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Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

How Writing a Book is a lot like Walking a Camino

February 16, 2015

Three sounds are competing for my attention in my kitchen right now: the hiss of boiling water from the red teapot on the stove top, the steady drip of my kitchen faucet to assure that the pipe doesn’t burst, and the faint buzzing of the heater at my side- I’m sitting so close that I’m almost on top of it. This seat- and the bathroom- are the warmest spots in my apartment. And while I’ve considered taking my computer into the bathroom with me, I’ve decided to set up camp at my kitchen table instead.

It is winter, and it is cold. Really cold. With another Camino on my mind I’m itching to get outside and walk, and on most winter days I’ll bundle up and walk for at least 30-minutes around my neighborhood. But today? Not a chance.

So on these days, and on so many of the cold, short days of winter, I find I have lots of extra time on my hands. There’s a little bit of restlessness on these days, but mostly I’m content to stay in. Because it gives me time to do what I’ve been wanting to do for years: write a book.

Now, I haven’t actually started writing a book yet, except for maybe a few pages of rusty words cobbled together that don’t really have a direction yet. It’s more like I’m setting the groundwork for writing a book, something that I thought wouldn’t be that exciting until I actually started doing it. And I have to say: this is exciting.

Writing a book is something I think I always sort of knew that I would do, even when I was very young. Writing (and reading!) were interesting to me, and fun. Writing has been this thought in the back of my head that I’d sometimes pull out and make a few half-hearted attempts to do something about, but I always failed to be consistent. As anyone who’s ever tried to write knows: it’s so much more fun to imagine being a writer than it is to actually write.

Except now, I’m finding it kind of fun. I’ve decided that I want to stop worrying about all the ‘what-if’s’ of trying to write a book, stop worrying about all the other ‘stuff’ that maybe I should do first, stop worrying about whether I’m actually someone who should be writing a book, someone who could be writing a book… and I’m just going to write a book. It’s the most obvious thing in the world and yet it took me years to get here.

I came back from the Camino knowing that I wanted to write about this experience, knowing that I wanted to turn the story into a book, but I thought about doing everything else first. Building up this blog. Writing essays. Writing an e-book. Finding freelancing work. Researching agents.

I didn’t really realize it at the time, but it was all just a way of stalling. I mean, doing all of these things is and can be very important; I knew I didn’t want to stop blogging, and I’ve written a few essays, and will continue to. But mostly I was putting off the thing that I really wanted to do, thinking that I needed much more preparation than what I had until I could actually start.

It reminds me of the Camino, actually. I think about all of those months of preparation: researching the gear and testing out my pack and my shoes, going on as many training hikes as I could, trying to read up on albergues and towns, thinking I could learn Spanish. I wanted to do it all before I left, because what I was about to take on was really big, and really scary. It was intimidating, and all along I kept thinking, “Who am I to be doing this? Who am I to think that I can do this?”

But on the Camino, it turns out that all you need to do is show up and walk. You need a way to get to whatever town you’re going to start in, and you need a pack to hold your things and you need some decent shoes to walk in, but really, you don’t need much else. You just figure it out as you go, and there is nothing like the actual experience to understand what the journey is going to be like for you.

So did I need to do all the preparation that I did? The training walks helped me out so much, but honestly? I arrived in Santiago at the same time as so many of the people who’d started with me in St Jean. And we were all fit and happy and smiling at the end. I was more fit in the beginning than most, and better adapted to the walking, but other than save me some pain, the destination was the same for all of us. In the end, we all got there.

And when it comes to writing a book, it dawns on me that it is just like beginning a Camino: you need to have a very general idea of what you’re getting yourself into, you need a few of the specifics nailed down, and then you just need to begin. And the beginning might not be pretty… I might have the writing equivalent of blisters or bed bugs, of fatigue and a too heavy pack, of sleepless nights because of incessant snoring… but in the end, none of these things needs to prevent me from writing the book. Because it can get done as long as I begin, and as long as I can do a little bit every day.

I’m taking a writing class, though it doesn’t involve much actual writing of the book and instead has me starting more at the end, rather than the beginning (I’m learning all about how to eventually get someone interested in the thing that I’m going to write). But in a rather twisted way, I’m wondering if this wasn’t the best possible way I could have started. It’s forced me to think very specifically about the kind of book I want to write and the things that I want to say. Mapping out an annotated table of contents when I hadn’t given much thought to a structure or narrative arc was tough, but it made me see what my book could look like. It gave me a beginning.

This has been a quiet winter for me, but there has also been a lot of joy. I sit myself down at roughly the same time every evening, put on my writing playlist, and begin to chip away. This task feels more daunting to me than walking 500-miles did; this feels like I have thousands and thousands of miles to go before I get anywhere.

But there’s a lot to see along the way.

And it doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

Sign on Dragonte route, Camino Frances

Leave a Comment / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Writing
Tagged: Camino de Santiago, destination, discipline, goal, journey, joy, travel, walking, winter, work, writing, writing a book

Heart and soul and 5km; Day 30 on the Camino, from a little village somewhere past Salceda to Monte Gozo

July 26, 2014

5km to go. I stopped in a place called Monte Gozo and it’s a little bizarre. It’s like a huge, deserted complex for pilgrims. There are other pilgrims here, but it’s such a large and isolated campus that it feels empty and desolate. I’d heard from a few people who were here in the last few days that it’s a bit like a ghost town, and I think that description is accurate. Empty playgrounds. A boarded up supermercado.

I wasn’t sure how to approach these last few days of the Camino. When I stayed in Portomarin three nights ago, I decided that if possible, I wanted to try and stay in small albergues for the rest of the way. The crowds add such a different feeling to the Camino, and I wanted to avoid them as much as possible. That plan worked well two days ago, when I found a small, private albergue in a quaint village, where chickens and cows roamed the streets, and where I could sit for hours outside, drinking tinto de verano, eating potato chips, writing in my journal, and talking with other pilgrims.

Yesterday I met up with Adam in Arzua, where most other pilgrims stopped for the day. We decided to keep walking a few kilometers further, to try our luck with a smaller albergue. We walked a few kilometers, and then we walked a few more. And then a few more. There weren’t many accommodations and what we could find had no beds left.

At some point on the Camino, a bit before the 100 kilometer point, markers started appearing every half kilometer, counting down the distance to Santiago. And as Adam and I walked, I watched those markers tick past: 40 kilometers to go. 35. 30!! 25. 24.

We stopped in a town 24 kilometers outside of Santiago and I knew that I could easily do that distance in one day, but I wanted to stretch it into two. My plan- for as much as I can actually plan anything here- is to leave early tomorrow morning for a sunrise walk into Santiago, to get in with plenty of time to take photos and drink a cafe con leche and store my pack and go to mass at noon.

I feel very uncertain about the end of this experience. I’ve wanted to have ‘perfect’ Camino days as this experience is ending, but I can only control so much. The Camino is different with so many people walking; the scenery isn’t as beautiful and breathtaking as it was a few days ago; somehow, my body has decided that it’s about had it (wasn’t I just saying how strong I feel? I AM strong, but I’m also tired. I think because my mind knows that I’m almost done, it’s told my body to wind down).

All of that being said, I did manage to walk completely on my own today. It helped to have started about 12 kilometers away from the large groups of pilgrims, so for my last full day of walking, I had mostly peace and quiet. I tried to think big thoughts: all the stuff that you’re supposed to be thinking at the end of a pilgrimage. Things like- ‘What have I learned?’ ‘How have I changed and grown?’ ‘Where am I going next?’ ‘What meaning can I take from this?’ ‘How will I change when I get home?’

But instead, all I could focus on were the steps. One foot in front of the other. The pain in my right calf (day 30 and my leg started hurting, go figure). The small pebble in my shoe. The humid air and a hyper-awareness of my body odor. Did I put on deodorant this morning? Was the coffee I drank decaf? Why don’t I have more energy? Where in the world did I put the second pair of headphones, did I actually lose another pair? Can I reach my arm around my pack and find my banana without having to stop and take the pack off? Where can I stop for another cafe con leche? Can I pass those pilgrims ahead of me? I can definitely pass those pilgrims ahead of me.

The time for deep thoughts was not this morning. And I’m not sure it will be tomorrow morning either: I’ll only walk for about an hour, and I think the road will be crowded.

But it’s okay, I’ve had plenty of time to think on this walk, and I’ll have plenty of time to think about it after I’ve finished. And besides, it’s hard to fully process something while you’re still in it.

I think I’ve written about this a little already, but I heard it described so well a week or so ago that I want to write about it again: this idea of the Camino being divided into thirds. David, a man from Ireland, said two things. The first was that the Camino really begins after the walk ends, and it’s something that I’ve heard several times before. Then he talked about the three parts of this journey: the first 10 days or so are about the body, the second 10 days are about the heart, and the last 10 days are about the soul.

And I liked that, especially the third part. I’ve had so many deep and soulful encounters in the last part of this walk and I think it’s been an aspect of this trip that I’d been anticipating and waiting for. I’m not sure if I’ve sought out these connections and moments or if they’ve appeared because others are in this frame of mind as well. But they’ve been here, and they appear so quickly and effortlessly. First it was Masa-Hiro, a man of Japanese descent who was raised in Peru and has lived in Malaga for 13 years. I walked with him out of O’Cebreiro and we played the ‘animal game’, which sparked a conversation about what we are looking for, how others perceive us, who we really are.

I ran into him again a few days later, sitting on a bench outside of an old stone home of an Italian woman who’d been living in Spain and offering coffee and fruit to pilgrims as they walked past her house. There was a wooden table filled with juice and peaches and coffee cups, tattered Tibetan flags strung from a tree, and several small dogs lounging in the sun. As I approached and Masa-Hiro saw me, his face lit up and he rose to greet me. He introduced me to an Argentinian woman sitting next to him, and a few minutes later Eva walked up, a woman I had met in St Nicolas nearly two weeks before and hadn’t seen since. The 20 minutes I spent at that little outdoor oasis felt a bit mystical, and when I stood to leave, Masa-Hiro gave me a strong hug, and the other women embraced me as well.

Two nights ago I was eating dinner at the small albergue in the tiny, quaint village, and I had an amazing conversation with a woman from Montreal, Lucy. (And an amazing meal: a huge crock of chicken noodle soup, salad, pork, frittata made from the eggs of the chickens we’d seen running around an hour earlier, chocolate mousse). The conversation with Lucy felt so fitting for this stage of the journey: she talked about her story of why she was here, and the conversation evolved into a long talk about love and loss. At one point I sat with my chin in my hands and probably a far off look on my face and Lucy said, ‘Ahh, this conversation has made you sad.’ I thought for a moment and replied, ‘Yes, but the sadness is okay, because it’s part of my experience. But I have so, so much happiness too.’

And I do have a lot of happiness. I’ve been so happy on this trip, and so often I’ve felt like I’ve been too lucky to feel this happy. It’s the mark of a good Camino, I suppose.

5km to go. Time to end this long walk.

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Next Post: Santiago! Day 31 on the Camino Frances

10 Comments / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Camino Frances
Tagged: Camino de Santiago, connection, destination, endings, friendship, journey, life, pilgrimage, soul, walking

Nuns and plums and getting close to the end; Day 28 on the Camino, Portomarin to San Xulian

July 24, 2014

It’s only been in the last few days that I’ve felt close to Santiago, and aware of what that means to me. I’ve been walking towards Santiago for 28 days, but I couldn’t really put it all together in my head until yesterday. Until now, it’s all just been walking: day after day. I knew that the kilometers were adding up, but I wasn’t paying close attention to how much I walked or where I was on a map. I was just walking, and taking in the experience.

The first thing that struck me was something three nuns said, on a little hill on the outskirts of Ponferrada a few days ago. Saskia and I had been walking by when we saw them picking fruit from a tree. Saskia, who can speak Spanish, asked what the fruit was. The answer was plums, and instantly the women reached down to us, offering handfuls of the round fruit. They filled our hands, offering more and more. The plums were spilling out of my grasp and rolling down the hill, but they kept reaching down to give us more. Two guys were approaching (who, it turns out, had just started their Camino that day and were about 20 minutes into their walk). I shoved handfuls of plums at them, and the nuns continued to give us more, speaking in Spanish the whole time. We finally left, our hands and pockets overflowing, and I asked Saskia what they were saying.

“They were saying- ‘pray for us in Santiago.'”

It gives me chills now as I write this, the idea that these three holy women recognized the importance of what we were doing, and saw a great meaning in our walking and in our destination.

I’ve tried to be aware that I’m on a holy pilgrimage, but it wasn’t the reason that I chose to walk the Camino, and it’s been overshadowed by so much here. I try to stop in churches when I can, and have attended a few masses and received several Pilgrim Blessings. But most of the people I talk with aren’t here for the religious part of the pilgrimage. And it’s easy to forget about the history of the path we’re walking on, and the reason that this Camino exists at all.

But when I heard that the nuns asked us to pray for them in Santiago, something shifted a bit in my head. I knew that I would say a prayer for them when I reached Santiago, and all at once, the larger scope of what I was doing came into focus.

I’m almost in Santiago. And I’ve walked a long way. This is day 28, which means I’ve been walking for 4 weeks. The beginning of this Camino- that first day through the Pyrenees- feels like a lifetime ago, and it feels like yesterday. I don’t want this to end, but I’m also so excited to reach Santiago.

And I’m a little surprised by my excitement. For weeks now, Adam has been talking about the sense of accomplishment we’ll have once we reach Santiago- to be able to say that we walked this distance. And every time I heard him or someone else say something like that, I couldn’t really agree. I’ve loved the walking so much, and some days have been hard, but it’s also been one of the easiest and natural things I’ve ever done, in a way.

But now that Santiago is close, man, I’m excited. And I feel proud. Lots of new pilgrims have started in the last few days (including large, large groups of students, and everyone tries to figure out where they’re stopping so we can avoid those towns), and the Camino is crowded. I was expecting this, and am trying my hardest to have an open mind when I can’t walk alone. When these newer pilgrims ask where I started, I feel really proud when I answer, ‘St Jean’, and I wasn’t expecting that. But I do feel proud: I’ve been walking for a long time, and now, finally, I’m starting to feel the accumulation of all of my steps.

My legs are strong. They’re really strong. I’ve always been a fast walker, but here? It’s a rare thing when people pass me. Several people have joked that I’m impossible to catch. On hilly and rocky sections of the Camino, I can nearly keep the same pace as bikers. I was walking quickly in the beginning and I’ve continued to, but now I just feel so solid. This isn’t to say that I haven’t had my hard days here, physically, but even my hardest day hasn’t been that bad. I’m proud of myself for being able to physically handle this walk, and proud that I can safely say that I could do this for another month.

I’m proud that I’ve handled the potentially uncomfortable parts of this as well as I have. I worried that I would have trouble with feeling displaced, and constantly on the move, and that I would tire of the same routine day after day. But if anything, every day feels so new and exciting and full of possibility. I have no idea what I’ll see or who I’ll meet. I have a fairly good idea of what I’ll eat but since I’ve mostly been loving what I’m eating, that’s not so bad (bread, coffee, cheese, wine, fries, tuna. Mmm). Last night I feel asleep in an albergue with about 100 beds in a wide open space. The lights were still on at 10:30 and people were moving around and talking and, somehow, I fell asleep. I’ve adapted to the strange conditions of this trip: the offbeat places where I’ve had to stay, nearly always sleeping on the top bunk, cramped and sometimes dirty showers. After the first week I gave in and bought shampoo and having been using it every since, but as for the rest of it? I think I’ve shaved my legs once, I’m definitely not wearing makeup, I wear the same two outfits every day. And I feel great.

I’ve had great practice in letting go of planning, I’ve spoken up for what I need when I need it, I feel more comfortable socially than I have in a long time. I’ve loved the people that I’ve met, and it feels good to know that I’m loved in return.

I’m not done with this walk yet but I’m certainly processing the ending. I had such a good walk yesterday: I walked alone for nearly the entire day, not seeing many pilgrims. The sun was shining and I was walking through a beautiful part of Galicia. I felt so good and at peace. I listened to music and at some points was dancing down the trail.

Last night I stayed in Portomarin where lots and lots of people stopped for the day. I ran into so many that I knew: all of the Koreans, the Spanish man and his two kids, the Italian mother and daughter, the Vermont family. Almost everyone is going to arrive in Santiago on the same day, the 27th, and that makes me so happy. There was a long time when I thought I would fully break away and stretch out my trip and walk short days or take days off. But about 10 days ago I realized that I wanted to celebrate in Santiago with all of the people I’ve met along the way.

And I think most of us feel this way. “When are you arriving in Santiago?” we ask. “The 27th, and you?” “Me too! We’ll take a photo in front of the cathedral!” “We’ll celebrate with sangria!”

Two days ago Ibai showed me a photo on his phone. ‘Can you see who this is?’ he asked. There was a man standing in front of the cathedral in Santiago, his walking poles raised in the air in triumph. I squinted at the photo. ‘That’s not Adrien, is it?’ Ibai nodded in excitement. ‘It is, he made it to Santiago!’ All I could do was grin. Adrien had started from St Jean on the same day that we did, but after two weeks started walking really long days to reach Santiago by his deadline. I hadn’t seen him since Hontanas.

And now there he was, the first person I’d walked with who made it to Santiago. I couldn’t stop smiling when I saw the photo, and I can’t stop smiling now.

Santiago is close.

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Next Post: Day 30 on the Camino Frances

6 Comments / Filed In: Camino de Santiago, Camino Frances
Tagged: Camino de Santiago, celebration, destination, excitement, friendship, goals, pilgrimage, strength, the end, walking

Welcome! I’m Nadine: a traveler, a pilgrim, a walker, a writer, a coffee drinker. This is where I share my stories, my thoughts and my walks. I hope you enjoy the site!
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