coffee Archives - Nadine Walks

A Long Winter’s Walk

March 5, 2016

The title of this post is a little deceiving, I thought I should say that upfront. I am going to write about a long walk I took last weekend. And it was the end of February, which still sits squarely in the winter season here in the northeastern US. But it was also a 64 degree day with strong, uninterrupted sunshine. For all intents and purposes, I felt like I had stepped straight into spring, and I loved it.

I never really stopped walking this winter, though the nature of my walks changed. I still try to get out to my local park but instead of hiking the soggy, snow-covered trails, I stick to the paved path. And I spend more time in my own neighborhood, racing to beat the setting sun as I loop through the streets. I bundle up in my long underwear and fleece headband and I rush through the hour-long walk and then hurry back inside to where it is warm.

But I’ve lucked out with a relatively mild winter, and last Sunday we were hit with that 60-degree day. I was just getting over a long and lingering cold and had been shut up inside for much of the past week, so my feet were itching to move, and I was craving fresh air and the outdoors and, more than anything, a bit of warm sunlight.

I headed to the Delaware & Raritan Canal Towpath, a place I discovered last year on one of my first outings with the Philadelphia Camino group. It is a 77-mile trail in New Jersey that runs mostly along- you guessed it- the Delaware & Raritan Canal, and passes through New Brunswick, Trenton (my place of birth!!), Lambertville and Frenchtown. There’s so much history along the trail; in the 19th century, the main section of the canal was used to transport goods to New York City, and other industrial cities. There are old mills and lockkeeper houses, as well as Washington’s Crossing (the place where George Washington crossed the Delaware River during the American Revolution… I just read that this marked a turning point in the war, so maybe this is a spot on the trail that I’ll have to walk to next).

There are also 5 bridges at various points along the trail that cross the Delaware and connect you to a somewhat parallel trail in Pennsylvania- the Delaware Canal Towpath (which is 60 miles in length). Basically, this means that there are lots of possibilities for good walking and good scenery and, if you plan it right, good coffee as well.

One thing that I really miss about my walks and hikes here in the US is the lack of villages and towns that conveniently provide coffee breaks. Multiple café con leche stops on the Camino were one of my very favorite things, and it was rare that I had a day of walking on the Camino that didn’t pass by at least one open bar.

So one of the greatest perks of walking along the D&R Canal Towpath is the chance to pass through quaint villages with their restaurants and markets and coffee shops. It’s perfect, actually: you walk along a sometimes paved, sometimes hard-packed dirt trail for a mile or two, surrounded by nothing but nature: gurgling water, tall trees, grassy fields. Then, all at once, you pass through a little town that is filled with Victorian houses and galleries and shops. This might not happen for the entire length of the trail, but it did for the section that I decided to walk on Sunday, a 12 mile out-and-back stretch from Lambertville to (nearly) Bull’s Island.

The path is totally flat, so this was an ideal late-winter hike for me. For the last few months my walks have been short, and they haven’t included many hills. So I need to ease back into my Camino-training (is there a Camino #3 in my future?? Possibly/probably, though I’m still trying to figure out my summer plans). In any case, a long walk on a flat and mostly smooth path was exactly what I was looking for, and for most of the walk I moved along quickly and easily. I was fueled, of course, by the cappuccino I bought at Stockton Market, an indoor farmer’s market in the village of Stockton, which was about three-miles into my walk. There were stands and tables filled with goods: fresh vegetables, bottles of olive oil, trays of cheese and rounds of bread, but I went straight for the coffee. I carried it with me as I walked, and it all felt kind of luxurious: warm air and bright sunlight, a cup of creamy coffee in my hand as I strolled along the canal.

All signs of luxury left, however, by the last two-miles of the walk. As I plodded along, I did some mental calculations of the last time I had walked more than 7-miles. And as I counted backwards, further and further, I realized it had been sometime in early December, nearly three months earlier. So it was no wonder that after nearly 12-miles, I could feel a small blister developing on the bottom of my right foot, and a slight ache in my left knee. But just as I was feeling rather grumpy and wishing that Lambertville- and my car- would appear quickly, I heard a small commotion off to the side of the trail.

I wandered over and it was a little oasis: three children were set up behind a tiny, make-shift stand. A white plastic table with a brightly colored cloth and a hand-drawn sign, advertising popcorn and lemonade. I could hear a fresh batch popping in the background, along with the clink of ice cubes as a little girl poured a glass for a woman in front of me. I stood in line and smiled at the woman, and we discovered that we both had the same ‘life rule’: if you pass a lemonade stand, you have to stop.

So I finished my long walk with a plastic cup in each of my hands: one filled with icy cold lemonade, the other filled with freshly popped, lightly salted popcorn. My entire body had that tired and satisfied feeling of exertion, and my spirit felt rejuvenated from the sun and the warm air.

It feels like spring is almost here. And it feels like a return to my favorite seasons of life, the ones that include long walks and vigorous hikes, fresh air and adventure and traveling. I can’t wait.

The Kick-Off of my Philadelphia Coffee Tour: Fishtown & La Colombe

January 10, 2016

Coffee is- and this will come as no surprise to my family, friends, and even many readers of this blog- one of my favorite things. I love waking up in the morning and knowing that the very first thing I’m going to do is walk into my kitchen a brew a pot, or maybe scoop some finely ground espresso into my stove-top Moka.

I love coffee at home, but I love coffee when I’m out, too. I made it a goal to drink as many café con leches as possible when I walked my Caminos (and to be honest, this was one of the easiest goals I’ve ever set for myself), I have a very long relationship with the café crème in France, and I even made a (small) pilgrimage to the first Starbucks in Seattle.

But this year, I set another kind of coffee goal, and this one involved drinking cups a little closer to home: to explore the coffee scene in Philadelphia. I live a little outside the city, and I have my favorite coffee shops in my own town that I’ve been frequenting over the years. I’ve been to some great cafés in Philly, but for as long as I’ve lived here, I have to say that I’ve barely scratched the surface of the coffee culture in my home city.

Several weeks ago I was scrolling a little mindlessly through Facebook when an article caught my eye: “Where to Find the Top Coffee Shops and Espresso Bars in Philadelphia”. 30 coffee shops were highlighted, in areas and neighborhoods all over the city.

“This would be a cool thing to try,” I thought to myself. “What if I could have a coffee in every one of these places?”

A friend of mine enthusiastically jumped on this idea with me, and just like that, a new goal was born: spend 2016 drinking all the coffee in Philadelphia (or, as much of it as possible).

So I’m kicking off what I hope to be an on-going series of posts with the first coffee shop on my pilgrimage, as well as a tiny glimpse into an up-and-coming neighborhood of Philly: Fishtown.

I’d been to Fishtown only a few times before, but in the past few years I’d been hearing a lot about the area. A traditionally working class neighborhood, named for once being the center of the shad fishing industry due to its border along the Delaware River, Fishtown is emerging as a truly creative center. An eclectic mix of people make up the area, from families who have settled here for generations to artists, musicians, writers, students. Galleries, cafés, studios, restaurants and independently-owned shops, along with lines of row homes, dot the small network of streets that make up the triangular grid of the neighborhood. The streets are lively but not chaotic- Fishtown sits directly northeast of center city so it is close to the action but also slightly removed.

There were several Fishtown coffee shops on our list but we only made it to one of them, as well as another in the neighboring area of Northern Liberties (my arbitrary “rules” for this pilgrimage include having some kind of coffee drink in every place. Stopping by to check out the space doesn’t fully count- I need to taste the coffee, too. But this means that doing more than 2 or 3 stops in a day is going to be challenging unless I want the caffeine to keep me up all night).

We hit the spot that may have been at the very top of my list- the flagship La Colombe café. La Colombe is probably the most well-known coffee company in Philadelphia. Founded in 1994, its first café was located near Rittenhouse Square, and it now has locations across the city, plus cafés in New York City, Washington DC and Chicago.

Just over a year ago, La Colombe’s new home base was opened in a large warehouse in Fishtown, and the place is amazing. It’s enormous, with space for offices, a coffee lab, roasting facilities, on-site bakery, even a rum distillery. When my friend and I arrived, it was almost too much to take in: a merchandise corner in the front of the store, ample food and pastry offerings, wine and beer (and rum!), plenty of seating areas and an upstairs lab which holds free cupping events on the 1st and 3rd Fridays of every month.

So many options, but all I wanted was a coffee. I ordered a cortado (influenced, perhaps, from my afternoon coffee breaks on the Norte this past summer). This shot of espresso with a dash of hot milk was served in a clear glass cup and I savored every sip. I love La Colombe coffee, and I have for a long time. It’s my go-to coffee when I want to have something special on-hand at home; Corisca is my favorite blend for filter coffee, Nizza is the best for espresso.

La Colombe has been about the extent of my Philly coffee knowledge for as long as I’ve lived here, and I suppose it’s fitting that this is where I started the coffee tour. It’s an old favorite, so I’m curious if I’ll find a contender as I journey around the city, from coffee shop to coffee shop. La Colombe is going to be hard to top, but then again, there’s a lot of great coffee out there. Stay tuned for more!

Best and worst meals of the Camino (and other thoughts on pilgrimage food)

March 16, 2015

A return to the Camino means a return to the food of the Camino, and it should be no surprise to any of you that I sometimes dream about daily café con leches. In fact, I dream about a lot of the food I ate along the way.

But this wasn’t always the case. By the end of my walk on the Camino Frances, I was getting tired of the food. It happened all at once; one day, I was marveling at how I would never tire of tortilla or tuna or pilgrim’s menus with their slabs of meat, french fries and ensalada mixta (usually a very, very basic salad). By then suddenly, a few days from Santiago, I lost my appetite. Don’t get me wrong, I was hungry, but nothing seemed appealing. Maybe it was having eaten the same food for 30 days, or maybe it was being so close to the end of my pilgrimage (in those last days my body hurt and my mood was a bit off and I didn’t want to eat the foods I had been loving for weeks. My sub-conscious telling me that I didn’t want my journey to end? Or that I was ready to end? I’m still not sure).

In any case- now- I’m craving those Camino foods again. I was on a long walk yesterday, and while it would be nice to always be thinking deep thoughts when I walk, or maybe puzzling through some piece of writing that I’m working on, the truth is that I’m often thinking about food. And yesterday I was thinking about Camino food, and all of the things I’m looking forward to having again when I return to Spain.

This isn’t going to be a comprehensive post about the food of the Camino or all of the unique and wonderful things you can find in the north of Spain (although it will be picture heavy… wow, did I take a lot of photos of my food!). I certainly got to eat some incredible food while on my pilgrimage, but there was a lot I missed, as well. I’ve always been satisfied with simple food, so for the majority of my Camino, I was happy with coffee, bread, wine and a pilgrim’s menu. Sometimes I read blogs about what other people eat on their Caminos and I wonder: were we walking the same path? Where in the world did they find that incredible meal?

Here’s a run-down on my Camino eating routines: I’d wake up early and try to be walking around 6:30am. If possible, I would have a café con leche before I started walking, if I could find an open bar in the town I’d stayed in the night before. If that wasn’t possible, I would stop at the first open bar that I would come across, sometimes 30 minutes away, sometimes a few hours away (those mornings were tough). After walking for an hour or two, I would always eat something at that first stop: either tortilla (egg omelet with potato), a croissant, or toast. I’d walk for another few hours, and then sometimes stop for a second breakfast: sometimes just another café con leche, sometimes another tortilla or croissant or toast if the walk was strenuous or if I was hungry.

If I didn’t have a ‘second breakfast’, I might opt for a pre-lunch ice cream break, on the really hot days.

Lunch was nearly always a combination of food that I had stowed away in my pack. I know that some pilgrims stopped at a bar or restaurant for a sit down meal and a menu del dia (menu of the day, which is a great alternative to the pilgrim’s menu and usually offers a better selection of food). But I didn’t like taking really long breaks and preferred to have a sit-down meal in the evening instead. So I would cobble a meal together with whatever I could find in tiendas (shops) along the way: bread, cheese, ham, peaches, cherries, tuna, tomatoes, crackers/cookies. There was really nothing better than ripping off a crusty piece of bread and dipping it into a can of tuna drenched in olive oil, then biting into a juicy tomato and nibbling on a chunk of cheese. Basic stuff, but so, so good.

In the late afternoons, I settled into a nice routine of finding a place to have a drink and/or some tapas. At first I would go with a glass of red wine, but somewhere along the way another pilgrim recommended a drink called ‘tinto de verano’, basically a summer red wine. It’s popular in Spain and like sangria, but simplified: one part red wine, one part carbonated lemonade (and usually served over ice). The perfect refreshment after a long day’s walk (for this non-beer drinker, anyway).

And dinners were often a pilgrim’s menu (three courses, my choices were usually a salad, some kind of meat/fish with french fries, and ice cream, if available… along with bread and wine), or I would cook with friends if our albergue had a kitchen. The nights of cooking were wonderful and economical, and more often than not we would throw together a big salad with all the vegetables we could find (fresh veggies can be hard to come by on the Camino, at times).

There were highlights along the way, of course. Churros y chocolate at the Cafe Iruna in Pamplona. The wine in Rioja. A local man directed my friend Mirra and I to an amazing restaurant in Burgos, where we split a menu del dia and couldn’t stop raving about the quality of the food. The best plate of grilled veggies I’ve ever had at the O Mirador in Portomarin. A dish of pulpo (octopus) in Galicia.

But hands down, the best meal of my Camino was, in some ways, the most basic. It was before I’d really tasted anything, it was at the very beginning. On my first day of walking through the Pyrenees, I went off the route and found an isolated little spot over a crest and tucked away from other pilgrims. I had bought a jambon-buerre (ham/butter) sandwich at the albergue in Orisson (so technically, this was a French meal, and eaten just before I crossed the border into Spain). And really it wasn’t about the food, it’s about what that meal represented: the first day of a big journey. Sitting, alone and free, somewhere in the Pyrenees mountains. Sunshine, a cool breeze, feeling excited at the start of a big adventure.

By contrast, the worst meal was at the very end of my Camino, 17km away from Santiago. I’d walked a longer than expected day, not ending until after 5pm (which was a very late day for me). I ordered a plate of pasta in the only bar in the “village” where I was staying, and I could barely eat it. The pasta was swimming among bits of unidentifiable meat in an oily “sauce”. Dinner ended up being sleeves of Oreos and a few glasses of wine. Here is the very unflattering photo of that meal, and my disappointment.

Are there any standout meals from your travels that you can share? Any disappointments? Is there something (like a café con leche) that you dream about having again?

Walking to the ocean; Day 34, Olveiroa to Cée

October 4, 2014

Since I’ve been home, I’ve been measuring time by Camino milestones. As in: “It’s September 27th… three months ago, I started walking out of St Jean Pied de Port!” and “It’s October 4th, two months ago, I was one day away from Finisterre.” Two months since the end of my Camino? Time is a funny thing. So much living was packed into my 5 weeks on the Camino, and it feels like I’ve done a fraction of that kind of living since I’ve been home. Which makes sense, I suppose, because “real life” isn’t “Camino life”.

And yet, my pack sits on the kitchen chair closest to my back door. Ready to go, at all times. I take it with me and wear it when I go out for a hike. I don’t need to wear it, but I like to wear it. The feel of it on my back reminds me of the Camino. And, maybe, part of me doesn’t want to get out of practice. I reason that if I continue to walk, continue to wear the pack, I’ll be ready for another Camino at a moment’s notice. I like to pretend that I could leave for another Camino at any time, even though the reality is that it will take time- maybe a lot of it- before I will go again.

This was a long way of getting around to the real topic of this post, which is, the last days of walking the Camino. I think there’s a part of me that didn’t really want to write about the ending, because it means that I’ve finished writing about the Camino (which isn’t true at all, because so much of the future writing I want to do is about the Camino); but still, putting the ending into words makes it real.

But I did finish, and the ending was incredible. Here are some of the highlights from the second to last day of walking:

Since my friend from home, Sonal, had joined me just in Santiago, we decided to divide the walk to Finisterre into four days. Most pilgrims do it in three long days, but since we had the time, we split up the last 30+ kilometer day into two smaller days. Which was perfect.

On Day 3 we walked from Olveiroa to Cée, which was about 20 km (I think), and it might have been one of my top 5 Camino walking days. It was like the night before had brought the Camino magic back: a good, strong cafe con leche and croissant a few kilometers into the day. A perfectly placed ‘rest stop’: a church with picnic tables under the shade of large trees (Sonal and I were walking and talking about when to take a break, and I think one of us said something along the lines of, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we rounded that corner and there was a place to stop and take a break?” and then a few minutes later we came upon the church and picnic tables). We ran into some of the people we had talked with the night before, further strengthening these ‘late’ Camino friendships. The walk continued, the sun came out, and as we walked, far off in the distance you could see the ocean.

It’s hard for me to describe how incredible this was for me. On the Camino, my destination had always been Santiago, but I also knew that I would be making the trip to Finisterre. Seeing that ocean gave me a sense, maybe for the first time, of the distance that I had walked. I’d started in France, and now I was approaching the very western edge of Spain, and the Atlantic ocean. I was walking to the ocean! I had just walked across a country and I was going to walk until I couldn’t walk any further.

And it was all so beautiful: the cool air, the sunshine, the green grass and trees, that light blue sky and the darker blue of the water. We stopped to take a photo at a marker that read: ‘To The End’, and then we found a spot nearby, took off our packs, and settled down on the grass to take it all in. Mo-mo, a girl from Japan who we’d met the night before, came over to join us. We stretched our legs out in the sunshine and snacked on cookies and looked towards the ocean. Then we continued walking, that ocean getting closer and closer.

We stopped for the day in Cée, a coastal town about 11 kilometers from Finisterre. As we approached the town, we talked about finding an albergue. Jokingly (somewhat), I said, “We need an albergue with a kitchen. And a view of the ocean.” Guess what we found? Not only a clean albergue with a kitchen and a view of the water from our bunk beds, but we also found Emma, the friend we’d made the night before. She was making her bed in the albergue as we walked in, and we looked at each other and laughed. “Of course I’d see you guys here,” she said. “It’s the Camino.”

The three of us went to the beach, sat outdoors in a square and drank coffee, made a big salad in the albergue kitchen and later smuggled glasses and our bottle of wine outside to sit on a bench along the water. I ran to a pastry shop we’d seen earlier in the day and arrived 5 minutes before they closed. I came back with Tarta de Santiago- an almond cake famous in Galicia- and we ate pastries and drank wine and looked over the water as the sky darkened.

What a great day. But the last day was even better. Stay tuned.

Endless coffee, top bunks, and delirium; 7 things I miss about the Camino

September 29, 2014

Today is National Coffee Day, and as I sit here in my apartment, listening to the rain, I think about all that great coffee I drank in Spain. And that gets me thinking about the Camino, and the walking and the people and the food and the conversation and all of the things that I miss. So here are a few things that come to mind:

1. Giving myself permission to drink as much coffee and wine as I liked.

Was there anything better than multiple café con leches or the 1-euro glass of (really, really good) wine? Sometimes an entire bottle of wine was only 2 euros. I could sit and drink coffee and write in my journal, I could sit and sip wine and talk with new friends, and I could do this every single day.

2. Spending my days outside.

It just felt so healthy: the cool, fresh air of the morning. The sunshine on the back of my legs. Walking through forests and vineyards and mountains. The sound of the wind blowing through a field of wheat.

3. The moment just after I finished doing my laundry.

One day I was hand washing my socks and underwear and t-shirt, and I turned to the person next to me and said, “This is my favorite part of the day!” This person stared at me and responded with, “Doing laundry? Are you crazy?”

“No,” I explained. “Just after this. When everything is finished. After those first kilometers when you haven’t had coffee, and the last kilometers when your legs feel like lead. After finding an albergue and showering and charging your phone and washing your clothes. Just after it’s all done, that feeling of complete relaxation and open time. You’ve done all of your work for the day, and it’s 2:00pm and you can eat and drink and meet up with friends or just do nothing. That’s my favorite time.”

4. An open church.

It was so easy for me to get caught up in all of the other stuff on the Camino: the physical aches and pains of the walking, the socialization and new friends, the changing Spanish countryside, the language and the culture, the nagging thoughts in my head. But when I passed a church, it was nearly always a reminder that I was on an ancient pilgrimage route. The churches connected me to a sense of the history of the Camino, and to my own personal pilgrimage.

When passing a church I usually tried to open the door to see if it was unlocked, and often it wasn’t. But that made the time when I could find an open church pretty special. I loved the little chapels, especially. So small and simple, with tiny details and still spaces. I loved when I could stand alone in an empty church- stand at the back and look up towards the altar, close my eyes and say a little prayer- and then quietly continue on my way. It always brought me a strong sense of peace.

5. A top bunk by an open window.

By the middle of my Camino, I started to get used to sleeping on the top bunk. I think my ratio of top to bottom bunks was 8:1, and at first this seemed like bad luck. But eventually I found my upside: sleeping by an open window. Sometimes this was purely chance. But whenever I got to an albergue on the early side and could choose a bed, I’d opt for a top bunk if there was a window close by. These were some of my best nights of sleep, when I could bundle into my sleeping bag, sometimes with a wool blanket stretched across the bed, and feel the cool night air blow in through the window. In one albergue I had a view of stars and a nearly full moon. In another, I could hear distant howling (and the next day someone mentioned that there were wolves in the hills, could this be true?)

6. Those hilariously delirious moments when you’ve simply been walking too long.

I think everyone had them. I kind of hope that everyone had them, and it wasn’t just me. Because usually by the last few hours of a really long, hot day, I could get a bit loopy. Once, I was walking with my friend Mirra and I looked ahead and exclaimed, “Look! A horse!” There was no horse. It was just another pilgrim, walking along.

There may or may not have been a time when I was walking alone down the very long, very straight, old Roman road under a very hot sun, looked around to make sure no one was within earshot, and shouted out, “Caesar!!” Just because he also walked down this road, a long time ago, and it seemed like I should somehow acknowledge it.

And there was definitely a time when I sang American Pie over and over and over because it was my 7th hour of walking on a hot day when I had lost my earbuds and all I wanted to do was listen to music. “Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dryyyyy…”

Caesar!!

7. Waking up every day and feeling like anything was possible.

I know that some people got a bit bogged down in the routine of the Camino, but for me, I felt like every day was full of possibility and surprises. This feeling increased after I lost my guidebook; I didn’t always know what the terrain would be like, if I would have to climb big hills, if I would pass through large towns. Where would I get my coffee? Who would I run into? Where would I stay at night? Would I make a new friend, would I have an inspiring conversation? Would I see a castle or a cathedral or a field of sunflowers or a long line of cows? When else in life do you get to ask yourself these kinds of questions?

A Perfect Camino Day; Day 25, Herrerias to Fillobal

July 22, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Post: Day 28 on the Camino Frances

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

July 2, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Post: Photos from Day 8 of the Camino Frances

Iceland Detour

June 25, 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Settling in

July 13, 2013

I’m sitting at the desk in my room, windows open, cool(ish) morning air, mountain view, House Martins flying around and chirping incessantly. There are fresh flowers on my desk, a mug of coffee within reach, some notebooks scattered around. A single church bell chimes, signaling half past the hour.

Though this was only my third morning here, I’ve already fallen into somewhat of a routine. Wake before 8, go down to the kitchen to brew coffee and gather some food (yogurt, fruit, BREAD), say hi to Jean-Christophe and Artis, the other two residents who are always up at the same time, and take my breakfast onto the terrace. This morning went just a bit different: Alain, who arrived last night, brought a little espresso machine with him. My enthusiasm was obvious. I helped him set it up this morning, and tried the first cup. C’est bon. We talked about how the fancy new technology of the espresso machine is at odds with the old and simple ways of the village. And then I enjoyed every single sip of my espresso.

There is too much to describe of my first days here, too many details, too many new experiences. The friendly villagers who all say ‘bonjour’ and give you the biggest smile, the winding paths of this tiny village set on the slope of a mountain, the opera-singing resident whose voice fills the little chapel and spills into the streets, buying fresh baguettes from the truck that drives into the village twice a week, sampling wines from a local vineyard… it goes on and on.

There are also funny things and mishaps and mistakes. Trying to shop for a week of groceries directly after being picked up in Carcassonne and not having slept for over 24 hours (myself and the two other new residents are now strategizing on how to make our food last), getting into the wrong car on the train in Paris, deciphering the hand drawn trail map and walking miles in the opposite direction of where I intended to go, navigating the personalities of the other residents, remembering the best technique for using a French shower… this goes on and on as well.

I’m beginning to feel settled in. It was nearly impossible to sit and focus for the first few days; all I could do was stare out the window and want to get outside and explore. So I did. There is still so much to discover and routines that I need to fully settle into, but I’m getting there. Thank goodness I have three weeks.

directional sign on tree, Labastide

Terrace of La Muse

Montagne Noire

Ancienne Ferme de Viallele (old farm house)