Camino Frances Archives

Day 9 on the Camino Primitivo, Ferreira to Boente, 25km

October 3, 2021

Day 9 on the Camino Primitivo YouTube Video

25km today, and now, of course, my body feels strong and maybe those Camino legs have really kicked in because the kilometers were easy and so of course I felt like I could have walked longer. I did my thing of walking fast and stopping a lot: for coffee, for an Aquarius, for photos, for peering into churches.

There was a stretch with a long, stony path, bordered by green pine trees and tufts of purple heather and what remained of a gray stone wall and this path seemed to go on and on, under a big sky, with Melide in the distance, clouds and sun and no one there but me. I loved it! I’d walked it before- I must have, back in 2015- but I couldn’t remember it at all. As I walked, I thought about how beautiful it was, how I felt as though I would never forget it, and wondered what I’d been thinking about when I walked it 6 years before. Why hadn’t it stuck in my memory? What had been my mood that day? Were my eyes focused on the ground, was the sky dark and stormy, was I walking with someone else? I might not have remembered this part of the Camino the first time I walked but this time, it made an impression. In Melide the Primitivo would merge with the Frances, and so these were the very last kilometers on the Primitive Way. I tried to soak them up, I tried to imprint the path onto my memories. Maybe I did.

And then I arrived in Melide and I was surrounded by new and unknown pilgrims. This happens every time! I should be used to it!! But we’re all pilgrims and I told myself I only have a few days left until I reach Santiago, I can deal with a few more pilgrims on the path. But it makes me think of just how special the Primitivo is- every year and especially this year. What a special, special walk.

I passed through Melide, pausing for a glass of wine with a pilgrim I’d met that morning, then I continued on. I intended to get something to eat but I was flustered by the city so I just started walking, and then another 5km flashed by and I was at my albergue (Albergue El Alemán, Boente). I’d made a reservation just two days before; I’d been nervous about all the pilgrims on the last 100km of the Frances and reports that finding beds in this stretch was really difficult (especially considering I was now walking in the height of the summer), but luckily I had no trouble finding places to sleep. I think it helped that I was staying “off stage” (off of the typical Brierley guidebook stages, anyway), but in any case, I was pleased to not have to stress about where I would sleep.

And this albergue was great! It had been recommended to me by my lovely host back in Vilar de Cas, and everything was just as promised: a beer garden with outdoor picnic tables under a large awning, a tiny restaurant/bar area with some basic pilgrim supplies, even a small pool to dip tired feet into! As I arrived, two pilgrims I’d met the night before were finishing lunch, and they invited me to their table and I ordered my own meal: a big salad, fish and roasted potatoes, cold melon for dessert. Those friends both continued on, and in the end there were only 5 pilgrims- including myself- in the albergue, and incredibly, four of us had been on the Primitivo! Even though I was technically now on the Francés, it felt as though I’d extended the Camino Primitivo by a few more kilometers.

Somehow I managed to eat more food for dinner just a short while later, after giving my feet a long soak in the pool. After eating every last bite of my big bowl of pasta (not only have my Camino legs kicked in, it appears that the Camino hunger has kicked in as well!), I finished the day with a stroll through the quiet streets of the village.

But the real ending was a small commotion I made in the bunk room of the albergue as I was preparing to go to bed. While trying to close the blinds of the window across from my bunk, I accidentally pulled the entire thing down and it fell with a crash. A Spanish pilgrim came over to see what the noise was and together we managed to get the blinds back in place, but there were little plastic pieces, broken, on the floor. I gathered them up in my hand and the pilgrim said- “Destroy the evidence!” and the hospitaleros had already turned in for the night and I couldn’t tell them about the window. So if you stay at the Albergue in Boente and the window shade falls down in the night, it is not a ghost!! It was just me.

Next Post: Day 10 on the Camino Primitivo

Walking the Camino as an Introvert

October 13, 2020

I had a lot of worries before my first Camino. They mostly centered around the physical nature of the journey: would I be able to walk all the way to Santiago? Would I develop crippling blisters and have to stop walking? Would I fall and hurt myself? Would I lose the way? Would I run out of water, or food?

But there was another layer of worries as well, and these revolved around the social part of the experience. Would I make friends? Would I walk alone? How would I do sleeping in albergues with dozens and dozens of other pilgrims?

Before the Camino I read a lot of books and blogs and articles, and so many mentioned the idea of a ‘Camino family’. Most people, as they walk, pick up a small group of others that they move through the Camino with. The groups can tend to form early and the bonds are strong. These Camino families, it would appear, were one of the highlights of the way for so many people.

I was intrigued by the idea of a Camino family. I was excited about the possibility of it: a group of people you could always be with! No loneliness! No losing your way! Someone to share a bottle of wine with!

But I was also a little terrified of the idea. When would I ever get my alone time?

I was listening to a podcast the other day, the Clearskies Camino podcast, a new venture from David of Clearskies Camino (a blog I’ve been following for years!) He was interviewing Pablo, of Setmeravelles (another blog I’ve been following for years!), and one piece of advice that Pablo shared was this: Don’t be afraid to make connections with other pilgrims, especially if you’re an introvert.

This struck me, because I don’t often hear talk about introversion on the Camino.

I’m an introvert, through and through. I recently did a Myers Briggs test (for probably the 6th time), just to see how I scored, and on the extraverted/introverted scale, I was 93% introverted. I’ve known this about myself for a long time, but I think I can sometimes forget, because I like people. I really like other people (I’m a counselor who talks to teenagers all day!), and I think a common misconception about introverts is that they don’t like to socialize or be around other people. Another misconception is that all introverts are shy, and quiet (I happen to be rather shy and quiet, but it doesn’t mean that all introverts are!)

The real key to understanding an introvert is this: a lot of time around people can really drain them and tire them out. I, for one, have a limit, and once I reach it, all I want in the world is to be in a space by myself. The time to myself is what energizes me, fills me back up. Plus, I’ve always really liked my own company, and often I want to spend time alone, in my own company. It makes me feel centered and solid, grounded.

The Camino is a really great opportunity to be in your own company: if you’re walking the entirety of the Camino Francés, you’ve got 500 miles of walking, day after day after day. There are a lot of other pilgrims around, but there’s a ton of opportunity to be alone and be with your thoughts.

And, also, the Camino is a really great opportunity to be with other people. I remember a pilgrim I’d met towards the end of the Francés telling me about a girl he’d walked with for the first two weeks of his Camino. “We were never apart,” he said. “Every single minute of every day, we were together.” (I shuddered.) And it wasn’t a romantic thing, it was just… a Camino thing. A people thing. It’s fun to be around other people on the Camino, and with all of that walking, having friends at your side can make the time pass quickly. It’s great to share big experiences with other people.

And I might even argue that most pilgrims, on the Camino, like to share their experience with other people. I could be wrong (and please, say hello in the comments and share your experience if you walked!), but so often on the Camino I saw people in pairs or groups. Even if they’d arrived at the Camino alone, they almost always linked up with other people. Formed their Camino families.

I’ve walked a lot of Caminos since that first one, back in 2014, and I’ve never formed or been part of a Camino family, not really. I’ve made deep connections, I’ve made friends, there were people I would always run into or make loose plans with or stay in the same towns with, but never all the way to Santiago, never until the end of my walk. There are lots of reasons for this (and really, that’s a separate post), but I don’t think I ever needed a true ‘Camino family’ to appreciate the social aspects of the Camino. I’ve had such good, deep experiences with other pilgrims, and the opportunities for those connections is something that makes the Camino really special.

Being an introvert isn’t the only reason I don’t form Camino families when I walk. But I do think it can sometimes feel a little difficult to be introverted and be on an incredibly social sort of experience, surrounded by dozens and dozens- even hundreds and hundreds- of other people every day for weeks at a time. You see them on the trail, you see them in the bars, you see them in the places you sleep (often just feet away in the next bunk bed!).

And sometimes, it can feel a little lonely to see other pilgrims in their groups, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine, and to sometimes be the one on the outside. Even if you’re choosing to be the one on the outside. Even if sometimes you need to be the one on the outside.

But I do think it’s possible- very, very possible- to walk the Camino as an introvert and have a fabulous time.

If you’re walking the Camino as part of a pair or a group from home, I think it’s important to have a conversation before you start. I’ve done this on the several occasions that I’ve walked with a friend from home, explaining that, sometimes, I’ll want to walk by myself. It can sometimes feel hard to have this conversation, or to set this expectation (especially if the other person prefers to always have someone to walk with!), but having an open conversation upfront can really help.

And if you’re walking the Camino solo, it’s still important to have these conversations with the people you meet, the friends you make. This is something I learned after my first Camino- when I wasn’t clear enough about my needs and didn’t get enough time alone- and it’s something I’m always working on when I walk. How to be friendly and sometimes walk with others, how to form strong, deep connections, but how to give myself enough of what I need, and the time that I need alone. How to truly walk my own walk.

Sometimes this is hard. Sometimes I can spend hours walking with another pilgrim- sometimes all day- and thoroughly enjoy that time. Sometimes I feel lonely and crave company (and this can be the day after I went slightly off-stage from a group of friends so that I could get alone time). Sometimes I need to tell a friend that I want to walk alone, and I can see hurt and disappointment in their eyes. “It’s not you!” I want to say. “It’s just that I’ll feel so depleted, feel like I’m giving away too much of myself, if I don’t get the chance to walk alone.”

But, mostly, it’s not so bad. I’ve learned how to have this conversation gently, easily (most of the time). Most people get it. Sometimes, I’ll meet someone on the path and fall into a conversation and walk with them for an hour. I love how this can happen on the Camino, and I love that pilgrims usually cut out the small talk, and go right to the deeper stuff (which introverts tend to like anyway). But after walking for awhile, if I want to be alone, all it takes is saying, “I’m going to walk by myself for awhile, but I hope I’ll see you in the next town!” Sometimes I say, “I’m going to stop here and take some photographs.” (Often I do want to take photographs, but sometimes I say this if I don’t feel like explaining that I want to be alone.)

And the Camino really can be the perfect place for both introverts and extroverts. For me, if I’m able to walk all day or most of the day alone, I love that I can socialize in the evenings with other pilgrims. I often really want to spend time with other people, because I’ve already had plenty of time to be on my own.

And if you really need a break, there’s almost always an option to stay in a private room in a pension. I never did on my first Camino (I ended up loving the albergue experience), but on my second Camino, the Norte, there was a night I needed to stay in a pension because the albergues were full. And I have to say, it was an illuminating experience. It was such luxury! To have my own little room, a bed that wasn’t a bunk bed, a bathroom all to myself! I went to a corner store and bought basic supplies for dinner and then returned back to my room and spent hours there, all alone, soaking it up. I loved it.

In the last few years, I’ve gravitated towards less-traveled paths. My 5-days on the Camino de San Salvador were almost completely solo: no one in the albergues until the last day, no one on the trail with me until the last day. My walk on the Pennine Way was much the same: after some great and fun interactions over the first three days, I went on to walk a very solo walk, often staying in empty bunkhouses. Walking like this isn’t for everyone, and these were on the more extreme end of ‘socially isolated’ walks. But there are some good in-between trails. For me, the Camino Aragonés is the perfect blend of quiet time and socialization. Not many pilgrims walk, but there are just enough- maybe a dozen or two- walking the same stages. You’ll mostly be alone on the path, but will inevitably run into the same group in the evenings. Perfect for a friendly introvert like me.

One of my favorite things on the Camino is when I unite with other introverts. I had a few days on the Norte when this happened- somehow, a group of about 6 of us came together. We were all on the Camino alone, none of us had formed a ‘Camino family’, most of us seemed to be doing our own thing, I suspect we were all introverts. But we came together for a night in such a beautiful, perfect way, to share a meal and talk and laugh and feel so at ease together. We parted the next day, we didn’t walk or stay together as Camino families tend to do, but that didn’t make the experience any less magical, or any less meaningful.

I’m always curious about others’ experiences: how many readers/pilgrims/walkers are introverts? Do you ever have difficulty with the social experience of the Camino or a long walk? How do you balance the social opportunities with enough time alone?

The Beginning of Something (a new season)

September 8, 2020

Summer is winding down, ending, already over. How? Is it stranger this year because of COVID, and the feeling like we might still be at the end of winter, early March, and that these last 6 months have all been some sort of a dream? It feels that way, like these last two warm seasons were just a tease, and that real life stopped in March, and that when we wake up we’ll be back there, still wearing puffy coats and sweaters, still waiting for the first signs of spring.

My summer was… okay. It was good, it was long, it was short, it was so hot and humid, I was restless, I was settled, I was anxious, I was joyful. The times when I felt settled were usually when I was driving on a long and empty road, or standing by an ocean. Nearly all the rest of the time it felt like I was waiting: waiting for the day to finish, waiting to move into the next week, the next month, waiting for this virus to be “solved” and to be in a place where I could move ahead with life.

This is not generally the way I want to live, and it certainly wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my summer, but I keep repeating to myself: “We’re in a pandemic. This is still a crisis. It’s okay that the summer wasn’t all it could be. There was no way the summer could have been what you expected.”

And now we’re heading into a new season and the large questions of this time still remain. How long will we continue to be in this? Will I feel unsafe working from my school? Will I be able to manage all of the work that I’m facing this year? What happens when the weather turns cold, when I can’t see people outdoors? What happens in November, who will be elected president? How will that have an effect on the state of my country?

It often feels like a little too much and I can get trapped here, trapped with the questioning and the wishing that time could speed up, that I could arrive at a point where it is safe to get on a plane and travel to a new place and go on a long walk.

Instead, I’m here, home, on my couch and on my porch. Soon I’ll be back in a school and even though I had a long break from work, it almost feels as though there was no real break at all.

I think and think about what I can do to quiet the questions and the restlessness, and the answers are what they always are: Walk. Write. Repeat and repeat.

My writing has gone in slow waves this summer, from nonexistent to small things to occasionally a big burst of something. But then there are the ideas, too, the ideas of new things to write and new things to share and when I start working on an idea, it feels really good. It’s enough to even make me forget that there is a pandemic swirling around, and I can sink into the excitement of something new, even if it’s just the words I’m putting on a page.

I’ve been working on some essays, maybe you could call them pieces of long-form travel writing. Whatever they’re called, they’ve been fun to work on, and I have nearly a dozen ideas of what to write about. They are stories and lessons from the last 6 years (or, the last 20 years, if you go all the way back to my college year abroad). Initially I thought that I might try to put the essays into an e-book, and for the last year have been coming back to that idea (when I’m not trying to finish writing the Camino Book).

But a few weeks ago I had another thought, and this one feels good. Nearly two years ago I started a Patreon, and have occasionally posted short ramblings and photos, but I’ve always intended to do more. The support that I’m getting there has been phenomenal and has meant so much to me, especially because my patrons aren’t getting much directly from the site- no real bonuses or perks. They’re supporting the work I’ve already done, and whether the know it or not, are giving me a tremendous amount of encouragement to keep chipping away.

But then it occurred to me- Patreon would be the perfect place to publish these essays I’ve been working on/dreaming up! I always worried that posting regularly to Patreon would take away from what I would share on this blog, and would also take away from the precious time I have to work on my book. And those concerns are legitimate, but I think an essay a month is more than do-able. It will keep my writing muscles strong, it will motivate me to write out some of the stories I’ve been meaning to share, and it will give those stories a place.

To have access to the stories, readers will need to sign up to be a patron (it’s easy and I’ve included several levels from as little as $1 or $3 a month), and patrons can cancel at any time. To give you a little taste, I’m making September’s essay public for the rest of the month (which means you can read without signing up to be a patron). It’s a slightly altered excerpt from the book I’m working on about my first Camino, and this section includes my arrival in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port and what it was like to face the beginning of a 500-mile long walk.

So go check that out, even if you don’t intend or can’t afford to be my patron- I’d love for you to read some of my work in progress!

It feels good to be writing, and to give myself accountability in this way. It’s nerve-wracking and a little scary, too (publishing/posting anything I write always is), but that’s not a bad thing. And in these months, I need something to focus on, something that moves me forward, something to anchor me while the rest of the world swirls and rages.

And, otherwise, I’m going to walk. There’s nothing big planned- how can there be?- and while I wish I could be chronicling a grand adventure, instead I need to focus on what’s around me. The same walks I always do, but also exploring the parks and trails a little further afield. Finding joy and adventure in these smaller journeys is something I’ve been trying to work on in these last 6 months, and I’m slowly getting better at it. I can’t wait to be back on a long-distance path somewhere out in the greater world, but in the meantime, I’ll continue to look for the beauty in my own backyard. Walking, any way you do it, however you do it, is good.

So that’s the update for the moment: new writing on Patreon, and stretching my legs wherever I can. Mourning, a bit, the end of summer, but keeping an open mind as to what this next season might bring.

Things that surprised me about the Camino de Santiago

March 28, 2017

Before my first Camino I spent a lot of time reading blogs and books and articles about my upcoming journey. This is my approach to anything that makes me nervous: I prepare, and then I prepare some more. I liked knowing what was in store for me, I liked having the information. After weeks of training and frustrating hours spent in REI searching for the right pair of shoes, after reserving my first two nights on the trail and debating whether I needed special, quick-drying underwear or not (verdict: not needed, but it’s an awfully nice splurge), I set off for Spain.

In some ways I was really prepared for this trip. All of my diligent training walks meant that I felt mostly strong on the very first days of the Camino, and my meticulous packing meant that I wasn’t carrying more than what I needed.

I had a decent idea of the terrain, I’d made note of a few special albergues along the way.

But then, there were the other things. A whole bunch of things that I hadn’t considered, hadn’t expected, or just completely surprised me. Here are a few of them:

The Camino Shuffle

I’ve heard people refer to the ‘Camino Shuffle’ as the kind of walking you do when you have blisters on your feet but you need to carry on walking, so you just have to go off and hobble down the trail as best as you can.

To me, the Camino Shuffle means something totally different. This is the shuffle I do when I really, really have to go to the bathroom.

It hits you out of nowhere. This is what happens after a week or two of walking the Camino, at least in my experience, and no one warned me about it. I’d be walking along, fine as day, and suddenly I’m hit with an overwhelming need to pee. It’s not some slow thing that comes on gradually, oh no. All of a sudden it’s there, and it’s urgent. And man, it’s annoying. I drink a lot of water on the Camino but I drink a lot of water in my real life, too, and it’s just different on the Camino. There were too many times that I was shuffling along as fast as I could, hoping and praying that a cluster of trees or bushes would appear so that I could duck behind them and relieve myself. Or that a car wouldn’t zip by at an inopportune moment. Sometimes I couldn’t go more than 30 minutes without needing to use the bathroom yet again.

There’s all this talk about ample bars and restaurants along the Camino so when the need arises, you can always duck in and buy a coffee or a bottle of water and use their restroom. But in my experience, if you’re really drinking as much water as you should be (which is a lot), then you’re going to get the call of nature a whole lot more than you ever expected.

Or, you know, maybe this is just me.

(There is nearly always a cluster of trees or a bush you can duck behind. You can always find some tucked away place, if you’re able to keep walking. But I have to tell you, I had a couple pretty close calls…)

Needing to Tell Someone I Want to Walk Alone; Needing to Tell Someone I Want to Walk With Them

Camino talk often includes this notion of how you’re never really alone, but at the same time how you can go off and do your own thing. And this is totally true! I’ve always said that I’m never really alone on my Camino’s (unless I’m on the San Salvador but that’s a different Camino altogether), and I have ample time to be on my own as well.

Usually, this all works out nicely. It’s sort of amazing how friends pop up just when you need them, and how I get a quiet and uninterrupted morning just when I’m feeling like I need to be alone.

But sometimes, you have to ask for what you need, or tell someone what you need. This might not be difficult for others but man, this is one of the biggest lessons that the Camino has taught me.

I love making people happy, and it’s easy for me to be accommodating. But I was on the Camino for me, and (even though I’ve been three times now), it’s this rare opportunity: time and space to do exactly what you want to do. My walks on the Camino have always been about spending time with myself- that deep and introspective and beautiful time that I adore. It’s certainly about my connections with others as well, and I’m excited about some upcoming trips and opportunities to practice walking with others, and not totally alone. But my past Camino’s have been about me, and my freedom.

I kind of learned my lesson the hard way on my first Camino, when a handsome Irish man didn’t want to let me out of his sight. I stood my ground and asked for my own time, but then I relented. It went back and forth like this for awhile and after the Camino ended I wished I had spent my last 10 days in a different way: totally free.

At other times people have wanted to walk with me when I was craving a day alone, and eventually, I learned how to tell them what I needed. Sometimes that was hard. And the opposite of needing to be alone is true, too: sometimes you have to know when you don’t want to be alone, and sometimes you have to practice asking for companionship. And this isn’t always easy, either.

Sometimes You’re Sick and Tired and There’s Absolutely No Camino Magic

I spent 65 days on a Camino route over my first two trips to Spain. Of these 65 days, I can honestly say I only had one day (and not even the entire day) that I felt unhappy and frustrated and wishing that I could just take a break from all of the walking. I had other difficult moments (blisters, walking in rain, negotiating the social stuff), but overall my Camino Frances, Camino Norte (Part One), and Camino Primitivo were full of so much happiness and joy and, well, magic. Those feelings energized me and permeated so much of my experience.

But this past summer was a different story. I was on the Camino de San Salvador and the Norte (Part Two) and I got pretty sick on the last day of the San Salvador. I took a rest day in Oviedo, and then I started walking on the Norte and it just wasn’t pretty. I was in bad shape: coughing and sneezing and so fatigued. I’d lost my appetite and I didn’t want to talk to anyone or even share an albergue with anyone because I was afraid my coughing would keep others up (not to mention that I could pass on whatever bug I’d caught).

I was pretty miserable. Being sick is never fun, but being sick while traveling? While you’re in a country where you don’t speak the language and you’re all alone and you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere? I was on a Camino, doing something I absolutely love and it was the last thing I wanted to be doing. And that made me feel even worse, because my precious and beautiful days were becoming a blur of orange juice and tissue packs and being alone in hotel rooms.

Where was the Camino magic in that? How was the “Camino providing”? Was this the Camino I was “supposed to” have?

Believe me, I think the Camino is a powerful experience and I’ve had moments that were so incredible that I truly think there must have been something greater at hand, something pretty special going on. I’ve learned so many lessons, and I’ve learned lessons in the hard parts too… but being that sick? That was just bad luck. Sometimes you get sick. Sometimes you’re miserable, even on a trip of a lifetime. Sometimes you just have to power through to get to the day when you begin to feel better, because that’s how the magic comes back in.

Hotel room in the middle of nowhere

They Really Do Give You An Entire Bottle of Wine

It’s true what you’ve heard: the wine in Spain is good. Really good. And it’s cheap- really cheap. And you get a lot. I’d heard all of this before leaving for the Camino but to be honest, I thought it was a bit of a myth. Wine cheaper than water? How is that possible?

But it is.

Usually if you’ve sat down to dinner with a friend and both of you order a pilgrim’s menu, you’ll be given one bottle of wine to share. This is pretty amazing: pilgrim’s menus are usually between 8-12 euros and include two courses, plus dessert, plus bread, and your choice of a bottle of wine or a bottle of water.

On the Frances I was always eating dinner with other people, but on the Norte, there were several times- lunch and dinner- when I was all alone. And when I ordered the pilgrim’s menu, or a menu del dia, an entire bottle of wine was delivered to my table. Sometimes it was an excellent Rioja (a Tempranillo-based red wine from one of the best wine regions in Spain) and these were the times when I wanted to drink the entire bottle (I never could, which is probably not a bad thing).

Be careful, though, if you sit down to a leisurely lunch in some sun-soaked seaside town, drink a good portion of that bottle of wine, and then decide to keep on walking. It could make for quite a different sort of adventure than the kind you’d been used to.

I Got to Santiago and Felt Underwhelmed

The morning I walked into Santiago I was excited and full of this amazing, jittery energy. I was so distracted as I was walking through the city towards the cathedral, I even stopped paying attention to the arrows and had to slow down and get my bearings, take a deep breath. There was so much anticipation because I was moments away from arriving to the place that I had walked over 500 miles to get to.

And then I walked into the square in front of the cathedral and it’s not like I was let down or underwhelmed, exactly… but nothing really happened. I walked right to the center of the square and then I stopped walking and I looked up and I wasn’t sure what to do because that was where the walking ends. It was really early in the morning and hardly anyone was around- I liked the peace and quiet but I also just wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, what I was supposed to do.

Later (and in subsequent years), I’ve seen pilgrims burst into tears. I’ve seen pilgrims lay out flat on the ground with their eyes closed, I’ve seen them in groups- jumping in the air and screaming in happiness and laughing and singing and cheering and hugging and crying.

This was not my experience at all. This is also not the experience for many pilgrims. Sometimes, it’s disconcerting to arrive at the end of something really big, because we haven’t really considered what is supposed to happen next. Or maybe we were expecting something big to happen even if we didn’t know what it would be, and we were disappointed to not feel it or experience it. And in my case, I felt deep in my heart that I wasn’t done walking. Santiago was my destination, but it wasn’t my final destination (which I didn’t realize until I arrived in Santiago). I’m still not sure what my final destination is, or if I even have one.

I love the city of Santiago, I love it more each time that I’m there. And each time, there is something so special about arriving in front of the cathedral… but for me, it’s not a momentous and joyous occasion. It’s something more quiet, something softer, something deeper, sometimes it’s something almost a little bittersweet and sad. And that’s okay.

I Thought the Route Was Beautiful

Before I walked the Camino Frances, I stumbled across an article listing 10 reasons why the author believes the Camino de Santiago ‘sucks’. It was jarring. He talked about how often you need to walk on paved road, that you can hear traffic 95% of the time, that the scenery is monotonous (and several other negative points).

After reading this article, I worried that I wouldn’t find the Camino to be beautiful. That I was going to wish I were on a more isolated, rugged path through some wild areas. I knew that the first day through the Pyrenees would be stunning, but would I wish that I could continue walking through the mountains? Would my feet hurt from all of the pavement walking, would I find the parts of Spain that I walked through to be boring and uninspiring?

Turns out, I needn’t have worried. I was in awe for so much of my walk through Spain, and I found the route to be absolutely beautiful. Part of what I loved was how varied the scenery was: mountains and hills and countryside and all of that flat Meseta. I wandered through fields of sunflowers and rows of grapevines. I saw stone ruins and lines of cows and bright wildflowers and bustling city streets and sleepy village squares. I also saw cars and traffic and industrial areas and trash and graffiti and growling dogs on chains. But all of that stuff? It wasn’t what stayed with me, and it didn’t detract from the overall beauty of the impressions of my Camino.

I’m sure those of you who have walked the Camino had some surprises too. Please share, I’d love to hear them!

How we tell our stories (love on the Camino?)

April 13, 2016

A few days ago, I received an email from an online Camino friend. He was writing to tell me that he had just seen me in a movie.

“Ah,” I thought. “So they made the movie.” And then, “They included my part.” And then, “What in the world have I done??”

Let’s set the scene. I was 17km away from Santiago on the Camino Frances, two summers ago. I’d been walking with my Irish friend, and it was a long, hot day that seemed to never end. We’d had to walk much further than anticipated because all the albergues were full, but finally we found an albergue/pension on a quiet street just off the main path of the Camino.

You know who also found the albergue? A Swiss film crew. It was their last night on the Camino- they’d already been to Santiago, they’d finished filming, they were about to fly home. But then they heard that there was a couple staying in the albergue, and they didn’t have the love story angle for their film, and before I knew it, I was in a green plastic chair in front of billowing laundry and being asked questions about my Camino relationship.

Now, before I get to what I really want to write about, I need to set a few things straight. I was never in a “Camino relationship”, not really. I didn’t have a love story to share, I wasn’t even sure how I had ended up in front of a camera, but then again, that just seemed to be the sort of thing that happened on the Camino. And I remember that on that night, I was overwhelmed, and I probably thought to myself, “Well, why not just tack this onto the list of things that the Camino has thrown at me?”

This happens on the Camino, it’s something I continue to marvel at: how so much life is crammed into each and every day of the walk, how time seems to alter and bend. You meet people and after a couple days it feels like you’ve known them for years. You walk through ever changing scenery and you sleep in a different bed every night and there is just constant motion, constant community, constant stimulation.

And when I sat down for the interview with the Swiss film crew, I was so saturated with Camino experiences that I simply couldn’t keep up. I was still trying to process things that had happened to me weeks before, so I suppose I just sat down on the green chair and thought to myself, “The Camino provides?” and then started answering questions.

I think I’ve only ever told one person, maybe two, about this interview. Because once it was over, it was sort of tacked onto the list of “things that happened on my Camino that I don’t really have time to think about, or understand”. I was so close to Santiago at this point that all I really wanted to do was walk. I couldn’t really think about anything else. (And in fact, the crew asked if I could find them in the morning before I left, so that they could get a few shots of me walking. But when the morning came, I slipped out of the albergue quietly, and headed off towards Santiago).

And that leads me back to my reaction, when I found out about this movie: “What in the world have I done??” It’s not nearly as dramatic as that, I can’t imagine there’s much more than 30 seconds or a minute from me, or from my Irish friend (who was sitting next to me during the interview). But I have to laugh a little, and wonder what, exactly, I was portraying in that film. And what, exactly, the filmmakers wanted from us, how they chose to shape and edit words and images so that they could tell the story they wanted to tell.

They wanted a love story, or at least a piece of one. And my story wasn’t a love story, but I suppose that my Irish friend might have answered differently. And, as you readers of the blog will know, I was caught in my own eternal Camino question: be alone, or stay with others? Ultimately I began that Camino alone and I ended alone, but all along the way, it was a struggle. And I was still struggling with it, right up until the very end.

I remember one question that the interviewer asked us, he said something like, “So, I have to ask it: what happens next with you guys?” And my answer was something like this, “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll get married, or maybe we’ll never see each other again.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was wondering where they came from. I knew I would never marry my Irish friend, but the thing is… hadn’t part of me wondered? Hadn’t part of me wondered at every person I met, every good-looking European guy (and there were so many on that Camino!) who stayed close to my side, who wanted to walk with me, who offered me a hunk of cheese? Love wasn’t exactly part of that Camino journey for me, and yet, it was also in nearly every step I took. There was a point when I had wondered about my Irish friend: “The Camino provides!” they say, over and over, and suddenly there’s a beautiful 6 foot 4 inch man who wants to walk with me, who listens to the same music as I do, who recites poetry, who buys me gummy candy. Maybe I could marry him, I thought.

And maybe that’s what you see, when you watch this film. Maybe that’s what I portrayed, when I answered the questions. Maybe that’s what the filmmakers want you to see and believe.

But that’s only one small part of the story, and it’s a part that’s not entirely- or even remotely- the truth of my Camino. In the past few days, I’ve thought about this a lot, I suppose I’ve been thinking about this all fall and winter, as I’ve worked on my book. What story am I choosing to share? What version of the truth am I deciding to put down on the page?

Once I was having a discussion (or was it a fight? I could never tell the difference) with my ex-boyfriend. I’d just explained my point of view on something, the way I was feeling, how I’d reacted to something he’d done or said. And he exploded, crying out, “But that’s only how you see it! That’s not what happened!!”

What? It was what happened, it was my experience of what happened, which makes it a version of reality.

There are a lot of different versions of the way things happen, the way we choose to remember something, they narrative threads we pick out from our lives, how we arrange things so that we can tell our stories. I think of how, somewhere out there, I’m a very small part of a Camino film, and how it’s telling some sort of story of my experience. One that I might not even agree with. And I think about how, right at this moment, I’m in the thick of writing another version of that story, a larger, more fleshed-out version. But already I wonder, “Is that really what happened? Did I really feel all of those things, say those things? Was that my experience?”

It was a blast being interviewed for a film. It captured something, some small part of my story- one that was reality or imagined I’m not sure. And it’s also been a blast writing this book. It’s been difficult and mind-numbing and even excruciating, but a blast. I’m capturing something. And it is my wildest dream that one day, you might be able to read my story, however I choose to tell it.

Because it just wouldn’t be right to talk all about a Camino film and not share details with you, here is some information: http://santiagoelcamino.com/dvd.html

Camino Frances vs Camino del Norte: which is “better”?

September 9, 2015

“Which Camino did you like better- the Frances or the Norte?”

It’s a question I started to get a lot as this year’s Camino was ending, and oh boy, what a question. But people want to know, they want to know how these Caminos compare to each other, which I liked better, what I preferred about each of them, how they are different.

And it was too difficult to figure out an easy way to answer. Eventually, I began to answer like this- “I’m so glad that I walked the Frances first.”

But I don’t think that’s much of an answer at all. How can I compare? Both Caminos were wonderful, and in very different ways. I’m not sure that I would have loved each as much had I not done them in the order I did (and I wonder how the timing would have affected my experience, had I let more time go by in between the two walks).

This is how I look at these two Caminos: it was all, actually, just one big pilgrimage. When I arrived in Santiago at the end of the Camino Frances, all I could think was that I wanted to keep walking. I wanted to walk for at least another month, for another 500-miles. I felt like I was just beginning to reach deeper into the experience of my pilgrimage, just starting to identify the lessons that the journey was showing me, just starting to practice some things that I suspected I’ve long needed to practice. I felt like I needed to go back.

The Camino Frances, for me, was sort of like the guidebook for how to do a pilgrimage. It was the start, it’s what I needed to do first. It showed me a little (sometimes a lot) of everything: a physical challenge, social interaction, time alone, art and culture, religion and history. I was thrown into it all, and I sort of waltzed through: this dizzying, swirling, laughing dance down a long trail. I moved through the Frances with so much energy, and overall I felt like I had incredible good luck- a charmed experience, in a way.

But the meat of my pilgrimage? I think I got that this summer, on the Norte and Primitivo. I certainly got bits and pieces of it on the Frances, but it was almost like I needed the lessons of the Frances in order to be able to practice them on the Norte. And that experience- feeling like I was able to quickly settle into a ‘meaty’ pilgrimage and have hundreds of miles to walk and think and face challenging situations and practice being strong and independent- that made my 2nd Camino beautiful. It made it so, so special to me, in a different way than the Frances was special. I felt like I shared the Camino Frances with a hundred other friends; I felt like the Norte and Primitivo were all for me.

However, had I started with the Norte, I think I would have had a completely different kind of experience. I’m certain that I would have loved the scenery and the walks along the coast. I would have loved the interactions with other pilgrims. And if I had signed up for this Camino thing in order to have a long walk- a trek across a country- the Norte would have satisfied that expectation completely.

But I decided to do the Camino for a little more than that. I wanted the spiritual journey as much as I wanted to trek across a country, and in some ways, I think I needed to walk the Frances first. The Frances is the Camino, and I could feel the mystique surrounding it: words like ‘magic’ and ‘aura’ and ‘fate’ and ‘angels’ kept popping up. So many people connected to and noticed the magic of the Camino, and the more we talked about it, the more we experienced it. Every day had this energy to it, this feeling that anything was possible, anything could happen. It was a spiritual journey for me: I stopped in churches, I said little prayers, I thought a lot about what it would mean to arrive in Santiago.

The Norte and the Primitivo were somehow more… real. Immediate. Grittier. Dirtier. More painful. I felt like I was trekking, in a different way than I did the year before. My friend Elissa and I noticed this instantly, after the first few days of walking. “This is not the Camino Frances,” we said to each other. While on the Frances I had gone to bed thinking, “What magic will await me tomorrow?”, on the Norte, my bedtime thoughts were either, “Will my blister feel better tomorrow?” or “When will the walking start to feel easier?”

This was a true physical journey for me, with rain and blisters and very long days of walking. And it was an isolated journey- I walked alone and stayed alone for so much of the Camino. I treasured this time, especially the entire days when I wouldn’t encounter a single other pilgrim. It made the pilgrimage feel like mine- it made it both more beautiful, and more challenging.

But after saying all of this, I understand that everyone’s experience is so unique: many, many people get into the meaty stuff of the pilgrimage on the Frances. In the end, I think I needed a good, solid 1,000 miles for the pilgrimage experience I’d hoped to have, but for many, 500-miles is more than enough. 100-miles is more than enough.

So to answer which I liked better- the Frances or the Norte? I don’t have an answer, not a real one. And they are so difficult to compare, but I will say this: both were incredibly beautiful. I just spent a minute looking through my photos from my walk out of St Jean Pied de Port and through the Pyrenees, and I marveled, all over again, and how majestic that day was. And then I look through some of those coastal shots I took on the Norte. Is one route more beautiful than the other? Is one route better than the other? They are impossible to compare.

For others who have walked multiple Caminos- what are your thoughts? The Frances or the Norte? Do others ask you which route you preferred? Do you prefer one route to another?

Next Post: Writing, Hiking, and Dreaming

Taking the Road Less Traveled on the Camino Frances

April 8, 2015

I approached the church from the side, walking down a pebbly street that was bordered on both sides by open fields. The road was quiet and so was the area around the church, so quiet that I soon realized something was wrong. Not another person was in sight, there wasn’t a single car in the dirt covered lot. And then I saw the sign: “Eunate. Closed on Mondays.”

The walk to Eunate, a 12th century Romanesque chapel between Pamplona and Puente La Reina, was my first detour on the Camino de Santiago. It had been an easy decision, made the night before as I rested in my bunk bed in the large municipal albergue: this alternate route would add only a few kilometers to the next day’s stage, and would take me to what many consider to be a gem of the Camino Frances. The purpose of Santa Maria of Eunate (or, Saint Mary’s of the Hundred Doors) is unknown, but one of the theories is that it was once used as a funerary chapel. It’s octagonal floor plan is compared to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem, and pilgrim remains have been discovered in the nearby grounds (how do we know they were pilgrims? They were buried with their scallop shells!). But Eunate continues to remain a bit of a mystery, with ties to the Knights Templar and with its isolated location- nowhere close to a village or a town, surrounded only by wheat fields and rolling hills.

Taking detours/alternate routes was something I came to love doing on the Camino, and it was all because of this first experience at Eunate. Leaving Pamplona, I was accompanied by Ibai, and we were soon joined by Paulo, an Italian, who’d just begun his Camino that morning. This was only my fourth day of walking, but I felt like I’d been on the Camino for weeks. And I also felt like I’d rather be walking alone. But soon Jorge joined our little group, and then we fell in step with a Spanish father and his young son. We traveled in a pack for awhile, sometimes walking single file down a narrow path bordered by bales of hay and fields of young sunflowers. I loved starting my days on the Camino alone, but I also loved the strange groupings that seemed to just happen, the easy nature of meeting people and walking by their side for awhile.

As we climbed up a large hill towards the Alto de Perdon, I moved ahead of Ibai and Jorge and the Spanish father and his son. But Paulo matched my pace. He was young and tall and athletic, so outpacing him wouldn’t be easy. And after we all stopped for lunch at the top of the hill, with the windmills to our backs and the metal pilgrim sculpture below, I lingered and Paulo waited. Later on the Camino, I would learn how to let someone know that I wanted to walk alone, but I hadn’t figured it out at this point. So Paulo and I walked together for much of the afternoon; at some point we were separated but soon enough I found him waiting for me, leaning against a low stone wall, next to a wooden sign that spelled the word ‘Eunate’.

“This is your detour, I think.” He pointed off to the left. Earlier on our walk I’d told him that I’d planned to take this detour, and now, as he sat against the stone and in the shade of a curly-branched tree, he squinted down the path, tired. “I don’t think I’m going with you.”

So when I took that left and walked down the long road towards Eunate, I was finally alone. And not just alone on the fairly populated Camino path- where eventually you will catch up to someone ahead of you or be caught by someone behind you- but alone. Very alone. I have at least one hundred ‘top’ memories from my Camino, but this is surely one of them: walking and dancing and singing and skipping down that path, under a bright hot sun, feeling far away and free. It’s when it all clicked in my head- that I was actually in Spain, and actually walking the Camino de Santiago.

The road to Eunate

There was something spectacular about the approach to Eunate; spectacular because of the quiet and peace and calm of the afternoon, and of seeing the chapel appear, if out of nowhere, in the very middle of an empty field. So when I realized Eunate was closed, it didn’t seem to matter. In fact, if anything, I preferred it that way. Closed meant that no one was visiting- not any other pilgrim (at least when I was there), no tourist or local. No one.

I jumped up onto a low wall that ran parallel to a circle of arches enclosing the chapel, and I walked around and around. My backpack and walking stick had been dropped somewhere in the grass behind me, and I stretched my arms out as I walked along the wall. Later, I sat on a bench and ate a bar of chocolate, softened and melting from the hot afternoon sun. Relaxed and rejuvenated, I continued to walk, and soon returned to the main path of the Camino.

I would take other detours in the month that I walked the Camino, but this was the first, and my favorite.

My legs are not what they used to be

April 3, 2015

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.

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.

Should I Walk Another Camino?

February 5, 2015

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?

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?

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

January 27, 2015

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

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

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

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

1. Sunshine

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. The opportunity to take a selfie every morning.

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

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

4. The kindness of strangers.

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

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

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

5. The people.

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