adventure Archives - Page 5 of 5

But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more…

June 17, 2015

In about an hour, I leave for my second Camino. A few weeks ago, even a few days ago, I figured that this blog post wouldn’t be written until I arrived at the airport and settled in to wait for my flight. Or maybe it would be written on the flight, or else on the train ride from Paris down to Hendaye.

But instead, I’m ahead of schedule. I’ve been ahead of schedule these last few days, and it’s throwing me off a bit. Where is the scrambling, the rushing, the panicked feeling that I don’t have everything done and I’m not prepared and that I’m going to forget something?

A small part of me worries that there’s something I’m not remembering to do, but mostly, I’m on top of stuff. It’s strange. I know I’m still going to have that feeling of “what am I doing??” when the plane takes off and, better yet, when I arrive at the train station in Hendaye and set off to cross the bridge from France to Spain and into Irun, my first official steps of the Camino del Norte.

But right now, this sort of feels ‘old hat’. I did a small training hike the other day with my pack ‘Camino loaded’, and as I was stuffing things into compartments, it all came back to me: how the sleeping bag fills out the bottom, how my soap and toiletries come next, topped with my rain jacket and ziplocs filled with clothes, how my bag with electronics and cords settles in at the top. Without having to think, my hands just moved along, filling my pack in the way that I used to last summer.

I’m at my parents house right now, where I’m leaving my car for the next month. I only arrived here yesterday, having spent most of the day finishing up work for the year. I imagined that I would spend my evening with maps spread out in front of me, jotting down notes, sending off emails, doing all of those last minute, pre-trip things. But instead, I went for a stroll around my neighborhood and saw lightening bugs blinking across the corn fields. I sipped a coke slushey and watched Apollo 13. I had one of the most relaxing summer evenings that I could imagine.

And now I’m sitting in my old bedroom with my Camino things spread out before me, not quite fully packed. My outfit is arranged on my bed, I’ll change into it shortly: a long pair of hiking pants, a deep blue t-shirt, underwear, socks. I remember this moment so vividly last year, how I was struggling to take a deep breath, panicked about what I was about to get myself into.

This year I feel so calm, and I love it. I think I’ve been ready to get back on the Camino for months, and now it’s here. Round two. The weather is supposed to be beautiful for my first day’s walk on Friday, so stay tuned for some gorgeous photos of the northern coast of Spain. Here’s a photo of a map of the route, taken from my guidebook (so pardon the poor quality of the map… but you’ll be able to see the route, which is the most important thing).

The solid red line is the route I’m walking this year, the Camino del Norte which branches off to the Camino Primitivo; the dotted red line is the Camino Frances, which I walked last year.

So here we go, 31-days on the Camino del Norte and Camino Primitivo… 500 more beautiful and strenuous and magical miles through Spain. Stay tuned!

Next Post: Day 1 on the Camino del Norte

10 days, Calm and Ready

June 7, 2015

A year ago I wrote a blog post called ’10 Days, rain, and stress’. I was- as you can guess- 10 days away from leaving for my Camino, and my days were consumed by- as you can probably also guess- rain and stress. I felt mildly panicked about everything: I hadn’t trained as much as I wanted, and for some reason I thought that I wouldn’t be remotely prepared for the physical part of the Camino if I didn’t get a chance to practice with back-to-back 15-mile hikes. I can’t remember what my longest training hike even was, last year; if it was 15 miles it only happened once, and it wasn’t with a loaded pack.

The rain was getting me down, I had two huge work presentations that were scheduled for the days just before I left for Spain, and I was terrified of walking the Camino. I was excited, too, but terrified: the Camino was calling me, loud and clear, but I didn’t know if I could handle it. I was so intentional about the decision to walk and the preparations and the training but suddenly, with 10 days to go, it felt a bit absurd- what in the world was I thinking? I was about to walk 500 miles across Spain??

This year is different. 10 days to go, and I feel… calm. Mostly. I actually don’t feel like I’m about to leave for Spain to walk another Camino, and maybe it’s because the stress and the fear isn’t there in the same way that it was last year. It just doesn’t feel real, but then again, things like this never feel real until I’m sitting in the window seat of a large aircraft, with my pack stowed above me and my journal open to a fresh page. That’s when it really hits- the excitement and the fear. I’ve had moments of each but I think they’re going to hit hard, and all at once, when I’m sitting on the plane.

But for now, everything feels controlled and calm. I’m not exactly sure who this person is, sitting here, writing about how calms she feels about a month-long trip to Europe to walk across a country… because months ago, I suspected that I would be a bundle of nerves at this point. Second-guessing everything, wondering if I was fit enough, worried that I would be too shy to make friends, worried about everything that could go wrong.

Instead, I feel settled. Despite spending hours, day, weeks, (months?) earlier this year, struggling to figure out the ‘best’ thing to do this summer, I think I always knew that I wanted to walk another Camino. And I can feel that, now. I feel it strongly: walking another Camino is exactly what I want to do this summer. I wrote about wanting to be ‘open’ on this Camino, and it’s been like a very tiny mantra that I repeat to myself every day, as I organize my gear, as I climb up small hills in a park: “Open. Open. Open.”

I’m ready for it NOW. Yesterday I hiked 15 miles with a loaded pack and I felt good. Tired at the very end, but mostly strong. Not everyday will feel like this, and I still worry that this Camino will be tougher on me than the walk last year… but I’m ready. After my hike, I bought the last few items I need for my trip: a bar of soap, a fresh t-shirt. My pack isn’t put together yet, but I have everything I need. No scrambling for last minute items. I’m ready.

Last year, I asked myself- what do I want out of my pilgrimage? I had some ideas, but I wasn’t really sure what the experience would be like for me. On the plane ride to Iceland, I wrote these words in my journal: “Connection. And fun.” Sometimes it shocks me that I was able to identify what I needed, because those were, perhaps, the two things in life that I needed the very most at that time. To feel strong connections, and to have fun. And man, did the Camino ever provide those things to me.

This year, I kind of want everything- sunshine and beach days and endless cafe con leches and Javier Bardem. And time to myself and time for connections and fun. But I expect nothing. If my days are beautiful and I meet incredible people and I have amazing days full of laughter and joy… then it will be a good Camino. And if I walk in nothing but rain, if I walk alone and stay alone, if I spend more time writing than socializing… then it will be a good Camino. My only goal, I think, is to be open- to accept what’s before me, to talk to the people around me, to take each day as it comes, with whatever it brings.

I still suspect that my next blog post, the one just before I leave or the one I write on the plane ride over, will sound completely different than what I’ve just written. That I’ll be saying things like, “What in the world am I doing?? This Camino is more isolated and it’s more challenging and WHAT IF IT RAINS EVERY DAY???” But right now, I’m not saying those things. I’m saying this: Camino #2, I’m ready for you.

Some of you expressed interest in the lacing advice the ‘REI guy’ gave me: see the right shoe. I was amazed that I could hike with a shoe laced like that, but I can! And it feels great!

Learning how to be a hiker

February 23, 2015

I don’t consider myself a hiker. A long distance walker, yes, but hiking is something different. To me, hiking involves mountains, rugged terrain, shaded trails, sturdy boots (though I’ve never owned a pair).

I consider myself a beginner when it comes to hiking, and things like difficult trails and scrambling up or down rocks makes me nervous. And yet, I also love hiking. In the past few years, I’ve accepted every opportunity to go on a hike that I could, and I’ve pushed myself to do a few hikes that were out of my comfort zone.

When I first started thinking about this post, I wondered, “Do I have enough to say about the hikes I’ve been on?” As I scrolled through my photos from the last couple of years, I realized that I’ve done more hiking than I realized. I’m still going to call myself a beginner, but maybe I have a little more experience under my belt than I let on.

I started to become more confident about hiking two years ago, when I was dating a boyfriend who lived in Vermont. He was a hiker, but more than that: he lived in Vermont. I loved exploring the state and driving around to find trails to climb. I didn’t do any really big climbs, mostly just sticking to 3-6 mile trails with some descent scenic views. My favorite was probably Snake Mountain, a moderate hike through a heavy forest that opened up onto panoramic views of the Champlain Valley and distant Adirondack Mountains.

Then I went to the south of France, to a writer’s retreat in a small village called Labastide Esparbairenque. The village is nestled in the Montagne Noir (Black Mountains), and every day I would fill a backpack with water, cheese, chocolate and an apple, grab my camera and go on a hike. There were several trails that ran out of the village and onto mountain paths, and I spent the three weeks at the retreat exploring every day. (A fun side note: this is when I first decided that I would walk the Camino. It was just a vague idea at this point and something I didn’t think I would do for years, but when I realized how much I loved walking through the mountains and stumbling across tiny French villages, I had a suspicion that I would love the Camino).

After France I hiked a little more in Vermont, and then started checking out trails in Virginia, after my best friend moved down there. I still don’t know it well but I’ve fallen in love with Shenandoah National Park, and I’ve been able to hike small portions of the Appalachian Trail. My favorite hike in Virginia, so far, was the hike up to McAfee’s Knob- one of the most photographed sites on the Appalachian Trail. The hike was about 8-miles round trip from where I parked, and I picked a clear day, so the views were stunning.

And then I went on the Camino. While the Camino is more of a long walk than a hike, some sections were definitely a bit rougher than others- one day in particular. Along with 5 of my friends, I chose to do an alternate route called ‘Dragonte’, which had us going up and down three mountains. The day alternated between moments of strong sunshine and swirling dark clouds, and we got rained on, quite a bit. It was tough. And a lot of fun. If I hadn’t just spent the previous 3 weeks walking 300 hundred miles, I’m sure it would have been a lot more challenging. As it was, it gave me the confidence that, one day, I might actually be able to consider myself a hiker.

Finally, there were the calanques in France. These might eventually get a post of their own, but for now, here was the experience in a nutshell: my friend and I decided to explore these narrow inlets bordered by steep limestone cliffs while we were traveling around the Cote d’Azur and Provence. I was fresh off of the Camino and feeling pretty satisfied with myself- maybe even a bit cocky. We hiked to the first two calanques without a problem, but the third one was no picnic. After a strenuous climb that seemed to go on forever, we looked down a vertical rock wall to an incredibly steep descent. My friend turned back to find the beach we’d passed an hour before (which I think could be called the smartest decision of the trip), but I decided to brave the descent. The clincher was when a skinny French girl wearing a bikini and strappy sandals flounced by. I was wearing hiking shoes AND had just walked 500-miles across Spain. If she could do it, so could I.

Well, I don’t know how she did it. Because after sliding and swinging my way down the rocks, resting at the beach for 30-minutes, and then using every ounce of strength I had to pull me back up the rock wall, I was done. I was more physically exhausted than any single day on the Camino, and my sore legs had me hobbling around Provence for days afterwards.

I still have a lot to experience when it comes to hiking. But the hiking I have done- in Vermont and Virginia, in France and in Spain- it’s ignited something in me. Several people have asked if (and when) I’ll be hiking the entire Appalachian Trail, and I always laugh and say, “Probably never.” And while that’s true, for now, I wouldn’t be surprised if I begin to do some increasingly challenging hikes over the next few years. I know, almost for a fact, that I’ll never be climbing Everest… but wouldn’t Kilimanjaro be pretty amazing?

Sunshine and Daily Selfies; 5 Things I Miss About the Camino

January 27, 2015

It’s officially my first snow day of the season: school is cancelled and there’s less than 2 inches outside (a false alarm, but I still got a snow day out of it). I have a stack of books on my coffee table, packets of hot chocolate in my cupboard, Netflix opened in my browser (I just started watching American Horror Story, on the recommendation of a teenager I work with. I’m not sure yet if this was a good idea, or a bad idea).

But before I get to any of that, it’s time for more Camino reminiscing. That walk has been on my mind a lot, lately. Last week I bundled up and went out to a park to do a long walk, and I was surprised by how good it felt. And surprised by how sore my legs were. I realized that it had been over a month since I’d walked more than a mile or two, and man, I could feel it. I think my Camino legs are officially gone.

Maybe it was the walk, maybe it’s the cold weather, but I started doing some research into the Camino del Norte, another pilgrimage route that runs across the northern coast of Spain. It’s more physically challenging than the Camino Frances (which I walked last summer); there are many more hills, many more ups and downs. But the route is supposed to be gorgeous; much of it involves walking on a path that has the mountains directly to your left, and the ocean directly to your right. I can’t imagine a better scenario.

So while I’m dreaming about a *possible* 2015 Camino (we’ll see, we’ll see), I’ve also been nostalgic for last year’s Camino. I wrote a post a few months ago, called ‘Endless coffee, top bunks, and delirium; 7 things I miss about the Camino’, and now I’m back for round two. Here are 5 more things that I’ve been missing about the Camino lately.

1. Sunshine

I already wrote about how I loved being outdoors every day on the Camino, but you know what I really loved about that? Being in the sun. This is such a catch-22, because spending hours in the sun can be so dangerous. But I can’t help it, I love sunshine, and I always have. My mom saw a photo that I posted on this blog, while I was on the Camino, and her comment was something along the lines of: “Your skin!!! Wear a hat!!!!!!!” And I did, sometimes. I was religious in my use of sunscreen on the Camino though, and one of my favorite memories was standing, sweaty and dirty, in a farmacia (pharmacy) and trying to speak in Spanish with the woman working behind the counter (I knew about a dozen words, so I didn’t get very far). I was pointing up to the sky (to indicate the sun), then pointing down to my skin (to indicate that I needed something to cover it from the sun). She walked me over to a shelf full of tubes of cream, studied my skin for a minute, then thoughtfully picked out a bottle.

So, I wore a lot of sunscreen. And I loved (almost) every minute of being out in the sun. I walked the Camino at the end of June and the entirety of July, and I lucked out with a mild summer. There were definitely some cloudy days, but lots of sunny ones as well. Some days were hot, and some of the very hottest were difficult… but I still loved it. I feel so much better when I’ve gotten a daily dose of sunshine; I feel energized and healthy. And this is probably #1 on my list today because we’re in the very middle of winter, there is snow on the ground, and the days have been very gray. So I’m dreaming about a sunny Camino.

2. Eating endless food (and bread) and not really gaining any weight

I may have mentioned that I was about 5 pounds heavier when I returned home from my trip this summer, but not much of that was Camino weight. Well, maybe a pound (but most of it was due to the 10 days in France, post-Camino, where I ate entire meals of bread, cheese, and wine). I already wrote about being able to drink as much wine and coffee as I wanted, but I have to say, it was sheer joy to eat whatever I wanted on the Camino and not worry about it. I’m not a fanatic when it comes to food and my weight, but in my normal life I try to eat healthy foods and stay active and avoid my very favorite things (like french fries and sweet candy).

But the Camino wasn’t normal life. I was walking a ton every day, so I let myself indulge, and eat whatever I wanted to. It took me awhile to get into this routine (old habits die hard), but by the end of the trip, I was stopping at 10:30 am for a huge plate of french fries and a tall glass of coke, just because I wanted to. I almost always had a bag of gummy candies stuffed somewhere in my pack, and I could eat an entire basket of bread before my three course pilgrim’s meal (and then ask for a refill). All of this eating meant that I didn’t lose any weight as I walked 500-miles across a country, and I was okay with that. But as soon as the walking ended, my appetite, unfortunately, didn’t.

It’s taken months to get back to my “normal” eating habits. I may have lost a pound or two… but then again, some pants are still a little tight. Oh, those glorious days of bread and cheese and french fries! It’s a compelling reason to walk another Camino…

3. The opportunity to take a selfie every morning.

I know that I can take a selfie every morning if I wanted to. But what would it show? Here I am, standing in my kitchen, about to leave for work. Every single day. There’s simply no need to take a picture like this. But on the Camino, I took a photo of myself every morning before I began my walk (there were only two days when I forgot, so I took selfies along the path, instead). I had this idea before I began the walk, and the entire purpose was to keep track of my photos. I wasn’t sure how I would be able to remember which photos belonged to which day, so I decided to take a photo every morning, to separate one day’s walk from the next.

And even if the selfie-taking was a solution to an organizational problem, it’s now become something more. It shows me. It shows me on this walk: the first photos of my pale skin and tentative smile, the later photos showing confidence and happiness. My hair gets a little lighter, my skin gets a little darker, I become more relaxed. Some of the photos are bad (these are all taken approximately 30 minutes after I have woken up… often from a top bunk in a crowded albergue and after a fitful night of sleep. I spend 5 minutes in the bathroom brushing my teeth and splashing cold water in my face, and then I put on my pack and walk, so I’m not exactly looking my best)… but I love that I took them. And I wish I could once again have the opportunity to take a different photo from a different city or town or village every single day.

4. The kindness of strangers.

I think that anyone who has walked a Camino might be nodding their head about this one. There are kind people all over the world, and certainly kind people in our every day lives. But sometimes it takes a lot to see them, or notice them. And sometimes we’re so caught up in the busy-ness of life that we all forget to stop and help someone out. Or we forget to stop and be kind.

But on the Camino there is just so much of it. It took me about a week to get into the habit of sharing whatever I had. I think the first person to show me true kindness was Ibai, and I suspect it’s one of the reasons that I took the time to walk with him and get to know him, and then try to stay with him until the end. It was the end of my second day of walking, and I was setting up my keyboard at a picnic table in the courtyard of my albergue. Ibai walked over, asked if he could sit down, and offered me an orange. There was such genuineness and simplicity in this gesture, but I think I’ll always remember it. I took the orange and then we started a friendship.

And all along the Camino there are moments like these. People help you out with the bigger stuff (when you’re in pain, when you have horrible blisters, when you need directions, when you’ve run out of food), but they help with the smaller things, too. They offer you the bottom bunk. They ask, sincerely, how you are doing (and they expect to hear a truthful answer). They open up a bag of cookies and insist that you take one. And then you, in turn, begin to offer what you have. Your time, your ear, your extra Moleskin, your bag of cherries. It’s beautiful.

5. The people.

Oh, I miss the friends that I made: my Camino family. This post has already gone on long enough, and I could easily write another 1,000 words about the people I met on this Camino, but I won’t. All I can say is that the connections- whether they were people I walked with for 100-miles or people I talked to for 10 minutes- the connections were so much of what the Camino was all about. I miss those people.

Searching for Hans Christian Andersen; at what point does a visit to a country “count”?

January 19, 2015

A few months ago I had a short conversation- in the comments section of one of my blog posts- about what it takes to check a country off your list. I have this scratch-off map of the world, and as I start to do more traveling, I’m wondering which countries I can scratch off, and which ones I need to spend a little more time in.

I think this is probably an interesting conversation on its own, and I’d be very curious to hear opinions on the topic. If you’re spending a 2-hour long layover in an airport in Belgium, does this count? I think a lot of people would say no, and yet, I had a friend who vehemently believed that setting foot in a country- in any way and for any amount of time- “counted”.

And then, how much time is enough time to feel like you’ve gotten to experience a place? Can you experience a place in 24-hours? A few days? A week? A month? A year? All of the above?

It depends, of course. I spent 9-months studying in France, and a month walking through Spain on the Camino de Santiago. In both instances I felt like I was able to experience the culture of these countries, in a much more intimate way than I have on any of my other travels. But then I think about Italy, where I just spent a week, and I feel like I don’t really know the country. I was even able to stay in someone’s home and chat with some locals and see a few places off the beaten path… but to know Italy, to try to understand it, I need more time. I’m still checking it off my list, still scratching it off my map, but there is more I want to experience there.

And what about Iceland and Denmark, the two countries I “visited” on long layovers at the beginning/end of my travels? I’ve been wanting to write about this idea of the long layover and more about my experiences (and I probably will, in a future post), but for now, I just want to consider the idea of whether I have actually visited these countries.

Some have said that you need to have a unique experience in a place to say that you’ve been there. So I think about Iceland, about my two long layovers: busing out to a hotel at 4am and peering out the window to see a light sky. Sleeping a disjointed few hours in a comped room and then meeting up with a few people I’d met the day before for lunch. Wandering through Reykjavik, touring the Hallgrimskirkja and going up its tower to see a panoramic view of the city. Buying a warm bowl of soup from a food truck, drinking strong coffee in a cafe and writing a blog post, walking along the old harbor. On my second stint in Reykjavik I again walked along the water, for a few hours (I was just coming off the Camino, so walking was the only thing I felt like doing); I found another coffee shop and I ate a hot dog and I could get around some parts of the city without my map.

Then I think about Copenhagen, and I’m not so sure I can check this off of my list. I was in Copenhagen for less than 24-hours; I slept in a hostel and I toured an art museum, but does this count? When I was on the train heading back to the airport, I thought: “I’m in Copenhagen, but just barely.”

And yet, traveling gives you these unique moments and experiences that feel like something. They are so much bigger than the moments in my typical days because they are foreign, because I am far from home, because I got myself on a plane and on a train and down a street in a city in a different part of the world. I had a few moments like these in Copenhagen. They were so regular, and yet, they were also strikingly different. I was walking down Stroget, the main shopping street of the city, and so many people walked down the street with me, bundled up in long puffy coats and thick scarves and wooly hats. The street opened onto a small square and a man sat on a chair strumming a guitar. The music drifted down the street and as I listened to his voice and walked past bright window displays, I saw a large, full moon hanging low in the sky, just in front of me. I had to stop walking, I had to stop and stand against a building and consider where I was. The music and the people and the moon and the fact that I was walking through a city in Denmark.

Later, I wandered through Magasin du Nord, a large Danish department store. I ended up eating dinner in the cafeteria area on the 5th floor; it was a good solution for a (shy) solo-traveler on a winter night. I saw a few ladies sharing a small bottle of wine so I bought one for myself, and as I ate my meal and drank my red wine, I laughed a little at myself. Shouldn’t I be having a different kind of experience? I justified my department store meal with the knowledge that Hans Christian Andersen had, at one point in his life, lived in a small room in this very building. So after my meal, and feeling nice and warm from the wine, I set off to find the room. Except I couldn’t. I think I had the wrong building (I had the right department store… somewhere in Copenhagen there is a Magasin du Nord that has a room that Hans Christian Andersen lived in, I am sure of it). I explored every nook and cranny of that store, convinced that the room must be tucked away in some obscure corner, but finally gave up (I had a similar experience on my first visit to Paris, when I spent several hours hunting for Jim Morrison’s grave in the wrong cemetery).

So, is this an experience? Of course it is. I can’t say that I know Copenhagen and I certainly can’t say that I know Denmark, and yet, I’m always going to have these memories. Of a beautiful voice and a busy street and a full moon. Of wandering around, a little fuzzy from my department store cafeteria wine, searching in vain for Hans Christian Andersen’s room.

For now, Iceland and Denmark “count”. But the great part about traveling is that you get a taste for more. If I never make it back to Copenhagen, then at least I have a story about the time I drank wine and wandered around a department store looking for an author’s room. But now I have a reason to return: among all of the other things to see and experience… I need to find that room.

Department Store Dinner, Copenhagen, Denmark

Dinner in a department store

Twix and Van Gogh and some thoughts on traveling (and life)

January 4, 2015

I’m eating a Twix bar in my bunk bed in Copenhagen (a top bunk, of course); Twix seems to be my comfort food when I’m in foreign places. I only have a little less than a day in Copenhagen, and by the time I arrived this afternoon, the sun was setting. So I figured out how to get from the airport to the train station to the hostel, stashed my bags on my bed and locked up my valuables, and then set off to see the city while there was still a bit of daylight.

But for all of my planning (though really there wasn’t much), I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where to go. My flight had been delayed for an hour in Bologna, so I no longer had time to walk to the art museum I’d wanted to check out. I headed in that direction anyway- what I thought was that direction- only to realize that I couldn’t figure out where I was on my map.

I ended up in a different art museum, 40 minutes before they closed, and didn’t have to pay because entry is free on Sundays. I walked through quickly but paused for a long time in front of a Van Gogh painting, one that he did in the last year of his life while he was in St Remy.

It’s been incredible to think about the last year of my life. In August, after I finished the Camino, I went to St Remy, a small town in Provence, France. I walked the streets that Van Gogh walked, I took in the same views, I looked out the window of his room. And now, today, I’m in Copenhagen, of all places. I found myself in a small art museum that I didn’t know existed, staring at a scene that Van Gogh painted years ago and one that I saw, myself, just months ago.

It makes the world feel a bit smaller. In the grand scheme of things, I haven’t traveled that much. Not when I think about the entire world and of all the places I’ve never been to, and may never get to.

But these recent experiences in Europe? They’ve taught me that the world doesn’t have to feel quite so large and so unknown. There are corners that I can discover, moments that I can experience that feel like they should be impossible… but aren’t.

And these thoughts are stemming not just from the Van Gogh painting, but from being in Italy. I’ll write more about the trip in the days to come, and talk about some of the beautiful things I saw, the amazing things I ate. But really, I think what might stand out about this trip is that it didn’t feel so foreign, or strange. Traveling is still a very big experience for me, and I think it always will be. But the more I travel, and the more I expand on the types of experiences I have, the more that this all feels possible, like it can be an active part of my life. Not just a big trip that I take once every 5 or 10 years.

Is this post making sense? I’m tired and confused about where I am. I know I’m in Copenhagen, I know I’m going home tomorrow, I know that it’s now 2015, but it all feels jumbled and crazy and wonderful and strange. But I think that’s what traveling does. It takes us to a time when we’re blogging from a top bunk, wiping bits of carmel from the Twix bar off of the sheets, listening to guys speaking whispered French from somewhere in the room.

Tomorrow, things go back to normal. But it’s a new year, and I’d like to have more experiences like this: like Italy, where (at least some of the time), I felt like I was settled and home. And Copenhagen, which feels random and exciting. And, for that matter, like Spain, where I could learn how to feel comfortable in a foreign place, on my own.

I’m not sure what 2015 is going to hold for me. Not sure at all: I have no plans, only ideas. And that’s sort of an exciting place to be in.

10 days, rain, and stress.

June 14, 2014

I was one mile into a hike the other day when it started to rain. I swung my pack onto a picnic bench and reached into the bottom for the rain cover, when I realized that I’d left the rain cover in my apartment. Draped over a drying rack from my rainy hike the day before.

This illustrates two things: it’s raining. A lot. And I’m forgetting stuff.

I’m normally not a forgetful person, so when I start to leave things behind, I know that I have too much going on in my head.

And I do. I have 10 days before I leave for Europe and I feel completely and totally unprepared. I know that’s not true: some things are taken care of, like my flight and my train ticket and where I’m going to stay for my first two nights. And I have most of my things. I still need to find a long sleeved shirt, and I need to get to REI to pick up another fleece that I ordered (yes, I second-guessed the white one. If I had loved it-regardless of the color- I think I would have kept it. But the fit wasn’t great). Otherwise, I think I have everything I need.

I told myself, months ago, that all I really needed was a way to get over to St Jean Pied de Port (my starting point for the Camino), and a good pack and good shoes and a few extras. After that, the rest would take care of itself.

But I also know that I like to be prepared. And the closer this Camino gets, the more nervous I feel.

And what’s with all this rain? The one thing I had been doing really well was training for this walk, but in the last few weeks? Other than a great 8-mile hike with a loaded pack and some good friends, I haven’t done much. My days are too busy for long hikes, and when I do have a little more time, I strap on my pack and as if on cue, the skies open up and dump water on me. I’ve done a few smaller hikes in the rain- to test out my jacket and the pack cover- because at some point in my 35 days of walking this summer, I’m sure I’ll have to walk in the rain. But yesterday, as I set off on a hike and began to get rained on for the third time this week, I gave up and turned around.

All of this being said, I can’t wait for this time next week. Work will be over for the school year, I will be leaving for France in three days, and inevitably, I will have more items checked off my to-do list. And I suspect that the little kernel of Camino excitement that is currently buried somewhere in me is going to be making more of an appearance.

And today? Today the skies are blue and the sun is shining strongly. In a few minutes I’m going to go outside, stretch my legs, and soak up some of this little-seen, late spring sun.

testing out my rain jacket

Walking in circles (with a perfect pack).

May 26, 2014

One month until I start walking.

Man, these days are going by fast. My lofty Camino goals (Learn Spanish! Back-to-back-to-back 15 mile hikes!) have been put on the back burner. At this point, all I’m really focused on is buying a few more items, reserving a train ticket to St Jean Pied de Port, and hiking when I can.

I know that I’m not as prepared as I could be, but I think I’m prepared enough. And I still have a month to go.

4 months ago I had visions of doing lots of long hikes with my loaded pack and well worn-in shoes. The reality is that I can fit in a long hike about once a week. Because, surprise surprise, long hikes take time. They take a lot of time. (I know this is the most obvious thing, and yet, I may have underestimated just how much of my day would need to be devoted to 15 mile hikes. I just can’t fit in a 15 mile hike after a full day of work. Darkness catches up with me).

But I’m continuing to walk, a lot. I drive to the same local state park, wind my way through the same trails which I now know like the back of my hand. I’ve begun to recognize the same people, too. I try to smile and say hi to most people I pass, and now others have started to recognize me and give me friendly greetings in return.

Two days ago I passed a man and a woman as I walked along a paved loop trail. The man said, “Looks like you’re preparing for a backpacking trip!” We talked about the Camino for a few minutes, and as I walked on, he called out, “Remember! The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plains!”

“Yes,” I replied. “I still need to get my rain gear.”

I passed another group further on that path, and a man in the group said, “I definitely recognize you. You’re walking at a really good pace.”

That made me smile.

About a week ago I bought a pack and I love it. It’s a Deuter 24 liter and I know it’s small for a 5 week walk. Maybe really small. I went to REI prepared to buy something in the range of 28-32 liters, 28 being the lowest I would go. I tried on pack after pack, adding and removing the 5 pound weights, walking around the store. I switched back and forth between the Deuter 24 liter and Deuter 28 liter packs several times, wanting to like the bigger pack better. But I didn’t. Something about the 24 liter pack felt just right, it felt perfect (even though I’ve never owned a good backpack and I’m not really sure what perfect should feel like).

But after several hikes, with about 10 pounds in the pack (less than what I’ll be carrying on the Camino, but a good start for now), I still think that pack feels perfect. I was on mile 10 of a 12 mile hike the other day, and I found myself thinking that the weight of the pack pressing against my lower back felt sort of comforting. Not heavy or intrusive or weighing me down. Just comforting.

I’m curious- very curious- to know how I’ll feel about my pack in two months, after walking for hundreds of miles and having the pack nearly permanently attached to my body. ‘Comforting’ might not be my go-to word. But for now, loving my pack is a good thing.

My mom thinks it’s too small. She saw it and exclaimed, “You have to carry everything you’ll need for 5 weeks in that thing! There’s not enough room!” But I disagree. I’m walking in the summer so my layers will be light, plus a small-sized pack is going to force me to weed out all the stuff I don’t actually need. That’s not to say that in two or three weeks when I finally have everything I need and put it all together, I won’t be running back to REI for a larger pack. But, my instincts tell me that this is the one for me.

I’ve got a pack, I’ve got a good pair of pants, a good t-shirt, a new pair of shoes that I think are going to work. Slowly, it’s all starting to come together.

Here’s a photo of me with the pack that I didn’t get:

This is bravery.

May 20, 2014

A few weeks ago I’d emailed a friend about my summer plans and the Camino. She wrote back, saying how great the trip sounded, and that she wished she had my courage.

My first thought when I read those words was, “No, this isn’t a brave thing I’m doing. I don’t have courage. In fact, I’m really scared.”

This idea of bravery and courage has been rattling around in my head for several weeks now. Am I brave to be doing this? Have I ever been brave to do any of the things that I’ve done in my life?

My immediate reaction is always to think, “No.” I just do the things that I do, and often, those things are accompanied with fear. Any big trip that I’ve taken has, initially, been full of nerves and anxiety. Change stresses me out. One of my nagging worries is that I’m living a small life and fear is holding me back.

I think about this quote: “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” (Nelson Mandela)

So often in my life I think I’ve assumed that because I have felt fear, I was not acting with courage or bravery. My fear usually feels so strong that it doesn’t leave room for much else. How can I possibly be brave if I feel so afraid?

When I went to France for my junior year of college, I was terrified. I was fine in the days leading up to the trip, and okay as I walked onto the plane. But as soon as we began the descent into Toulouse, my nerves hit. And I realized that I had no idea what I had just walked into. I was going to live with a host family- a bunch of French strangers- for 9 months? I wouldn’t go home for 9 months? I’d have to speak French for 9 months?

I struggled in the beginning, missing home and feeling uncomfortable and uncertain. What I was doing did not feel at all brave. It felt just the opposite: like I was somehow failing the experience because I was scared and timid.

Sometime in my first few weeks abroad, I received a letter from my uncle. I was the first ‘kid’ in the family to go abroad, and he told me how proud of me he was. How I had just hopped onto a plane without a clue, and flown to another country, not knowing what would meet me on the other end. That it was a brave thing to do.

He was right. I had hopped onto a plane without a clue. But he was also right in that it was brave. It still didn’t feel brave, but when I read his words, I was able to look at my experience differently. It was okay that I was scared and uncertain. The bravery was taking the steps: making the decision to study abroad, and walking onto that plane and into the unknown.

This has been a slow kind of acceptance for me, that making a decision and taking a first step- any kind of step- is bravery and courage. And that it is okay to have fear, that fear does not preclude bravery.

I am filled with fear for this Camino. Excitement, too, but also fear. So when someone tells me that I am brave to do this, I automatically think that I am not, that a brave person wouldn’t feel this kind of fear.

And that is not true. There is courage in this, in walking across a country in search of adventure and connection and discovery.

This is bravery.

Worries & Excitement

March 11, 2014

As I near the 100-day countdown to my Camino (right now, my projected start date is June 26th), my mind fills with fears. I still have a lot of time time prepare, but also time to think about what could go wrong, what I might not be ready for, the unexpected, etc.

But is it really fear? Am I actually afraid, or am I just worried?

I’m going with just worried. I’ve already written a post about fear, and that was all about the big stuff (mostly, how to change).

What’s on my mind now are the worries, and I have a lot of them. I think (hope) that most will vanish once I start my Camino, but until then, I have a feeling they will be nagging at me.

In no particular order, here are the things that are worrying me:

1. I’m going to get huge, painful blisters on my feet.

2. I’m going to get injured on my walk (and/or sick) and not be able to finish.

3. I’m going to be too shy to make strong connections with other Pilgrims.

4. Bedbugs.

5. Wild dogs.

6. Staying in refugios/albergues (basically, hostels) with dozens of other people.

7. Snoring pilgrims and not being able to fall asleep.

8. Wishing that I could stay put for a few days and not constantly be on the move.

9. Being in the middle of my Camino and wanting to come home.

10. Ending my Camino and not wanting to come home.

11. Not knowing how to speak Spanish.

12. The possibility of having to pee in the woods.

13. Hiking over the Pyrenees.

14. Walking all day in the rain.

15. Losing my way.

That’s a big list. But on the other hand, I’ve got some stuff that I’m not too worried about at all. Here are some things that I’m confident about/excited for:

1. Navigating my way down to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port (and being able to speak French!).

2. Enjoying the food/having enough to eat.

3. Being friendly to everyone I see and saying ‘Buen Camino!’

4. Walking for hours every day (there’s a tiny bit of worry with this, but not much. I think I’m going to love it).

5. Getting to walk to a new place every day, not getting bored.

6. Having a lot of time to think/be alone with my thoughts.

7. Experiencing a different country/culture.

8. Wearing the same clothes every day/simplifying my life.

9. Not making plans and not knowing where I’ll be sleeping day-to-day.

10. Walking in the summer (maybe I should be worried about this one, but I love the heat of summer. Check back with me sometime in the middle of July and I might be singing a different tune, but for now I’m excited for this).

11. Writing about my Camino every day, having something to say.

12. Knowing that regardless of how far I walk, I pushed myself to go on an adventure and a journey.

Camino Planning: Time to Begin.

February 26, 2014

It’s nearly March, and it’s time to get serious about my Camino.

It’s not like I haven’t been serious; at this point, there’s not much that can stop me from going to Spain this summer to walk. My mind has been made up for awhile, I’ve done a ton of research, and most of my friends and family know about my plans.

But everything else? I feel like I haven’t even begun.

Let’s run down where I stand on training, supplies and equipment, and logistical stuff that needs to be planned:

Training hikes completed: Zero.

Equipment purchased: Zero. (As ever, all I currently have for this walk is a Spork. And a headlamp that either belongs to my ex-boyfriend, or my handyman. Either way, it’s mine now).

Spanish learned: Zero.

Flights/hotels/trains booked: Zero.

Aside from work, a major portion of my time is spent thinking about and focusing on the Camino, but I don’t have much to actually show for all of this. What, then, have I been doing?

For starters, I get lost in reading blogs and books about people who have walked the Camino or are preparing to walk (and on this note, I’m so excited that several bloggers I follow will be walking the Camino in the next month or two. It’s so great to be able to follow along in “real time”, and makes me even more excited about this crazy adventure).

What else have I done? I signed up for the Y, and I’ve been pretty consistent about driving out there, lacing up some sneakers, and walking/running on their indoor track. It’s not a training hike, but walking 4 miles is certainly better than nothing. It feels so easy and I feel like I’m walking so fast, but then I think about wearing a 12-15 pound pack, walking an additional 4-5 hours, and doing it every single day. Yikes.

And, finally, I watched ‘The Way’. Again.

So with approximately 4 months left until I leave for Europe, I know that it’s time to check some items off of my Camino to-do list. I’ve got a few goals for March; nothing too difficult, but all stuff that is going to push me into the reality of the Camino.

I’ve got a lot of time to purchase all of the items I need for this walk, but the two big things I want to have by the end of March are a backpack and shoes. This is the perfect time to try out different models and find a pack and shoes that really fit and are comfortable. Then, moving into April and better weather (hopefully), I’ll be ready to find some long trails and begin my practice hikes.

I’m also hoping to buy my plane ticket by the end of March. I’ve held off on this mostly because I need to wait and see how long the school year is going to last, and whether winter is going to hit us with any more snow days.

I also really need to pin down my plans for this trip: how many days to set aside for the walk, and what my post-walk plans will be. I’ve been considering a dozen different options, many of which involve spending some time in France. The latest plan is to have a friend meet me in Santiago, walk with her to Finisterre, and then travel over to France and spend time exploring Provence. Just typing this all out seems unreal. Walking across Spain, meeting a friend and walking to the coast, roaming around France, spending the last day of my trip in Paris… it’s just unreal.

My plans keep getting bigger and bigger: at first, I figured I’d spend 5-6 weeks in Europe. Now I know I’ll be there for at least 6 weeks, but I’m leaning towards 7. And then there’s this crazy part of me that thinks, “But Nadine, you have 8 weeks off in the summer! Why not spend that entire time in Europe?”

I may never come home.

But first, before any of this craziness and fun, I need to get some things done.

How do you say, “Let’s begin!” in Spanish?