to really think about this experience and process what I’m going through. I don’t regret how I’ve spent this first part; in fact, I don’t know that I would really change anything. I’ve been having so, so much fun.

And so far, if I had to pick a theme for the first part of this pilgrimage, I think it would be about fun and connection. I’ve definitely felt the physical part of the walk, but not nearly like others have. All the training walks I did before coming here definitely paid off, and my aches and pains (so far) have been few. So if this first section of the Camino wasn’t about physical hardship, then I would have to say it was about the people I’ve met, and the fun I’ve had with those people.

And maybe I’ll keep having fun, and making good connections- lets hope! But I also wonder if this next part of my walk will be more internal, if I’ll intentionally crave time to myself.

I walked to Burgos today, and the night we just had was a celebration: of beginnings, middles, and ends. Just as Mirra leaves the Camino, Adam (from Ireland) begins. Ibai found him sitting alone in the albergue and invited him out with us. We went out for tapas and sangria, 8 of us squeezed around a wooden table filled with plates of food. We toasted, we sang happy birthday to Ibai, we told stories about our walk, we took photos and talked about keeping in touch.

We walked out of the restaurant to the empty square in front of the cathedral to say goodnight and go to our separate albergues. Everyone hugged Mirra tightly, even Adam, whose walk is beginning just as hers is ending.

Mirra and I walked to our albergue together, talking about what a perfect ending this was for her, and the perfect transition time for everyone else. I can feel, so strongly, that my Camino is going to change tomorrow. I’m not sure who I’m going to walk with, who I’m going to meet, who I’m going to drink wine with and cook with. I don’t know who will be sleeping in the bunk bed above or below me, because for almost every night of my Camino, Mirra has been my bunk mate.

But I’m also excited for the unknown. Two days ago I discovered that I left my guidebook at the albergue I’d stayed in. I panicked for about an hour, not knowing how I would figure out my days and plan where to stay and know how far to walk. But I’m choosing to see this as a big sign from the Camino: time to just let each day unfold and let go of trying to plan. And I think this will be a good lesson for me.

Already, today, the Camino gave me what I needed, more than what I needed. I had no guidebook to walk me into the city of Burgos, but I ended up with something better. An old man with a cane was waiting on a bench, and when I walked by he motioned for me to follow him, and took me and two Lithuanian girls to a scenic detour. Our entire walk into Burgos- what many others referred to as the walk of hell- was through a beautiful park. As we approached the city another man explained exactly how to get to the cathedral and albergue and tourist information center. And as I waited in front of the small albergue for Mirra, another pilgrim sat next to me and told me how great the albergue was, then introduced me to the hospitalero (the man who runs the albergue).

Some people call these Camino angels, and maybe that’s true. I’ve experienced this so much on the Camino: someone is there to help or be kind just when I need it.

So I’m going to try to put my trust in the magic of the Camino. I’m saying goodbye to my best Camino friend, and even though I can’t imagine that the second part of this Camino could be any better than the first, I’m trusting that if I let myself see it, I’ll experience so much more magic.

Next Post: Day 17 on the Camino Frances

Festivals and chickens, rainy day tea and cards; Days 9 and 10 on the Camino, Najerra to Santo Domingo, Santo Domingo to Belorado

July 6, 2014

I’m in the kitchen of an albergue in Belorado, drinking hot tea and watching the rain fall outside. Sitting around the long table are the Italian family (with the two sweetest and well-mannered teenagers I’ve ever met), Susie, Helen, Mirra and Alfred (the Frenchman notorious for his snoring. Supposedly, people have been avoiding the albergues where he sleeps, or they ask to switch rooms. I’ve heard how wonderful of a man he is- during the day- and so far it’s true. He has a deep voice but is soft spoken, and he made a large pot of tea and instantly offered me some when I sat down).

Besides Alfred, I know this group pretty well. I talked with Susie and Helen waiting for the bus in Bayonne, and I’ve walked/interacted with them for the past 10 days. I met the Italian family about 5 days ago in our albergue in Puente La Reina. The father is Italian and the mother is English, and our paths have crossed with them over and over. Three days ago I said goodbye to them, thinking that I wouldn’t see them again since Mirra and I were planning to do a short stage and get off track from the group. But we’ve learned that you can’t really plan or control things here, and maybe that’s for the best. Things- despite not going according to plan-are working out really well. In any case, we keep running into the Italian family and showing up in the same albergues, and it’s been wonderful to talk to them. I love the kids, and am so touched to see their kindness and care towards others. They were supposed to end their Camino today and take a bus to Burgos, but are staying just one more night. We joke about how tonight might be the ‘final goodbye’.

Mirra and I have planned our walks together, though our actual walking is usually done separately. She will end her Camino in a few days, so for now, I’m enjoying her company: our conversations about this time in our lives, our pre/post siesta wine and tapas outings, cooking in the albergues, and switching off on who gets the bottom bunk.

I wonder what my Camino will be like one week from now. Most of the people who are sitting around this table will be back to their normal lives, and most likely I will be walking with and talking to new friends. That’s both an amazing thing, and a bit of a sad thing.

Yesterday’s walk felt wonderful (especially after my stormy mood the day before). The skies were clear and the day grew hot, but most of our walking was done before the heat of the day. I walked about 30 km, a longer day because of a detour to see an abbey in Cannas. We ended in Santo Domingo, and it was probably one of my favorite places on the Camino so far. A small town but with plenty of bars and beautiful squares and a great church. The chicken church, as I (and many others), like to call it.

There’s a legend about a pilgrim and a chicken and a miracle that dates back to the Middle Ages, and the story is long and interesting but way too much for me to write out at 10pm (which is a late night here). In any case, the church has been keeping live chickens since 1350 (I think they rotate every few weeks), and I’d heard about this church awhile ago and it was on my short list of Camino must-sees. And even though it cost 3 euros to go inside, it was wonderful to see some chickens and think about the power of belief and miracles.

Everyone I loved was in my albergue last night, and it was totally unplanned. Mirra, John, Christy, Ibai and I had dinner together: an avocado, tomato and cucumber salad, bread and wine, lentils with mushrooms, cherries and chocolate for dessert. We sat outside in the courtyard until 10pm when the nuns chased us upstairs and told us to turn out the lights. I slept soundly, and for the first time on the Camino, was so comfortable that I wanted to stay in bed when my alarm went off in the morning.

Today’s walk was also good. I’m feeling strong, and except for some slight knee pain, am doing really well physically. A 20 km day feels so short, and I usually just want to keep walking.

Mirra and I stopped in a small town to try out a tiny albergue with only 10 beds and a communal meal. We were there by 10:30 and not a soul was around, but the sign on the albergue said ‘completo’. We didn’t believe it, so we waited there for nearly two hours. The day was windy and cool, but sunny while we waited, and we sat on the benches outside eating cherries and writing in our journals. Eventually a few other Pilgrims showed up, one called a number for the albergue to find out that there were, indeed, no beds available.

We packed up to leave but then heard music, and from out of nowhere a dozen boys in costumes were dancing their way down the small streets with the entire village following behind in a procession. It was Santo Domingo day (he’d been born in this tiny town), and if we hadn’t waited for the albergue we’d never had seen the festivities.

We walked on, and after another 9 km ended up in a town where most people were staying. We once again picked an albergue that had most of our favorite people, and now we’re sitting here quietly, listening to the rain and drinking tea. Two guys just joined us- one from Switzerland and another from Germany, Helen pulled out a deck of cards, and the Italian boy is explaining how to play a game called ‘killer’. Time to go.

Next Post: Day 12 on the Camino Frances

Rain, feeling grumpy, a cute Italian; day 8 on the Camino, Logrono to Najera

July 6, 2014

Today started out so well, so I’m not sure when it took a turn for the worse.

I woke up after a good night’s sleep in the parochial albergue; somehow, in a large room of 35 people in bunk beds, no one snored. No one even tossed and turned, or maybe I was just sleeping very soundly.

Once I woke up and packed most of my things, I went upstairs to the dining room where breakfast was spread out. The table was set with plates of toasted bread, strawberry and apricot jam, butter, crackers and cookies. There were large Italian espresso makers boiling coffee on the stovetop, with milk and sugar containers next to the mugs.

It was such a treat to start the day with fresh coffee, and as soon as I walked into the streets of Logrono, I felt so good: my legs were strong and my feet felt great. I passed by a bar where I saw bins of fresh bread; I bought a loaf and said hi to a few other pilgrims I’d recognized along the way. The man spoke only Spanish so I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me, but then he opened a plastic bag and offered me a cookie. I walked through Logrono eating the cookie, and it seemed as if every time I got to an intersection and couldn’t figure out the way, someone would point me in the right direction.

But then things went downhill, although it was mostly just my attitude. Dark clouds had been gathering and soon it started to rain (the first time I had to walk in rain so far on the Camino); I was stuck in a cluster of Pilgrims (I would move ahead, then stop to drink water or add/take off a layer, and others would catch up); the walking felt hard. Too humid in the rain, too cold without a jacket. I was uncomfortable. I was dragging.

And I just couldn’t get away from everyone. Sometimes I don’t mind walking with others, but today it just felt like there were so many people around. I wanted to feel like the path was more spread out; I like walking and only seeing a few people ahead or behind me (or better yet, no one).

I found a large tree and a big pile of rocks to duck behind to use the bathroom; I couldn’t have been more than two minutes but when I came out from behind the tree, it was like a tour bus had dropped off a few dozen people. I have no idea where they came from, but there were pilgrims all around, walking with daypacks.

I finally made it to the town where Mira and I had been thinking about staying; it was small, with a few streets and two bars and one albergue. I passed one bar and looked inside to see about a dozen people I knew. Then I walked up the street to the other bar where some locals were hanging out. I got a coke, sat outside at a table, and started writing in my journal.

It’s a strange contrast here, to be on a pilgrimage and want to experience solitude and space, but to also be part of this large community that is so welcoming and warm. I’ve loved the people I’ve met, and part of me wants to follow the typical stages and stay where I know everyone will be. It is so wonderful to walk into an albergue and be greeted with smiles and even cheers.

But today I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to be apart from everyone. I was sitting at the bar, thinking about this, when a beautiful Italian boy pulled up on a bicycle (I think stuff like this only happens in the movies, and on the Camino). He took off his helmet and set his things at a table, then turned to me and gave me a big smile and an “Hola! Buenos dias!’ We each sat in silence for awhile, and then started talking. He must have been young- in his early 20’s- with dark curly hair and clear blue eyes. We talked all about the Camino and the experience and where we were from and what we do and then quickly, like things usually go here, we talked about deeper stuff. About the same things I’d just been writing about: solitude versus community. Making connections and then losing the people you make connections with.

Mira came up to the bar and we decided to keep walking to the next town. We said goodbye to the Italian boy- Jeremiah- and he gave us each big hugs. As we walked away he called out after us, ‘I hope you have a beautiful life!’

My day turned around after this. I was still a little grumpy and craving some time to myself, but I was able to drop most of my negative attitude. The clouds cleared away and we walked on a path that looked out to a panoramic view of the mountains. I listened to music, and then walked with Susie and Mira into Najera. We decided to splurge and stay at a private albergue, in a room with only 2 bunk beds (a good choice, because we later saw the municipal albergue with 90 beds in one room, many of them pushed together. And rumor had it that there were at least 6 people snoring loudly that night).

We went out for wine and tapas, then did some grocery shopping. Before making a big salad in the albergue kitchen, we took a bottle of wine and a bag of potato chips down to the banks of the river, where we stretched out on the grass and talked about life. I continue to be amazed at the potential for meaningful conversation on this trip, and how easily people open up about their lives and the things that they struggle with.

I thought about how I’d been tempted to be alone all day: to walk by myself and to stay in the tiny village and to go off and write and do my own thing. And if I’d chosen to spend my day that way, alone, it would have been okay. But sitting with Mira and Susie, drinking an amazing bottle of La Rioja wine, hearing incredible life stories… that felt right.

And it made me think about what the Italian boy said: that even if the connections are fleeting, the encounters are beautiful.

Next Post: Days 9 and 10 on the Camino Frances

Cloudy day, open cemetery, wine by the river; day 8 photos, Logrono to Najera

July 5, 2014

Not enough time for a real blog post, but here are a few photos from yesterday…

Next Post: Day 8 on the Camino Frances

Kids and shampoo and gummy bears and getting away; Day 6 of the Camino, Estella to Torres del Ria

July 2, 2014

Day 6 of walking is finished, and I’m still feeling good. I walked a lot with Mira today, and we decided to finally go “off stage”, and do a little more than was recommended for today’s route. So we walked about 29 km from Estella to Torres del Ria, and we were commending each other for doing so well. The bulk of the walk was great, and it was just the last few kms, with the sun shining strongly and some road walking, that felt a little oppressive.

I’m sitting on the terrace of the albergue where we’re staying. It’s a small place, in a small village, off of a side street and tucked away. The view out of the back looks past the church and onto golden weight fields. There is a storm in the distance, with dark grey clouds on the horizon and a cool wind blowing. 20 minutes ago, there was a sliver of a rainbow beside the church.

Mira is sitting here, along with a Polish couple, and they are all writing in their journals. There are only 26 beds in this albergue and the place isn’t full; it’s a quiet and relaxed night, especially compared to the last few.

Yesterday’s walk was from Puente La Reina to Estella- about 20km- and the scene at the albergue, once we got to Estella, was kind of crazy. It was a big municipal albergue, with about 75 beds, and most people that we’d met over the past 5 days were staying there. I think people are getting more comfortable with each other and more social; in any case, the Koreans were having wine parties, people were hanging out in the courtyard and the lobby, there was a lot of singing and laughing and merriment.

I was enjoying talking to everyone. With each day I either meet someone new or have a conversation with someone I’ve seen along the way, and at this point, it’s hard to move through a part of the path, or an albergue, or a town, without stopping to talk to someone.

I’d set up my bunk in Estella (top bunk, again), and was intending to take a nap or do some writing, but I never actually made it to bed. I walked into our room- which held 26 people- and started talking to Connor, the boy who walked his first Camino day barefoot, and is on this trip with his brothers and mother. Somehow the conversation turned to my hair and how much I wished I had some shampoo, and the next thing I knew he had gotten a small packet of shampoo from his mother and handed it to me.

I walked to my bunk with the shampoo and a big smile, then saw three heads poking up from their top bunks like little eager birds. It was the group of teenaged American girls who were on a summer school trip with their history teacher and his wife, and I think they just wanted to talk to someone. I walked over and said hi, and asked about why they were walking the Camino. When I found out that they were on a school trip, I asked how they were doing so far. Instantly, the youngest, a blond 15 year old named Lani, said, “It’s hard, and I’m really homesick.”

The three girls launched into accounts of their past 5 days: the things they hadn’t expected, how tough the walking was, how they missed being at home with their friends. I loved talking to them, and just like I had reminded Steve and Peg, the other night, of home, these three teenaged girls reminded me of my ‘normal’ life.

“Someone farts every night!” Mimi told me. “We’re keeping track, and so far it’s happened every night.”

I nodded in agreement. “It’s hard to sleep with all of these noises, isn’t it?” The girls all nodded at me, their eyes wide. “We never expected that it would be like this,” Emily said.

I’m impressed that teenagers are doing this. Kids are, too. There’s an Irish couple with two small children (the mother nearly gave birth to her daughter on the descent into Roncesvalles, which gives the difficulty of that day a whole new meaning when you think about doing it 9 months pregnant). Connor, the barefoot pilgrim who found me shampoo, has a 12 year old brother, Matthew. I’d gone out to explore the town of Estella, and when I was returning to the albergue, ran into Matthew and his mother. We talked for a bit, and then she asked if I would mind walking Matthew back to the albergue while she searched for a grocery store. So Matthew and I walked down the cobblestoned street, and he talked about how there’s a house in Germany that’s constructed entirely of gummy bears. “Just think!” he said. “If you get hungry, you could take a bite out of the wall!”

I think about what it’s like for a 6 year old to do this walk, a 12 year old, a 15 year old. And any of my discomforts and concerns seem so small in comparison.

The last two days of walking have been good. Yesterday was probably the hardest day; I walked over 6 miles before I had my morning coffee, and I was just grumpy by the time I found a town with an open bar. But then I had a very large cafe con leche, and the biggest piece of potato and onion tortilla that I’d ever laid eyes on (along with a piece of delicous bread). After that breakfast there was definitely a skip in my step, and the afternoon’s walk was good.

The Italian guy, Paulo, has been walking with me, but I think I might have gotten rid of him today. He’s not a bad walking companion, but I’m not sure that he’s on this pilgrimage for quiet reflection. In any case, he caught up with a group of California girls who were giving him the eye, and I think he’s enjoying the attention. Hopefully, this means that I’ll have more solo walking time in the next few days.

It still feels like I’ve been walking for weeks, rather than just 6 days. But I think that’s because so much life is packed into these days: the waking and the walking and the conversation. The food and the exploration and the connections. I’m still marveling that I’m walking across such a large space: that I can look behind me to see where I’ve come from, and know that this line I’m making, this path, will continue for a long time. I’m pretty excited to see what comes next.

Next Post: Photos from Day 8 of the Camino Frances

Walking Companions and Quiet Spaces; Day 4 Pamplona to Puente La Reina

June 30, 2014

I’m sitting under the shade of a tree in the courtyard of an albergue in Puente La Reina, sipping a cold coke, resting my feet after a long day’s walk.

I’m not sure exactly how far I walked today. 25km from Pamplona to Puente La Reina, but I added a detour to a Romanesque church (turns out it is closed on Mondays), and I think that added another 5 km, so maybe I walked about 30km today? A lot, but I’m still loving just about every step.

Here are today’s highlights: stopping for a cafe con leche and an amazing pastry and a fresh loaf of bread in a small cafe on the outskirts of Pamplona. Walking with Ibai, joining up with an Italian guy, then meeting up with Jorge after not seeing him for a few days. I’d sort of wanted to walk alone, but somehow ended up with a group of guys (who I mostly outpaced anyway, and I lost the Italian guy when I made my detour).

Finding the Romanesque church in Eunate was perfect. It would have been nice to see inside but I didn’t mind that it was closed. There wasn’t another soul in sight (not many Pilgrims made the detour, and I could sit and stare at the church and think about the history of where I was). Supposedly the church had connections with the Knights Templar, and, legend has it, the area around the church was used as a burial ground for Pilgrims who had died on the journey.

So far there has been so much going on that I haven’t had a lot of time to think. After I left the church at Eunate I saw Mira walking ahead of me. As we walked the final kms into Puente La Reina, we talked about walking alone vs walking with others. I told her how much I’ve been enjoying meeting new people and forming friendships, but that I’ve also been wanting more time to walk alone. It’s still so early in my trip and I know I’ll have plenty of time for quiet reflection, so for now, it’s been good to meet, and walk with, other people.

Today’s walk included a climb to the Alto del Perdon- the Hill of Forgiveness- with incredible panoramic views across the valleys. From my perch up by a large windmill, I could look to my right and see how far I’d come, and look to my left to see where I was going. I love that I’m slowly walking across a country. Mira asked me if I was excited or intimidated to still have 30 days ahead and right now my answer is ‘excited’. I don’t know if that will change in a week, but right now it feels incredible to get to do this.

Next Post: Day 6 on the Camino Frances

Dirty hair, solid legs, Hemingway’s cafe; Day 3 on the Camino, Zubiri to Pamplona

June 30, 2014

This trip feels surreal. It’s like I’ve been suddenly plucked out of normal life and placed into an alternate reality. I’ve been walking for three days- so this is still, supposedly, new- but it feels natural. A different place and different people and different things, but I feel like it fits.

I think it might be hard to articulate this Camino experience. I’ve read so many accounts of others who have walked, I’ve talked to friends who have done this, I’ve heard how incredible it is. But I didn’t expect that after three days, I’d be sitting in a beautiful cafe in Pamplona, eating tapas and drinking wine with three new friends: another American, a guy from the Basque region of Spain, a guy from South Korea. Or that before going out in Pamplona, I’d wander into the courtyard of the albergue to look for Mira, and then be drinking a beer with a guy from New Zealand, who it turns out is one of a duo who did the first day of the Camino barefoot. And then I met his mom and his 12 year old brother; they’re doing the Camino as a family.

So far, I’m liking the Camino. My feet are feeling good, my legs are feeling good, though I was definitely more tired than the past few days, but I think’s more from lack of sleep than anything else. My hair, on the other hand, feels disgusting. Washing it with a bar of soap isn’t fun. And I sort of wish I had brought a shirt to change into at night, or maybe something separate to sleep in. But those are small complaints. Everything else- the important stuff- is good.

I wrote a long blog post last night but I lost it, and so far the wi-fi hasn’t been great. But I’ve been wanting to write about and capture this experience as much as I can… while also going out and experiencing everything this Camino has to offer. And trying to get enough sleep. But mostly, I’m focused on enjoying the experience.

It’s almost 11pm and that’s late for a Camino night, but I was out with Ibai and Ji-Woo walking around Pamplona, taking in the pre-running of the bulls festivities. We’re staying in a large albergue, this building was a church, and there are long rows of bunk beds running down the sides of the building. There are six beds in my cluster- I walked into Pamplona with Ibai and he got the bottom bunk, but was very kind and offered it to me. Between the other four occupants of the beds: right now one is listening to music that we can all hear, a father and daughter are loudly whispering to each other, and a man occasionally snores loudly. There are footsteps above and voices echoing and cell phones beeping and hall lights on… here’s hoping for at least three hours of sleep tonight.

I slept pretty well last night- I was in a municipal albergue in Zubiri, pretty bare bones, rickety bunk beds (top bunk), but no snorers. I’d also had a few glasses of wine and maybe that helped; after dinner with Mira and an Australian and Texan (who’d met last month on an archaeological dig in Jordan, people here have such great stories),I went over to a bar to find Steve and Peg and watch some of the World Cup match. I’d met Steve and Peg on the first day in Bayonne, waiting for the second bus (and, as it turns out, most of the people I’ve gotten to know are the ones who didn’t push their way onto the first bus). As I talked to them last night, I found out that they have four kids around my age, and that Peg also does school counseling. After the game and before I walked back to my albergue, Peg gave me a big hug and said, “Thank you so much for finding us tonight, being with you reminded me of home.” I had to assure them three times that I could make it to my albergue okay, but it was nice to know that there were people looking out for me.

The people I’ve met have been great, but I’m here to walk, and that’s been incredible. I’ve only walked three days so maybe it’s too early to say how much I love this… but I do. I love waking up and loading my pack and setting off for who knows where. I glance at the guidebook and maps, but all I really know for sure is that I’m headed west, to Santiago. It’s easy to just follow the arrows and go, not worry about where you are because it’s hard to lose your way. There is purpose and direction in the walking, and all along are beautiful sites and small villages and dogs and horses and sheep and kittens.

Uploading photos has been hard, and I already have hundreds. Maybe this time I’ll be able to share a few…

Next Post: Day 4 on the Camino Frances

I’m on my way (I don’t know where I’m going); Day One, St Jean Pied de Port to Roncesvalles

June 27, 2014

I’m in the albuerge in Roncesvalles, Spain, hanging out on my top bunk. I had a top bunk last night, too, and so far I think I’m a fan, except right now there’s a man directly on other side of my bed (the beds are sort of in pods, little groups of 4, within a much larger space), and he’s taking a nap and snoring. Loudly. Mira is in the bunk underneath me; I met her on the last few kilometers into Roncesvalles. We started talking because we have the same shoes, and also Deuter packs. She’s American, and Jorge is in the top bunk across from me. He’s from Mexico but is going to college in Pamplona, and right now he’s paging through a brochure he picked up in the tourism office, and telling us facts about the Running of the Bulls (I’ll pass through Pamplona in a few days, about a week before the bulls). The other man in our pod is French, and he’s been walking for several weeks through France. He’s got a neat notebook full of sketches and notes of the places he’s been. He doesn’t speak English, so I’ve been practicing my French.

I’ve had a lot of French practice so far, but more on that in a minute. First: I made it to Spain! I’m not even sure when I crossed from France to Spain, or if there was a marker along the path, or if I was daydreaming or staring at the amazing views and completely missed it. All I know is that I passed a construction worker and I said “Bonjour” and he said “Buenos Dias” and I thought, “Ahh, I’m in Spain.” What a great way to enter a country.

When I got off the train yesterday in Bayonne, I needed to take a bus to St Jean Pied de Port because of the train strikes. I went outside of the train station to see if I could figure out where to go, and I nearly laughed out loud. There must have been 100 pilgrims standing outside of the station, waiting for the bus.

It was actually a bit overwhelming to see that many people who would be starting the Camino at the same time. I chatted a bit with the people around me, but then the bus pulled up and chaos began. Later, someone said it was like the Hunger Games of the Camino: everyone could see that there wouldn’t be enough seats on the bus, so people frantically shoved their bags into the storage compartment and rushed to secure a seat. I never made it on the bus, but that was fine by me. It was too crazy, and an SNCF worker assured us that another bus would be around in about 20 minutes (which was actually more like an hour, but hey, I was still getting to SJPP earlier than I thought, so what was another hour?). It gave me time to talk to the others who hadn’t made the first bus, and I was glad for it. I know that I’m going to meet so many people during this Camino- I’ve already met a bunch- but I was a bit nervous yesterday. It seemed as though lots of people were in pairs or groups, and I felt kind of awkward being alone (although that feeling is already starting to go away).

In any case, so much of yesterday is a blur, and I think it’s because I was so tired. Somehow I got my credential, checked into the alberge I had reserved, washed a few clothes, showed up for the communal dinner, walked around the town to explore (I found a cemetery!), took some photos. The dinner was in the alberge, and from what I read, it sounded like a great chance to meet other Pilgrims and have the chance to introduce yourself and explain why you are walking the Camino. The dinner was decent: some kind of creamy soup, noodles, a potato gratin dish, lamb chops, a custardy thing for dessert, bread, wine.

But, with one exception, everyone at my table was French. A group of 4 had been hiking for about a week, and one guy started 17 days before, averaging 45 kilometers a day (which is A LOT!). So the conversation was all in French, with a few side conversations between myself and a man from Canada, Jeff. But I tried to speak in French, and it went okay, until one of the men asked me why I was walking the Camino. That question is hard enough to answer in English! I was immediately flustered and everyone was staring at me expectantly, and I’m not even sure what I said. Speedy helped me out, saying something about life transitions and having a middle time, to separate the ‘before’ and the ‘what comes next’ (well, I’m not entirely sure if that’s what he was saying, but I think that was the gist of it). In any case, I was glad when dinner was over. I was already exhausted and overwhelmed with being in a new place and trying to get my bearings, trying to mentally prepare for the next day. Speaking in French, at that point, was a bit too much for me.

As I was trying to fall asleep last night, I thought about what was waiting for me the next day. Despite months of preparation, I felt like I wasn’t ready. I was a bit anxious about how it would all go, if my pack would be too heavy, if the walk would be too long, if I would talk to anyone during the day, if I would like being a pilgrim.

And as I left St Jean Pied de Port this morning, I had a moment when I shook my head and thought, “What it the world am I doing??” And then, “Here goes nothing.”

I’ve already written a ton, so here’s how the day went, in a nutshell: it was amazing. I loved the walk so much. Parts of it were difficult, but when I arrived in Roncesvalles, I thought, “We’re here already?” I think I could have walked for a few more hours. It was probably the most beautiful walk of my life: straight through the Pyrenees, with the views getting better and better around every bend.

Having perfect weather helped. Sunny, with a few clouds, and a coolish breeze as I walked up into the mountains. After the first couple of hours things spread out, and I was walking big chunks completely alone, not seeing anyone in front of me or behind me.

And it was just so good to be walking. My training has definitely helped, but a lot of it is mental: I’ve been thinking about this trip for months, and now that it’s here, it feels so good to put on my pack and go. I don’t have to worry anymore about whether I can do this or not. Because I’m here, and I’m doing it.

There is so much I could describe from this first day, but soon I need to head to dinner, and then a Pilgrim’s mass in the church.

So far, I’m feeling good. I just walked through breathtaking scenery, had a ham sandwich on a french baguette staring out at one of the best views in the world, stopped for coffee in the Pyrenees, took a hundred photos, talked to a dozen people and smiled and said ‘Buen Camino’ to dozens more, and am settled into my bunk, eating a Twix bar and relaxing before dinner.

A good, good Day One on the Camino.

Next Post: Day 3 on the Camino Frances

Out of Iceland and down to St Jean Pied de Port

June 26, 2014

After an extra 24 hours in Iceland, I’m on my way to St Jean Pied de Port. It’s close now: I’m on a train in Bordeaux, about to depart for Bayonne, where I’ll switch again for SJPP.

Iceland was sort of like a twilight zone- which is not to say that it was undesirable or strange- but that it felt like it was existing in some sort of separate space and time. I mean, it never got dark! Was it 10am or 5pm or 11pm or 4am? And for that matter, what day was it? When did I leave JFK, how long had I been traveling, what was the time difference, when should I be eating, how long have I been wearing these clothes? I’ve had two hours of sleep in the past… I don’t even know how many days. It’s felt like I’ve been traveling for weeks, but I think it’s under two days. Or just over two days. I’m not sure.

Choosing to take the later flight out of Iceland- despite the Twilight-zone-ness of it all- was a good choice. I flew “overnight” to Paris, and on the way to the airport hung out with Luke, the last of flight #612. I felt like I had a friend with me, someone I’d known a lot longer than a day and a half. Once we got to Paris we hugged goodbye, and I thought that this was a great way to begin my trip. I’ve been very focused- and worried- about the connections I’ll make with others while I’m away, and traveling to Paris with Luke felt like a good omen.

I effortlessly found the RER and made my way to Montparnasse. I just did a very similar trip last year (catching a train in Montparnasse for the south of France), but that time it felt difficult. Not really knowing where to go, lugging around a huge suitcase, experiencing Europe after being away for so many years.

This time? Carrying a bag on my back is a great way to go. I made all of my connections so quickly that when I showed up at the ticket booth to find a way to SJPP, I ended up on a much earlier train than I expected. In fact, the whole thing was so simple, and I was even speaking French! Last year I forgot to get my ticket ‘composter’, I was on the wrong car and in someone’s seat, and trying to explain myself in French was a disaster. I don’t know exactly what happened between last year and this year, but in terms of traveling, I’ll call it confidence. And experience.

In any case, I’ll be arriving in SJPP around 4:30 this afternoon, giving me about 3 hours more time than I thought I would have. It’s perfect. Enough time to buy a credential (the passport I’ll need to present in albergues and cafes to prove that I’m a pilgrim), track down a walking stick and scallop shell, and take a look at the town. And take a shower. At this stage, that’s important.

And tomorrow, it will be time to begin this walk, and time to tackle the Pyrenees. Because of the travel delays, I lost my reservation at Orisson, the alberge in the Pyrenees that would have split up a long and difficult first day’s walk. So now it will be straight on to Roncesvalles, and I will have to do what just about everyone considers to be the most challenging day of the entire Camino. (Partly because of the steep ascents and descents, and partly because this is the very first day).

As I was getting on this train I thought I saw a small group of Pilgrims: 3 or 4 guys, all young and fit, with big packs and European accents, laughing and shoving each other. I chickened out and didn’t say anything, but finally, this pilgrimage feels close. I’m moving towards my starting point and others are, too. A whole bunch of people from all over the world are congregating in a small French town to begin a long walk, and this will be the group I start with. I have some nerves, and I may have a lot more when the train pulls into SJPP, but right now it’s mostly excitement. Time to walk!

Next Post: Day One on the Camino Frances

Iceland Detour

June 25, 2014

I’m sitting at a wooden table in a cafe in Reykjavik, sipping a cappuccino. It’s 4pm, but here it could be 4am; the sky looks exactly like it did when we made the middle of the night ride from the airport to the hotel. They aren’t kidding when they call this the land of the midnight sun: I don’t think the sky was dark for one moment last night.

I’m not supposed to be in Iceland, not this long, and not yet. My 17-hour layover in Reykjavik was supposed to happen at the end of my trip, in the middle of August, and not right now, at the very beginning. This Iceland layover was only suppose to be 1 hour.

I worried about how I would get down to St Jean Pied de Port- my starting point for the Camino- after hearing about all the French rail and air strikes. My family joked that I might be stranded in Paris, or Iceland, and I joked back: “That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world!”

And so far, it’s not. My flight out of JFK was delayed about 4 hours, not because of the French strikes, but because the Icelandair system was down. When I got to the airport, I sailed passed the long line of people waiting at Icelandair, and breezed through security. Not having to check a bag made things so easy. I marveled at how fast I made it to my gate: less than 10 minutes after being dropped off at the airport by my dad. Incredible!

But I knew something was wrong when, after another hour, there were only a few people waiting at the gate. One was a woman named Julie, and after talking for a few minutes, we discovered that we were each walking the Camino, and that we each planned to begin on the 26th from SJPP. Instantly I could understand what everyone means when they talk about the Camino spirit. It was like I already had a friend: someone to look out for me, and someone I could look out for.

After awhile, we found out that our flight was being checked-in manually and that we’d have to go back to the line, go through check-in, go through security. All over again.

I made some friends with the people I was waiting with in line. We’d walked down together and joked about how backwards this whole process was. We were the very last in line, and I was the final passenger to be checked in for our flight. We were hours behind schedule and the workers at Icelandair cheered when they realized I was the last one. The man helping me said, “This has been a nightmare, but you know, so much of the personal interaction has been lost by using computer systems. It’s been nice to actually talk to people.”

And in some ways, I have to agree. This has been a hassle, but it’s also been nice. Our flight was delayed again on the runway, we were four hours behind schedule, our connecting flight to Paris was long gone by the time we reached Iceland, once we were bussed to the hotel there was only enough time for a few hours sleep. I was put on an afternoon flight to Paris but then changed it to an even later flight because of train schedules; I’ll arrive in Paris about 24 hours later than originally planned.

But. I stood in line and laughed and joked with three young people on my flight: Emily, who is spending the summer in Vienna, doing a law school study abroad program. Luke, who is traveling to the south of France for a cousin’s wedding. Heather, who will be working in a cafe in Paris for the summer.

And I met Julie, my first fellow Pilgrim; she sent me an email while we were on the flight, updating me on our connection and the rescheduled flights. She gave me a hug in the airport as we parted ways (she was put on an earlier flight to Paris, so the next time I see her, if ever, will be somewhere on the Camino).

A smooth flight and making all of my connections would have been great, but something would have also been lost. The camaraderie, the unexpected twists, the adventure.

I’ll make it down to the Camino, and really, it doesn’t matter when. I have a lot of time to walk. For now, I get to finish my coffee (good! strong! Is Iceland known for having decent coffee? I’ll have to look into this more on my way back), and I get to soak up this beautiful Icelandic landscape and roam around Reykjavik for a few more hours. For now, the Camino can wait.

2 days, putting it all together.

June 22, 2014

I leave for Europe on Tuesday. 2 days. I’ve read, however, that a pilgrimage begins the moment you step outside your front door. And if that’s the case, then my journey begins this morning. I’m heading to my parents’ for a couple days, and in a few hours, I’ll have all my stuff packed, my fridge cleared out, my apartment shut up. And my trip will begin.

These last few days- weeks- have been a bit frantic, but this morning I feel kind of relaxed. Most of my to-dos are done. My training hikes are over, and I’ve stopped worrying about the fact that I never did back-to-back 15 mile hikes with my loaded pack.

I got out for a small, 7 mile hike yesterday, which was all I had time for. I filled my pack with everything I’d be taking with me on the Camino, and did my first (and only) test run. Before I left I stepped on the scale to see how much my pack weighed. 18 pounds, with water, but no food. Ugh. I’d been hoping to keep the total weight (with water and food) to 15/16 pounds, and I actually thought it would be easy. No problem! A few tshirts, a few socks, a rain jacket… what else could I possibly need?

But the weight adds up. It adds up fast. As I began my hike and walked through the trails that I’ve come to know so well, all I could think about was how heavy my pack felt. I’d done lots of training hikes with the pack, and in the past few weeks, I’d been carrying about 15 pounds. Why in the world did the extra 3 pounds feel like an extra 20?

I mentally scanned through the contents of my bag, searching for items I could toss. I probably didn’t need to bring a tank top, when I already had two t-shirts. Did I really need the travel neck pouch?

But I couldn’t think of much else to get rid of. I’m taking a few ‘luxury’ items, but these are non-negotiable. I’m bringing a small point and shoot camera, in addition to my iPhone. I know that I don’t need it, I know that the camera, and case, and cord just adds weight. But I want to take photos on this trip, and I don’t want to be limited to what my phone can store. I’m also bringing a journal, and again, I know I don’t need it. But I don’t think I’ve ever traveled without a journal before, and I can’t imagine ever traveling without one.

And yet, my pack just felt so heavy. Uncomfortable on my shoulders. I sort of felt like my pack was betraying me: I’d opted for the really small size because it was the best fit. During all of my training hikes, the pack felt so perfect. And now, days before my trip, I was questioning the decision to buy a 24 L pack for a 5 week trip.

As I walked I thought about how I’d thrown my stuff into my pack at random. And then I thought of the articles I’d read about how to properly load a backpack. Ahh. I found a bench, sat down, and pulled everything out of my pack and then reloaded it, trying to remember the tips I’d read about weeks before. I repositioned my heavier items in the middle of my pack, close to my spine. I squeezed everything back into my bag, put it on, and began to walk.

It was like I had my perfect pack back. Still heavy, but this time my pack felt like it was part of me, rather than some foreign thing that was out to get me.

And this, I realized, is why it’s so important to do training hikes with your pack and everything that you’ll bring on your Camino.

So much has been running through my mind as I get ready to leave for this trip. Some of it is the small stuff, the little questions that linger: is it wise to go without sock liners? Now that my pack is fully loaded and packed to the gills, how in the world will I have any room to carry food? What will it be like to use one bar of soap to wash my clothes, my body, my hair?

Then there are the bigger questions: will I actually get down to St Jean Pied de Port by Thursday morning to begin my Camino? Not only has there been a huge train strike in France, but i just read that air traffic controllers will begin a strike on Tuesday. The day I am supposed to fly to Paris. Oh France and your strikes. They always come at the worst times.

And then there are even bigger questions: am I mentally prepared for this journey? What do I want to get out of it? Can I walk this distance?

But I no longer have much time to dwell on these questions. Now I just need to leave and begin taking my first steps. So for the first time, but most definitely not the last, I’ll say: Buen Camino! Let the journey begin.

Before I Die I Will…

June 17, 2014

I just did a sort-of-trial-packing for my Camino, and all I can say is: now I know why a 24-liter pack is considered small. Oh boy.

In other news, I wanted to write about something I saw the other weekend. I was visiting friends in Maryland (one of whom walked the Camino years ago), and it was a Camino-filled two days: we spent hours talking about the walk, practicing Spanish phrases, eating tapas and drinking sangria at a Spanish restaurant, going on a few hikes.

We were there for the town’s ‘First Saturday’ and the theme was art- there was live entertainment, art demonstrations, community art projects. We walked down a street and saw large chalkboard panels propped against the side of a building, with the words ‘Before I Die I Will…’ written at the top.

Dozens of people had supplied answers, from ‘Go to Italy’ to ‘Be a Mom’. We spent a few minutes reading through the panels, and pointing out our favorite answers.

“Look,” I pointed. “Someone wrote, ‘Find Waldo’.”

“And look just above that,” my friend said. “Walk the Camino.”

It seemed amazing to me that someone had written that they want to walk the Camino. Maybe it was because I rarely see or hear Camino references in my every day life. Maybe it’s because when I tell people what I’m doing this summer, almost nobody has ever heard of the Camino.

Or maybe it’s because the Camino is something that people dream about, something they put on their bucket lists. Knowing that someone answered the question ‘Before I die I will…’ with ‘walk the Camino’ makes me think about how incredible this experience is going to be. I’ve been so caught up in the preparations and the scrambling and training that I’ve lost some of the pure excitement and giddy disbelief of going on a pilgrimage through Spain.

I’m about to walk 500 miles across Spain. Before I die, I WILL attempt to walk 500 miles across Spain. What a great thing to get to do.

(‘Walk the Camino’ is on the right column, near the bottom)