Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

Lost and Found; Day 13 on the Camino del Norte, Santillana del Mar to Comillas (back to Santillana and then back to Comillas…)

I’m in Comillas and I like this town. Santillana del Mar, where I was yesterday, was great too, but in a different way. It was like this perfectly preserved medieval village that is now one big tourist attraction (but I read that as recently as 20 or 30 years ago, it was “undiscovered”, and cows roamed the streets. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but I definitely didn’t see any cows on the main drag).

Comillas is not as polished, not as quaint… but it’s still got cobblestoned streets and a beautiful old church and great architecture. There are tourists here, but there are locals, too. I’m sitting on the outdoor deck of a quiet bar/restaurant with a drink, and I have a view down a long street where I can see the corner of the church and the spire of another off in the distance.
It’s only 6pm, and I feel like I’ve done everything today. I started walking at 7am (which is pretty typical for me on the Norte, and sometimes I don’t start until 7:30, once not until 8:00. It’s later than on the Frances, when I would start by 6:00 or 6:30). I walked for 30 minutes then passed a bar, where all the pilgrims were stopping for coffee. I had my cafe con leche and some toast, and I tried to linger there a bit so I could space myself out from the other pilgrims. I wanted to walk alone today.

But after another 30 minutes of walking I saw Jenna (New York) sitting by the side of the road, and as I approached, I wondered if she was waiting for me. We’ve gotten to know each other a bit in the last few days, and the group of people she had been walking with have either ended their Camino or bussed ahead, so she’s back on her own.

I asked Jenna if she was okay and she admitted to having a bad morning, and asked if she could walk with me for awhile. I hesitated, just a bit, but then immediately said ‘sure’. I know how some days on the Camino can be hard, and it’s not always about blisters or knee pain. Often the hard days are because of emotional reasons, and sometimes that can be harder to deal with than the physical stuff.

So we walked and talked for about 40 minutes, and even though it wasn’t part of my “plan” for the day, when Jenna lingered in a small village and I walked away, I felt happy. We had talked about how sometimes on the Camino, you give what you can: if you’re a nurse or a doctor, you might give medical advice or help. If you can speak Spanish, you might help translate. If you have extra food, you share what’s in your bag. In my case, I think the thing that I can sometimes give is my company: when someone is lonely, when someone is struggling, when someone needs a smile.

I’ve always been good at this- it’s why I became a counselor. So in my life, I do this a lot. But as I’ve walked these Camino’s I’ve been so focused on what my own needs are, what I want from them, how I need to do things in my own way. That is still my priority here- nothing is more important to me than being able to feel free and able to walk my own way. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t sometimes put my own plans to the side for a moment, and help someone out. And it doesn’t mean that I want to stay solo for the whole walk- sometimes it’s good to sit with someone and have a coffee, sometimes it’s good to have a meal together, and sometimes- even for me- it’s good to walk with someone.

After I left Jenna I had a good, strong walking day. The terrain was pretty easy, with just some slight hills but mostly flat walking. The views were decent but not incredible, though most importantly the day was overcast and felt 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. So I sailed along, not wanting to stop, and not stopping until I reached my destination for the day, Comillas.

I arrived just after 12:30 and found Richard sitting on a bench in the main square, finishing an empanada. The albergue didn’t open until 3:00 and he was going to continue walking. I stood around for awhile, trying to decide what to do. The town looked great and judging from my guidebook, there wasn’t any place too interesting to stay in, in the next 10 or 15 kilometers.

So I said goodbye to Richard and settled in at a small bar where I ordered a beer and fried calamari, and I pulled my day bag out of my back pack and reached inside and discovered that my money wallet- with my money, bank cards, and passport- wasn’t inside.

I could feel my heart start to beat really fast and I felt a quick panic, but I let it pass. I took a deep breathe and told myself that I just needed a plan, and that I would figure things out. There were 30 euros in my pocket and I knew that I could figure out the phone number to the albergue where I stayed last night, I could find a taxi to take me back to Santillana, I could track down a familiar pilgrim and ask for help to make a phone call or to borrow money.

So I drank the beer and ate the calamari and looked in front of me and saw a line of taxis, waiting for passengers. It seemed perfect. I paid my bill and walked over to ask how much a trip to Santillana would be. We stashed my pack and my walking stick in the cab and drove off, back to where I came from, and the drive took 15 minutes.

15 minutes!! During the drive I would point to places I had been, hours before. An entire day of walking seemed to be erased as I backtracked, and backtracked quickly.

Everything worked out perfectly- I went back up to the room I had stayed in last night and new pilgrims were just checking in. They pointed to the woman who was cleaning the room and she had my money wallet in her hand; she had just found it moments before. I think I said “Muchos gracias” about a dozen times then I ran back out to the cab, who was waiting for me. 15 minutes more and we were back in Comillas, and I was deposited at the door of my albergue. It was now 2:30, I still had 30 minutes before the albergue would open. Just before he left, I think the cab driver suggested getting coffee, but I’m not really sure since I don’t speak Spanish. I just smiled and waved and lugged my pack over to the albergue.

I had just been thinking that it was great that I hadn’t lost anything or left anything behind so far on this pilgrimage; and then I forget the most important thing. I was so lucky that everything worked out okay, and now that wallet is glued to my side, at all moments (which it usually is, but I just wasn’t careful enough this morning).

It was kind of amazing and awful to take that taxi ride; I’ve walked about 350 kilometers over the past 13 days, and it feels like I’m really moving and making progress. I am, and yet, when an entire day’s walk was reduced to a 15 minute cab ride, it made me feel that what I’m doing is an awful lot of work.

The albergue is another good one; an old building that used to be a lady’s prison; 5 euros for a bed, there’s a “kitchen” (really just a sink, a fridge and a microwave but that’s better than nothing), it’s in a great location of the city and the building has a lot of character.

I was the fourth into the albergue, so I picked a corner bed in the room upstairs and went downstairs to take a shower. When I returned, I found a young, good looking Italian man spreading out his things on the bed next to mine. Oh, Camino. A reward, maybe, for the stress of the lost passport…

All jokes aside (because really, I AM joking), there are a bunch of people I know at this albergue: Jenna and the French-speaking Spanish couple and the drink-offering Austrians and Fernando and the German couple. Jenna and I are going to make a big salad for dinner tonight, and I told the Austrians to come and have some wine with us.

I’ve been out to explore the town, and took a tour of the Capricho de Gaudi, a private residence that was one of Gaudi’s first important works. I’ve seen the church and have had a drink, and will sit with some of my pilgrim friends tonight for a little food and conversation. All of this, AND a full day’s walk plus returning to the town I started in to retrieve my passport. I’m amazed at how much life is packed into these days.

    

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Bridge Crossing! Day 12 on the Camino del Norte, Santa Cruz de Bezana to Santillana del Mar

I’m still sitting here in this bar in Santillana del Mar, finishing a beer (what?? Not wine? Maybe I had my fill yesterday, and needed a change. But this, too, has been something that’s a bit different for me on this Camino: normally I don’t really choose beer if wine is available, and last year I think I had one glass of beer on my entire Camino. Not the case this year).

Anyway, this town is amazing, but also super, super touristy. I arrived here with Jenna and Guillemette and we stood around, trying to find the albergue, and two women came over and asked if they could take out picture. “Pilgrims, they’re real pilgrims!” I sort of felt like I was part of the tourist attraction: this is a medieval village with cobblestoned streets, narrow and winding. Even though I’m a modern-day pilgrim, people stared at me like I was from another world (but there was part of me that liked this. This pilgrimage to Santiago IS medieval, it’s modern but it’s also from another time, and I kind of felt like I represented that. In some ways, I feel like I belong in this town more than the tourists do, even though that’s probably not true at all).

I said goodbye to Nicole this morning, and it wasn’t easy. Nicole had planned to walk the Norte in April but broke her foot just before, so she delayed her pilgrimage by a few months. She knew that the decision to walk was a bit risky and that she might not be able to make it all the way to Santiago, and for the past couple of days her foot started to hurt. Last night she told me that she needed to stop walking, and she was pretty upset about it (but also handled it beautifully). In any case, even though I felt like we’d only really become close in the last few days (and even though I only met her a week ago), she already feels like a close friend. It doesn’t seen right that I’m continuing to Santiago and she’s not. And it reminded me a little of saying goodbye to Mirra, last year: a strong hug in the morning, holding back a few tears, wishing that my Camino friend could continue all the way to Santiago with me.

But I walked on, because that’s the Camino: you make these beautiful connections, and then you walk away. Or they walk away. Sometimes you see people again, sometimes you never see them again. I had a lot of practice with this last year but I have to say- it doesn’t get easier. I still wish that I could take all the people I’ve met on these journeys and carry them with me to Santiago, I wish I could fill the cathedral with all of them, to sit at the end with them. Them, and maybe everyone I’ve ever known and loved in my life. Saying goodbye, losing people, it’s hard. I still wish that I could hold on.

The walk today wasn’t great- there has been a lot of pavement walking in the past few days, and an entire day of it today. I walked a lot of the morning with Jenna (from New York), and together we navigated the short cuts explained to us by Nieves last night.

We had a decision to make at the train tracks over a bridge: hop on the train in Boo and take it to Mogro (the safer option), or risk walking on the narrow footpath next to the tracks. This option was explained to us multiple times: in Guemes, in Santa Cruz, by a local just before the bridge. Everyone said this: there is plenty of room to walk, and it is safe if you are not foolish.

I don’t really like walking along train tracks, and I don’t like risk, at all. If I had been alone today, I would have taken the train. But I approached the bridge with Jenna, and a German man was just ahead of us. And as we looked at the bridge and debated crossing it, a train appeared in the distance. We let it pass by, and knew that we had 30 minutes until the next train would arrive. Crossing the bridge took about 2 or 3 minutes, and I wasn’t worried for a second (well, maybe just a bit. I walked fast and was kind of relieved when I made it to the other end).

So that was the adventure of the day: as Christine and I have been saying, everyday brings something new.

After the excitement of the bridge crossing, the day was just tough. And I continue to think: this is definitely a different kind of Camino for me. The actual walking wasn’t hard- it was all on pavement but mostly flat. What got us today was the heat. It’s been hot here, but today was something different. I don’t know the exact temperature, but it was stifling by 9:30. After stopping for a coke with Jenna and running into Guillemette and Carlos, we all walked for about 5 kilometers and stopped at the first bar we came across. We all sort of dragged ourselves in and got bottles of water, and let me say- that cold water was the best thing I’d ever tasted. We continued on and I wasn’t having any fun, just walking until I could get to my destination.

But I’m here and before finding an albergue, Jenna, Carlos, Guillemette and I had a long lunch in a shaded courtyard. We found an “albergue” (it has a couple rooms for pilgrims and then rooms for everyone else), there are 4 of us in the room right now and it only sleeps 6. We have our own bathroom and a little terrace and wi-fi so it sort of feels luxurious. I met two more Austrians out on the terrace (Austrians are quickly becoming my favorite pilgrims on this Camino!), and I spent an hour wandering through the town, taking photos.

Carlos, Guillemette and I had a small dinner together- just bread, wine and a cheese plate- and we talked about the Camino and what brings us here, who we were before and who we might hope to be after. We stayed outside late and if it had been a clear night I might have been able to see the stars.

   

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Wine, cheese and friends; Day 11 on the Camino del Norte, Guemes to Santa Cruz de Bezana

I’m again just a bit behind on writing- I’ve actually just finished my 12th day of walking and am sitting in a bar in Santillana del Mar. But the post on today will come later- maybe, if the words flow and I write quickly, I’ll catch myself up again.

Wi-fi has been intermittent on the Norte, it seems like I find it every few days. It’s pretty nice though; I love checking-in after being offline for awhile and reading emails, seeing the comments on this blog. Speaking of those, I wish I could find time to reply to all of them, and I hope to catch up a bit or at least answer some questions (especially for those of you who are going to or want to walk the Norte!). But it makes me so happy to know that you are all reading and following along with me on this journey.

So, the walk from Guemes to Santa Cruz de Bezana. It felt like a day with a bit of everything: a little country walking out of Guemes; walking on narrow, winding paths on rugged cliffs along the coast; a few kilometers on the beach (my favorite!); a ferry ride to Santander (the perfect way to enter a city… no need to walk through noisy, congested industrial areas!); a walk through a bit city with shops and bars and restaurants; and the long slog out of the city.

We had a communal breakfast at the albergue in Guemes, and since the albergue draws so many people, there seemed to be a big crowd leaving together (and by big, I’d say about 20 or so were in the albergue the night I stayed there).

I tried to leave separately, but I soon caught up to other pilgrims… then others caught us, and we all tried to figure out how to take the ‘alternate’ coastal route towards Santander.

We figured it out, but I felt a bit trapped in the crowd. I was walking separately, but just ahead of me was Henri, and just behind was Guillemette. The walk along the coast was so beautiful, but I think I would have preferred to be completely alone. Maybe the Norte is spoiling me, with all the days of isolated walking. To have pilgrims surrounding me felt claustrophobic!

Soon I saw Nicole sitting on a bench, resting her feet. She and I walked together down to the beach that would lead us to the ferry that would take us to Santander; we talked as we walked on the hard sand, a cool breeze made the walking feel easy, and we ended up going past our turn-off. So we climbed over some sand dunes and found our way back on track, then boarded the ferry with some other pilgrims.

Nicole and I stayed together for the rest of the day: having a coffee in a bar with some wi-fi, hitting the supermarket, buying stamps, postcards, soap, finding an ATM. It’s so funny how sometimes (like the morning), I wanted to be completely alone. But others times, I don’t mind company. Often it depends on who the company is, and Nicole has become a good Camino friend. She’s someone I felt a bond with pretty quickly, and being in her company is so easy. So we walked out of the city together, through those awful industrial zones, and as usual here, the last few hours of walking were tough. It’s been so, so hot lately, and walking with the sun beating down and the sound of the highways all around us wasn’t fun.

The albergue we wanted to find was further away than we expected, and when we finally arrived we saw that it was next to a giant supermarket (which means we lugged chunks of cheese and packets of ham, peaches and apples and bread all the way out of Santander for nothing. But it’s good to stock up on food while you can!).

We were feeling just a bit defeated when we arrived at the albergue- I know that I was hot, tired, and wondering why we’d walked an extra few kilometers for an albergue that seemed to be practically on the edge of a highway. But then we walked inside and, like the albergue in Guemes, I knew that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. The building has a small albergue on one side and a family’s home on the other: Nieves is the hospitalera, and she lives with her husband and two kids (I think). We were instantly greeted with glasses of cold water and the invitation to take off our shoes. Nicole and I were the first to arrive, so we each chose bottom bunks in the large, comfortable sleeping area.

After the usual chores- showering and washing clothes- I ran over to the supermercado to buy a couple bottles of wine and a bag of potato chips. We spread out in the small yard behind the albergue, to sit in the shade and drink wine and eat the cheese we had lugged from Santander. Jenna (New York) soon joined us; she and Nicole soaked their feet in buckets of warm water, the family’s two cats wandered in and out of our conversations, the first bottle of wine disappeared quickly.

There were only five of us in the albergue that night (two Germans joined us later in the evening), and together we had such a great Camino dinner. Nieves cooked for us: salad with tuna (yay! at some point I became known to a few people as the American girl who loves tuna fish), tortilla, rounds of goat cheese with strawberry jam, bread and wine and fruit. With just five of us the meal was so comfortable, and I truly felt like I had been invited into someone’s home and made to feel like part of a family, even if it was just for a moment.

After the meal Nieves sat us down to explain the next day’s walk (there were five different route options and one section involved a tricky railroad passing… more to come on that in the next post!). But this also made me feel so taken care of. You’re never really on your own here- I knew that last year, but in some ways I feel it even more strongly on the Norte. Maybe because it’s far less crowded here, with less pilgrims and less Camino infrastructure. So people look out for each other a bit more, you kind of know everyone who is walking within a day or two of you (and if you don’t you quickly introduce yourself), and care is taken to have tricky sections of the route explained to you. The locals continue to be wonderful- people wave as they pass in their cars, bikers shout “Buen Camino!” as they pedal past, old men with canes stop and speak to you in Spanish and you nod along, not understanding a word but knowing that whatever they say, it is from the heart.

By the end of the night, as I was in my bunk bed about to drift off to sleep, I was so happy. Even though I’ve been here 11 days, I still don’t know quite what to expect. Each day is a bit different: the places I walk through, the albergues I stay in, the people I surround myself with. But this day had so, so many things that I loved: a long walk on the beach, coffee in a cool bar in Santander, the company of someone who I know will always be a friend, sitting in the shade with a bottle of wine. Today I felt so safe, comfortable, content. A great, great Camino day.

    

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The Camino of Life; Day 10 on the Camino del Norte, Santona to Guemes

I didn’t get my own room last night after all; three Spanish bikers showed up around 9pm. I knew it seemed too good to be true!

My walk today was… just okay. The beginning was amazing but right from the start I felt sluggish. Sometimes I just know that I have good energy or am feeling strong, and I just didn’t feel this today. By the end I was moving so slowly, and it wasn’t even a super tough walk. Maybe it’s just the accumulation of all of these miles, all the ups and downs, all the blister woes, all the rocky terrain.

But the first several hours of the day- despite feeling a little weighed down- were like a dream. I got to walk on the beach! It’s just such a beautiful aspect of this Camino- the coastal views, the beach walking. It’s an incredible thing to get to experience. After the first beach I climbed steeply up a hill and then followed an equally steep descent back down to a second beach. I roamed around the rocks, searching for sea glass and finding a few small pieces. And then I walked on the hard sand for several kilometers into Noja, where I stopped for a cafe con leche and a tostada con tomate (a first for me on the Camino, but something I’ve wanted to try: just a large piece of toast, covered with tomato, a little salt, and olive oil. It was delicious). I ate this breakfast at an outdoor table with a view of the beach, tourists at the tables around me, but no other pilgrims.

The rest of the walk was long, and I just wanted the kilometers to pass by quickly. I took a lot of breaks, including a nice long one for a lunch of a grilled chicken sandwich and a coke. My eating habits have been a little strange on this Camino; yesterdays’s lunch ended up being a large scoop of ice cream (great, but maybe not quite enough). By the time I arrive at my destination it is usually too late to find a restaurant for a good menu del dia (the Spaniards usually eat their midday meal between 1-3), and the evening meal is too late for my pilgrim schedule, not served until 9pm or sometimes 10. On the Frances this wasn’t a problem, the route catered so much to pilgrims that it was rare to not find a bar or restaurant serving a pilgrims’s menu, at pilgrim hours. Here, it’s different.

So I think I need to make more of an effort to carry back up food with me in case I can’t find a place to eat. But today, it wasn’t a problem. I ate well at breakfast and lunch and then arrived at the albergue in Guemes, a place I’d heard about from multiple past pilgrims. Even my guidebook calls this albergue the best on the Norte.

And having just finished my evening here, I can see why. I was greeted with a glass of water when I walked in (my peregrina friend Nicole was also offered cookies… not sure why I missed out, hmm…), I was asked if I needed to eat lunch, I was shown to my room which is set up a bit like a cabin, with a pitched roof and wooden bunk beds. I took a took a top bunk gladly because for the second time on this Camino, the bunks were in tiers of three! And these were even better than the beds in Islares!

This place is almost like a compound; Ernesto is the owner and we were told about his history and the history of this place during a community meeting just before dinner. If I remember correctly, construction on the property took about 33 years and it has offered beds to pilgrims for 16 years. But we were also told that it’s not really an albergue for the Camino de Santiago, it’s an albergue for the Camino of life. Anyone who is working to help others, to help take care of the earth, who is trying to make the world a better place… this is their home. I liked that.

There are probably about 20 of us here tonight, and we sat at two long tables for a wonderful communal dinner: two different kinds of soup (sopa de ajo again, and an amazing vegetable purée), a dish of potatoes and chorizo, fruit, bread and wine. All around me were people I’d met in the past 10 days, and a few new faces as well. Not long after I’d arrived this afternoon I saw Richard walk by- I haven’t seen him for almost a week and assumed I wouldn’t see him or the others again. I hoped to also see Iria and Amy and Misako but Richard explained that they were all further back. Still, it was good to see Richard, and it felt like this was the sort of place that could reunite you with old friends.

After dinner Nicole and I wandered around the property; after a day of mostly overcast skies and still air, the evening felt cool and fresh. A soft light was covering everything- the buildings of the property, the big green lawn, the lone towel that hung on the clothesline.

So this is the end of my day 10, as I finish typing out this blog post from my perch high above the others in the room. A beautiful morning walk on the beach followed by a tough journey to my home for the evening… but what a home it is. It was worth every step to get here.

              

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Walking without pain!; Day 9 on the Camino del Norte, Islares to Santona

Last night ended beautifully. I walked back to the albergue and saw Christine and the “French mom” sitting outside (I’d briefly met this woman earlier in the afternoon, she is walking short days with her 12-year old son). They invited me over and Christine poured me a glass of wine. We talked for awhile (in French! I think I’ve mentioned it already, but lets say it one more time: I’m doing a whole lot of French speaking here. There are tons of French pilgrims, and even though a lot of them know English, it’s just easier for me to speak with them in French. I can already tell that my French has improved in this past week, and the French mom complimented me on my accent. “It is very good for an American!”).

The two Austrian men walked over to join our group and the five of us sat outside, drinking wine and beer and whiskey (those Austrians sure do have a stock of alcohol with them!), blustering through the conversation with a mix of languages. Herman began talking about the Camino and how it was a chance to live, to really live life.

“Do you know my memory from today?” he asked us. He looked at me. “It is of you, standing far away on a beach, looking out to the sea. I saw you and I thought, ‘She is so happy.’ And that is the Camino, being in these moments.”

I went to bed with these thoughts in my head, that I wanted to take all the beautiful moments and try to live them as fully as I can while I’m here. Even the not so beautiful moments- the pain and the fatigue, even the loneliness- I want to really feel it all.

And on today’s walk I think I did. I started walking with the Austrians but eventually left them when I chose the longer route to Laredo. They stuck to the highway, cutting off about 6 kilometers from the day (but needing to do mostly road walking).

As usual, I was so happy to be off on my own. And boy, was I alone! After 16 kilometers I ran into a few pilgrims in the first town with a bar, but otherwise hardly saw a soul. I would walk for long, long stretches without seeing a single person, and it was beautiful. Parts of my walk were tough, since I was again climbing through the mountains, but it wasn’t as bad as other days. And the views were so beautiful… I sound like a broken record with this, but I’m not sure what else to say. I continue to be amazed that I get to be here and that I get to see the things that I do.

But as ever, the last hour of my walk was pretty awful. I lost the Camino as I was going through Pobena, but I just stuck to the promenade along the beach and knew that I would join up with the Camino eventually. But the promenade went on forever. Forever. It was endless. And hot and there was no shade and my foot, which had been feeling really, really good all day (it’s amazing how wonderful it is to walk without pain!), was starting to maybe redevelop its blister. Finally I got to the very end of the peninsula and took a ferry over to Santona. I knew that Christine would be there, and Annalisa too (an Italian woman I’ve gotten to know a bit over the past few days). I ran into them and a few others just in front of the albergue: they had all taken the short route and had been in town for a few hours, finishing up the last bits of a meal in the square.

But I don’t regret taking the long road today, it was incredible. The albergue is pretty great, too: La Bilbaina, a private one right in a busy and beautiful square in the city. Right now there are 7 of us: the 6 others arrived together and are all in one room, and I’m in a separate room. Fingers crossed that no one else shows up and I get it to myself!

I’ve found some quiet time for myself in a bar next to the albergue, and soon I’ll head back to look for the others any maybe scrounge up something to eat.

Day 9: a good, solid, Camino day. Beautiful walking, a bustling beach town, a comfortable albergue.

        

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Drinks on a beach with Austrians; Day 8 on the Camino del Norte, Pobena to Islares

I’m sitting at a table outside of a bar in Islares. It’s a weird place- not really a town at all, just a few long streets of houses, a big camping area, a few bars/restaurants and then a small beach. It’s basic and rustic, very down to earth and almost a little gritty. But it’s okay, it’s good, actually, and this continues the trend of every day being very different here. 

The albergue is small, with 16 beds and an area in the back full of tents, where overflow pilgrims can camp. Thank goodness I was the 5th one here- I’m not against camping if I have to, and I love that some albergues provide this option, but I like having a mattress to sleep on.

And speaking of mattresses to sleep on… it’s finally happened. I’m on the top bunk of a tier of three. A triple bunk bed! I immediately jumped at the chance to take the very top bunk. I took one by a window, and once I climbed up and looked out, I realized that I had a view of the sea. So even though the albergue is… basic… (one shower, we wash our clothes in the bathroom sink), I like my sleeping situation.

A few minutes ago I was writing in my journal, and the guy at the table across from me called over. “Are you writing a book?” he asked. I think he’s a local, I’m not sure. In any case, I remember being asked this last year, too, when I was writing at San Nicolas. I can’t remember how I answered then, but this time I said, “Maybe. But right now I’m just writing in my journal.”

The guy nodded, and then a minute later said, “This is how Ernest Hemingway started.”

I liked that he said this- last year I felt sort of connected to Hemingway after passing through Zubiri and Pamplona. Later in the year when I was in Venice, I tracked down a cafe where he used to write. Spending all of this time in Europe, lately, makes me think a little of the expat artists who spent time here: to be inspired, to write, to paint.

And man, is this area inspiring. On my walk this morning I passed through Onton (I think), and it was just this winding street with old houses and overflowing gardens. Just before the houses I had stopped by a small “beach”, but really just this rocky little inlet. I walked around it for a few minutes collecting tiny pieces of green sea glass, and the area was deserted except for one man who passed by me, dragging a kayak.

Later, when I walked up through the streets, an old woman had just pulled leaves of lettuce from her garden. Her arms were full of vegetables as she was slowly walking back to her house, and when I passed she wished me a ‘Buen Camino’. Then she began speaking, in Spanish, giving me directions for the Camino. From what I could understand, there were two different ways I could walk, and she was trying to tell me which route was better.

As I walked away I thought about what it could be like to stay there, just for a month: if there could be a spare room in one of the houses, where I could spend my days writing and sitting on that little beach, kayaking around the water. I saw a food truck stopping by the homes, to deliver groceries. Maybe a fresh loaf of bread could be delivered to my door every day.

So those were a few of my thoughts as I walked today. I loved so much of the walk: right along the coast, winding around curves and bends, staying close to the water. There were a few pilgrims ahead of me and one behind me, but we were so far spaced out that I felt very alone. It was a good morning walk.

I passed by a second beach today, this one was a little larger but at 10:30, only a few people were out. I walked over the stones and down to the sand, where I took off my backpack and peeled off my socks and shoes. Two Austrian pilgrims were just behind me, and when they saw that I was taking off my shoes to walk in the water, they did the same. They took a photo of me and I took a photo of them, and then later, when we were drying off our feet we talked about where we were from and how many days we had been walking.

They were continuing on to Islares, and I told them about the blister on the bottom of my foot and wanting to walk further, but most likely needing to do a short day. They nodded in sympathy, and then went off to retrieve their packs.

Just as I was about to leave, one of them came over. “My name is Herman,” he said, “and here is something for the pain.” He held out his hand, in it was the cap of a bottle, filled with a clear liquid. In his other hand was the bottle, a flask of alcohol. He was offering me a shot.

I laughed and accepted the drink, and the other Austrian pulled out his camera to take a photo of me with the drink. I held the cap up high and then swallowed the liquid quickly, hoping it would spread through me and down to my feet, where it could work it’s magic and heal my blister.

My blister hurt throughout the day, but here’s what I do know: that drink helped. It was one moment- out of a dozen moments- of kindness and generosity. I’d taken a shot of alcohol from two Austrians on some tiny beach on the north coast of Spain. Just over a week ago, this kind of situation was so, so far out of my reality. But here, things like this can happen all the time. It still amazes me how kind and open people are: Christine gave me her bottle of foot cream last night, Nicole gave me an extra needle and thread (for that blister, iiieeee!), Annalisa gave me half of her banana at breakfast this morning. And the Austrians gave me that drink.

Last night and for so much of the day today, I felt the Camino. I felt it so strongly: recognizing pilgrims in Castro-Urdiales (the big town before Islares), going over and sitting with them and having a coffee, talking about making a meal together in the albergue tonight, planning out stages and talking about blisters. Walking alone, walking a bit with Christine, feeling comfortable here, finally settled into the routine.

I didn’t do my small day after all; I totally missed the albergue I wanted to stay in, I was in Castro-Urdiales before I knew it, and decided to just push on another few kilometers to Islares.

I still haven’t seen my other friends, my “Camino famly”- Iria and Richard and Amy and Misako. I think they are probably at least a day behind me, and while I wish they could be here, now, I also see the beauty in this: a town behind, a town ahead, the town I’m in: I know people in all of these places. I think I can always find time alone, but I also know that my friends are all around me. And if I stop in a place where I don’t know anyone, I will make a new friend. I really felt the community of the Camino today- last night and today- and it’s made me so happy.

So, that’s Day 8, the start of my second week on the Camino del Norte. A big blister (which I doctored up this afternoon so hopefully it will be better tomorrow), lots of community and friendship and kindness. And beaches! It’s good to be back on the coast.

          

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Walking slowly over wet sand; Day 7 on the Camino del Norte, Bilbao to Pobena

I’d heard rumors that the walk out of Bilbao would be awful. My guide outlined several different route options to get out of the city, going so far as to suggest that pilgrims take a metro from Bilbao to Portugalette, skipping the worst parts of the industrial area.

Even though I’m much more open to a different kind of Camino this year, even though I’ve said that I’m not against skipping parts of this walk… I just couldn’t bring myself to take a metro. Maybe it would have been the smart thing to do- after all, the blister on my foot wasn’t feeling any better- but I wanted to walk. I may be more tired and worn out on this Camino, but one thing hasn’t changed. Every day I wake up and want to walk.

So I chose the best looking option out of the city- a walk along the west side of the river. Christine and I spent some time pouring over our guidebooks to figure out the route, and we left the albergue together. After 10 minutes of walking she realized she forgot her socks, so turned around to get them. She urged me to go on, and I did. Maybe I should have waited for her, but I still resist spending my whole days walking with someone. And Christine’s pace is just so fast, and I knew I wouldn’t be doing my blister any favors if I tried to walk fast on the hard pavement.

I got a bit turned around trying to find the Camino route; I asked two guys for directions and I think they started arguing about which was the best route out of the city. Finally one of them walked me over to a corner, pointed ahead, told me to go right and walk by the river.

And the walk was pretty great. It’s nothing compared to the beauty of so many of my other days here, and nothing changes the fact that much of it was spent in urban sprawl. But all along the river were pathways for pedestrians and runners and bikers, which was a lot better than I expected. And the walking was flat, and it was on smooth pavement, which meant that I didn’t need to take my blistered foot over stones. It was a relief, actually.
I sailed along. I listened to music which always helps, and after a lot of kilometers, I stopped in a shaded area with picnic tables to eat a yogurt, to take off my shoes.

Just as I was finishing my break, Christine and Nicole (Austria) walked up. Christine started waving and cheering when she saw me- she got turned around in the city as well, and came by a different route. Nicole got turned around as well, and was on yet another route (and at one point was on an entirely different Camino, headed towards Burgos). We all laughed that we had eventually ended up in the same spot even though we had walked three different ways. Christine and I left Nicole in the park and continued on towards Pobena.

The afternoon walking is hard. That’s been my experience nearly every day; I finish my days late, around 3 or 4, and the last few hours are difficult. Even more so because of my blister. Every step was painful, though once I got going I didn’t notice the pain so much. But towards the end of the day I couldn’t ignore it. Plus the sun was beating down and Pobena just never seemed to arrive.

But finally it did, or rather, it’s beach did first. Christine and I arrived in the town about an hour before the albergue opened, so we chose to walk the last kilometer on the beach, with our feet in the water. It’s an amazing way to end a day of walking, and I just wished I could have enjoyed it more. When I took off my socks and shoes and put on my flip flops, I hobbled and limped across the sand. I couldn’t walk normally, I couldn’t even take off my flip flops to put my feet in the sand. Walking through the water helped, but as Christine and I slowly made our way to the albergue, I really started to worry about my blister. Clearly, ignoring it and hoping it would heal on its own wasn’t the answer.

Pobena was barely a town, although it reminded me of something out of the Camino Frances: an albergue a stone’s throw from a small square filled with bars and a couple restaurants. I spent the afternoon talking to Nicole and getting advice about my blister. In the evening we walked over to one of the bars and found an outdoor table; we drank wine and tried to write, but ended up talking to each other instead.

Eventually Daniel, a Hungarian guy, joined us, and before we knew it, it was 9pm, we hadn’t eaten dinner, and the albergue would close at 10. We raced over to the only restaurant serving a pilgrim’s meal, split one, and took our half finished bottle of wine back to the albergue with us. As we drank we were joined by Carlos (Spain), and a young French guy whose name I still don’t know but who I met at the monastery. Carlos pulled out a pack of cards (Spanish cards, with gold coins and sticks and swords instead of hearts, diamonds, etc), and he tried to teach us a game. We stayed up late, the hospitalera warning us to keep the noise down and asking if we could turn off lights when we were finished.

The night was fun, and it felt like early days on the Camino Frances, when we were all started to get to know each other, when we’d stay up late with a glass of wine, talking and laughing (did that happen much on the Camino Frances? I can’t even remember, but it seems like something that happened a lot).

I didn’t mind staying up late, because I was planning to have a really short walk the next day. I was worried about my blister, needed to find a pharmacy, and saw an advertisement for a nice looking private albergue only 12 kilometers away from Pobena. I knew I would lose all of the people I’d just spent the evening with, but I consoled myself with thinking I could maybe meet up with Iria and Richard and Amy again.

Day 7: a not-so-bad walk out of Bilbao, making new friends, blister pain, cards and wine.

   

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Alone in a bar, together in an albergue; Day 6 on the Camino del Norte, Albergue Eskirika to Bilbao

Well, today made me miss the Camino Frances, and all of the great information about that route. I’m using the Cicerone guidebook, and while it’s helpful in some ways, it’s lacking in others. For instance, this whole Bilbao thing. 

I’m at the albergue in “Bilbao”, but really it’s this old building up on a hill in a rundown area far away from the city. Well, maybe not that far, but it’s definitely on the outskirts and there’s not much around. It’s not even open yet, so I left my pack there with some other pilgrims who were waiting and I made my way to a small bar to sit inside and have something cold to drink.

Here was my plan: my albergue last night was about 25 kilometers from Bilbao, so I planned to walk to the city, maybe eat a real lunch in a restaurant, walk around the city in the evening. I knew that the albergue wasn’t in the city center, but I underestimated just how big Bilbao is. The route I took through the city bypassed the historic region, so I didn’t even see anything too great. I kept walking kilometer after kilometer, passing by nice bars and restaurants (and other not so nice bars and restaurants), hoping the albergue would be close. Eventually I noticed some other pilgrims and I said hi, and asked if they were headed to the albergue. They were, so I walked with them, grateful for some company after navigating the complicated waymarking in the city.

We climbed up and up and the area was becoming pretty sparse, and I started to worry about my plan of checking into the albergue and then finding some food. When the others told me the albergue didn’t open until 3, I almost turned around. But the walk had already been so long, it was so hot, the blister on the bottom of my foot was making my every step painful. So I continued on, we reached a clearing that looked out over the city and I realized just how far from the center I was. Far.

What poor planning today. I’d eaten just about all of my food last night and on the walk today, and I’m not really sure what the food options might be like at this albergue. Judging from the outside of the building, it doesn’t look good. But one of the women said that they might cook a meal there, so we’ll see. Otherwise, I have a loaf of bread and some chorizo that I picked up in a tiny shop nearby. (That, along with Maria biscuits and gummy bears, will make a fine enough dinner).

The others waiting there are all Spaniards, they met each other in Irun and have been sticking together for the last week. They started one day ahead of me, so at some point I think I got a bit ahead. The girl said they had become a family, and feeling a little sorry for myself I began to wish that I hadn’t separated from my own friends.

But I’m reminded of something I learned on last year’s Camino. It’s just one day, just one night. The beauty of this is that tomorrow I can move on. And I should end up in a town near the coast tomorrow night, and maybe- hopefully- it will be better than where I am now. Maybe people I know will be there, maybe it will be beautiful, maybe I will have a sit-down meal in a restaurant.

So this Camino continues to throw me some curveballs, some unexpected situations.

(A few days later)…

I wrote that part of the post in the run-down bar near the albergue on the outskirts of Bilbao. At the time, I was feeling kind of down about how the day had been working out, but by the end of the night I was amazed at how, once again, the Camino managed to come through. And how I need to practice letting go of expectations for this pilgrimage.

Christine, the French woman, showed up a few hours after me, and we took the bus back down into Bilbao. It was a quick trip because we had to be back up at the albergue by 8:00 for a communal meal. We walked around the city center and did a quick tour of the cathedral, I bought a few postcards, we stopped by a shop for some fruit.

And then once we made it back to the albergue, we saw a bunch of people we’d met at the monastery. I started talking to a girl named Nicole, from Austria, and eventually we all sat down to one of my favorite meal experiences on the Camino. The albergue is donativo, and what one day’s pilgrims donate is used to cover costs of the meal for the next day’s group.

There were large platters of salad: lettuce, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, tuna. Then garlic soup (sopa de ajo), melon for dessert, bread, wine, beer. There was so much food and so much laughter; a dozen different times someone stood and raised a glass and we toasted. There was singing and different languages shouted across the table.

I went to bed thinking about how different my experience turned out to be, how unlike what I expected when I arrived at the albergue. It reminds me to keep an open mind on this trip, to not judge a place- a town or an albergue- by how it might initially appear, to not write off an experience because I don’t know anyone.

Day 6 was a slog into the city, some low spirits and feeling a bit lonely, but then a surprising end to the evening with so much good food and good company.

       

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Camino families and monasteries; Day 4 on the Camino del Norte, Deba to Monasterio de Zenarruza, 31kms

(I’m behind on writing and posting, but for now here are a couple of posts from Days 4 and 5!)

Today started perfectly: an open bar at 6am just across the street from the train station. I had a grande cafe con leche, a yogurt, and a croissant. I was ready to tackle another difficult day. 

I left the bar with Iria (Spain), Amy (England) and Richard (France); before I left for the Camino I’d heard that the route out of Deba was confusing. A local who wasn’t too fond of pilgrims had taken to painting over the yellow arrows with black paint. The others had been given maps when they checked into the albergue, but the hospitalero must have forgotten to give one to me. In any case, I decided to leave with the others in case finding the way was tricky. We didn’t have much trouble and it seemed like yellow arrows had been replaced over every black mark that the local had made (and we knew we were going the right way when we saw trees covered in big black splotches).

The four of us walked together for just about the entire day- we stopped and took breaks together, we started back up together. Our paces were a little different so we were often spaced apart, but never far away. It reminded me of the day last year when I walked the Dragonte route, the only time on the Frances when I walked all day with a group. There were times in the day today, like last year, when I wished I were alone, but in the end just that one day of walking together bonded us. It’s amazing how it happens- we rarely even talked, we just walked along and cheered when we made it to the top of a difficult hill, or turned to make sure that no one was being left too far behind. We shared snacks with each other, we stopped to talk to other pilgrims, but we never really strayed from the group. I don’t think I will have a lot of days like this, because it’s just not my preferred way to walk the Camino; so often I felt like breaking away and being free and alone.

But I’m so glad I did this today. We all ended up in Markina- I arrived a bit before the others and found a grocery store, then came outside to see the others (including Misako) sitting at an outdoor table in front of a bar. They waved me over and we talked about plans for the evening- they were planning to stay at the albergue in town, and I was planning to continue for another 7kms to a medieval monastery.

Iria and Richard both considered going with me but in the end decided to stay. Richard seemed concerned that I would be going alone, and I took the chance to explain that sometimes, it’s really important for me to be able to go off on my own here. I went into the bar to pay for my cafe cortado (more coffee for an extra kick to push me along!), they got their packs ready to check into the albergue. When I came out of the bar they were all standing there, waiting to say goodbye.

“I’m sure I’ll see you guys in Bilbao, in two days,” I told them. Misako and Richard looked doubtful, but I knew better. I might not see them in Bilbao, but I’m almost positive that I will see them all again, at some point on the Camino. It’s just how it works- you think you are saying goodbye, but a Camino goodbye is rarely a goodbye.

As I walked away, I thought a lot about my choices to be alone versus with others on the Camino. Almost instantly, I passed under a bridge and saw these words:


Last year this was probably the biggest thing I struggled with, wanting to sometimes be alone but not wanting to lose the friends I had made. Wanting to form really close relationships yet always be able to make my own decisions and go my own way. I felt like I was just beginning to figure it out and then I arrived in Santiago. So this year, it’s been on my mind from the beginning.

And what I had today was something I never really had last year: a Camino family. I made so many friends and made so many connections, but I never had a group.

What I had today felt like a Camino family, the way I imagined it would. I’m not sure exactly how the five of us came together, we don’t always communicate well (I try to translate in French for Richard but I don’t do a very good job, and often he walks along not understanding what we are saying). We might not stay together and in fact probably won’t- we all have different timelines and paces, Amy and Iria have friends coming to meet them for part of the way.

But leaving them today felt a little sad, and I was so happy to feel like, for at least a few days, I had belonged to a little group.

The last kilometer to the monastery was all uphill on rocks (this is starting to become a trend), but when I arrived I nearly gasped. It was perfect. Nestled in the mountains with amazing views (also becoming a trend) were a church and a cloister that were nearly 1,000 years old, all part of a large compound surrounded by manicured lawns and wooden benches sitting in the shade of old trees. The albergue was around the side of the building- two rooms of beds, one upstairs and one downstairs, and an area outside with tables and chairs where pilgrims were already gathered, drinking beer and eating pastries. The majority of the pilgrims were French, and they were happy about it (I’m pretty sure that I heard a ‘Vive la France!’ tossed about once or twice).

I went to a short mass in the church at 7:30, and then we ate dinner together at 8:00: a large pot of rice and lentils, loaves of bread, pitchers of water. Simple food but staying and eating here was all by donation- we could give as much or as little as we wanted.

After dinner I stood outside talking to Eunie from Korea and her husband James, from Australia. We talked about how we would never want to hike the Appalachian Trail or the PCT because of bear fears, and how we wished humans had the capacity to hop like kangaroos.

Another good Camino day: Camino families and Camino “goodbyes”, walking alone and finding more community.




 


 

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Endless hills, endless beauty; Day 3 on the Camino del Norte, Orio to Deba 30kms

Today was the best day, but it was also maybe one of the hardest (although the hospitalero here in Deba just told us that tomorrow will be much harder than today, oh boy).

Last night, Elissa, Eva, Nia and I were discussing today’s walk, and strategizing about distances and stopping points. We were told that there were two options: walking to Zumaia (17km) or to Deba (30km). The others were up for a shorter day, and for good reason: to rest aching bodies, to slow down and explore the towns. But after a 14km day, I just didn’t want another short day to follow. 30km is a lot for a third day, but I was trusting my experience last year and how strong I felt throughout the Camino. I trusted that a 30km day this early would be no problem.

And you know, I don’t think it would have been a problem if I hadn’t decided to take an alternate and strenuous route for the last 7kms. What is it with me and taking the alternate path? Last year it was often to get away from the crowds on the Frances, but this year I don’t need to do that. This year, I think, is all about the beauty.

And oh man was today beautiful. For 85% of my walk I was convinced that, aside from the first day walking through the Pyrenees on the Frances, this was my very favorite Camino day. And maybe after I forget the pain of the last few kilometers, I’ll still think that. So far, this Camino is difficult, but it’s like I forget about having had to climb straight up a pile of rocks the instant blue water appears. This coast is beautiful, and for much of today I was walking on pathways high above the roads and towns, with a view that was almost nothing but green fields and blue water. But then I would look to my left and often see rolling mountains- both views were incredible.

I didn’t see a single pilgrim on today’s walk, and I was out from 6:30am to 4:00pm. And that, too, was pretty great. There were lots of locals out enjoying the trails so I wasn’t completely alone, but somehow it felt a little more adventurous to not be clustered in a group of pilgrims. I felt like a wanderer, a roamer.

Perfectly placed in time for my lunch break was a park with picnic tables and bathrooms, so I settled in at a table in the shade and ate a ham and cheese sandwich. Just as I was finishing a woman came over to ask me something; realizing I only spoke English she called her son over, and running over with him were two other boys. They were probably all between 10-13. For the next five minutes we attempted to communicate and I regretted that I hadn’t worked a bit harder at learning Spanish. Eventually I realized that they hoped to use my picnic table after I was done, and we all laughed once this was figured out. 10 minutes later, as I was leaving, one of the boys ran by and said, “Thank you!” Several seconds later, as I walked down the trail, I heard him shout, “I hope you have a good time!!”

His wishes for me quickly came true, and I spent the next few hours practically dancing down the trail. I took the alternate route and it lead me to a beach where I found a piece of sea glass. But that’s where the fun ended; it took me about two hours longer to reach the town of Deba than I anticipated. The alternate route was a series of steep ascents quickly followed by steep descents, and this happened over and over and over. By the end I was laughing, that’s how ridiculously slow I was moving. By it reminded me again of how a walk like this is done: one step after another. Just keep moving. I’d look at a series of stone steps that seemed to have no end and I just took them one at a time. With every hill I faced, I made it to the top. It wasn’t pretty, but no one was around to witness it, except for a group of cows that suddenly appeared on the top of the last hill. They stared at me as I walked around in circles trying to get back on track after peering through the window of a small chapel; they probably watched me and thought, “That tired girl is going the wrong way.”

But I made it to Deba and as I entered the city a man directed me to where I had to go: down two elevators, to the tourism office and if that is closed to the police station to get the key for the albergue which is in the train station. Confusing? You bet. But I found my albergue too, needing to only ask one person for directions, and my lodging for the night is indeed in the train station (the albergue is on one side of the building, and out the bathroom window you can see the people down below, waiting for their trains. This is a taunting situation, for pilgrims to be housed in a train station: we watch the train to Bilbao pull up and we realize that an hour’s train journey will take us 3 days).

I’ve done nothing more tonight than sit at a picnic table outside of the station, and the others sitting with me were just as tired. We split a bottle of cider and as soon as we were finished Iria asked, “Does this mean the night is officially over?” It was 9pm and the sky was still a bright blue but we all eagerly hobbled inside to get ready for bed.

Tomorrow is going to be another hard day- even harder because there are no towns or villages to pass through where we can stop for a rest or a bite to eat. This means that I need to find an open bar in the morning to have coffee before I go! My morning coffee is still one of the biggest priorities of my days.

I feel like I’m really beginning to get into this Camino, to understand how it is similar to the Frances but how it differs. When I walk I feel essentially the same as I did last year, and already there’s a happiness that is spreading through me that I recognize from last year’s walk. But I feel more tired than I ever did last year, and I don’t feel the same kind of energy from the other pilgrims. This may change, and soon, but in many ways, for now, this is a quiet pilgrimage. Peaceful.

So day 3 is done: one of the most beautiful and most challenging days I have walked, yet. I must have taken at least 100 photos of the coastline- here are a few…


            

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Only the second day; Day Two on the Camino del Norte, San Sebastián to Orio, 14km

I’ve finished my walking for day two and I’m not sure the exact number of kilometers/miles that I walked, but it wasn’t much. 15km, maybe? Which is about 9 miles. Only a couple more miles than the ‘short’ training hikes I’d been doing, so in many ways this doesn’t really feel like a “Camino day”. It feels like a long morning walk followed by hours of relaxation in a beautiful place… which I’ve got to say, is not a bad thing. I think back to what I said when I was planning for this Camino, and I wondered if I would just find some beautiful spot and settle in for awhile and write.

And where I’m staying tonight is the kind of place where I could imagine doing just that. It’s a small albergue in San Martin, just on the edge of the town of Orio. The town is a careful walk down steep, sloped streets, and if you walk past the end of town and in the right direction, you’ll arrive at a beach. But I’m staying up on the hilltop, in a beautiful building with a family’s home on the top floors and an albergue on the bottom floor. The entrance to the albergue faces a large yard with a stoned terrace, two long tables and lots of wicker chairs. And this set up faces an incredible sweeping view of the mountains.

The day is beautiful and the sun won’t set until 10pm. After a long, long walk in the rain yesterday, a short walk followed by an afternoon and evening with my legs propped on a chair and stretched to the sun sounds like just the thing to help me adjust into this Camino.

Only women are staying at this albergue, so far, and that seems nice too (if for nothing else other than the chances of snoring go way, way down). It’s a little strange to have a quiet day on the Camino this early on (it’s only day 2!), but I’ll welcome it. Who knows what will come next.

I can’t help but compare this Camino to last year’s, especially in these early days. Some of this- a lot of this- has been second nature. Especially strapping on my pack and walking. The terrain is different and the views are different but the action is exactly the same. All I have to worry about, really, is walking. It’s a simple task, but a big one.

The small things have already fallen into place, it’s coming back quickly: exactly how I pack my bag, the order in which I do things when I settle into an albergue, the snacks I like to buy to carry with me throughout the day, how to greet someone and slowly start a conversation.

Yesterday evening, in San Sebastián, reminded me so much of my night in Pamplona last year. Only a few days into the walk, wandering through a city with new friends, eating tapas and soaking up the experience. The rain had finally stopped and after we hunted down the best tapas in the city (I’m not sure if what we had was the best, but it sure was good), we walked through the streets as the sun broke through some dark clouds and made the buildings glow.

With me were fellow blogger Elissa (California), Misako (Japan), Iria (Spain) and Richard (France). Last year, the people I spent that night in Pamplona with turned out to be some of my closest Camino friends: Mirra, Ibai, Ji-Woo. So I wonder what will happen to this year’s early connections- whether I will see these people again, whether I will become closer to any of them.

Elissa and I had a long talk over a slow and decadent lunch today (a menu del dia for me: goat cheese salad, fried anchovies, a piece of cheesecake and a bottle of cider. Way too much, but it’s the kind of mid-day meal that I’d love to have more of this year). As we ate we talked about the differences between this Camino and the experience last year. This is a Camino, no doubt about it, but it’s not the same road I walked last year. And I suppose it shouldn’t be.

And the walk itself, today, was beautiful. The only thing lacking for me was a bar to stop at for a cafe con leche and some pan tostada- it was a solid stretch of 14 kilometers without a break. But what a stunning stretch- coastal views and rolling green hills. The guidebook says that today’s walk might feel like a bit of a let down after yesterday but in our case- with all the rain- we could hardly see a thing. So today was great.

It’s now about 10pm, and I’ll head to bed soon. By right now I’m sitting on a bench facing the mountains, with Eva on my right and Nia on my left. A thin crescent moon is hanging in the sky just above us, the sun has just disappeared behind a mountain. We sat for hours outside- sipping wine, eating bread and cheese and jamon flavored potato chips (only in Spain?). The air is cool and we’re all wearing fleeces, most of the others have gone to bed but we can’t leave just yet- the night is too beautiful. Eva talks of how she decided to walk this Camino just on Monday, less than a week ago, and how incredible it is to be here, how she has to tell herself that this is only the second day.

It’s only the second day. I have to say this to myself, too: it’s only the second day. But already I think I’ve seen beauty that can’t be matched, stayed in the best albergue, met people who I’m not quite ready to say goodbye to.

Only the second day: today I climbed out of a city and walked on dirt tracks with a view of the coast. I walked through the sand and dipped my toes in the cold water. I talked with a new friend over a long lunch, I sat at a table with a view of the mountains, I climbed into a treehouse with the hospitalero’s granddaughter, and we sat on swings and pumped our legs up towards the tree branches.

The Camino offers so many opportunities to live and to enjoy life, and I had more than my fair share of this today. What a good day.

        

Previous Post: Day 1 on the Camino del Norte

Next Post: Day 3 on the Camino del Norte

“Like a Rolling Stone”; Day One on the Camino del Norte, Irun to San Sebastián, 27.6 km

So I think I left off saying that I would be back with photos from the gorgeous views that I was bound to get from the first day’s walk on the Norte. I’d been checking the weather for a week, and Friday in Irun and San Sebastián looked sunny and clear. The perfect weather to start a Camino!
Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I walked in rain for the entire day- it started as a mist and then became a steady rain, and it was worse- way worse- than anything I walked in last year. I think every inch of me was wet by the time I hobbled into the hostel in San Sebastián.

Buen Camino, and welcome to the Norte!

I arrived in Hendaye, France yesterday evening, and after I walked out of the train station I wandered towards a bridge that would take me across to Irun, Spain. I could have stayed on the train and gotten off in Irun, making the trip just a bit shorter and getting to the albergue easier but the thing was, I wanted to walk into Spain.

Having been up for over 24 hours, I was exhausted. I knew that adding a couple kilometers to the end of my travel day probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but I ignored reason and started walking across a bridge. I kept my eyes peeled for the marker that indicated the line between France and Spain, but I didn’t see one, and suddenly I was in Spain. And I started seeing yellow arrows.

Oh man, to see those yellow arrows again! I had a big grin on my face as I started to follow them, as I once again walked through a beautiful Spanish town. I had a spring in my step, I was snapping photos left and right, I no longer felt tired.

But then I realized that I wasn’t sure where I was going. I was following the arrows, but the arrows weren’t taking me to the albergue. They were taking me, I suspected, straight out of town, heading west. It took me awhile to figure out where I was and to find the albergue but I made it.

Walking into the albergue was strange. All of last night was pretty strange, in fact. I felt overwhelmed and flustered, and shy and uncertain. I was back on the Camino (well, almost), but it didn’t feel like the Camino yet. And I didn’t like that. Maybe I expected a continuation of my journey from last year, that I would step into Spain and step right back into my first Camino experience.

As soon as I walked into the albergue I ran into Elissa, a fellow Camino blogger whose writing I’ve been following. She walked the Frances last summer and, like me, was gearing up to do the Norte this year. About a month ago we realized that we would be starting the Norte on the same day, and so we knew to look for each other in Irun. And seeing her was also strange- great but strange. Because here’s this person that I kind of know, but don’t actually know, another American, meeting her in Spain. It was a lot to wrap my mind around, and my mind was tired.

The hospitalero put us into a double room when she realized we knew each other (a double room! What luck!!) and I sat on the floor and opened my pack and took out some things and just stared at it all. I wasn’t sure what to do. The routines weren’t back yet. Do I set up my bed? Do I shower? Do I try to meet people? Do I find wi-fi and check in with family?

I sorted myself out but there were a few moments when I wondered what I was doing. I was sitting in a bar around the corner from the albergue, a tinto de verano in front of me and local men playing cards at the table next to me. It was a scene out of last year’s Camino but it was different. I didn’t feel comfortable, not like I did last year. I wondered if maybe I was wrong, if maybe the Camino magic really only happens once, if the Frances was where I belonged.

But then Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ started playing in the bar: “How does it feel? To be on your own, with no direction home, a complete unknown?” This song was like an anthem to me when I studied abroad in France all those years ago. And I felt the lyrics deeply this time, too. How does it feel? Honestly? Even though I’ve already done this once, it feels a little scary. A little crazy. A little exciting. A little freeing.

So lets jump to today’s walk, while I still have time before we go out for pintxos in San Sebastián tonight. All at once, the Camino came back to me. And of course it came back in almost the instant that I started to walk. Out of the city and past farms with grazing sheep and ponies. Uphill, following the yellow arrows. I passed a Spanish girl who was putting on her rain coat and she said, “I feel like I’m home” and I could understand what she meant. It felt familiar again. It felt good to be walking.

So, walking in the rain. Oh boy. Lets just say it was a completely different experience than anything I had last year. On the way to Finisterre I walked in rain, but this was a different kind of rain. At times it was a driving rain, a soaking rain. I chose to do the ‘high’, alternate route, which I’m pretty sure everyone would have done if it was a clear day. But as it was, other than three Irish guys who passed me while I was wringing out a pair of socks, I didn’t see a soul. I could barely see in front of me, and at times I wondered how wise the decision was to take this path. Up, up, up a mountain and then along a ridge, every once in awhile stone ruins would suddenly appear, practically on top of me. Sheep appeared too, and cows, blocking my path. I would hear their bells before I could see them.

When I stood on the summit of the mountain, the rain blew into my face, the wind pushed back the hood of my raincoat. And I felt so free and so alive. In that moment I didn’t care that it was raining, I only marveled that I was able to get myself back here, back to this place where I could walk for hours everyday, surrounded by beauty, feeling energized.

And then I started the descent, and things went downhill (ha!). I realized that my socks were soaked, I could feel the water squishing out of them with each step I took. I was walking slowly, nervous about slipping on the wet rocks or sliding in the mud. I planned to stop in a town before San Sebastián, making this day a short one, and all I could think about was getting there as fast as I could and getting out of my wet clothing.

When arriving in this town (my guidebook’s not on me and I’m forgetting it’s name), I saw that the albergue didn’t open for another 5 hours. Pilgrims were gathered in a bar and everyone decided to keep walking. I drank a large cafe con leche and ate a slice of tortilla and I felt my energy coming back. The walk into San Sebastián was stunning, and that’s WITH fog and rain and grey skies. I think I’m going to love walking by the water.

The last hour of my walk was with Amy, from London. It felt a little like meeting Mirra, last year- falling into step with someone at the end of my first day of walking. We stopped for a coffee in the center of town and then walked together to the youth hostel. It seems like most pilgrims are here, already I’m recognizing faces. I’m still very curious how the social part of this year’s walk will compare to last year, and it’s hard to put my finger on it, but it seems like it’s going to be very different. We’ll see.

But for now that doesn’t really matter. Now, I’m showered and clean and dry. I’m finishing up this blog post and sitting at the table with me is Eva, from Germany, who’s writing in her journal. Elissa is here, too, and so is Amy and a French guy whose name I don’t know, and in an hour we’re heading into the city for some pintxos (what tapas are called in this region).

It was a good day one. Very challenging, lots of up and down (and the ascent when I started the alternate route? Lets just say that at one point, I turned around, looked at what I had just hiked up, and said to myself, “Nadine, there’s no way you can climb back down that without sliding or falling in the mud.”) Squishy shoes. Wet underwear. Pants so weighed down by the rain that I was afraid they would fall off.

But also so much beauty, so much energy, so much excitement for what’s to come. It’s good to be back, Camino, it’s good to be back.


    

Next Post: Day 2 on the Camino del Norte

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

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).

map of Camino del Norte

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

A Rather Unrealistic Wish-List for my Second Camino

I’m just over two weeks away from leaving for my second pilgrimage, this time on the Camino del Norte/Camino Primitivo. Two weeks!! Sometime before I leave I’ll post a map of my route(s); I always meant to do it last year and it was probably one of the most asked questions by my family and friends: “Where in Spain will you be walking?” My guidebook should be arriving any day now, and then I’ll have a better sense of where I’ll be walking. Someone, it might have been my mom, seemed a little surprised that I would be bringing a guidebook. “Didn’t you have a great experience after you lost your guidebook last time?” And I did- I practiced letting go of planning, I learned to fully embrace the openness and possibility of my days in a way that I wasn’t quite able to when following a guide.

But at times, I missed the Brierley guide that directed me along the Camino Frances. I missed learning about the detours (which I loved taking), I missed being able to read up on albergues, I missed learning some of the history of the places I was walking through. So for this walk I’m going to use a guide, and I’m going to do my best to make sure I don’t accidentally leave it in the folds of a blanket on my bunk bed. I’d still like to follow the same approach that I learned on last year’s Camino: walk until I’m tired or, walk until I stumble upon a beautiful place. There are some things I’d like to plan (already I have a couple albergues that I’d like to check out), but more than anything I want to leave my days open to chance and possibility.

Along those lines, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what else I’d like from this year’s Camino. It’s a big topic, and I’m still processing last year’s pilgrimage: the things I wanted, the things I received, the things that surprised me, the things I was learning. I think that more than anything, I want to be very open to this experience, and to whatever it brings. That’s the third time I’ve used this word- open- in this post. Maybe because this second pilgrimage feels so wide open. I already know what a Camino is like, there aren’t quite as many question marks, not the same kind of fears and anxieties. But I’m also not clear on what I want, which leaves the possibilities open: Do I want to form deep bonds and find a Camino family that I stick with until the end? Or do I want to be totally free and unattached, able to walk as much or as little as I want on any given day? I wanted both of these things, often simultaneously, on last year’s Camino. I still didn’t quite have it figured out when I arrived in Santiago, and I felt like I needed at least another 500 miles to find my answers.

Putting the bigger questions aside for a moment, lets talk about some of the things I’m dreaming about for this second Camino. I already have some guarantees: I know that I’m going to meet some incredible people. I know I’m going to savor those mugs of café con leche and glasses of vino tinto. I know I’m going to love waking up every day and putting on my shoes and walking. But now lets talk about the dreams, the fantasies, the things that could happen but probably won’t but (who knows) maybe will…

1. Making it to Muxia

Emma, the Canadian-born, London-based friend we made on the way to Finisterre last year, said it best: “Five years ago, walking to Santiago was the end. And Finisterre was like this little secret that not everyone knew about. Now, walking to Finisterre is the end. And adding on a day to get to Muxia is the secret that not everyone knows about.” Muxia is a small coastal town about 30km from Finisterre and today, indeed, many pilgrims walk here, in addition to Finisterre, after arriving in Santiago. Muxia is part of the ‘Costa de la Muerte’ (Coast of Death), named after the many shipwrecks resulting from its rocky coastline, and it is beautiful. At least, that’s what I heard from friends who made the trek last year. Because of timing, I could only walk to Finisterre, but I wished I had extra time to make it to Muxia as well.

And this year? Getting to Muxia is a pipe dream. I have exactly 31 days to walk, and that’s not exactly a long time for the roughly 840km between my starting point of Irun and my ending point of Santiago. At best, I might be able to make the journey in 30 days, giving me a day to bus over to Muxia, but I’m not sure that’s how I’d want to do it. I really think I’d like to walk to Muxia, and that’s a minimum 3-day journey from Santiago.

But who knows- maybe if I’m totally going at my own speed, not attaching myself to anyone and feeling really strong, I’ll walk some long days, and get to Santiago way ahead of schedule. Maybe.

2. Taking black and white photographs along the way

I considered this before last year’s Camino: should I lug my old and heavy SLR camera and a dozen rolls of film over 500 miles in order to take some nice photographs? Ultimately I decided not to, and it was a good decision. But this time? Oh man, I’d LOVE to have that old camera with me. I’d love to have several rolls of film from this trip, to one day be able to make a few beautiful black and white prints that I could frame and hang on my wall. Or print enough to have a small exhibit somewhere… (I’ve been so focused on writing lately, but the photography dreams are always lurking just beneath the surface).

And speaking of writing…

3. Blogging every day

Blogging on last year’s Camino gave me so much joy, and continues to give me joy when I go back and read through my posts. But I just couldn’t do it all: couldn’t walk the long days AND spend time with the people I’d met AND explore the towns AND blog every day. But this Camino is a different Camino, and I just might have more time on my hands. Unless #4 happens…

4. Meeting a Javier Bardem look-alike in Oveido

Ha! Last night I watched Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona (a movie that I never seem to tire of), and I paid close attention to the scenes in Oviedo, a city that I will be walking through/staying in if I detour from the Norte to the Primitivo. Maybe the Camino will offer up some good-looking Spanish/European men again this year…

So that’s my wish-list for now. Along with perfect weather, lots of opportunities to lounge on the beach, and perfectly placed café con leche stops.

I think the reality is going to be just a bit different… but only two and a half more weeks until I find out!

Hiking in Ridley Creek State Park

Only time for a few more training hikes…

My legs are not what they used to be

So just yesterday I was writing about how calm and confident I feel as I plan for my second Camino. And while that is mostly true, I have a small confession: I’m nervous about how physically prepared I’m going to be for the long walk on the Norte.

I know, I know, I was worried about this last year, too, and the training that I thought wasn’t nearly enough proved to be almost more than enough as I set off on the Camino Frances.

But the Norte isn’t the Frances, and if anything, I’m afraid that because of my general confidence with this whole Camino thing, I’m going to relax too much on the training, and start my Camino completely unprepared (which isn’t true because I’m already somewhat prepared… but fear is a funny thing). I’m afraid that I’m going to be in the same boat as so many of the pilgrims I walked with last year: aching legs and sore hips and tired feet and generally just a lot of pain.

I understand that this wouldn’t be such a bad thing- it’s a 500+ mile walk, after all, and what’s a pilgrimage without at least a little pain?

This fear is recent: just two days ago I was talking about how I’m in better physical shape than I was at this same time last year. But already, I’m starting to question that. I did a 3-mile round-trip hike in Virginia earlier this week, up Sharp Top, one of the Peaks of Otter off of the Blue Ridge Parkway near Bedford, VA. At this point, 3-miles is like a warmup to me, so I didn’t think this hike would be particularly challenging.

Path up Sharp Top, Virginia

Well, tell that to my aching legs. The 1.5 mile ascent was tough. Compared to some of the days on last year’s Camino, the hike up to Sharp Top would probably be considered only moderately difficult. Nothing compared to the first day’s walk through the Pyrenees, or up and down the three mountains of the Dragonte route.

But here’s what I’ve learned: while I’ve still been walking somewhat regularly and continuing to wear my pack, my legs are not what they once used to be. Somewhere along the way, I lost my Camino legs.

I don’t think I would be so nervous if I were walking the Frances again. I still have over two months to train and it’s not like I was hiking up mountains every day last year in preparation for my Camino. But the Norte is going to be tough: up and down mountains, sometimes day after day. One reason I loved my Camino so much last year was that I wasn’t in too much physical pain, and I think that allowed me to completely embrace my experience, and everyday I felt so grateful that I got to be outside, walking. I’m afraid that this year, if I walk with pain, I’m going to have a very different experience.

But this is part of it, right? I think this is the beauty of an experience like the Camino- we can prepare and prepare, but we never fully know what we’re going to walk into. And we get to work through whatever challenges we face while on the journey: we have time and space and help and understanding. In many ways, it is the most perfect kind of environment to face fear and challenge.

So if one of my challenges this year is a physical one, I know that I’ll be able to face it. In the meantime, I’m going to keep walking and hiking, but I’m going to try not to stress. I’m going to try to follow one of the great Camino lessons: enjoy the journey. And that means enjoying the preparation part of this journey as well, even if it means sore calves and aching feet.

Summit of Sharp Top

Should I Walk Another Camino?

Prices are already increasing on flights to Europe this summer, and from what I can gather, they’re not going to get any lower. It’s only the beginning of February, and while it seems like I should have plenty of time to make a decision about what I want to do this summer, if the answer is “walk another Camino” then I think I’d better decide soon.

The biggest question that I’m asking myself is this: Do I want to spend a month doing something very similar to what I just did last year?

As an American, I’m very lucky to have two months of vacation time every summer. Right now, I don’t have to make big sacrifices in order to travel to Spain and walk for a month: I have the time, I don’t have to quit my job or leave a husband and kids, and with most of my gear already purchased, this is a fairly affordable trip (if you consider what it would typically cost to spend a month in Europe).

But by the same token, I look at this chunk of time and think: I have two months (well, actually just a month, since there’s a July wedding back in the states that I don’t want to miss), and I might not always have this same freedom and flexibility. Is there anywhere else I’d like to go? Is there anything else I’d like to do?

The answer, of course, is yes. There are so many new things I’d like to try and new places I’d like to travel to, but maybe the real question is this: Is there anything else I’d rather do right now than walk another Camino?

Walking to Burgos, Camino de Santiago

 

And I’m struggling to come up with anything else. There are lots of factors, of course. There are places I could travel to and experiences I could have, but they’d require me to go alone, and to be alone for most of the trip. I don’t mind solo-traveling- and in fact, there are lots of things about it that I love- but I worry that long-term solo-traveling would be hard for me. The writer’s retreat in France was perfect, and so was the Camino: I had lots of time alone, AND the chance to interact with the same people for weeks at a time.

But honestly, I just want to walk another Camino. I felt this as I arrived in Santiago- I want to keep walking. I’ve felt it in the months since I’ve been home, and when I think about this summer, nothing that I can come up with is as enticing as another long walk.

There are fears and worries. Is it too soon to walk another Camino? In many ways, I’m still processing my trip from last summer, and I worry that rushing off to do another walk is going to blur the lines between the first experience and a new one.

I had such an amazing time on the Camino Frances and I know that the next walk is going to be different. I worry that I will compare the two, that I will always be chasing that first experience and that I am going to be disappointed. While the Camino del Norte is gaining in popularity, the numbers of pilgrims who walk this route is significantly fewer than the Frances. Of the pilgrims who received a compostela in Santiago in 2014, 68% walked the Frances and about 6% walked the Norte. I’ll still be able to meet other people, but it is going to be a very, very different atmosphere than what I knew last year.

I have these visions of myself on the Norte: waking up early and stopping whenever I want for a café con leche, arriving at my albergue in the early afternoon and then lounging on a beach for a few hours. Meeting up with friends at night for tapas and wine. Honestly, is there a better way to spend a month than this??

But the reality is going to be different. The Camino Frances wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, and the Camino del Norte is definitely not going to be a walk in the park. This is going to be a much more physically challenging route, and I should probably kiss goodbye my multiple café con leche stops, as the route is more isolated and doesn’t pass through as many towns and villages (although past pilgrims, please correct me if I’m wrong!). My walking days will probably be longer because of the challenge of the walk, and there may be many days when I will be forced to keep walking in order to find a town with an albergue.

Having not studied the route very closely, I have no idea how often I’ll actually be close to a beach. And even though I should have learned by now that I can make friends and that a Camino is one of the easier places to do it, I still worry that without as many pilgrims, I’ll spend a lot more time alone.

All of this being said, I still feel the call of doing another Camino. It’s not out of my system, and if anything, it’s only just gotten into my system. I love the idea of attempting something even more physically challenging, and I love the idea of entire days of walking where I don’t encounter very many people. Those were my favorite days on the Camino Frances, after all. I love the idea of trying to learn a little Spanish before I go, I love the thought of getting to see even more of Spain, I love the idea of being by the mountains and the ocean, and maybe I won’t get to drink as many café con leches, but I love the idea that they can once again be part of my daily routine.

And finally, here’s the thing: I’ve already done a pilgrimage. Maybe the Norte will be another one (and certainly in some ways it will be), but I don’t necessarily need to have the same kind of experience that I did last year. On that first Camino, I knew that I wanted to be on a pilgrimage. I wanted to walk the entire thing, I wanted to always stay in albergues, I wanted to stop in churches, I wanted Santiago to be my destination.

This time? I just want to walk again. I want to be open to whatever kind of experience the Camino will give me, and maybe it will just be a long, quiet walk. Maybe I will make some really strong connections again. Maybe I’ll find that it’s even more of a pilgrimage for me than the Frances was. Maybe I’ll finish and immediately want to do another Camino. Maybe I’ll finish and know that I’m done walking.

If you’ve read this far, thanks for bearing with me as I get all of these thoughts onto the page. And feel free to chime in with your opinion: Should I walk another Camino? If you were in my shoes (speaking of shoes, I’ll need to buy a new pair), would you do another long walk? Or would you decide that it’s time for a different kind of experience?

Sunrise on the Camino Frances

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Inspiration

 

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

-Lao Tzu

 

 

“… For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”

-Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

Camino Packing List

Nadine and backpack on beach, Camino del Norte

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