Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

Arriving in Oviedo and Day 1 on the Camino Primitivo

I’m back home from my 2021 Camino adventure! In some ways it all felt like a whirlwind- how can I be home already??- but in other ways my time on the Camino felt just right. Like just what I needed.

I thought I might be able to blog while I was on the walk, but it was about all I could do to post smaller updates to social media, try to go through the dozens and dozens of photos to select a few to share, and attempt to stay on top of the video I was taking. I fell behind on it all, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing; enjoying the walk was the most important thing, and I think I did a good job of that.

Some of you may follow me on Instagram or on YouTube, so maybe have already seen these updates, but I wanted to transfer what I shared there over here to this blog. I thought I would attempt to do a day-to-day post of my walk this year, and share the photos and ‘travel log’ that I wrote each day, plus the corresponding video. And hopefully add in some extra details too! So, here we go!

 

July 21st: Travel to Oviedo, for the Camino Primitivo

It all felt a little jarring, to be on public transportation again, the first time since early 2020. I was sitting in the 30th Street station in Philadelphia, waiting for my train to Newark, thinking that already I’d traveled so far when I hadn’t even really left my city! But it felt adventurous in a different sort of way than ever before. A little more nerve-wracking too. I didn’t know how COVID would affect the travel OR the walk on the Camino, I didn’t even trust that I would be able to stay in Spain for as long as I planned. I told myself that I needed to head into this trip with flexibility and take things day by day. Have a plan, but be willing to change the plan if necessary. 

But oh, even with the pre-trip nerves and the extra layer of uncertainty that a pandemic added to this trip, I was so excited. Excited to be on a train, excited to arrive super early to the airport and wait around for hours, excited to board the plane and to take off and be flying across the ocean again. 

The travel went well; all I really needed to enter Spain- other than my passport- was a QR code that Spain required. I’d downloaded the app on my phone the day before I left for Spain, filled out the necessary info, and got my code. The app worked fine and they just scanned it when I got off the plane, and that was it! I was in Spain again!

But arrival is always overwhelming for me. I don’t sleep well on planes, and to suddenly be in another country, hearing an unfamiliar language, trying to navigate where to go… it truly DID feel like I’d forgotten how to do it all! I was flustered. I found a café and got a coffee and a sandwich for the bus ride, but I somehow ended up ordering a super expensive sandwich and I couldn’t remember the words for anything and I was tired but also just really happy to be there, with my first café con leche and the fancy ham and the jet lag. Then, after a lot of confusion, I figured out where I needed to go to get the airport shuttle to the bus station at the airport. From there I took a 6-hour bus ride to Oviedo (didn’t eat the sandwich on the bus because no one was eating anything and we were all masked and I wondered if maybe it was a new COVID rule). It was a lot of travel, hours and hours and hours, and it would have been easier to have spent a night in Madrid, but I just wanted to get to the Camino and start walking, just get there as fast as I could.

Cathedral in Oviedo, Spain

The evening in Oviedo was a whirlwind too, but a whirlwind in a good way. I got to the city and found an Orange store where I could buy a SIM card for my phone, and the woman who helped me was so kind and I walked away with a deal that got me a 28-day plan with a good amount of data that cost only a tad more than my airport sandwich (which I was STILL carrying around because I hadn’t gotten the chance to eat it yet). Then to my albergue- a new and private one just around the corner from the cathedral (La Hospederia Oviedo)- and I checked in and the women working there showed me around and told me that there was a vespers service with a pilgrim blessing starting in 30 minutes. I desperately needed a shower so I rushed through it, briefly met another pilgrim in the albergue and then raced outside, my hair still dripping, to try to find the chapel. I settled into a pew and listened to the nuns singing and despite being exhausted, despite being hungry, despite being overwhelmed with it all- the trains and planes and buses and shuttles and being back in Spain- I felt settled, I felt comforted. I felt like I belonged. 

Travel log:

It will never cease to amaze me, that in one moment I can be home, and the next… just like that (in this case it took over 24 hours but time when you’re traveling always feels strange), just like that you can be in a totally different place. One day ago, or two, I was running around home and buying a new rain jacket and my mom was packing me a sandwich and my dad gave me coffee money, and then, a train here and a plane there, I’m in Spain. I forget how to do this. Do I remember how to do this? How to navigate a place, a language? How to recognize a street, how to spot the first scallop shell marker on the ground and nearly cry for joy. Then, truly, shed a tear or two in a church, a little chapel that I made it to just in time for a vespers service, my hair dripping from my shower, the instructions the hospitaleras gave me still ringing in my ears. I’d been traveling non stop and I needed to eat, and arrange my pack, and just get my bearings but this- being in a church and hearings the nuns singing, followed by a pilgrim’s blessing- this I could remember how to do. And this, sitting in a wooden pew, voices echoing off the thick stone walls, the smell of candles and incense, in a large city in northern Spain: this feels like belonging. And I haven’t even started the walking yet. 

(PS: It might have been the last thing I did that day, but I finally ate my airport sandwich. And it was really good.)

 

July 23rd: Day One, Oviedo to Cornellana, 38km 

I might have felt overwhelmed the evening before, but in the morning, those familiar Camino routines came back to me quickly: creep out of bed as silently as possible to not wake the other pilgrims in the room, change into my hiking clothes, brush my teeth, splash water on my face. There was a small kitchen in the albergue with instant coffee and toast, so I made myself a quick breakfast before I left for the day. While I was eating, one of the pilgrims in my room had gotten up and sat down at the table to have some coffee. He’d been walking on the Norte but had taken a train to Oviedo to switch to the Primitivo, because finding beds in albergues had been difficult. He asked me about my plan for the day, and had some opinions when I told him that I was planning to walk to Cornellana, 38ish kilometers away. “It seems like you’re doing this for some athletic reason,” he said. “You should be flexible with your plan,” he said. “38km is too long for a first day,” he said.

Snail crawling up Camino marker

I’d been excited about my plan; I knew it would, indeed, be a lot for a first day, but then again, this wasn’t my first Camino. And I’d come into this Camino pretty fit, having recently traveled around the American Southwest where I’d done a lot of hiking. AND, there was a monastery I really wanted to stay in. 

And, well, I just really wanted to walk. To walk and walk and walk.

I finished my toast, the last sip of coffee, and stood up from the table. I stuffed my things into my pack and laced up my shoes and said goodbye to the pilgrim and pushed his words from my head. Maybe 38km was too far to walk for a first day, but the only who gets to decide that is me. 

It was raining, a little, when I left Oviedo, and normally I don’t like walking in the rain but this time I barely noticed because I was just so happy to be walking again. It all felt so familiar, but also as though it had been a long, long time since I’d been on a Camino. Much longer than just two years. As I moved away from the city I could feel myself starting to settle in, to remember what it was like to be on a Camino: to always be on the lookout for the yellow arrows, to get used to the weight of my pack against my back, to greet the cows in the fields, to hope to find an open bar for a late morning café con leche. To put one foot in front of the other, over and over and over, and know that I was moving myself a little closer- with each step- to Santiago.

Travel log:

It’s probably too soon to tell, but this Camino feels like “classic Camino.” Classic like… it’s quiet, with not many pilgrims on the way, but when you DO see another pilgrim you really notice them, and take the time to say hello. Classic in that you make a friend on the first day, someone to walk with for an hour or two, to stop with at a big outdoor terrace with a little hidden door that leads down to the river where you can cool your feet, and then a few steps up back to your table where there’s a fresh tortilla pincho on really great bread, and a small of cana of beer, the perfect size.
 
 
Classic in that you walk for a really long time, farther than you should for a first stage (39km!!), but arrive to an 11th century monastery where it’s just you and one other pilgrim who also walked the whole way from Oviedo. You’ve never spoken a word to each other but there you are, high-fiving in the courtyard, beneath the ancient stone. Classic in that you walk to a store together, and buy pasta and a few veggies and take it back to the albergue kitchen (which is open, not many are) and cook a meal and talk about the Camino and about how you got here. Classic in that two more pilgrims stumble in, and you share your food, and the hospitalera brings you small bottles of cider. Classic in that, somehow, you have a small blister from your too long but also just right day, in a place where you’ve never had one before. Classic that it rained on day one, but also that the sun shone, and the hydrangeas were beautiful and you met a nice cat and the villagers said ‘Buen Camino!’ and tried to help when you got turned around in Grado. Classic Camino, let’s hope there are more days like this ahead!
 
chapel on Camino Primitivo
 
flowers in rain on day one of Camino Primitivo
 
 
YouTube video: Primitivo, Day One
 

Next Post: Day 2 on the Primitivo

It’s as if I’ve never done this before

The countdown is on and I’m heading back to Spain and I sit here in my apartment, with a glass of wine and a to-do list that is mostly checked off, and I wonder: was there ever a time that I could head off on a Camino and feel totally at ease?

Maybe. But maybe not. I always get nervous before these trips but this year it feels bigger. Because it is bigger, because I’m traveling internationally during a pandemic. But, also, there are all the regular pre-Camino worries and I suspect those will never go away, no matter how many times I do this, no matter if it’s been 2 years since I’ve been on a plane to cross the ocean, or 10 years, or 5 months.

In this case it’s been 2 years but it might as well have been 10 because I seem to forget how to do it all. The pile of things for my Camino pack- right now sitting on my desk, as a few freshly washed clothing items still need to dry- seems large. Really large. I keep adding more and more, and you’d think I’d know better, but it all feels essential! Or, it feels like I can handle it, like I can handle the extra weight: the neck pillow for the plane, the electric coil for morning coffee when there are no other options (this one I’m excited about. I feel like I’ve entered a new level of pilgrimage.) The face masks- essential. The rain pants- I never know whether to take these or not but they’ve been so wonderful in the past and the forecast for where I want to walk is calling for rain so into the pack they go!

Speaking of rain gear, I ran around today to buy a new rain jacket, because I discovered that my trusty white coat that I bought before my first Camino in 2014 is officially no longer waterproof. It took a downhill turn sometime in the last year (or two?) but I bought fancy detergent and rewaterproofing stuff from REI in an attempt to save the jacket, but of course I never actually used the jacket in this last month to see if it worked. A few YouTube searches later and I did an “immersion” test, followed by a “spray test” yesterday and the jacket failed spectacularly, both times. Water gets in and gets me wet, and this will not do for a projected 90% chance of rain for my first day’s walk in Spain. My old jacket was white, the new one is a rather bright blue. But I bought it in a hurry because what else is there to do? Lets see if it keeps me dry.

Walking in the rain on the Pennine Way, England

Goodbye, raincoat, you served me well

Have I trained enough? Will I remember how to order a tortilla? Will my feet swell, will I get blisters, will I find my way? Did I forget some essential item, like my towel, or my water bottle? Will I find a suitable walking stick once I start my walk? Will my knees hurt, even though they haven’t bothered me for several years? Am I going to be all alone?

That, maybe, is a big question, and a big unknown. I don’t know what the Camino is going to be like during COVID, even as I’ve been scouring the forum and the fb groups, even as I watch YouTube videos of pilgrims who are out there right now (here, and here, and here). I’m trying to go in with an open mind and a flexible attitude, with a Plan A and B and C, but even this is different. Usually, I go with an idea of which route I’m going to walk, and then I just… go. I probably have some notes of albergues I want to sleep in, or towns I want to stop in, but otherwise the plan is loose. I know my timeframe, I know approximately how long it will take to walk my chosen route, but then I just figure it out when I’m there.

This year, anything could happen. I’m reserving ahead. Part of me wanted to make every single reservation before I left for Spain (which would have been fine, but a lot!) but instead I’ve settled on the first 4 or 5 nights, along with a document outlining my likely stages and lodging options. I’m going to try private albergues for the first few nights, and see how it feels, with hopes that the reduced capacity of the lodgings (50% or 30% depending on the place) will make it feel less precarious and not crowded. After all of these months of COVID, I shudder a bit at those big, crowded albergues, the bunks close together (sometimes side by side, eek!) and the shut windows and the close air. While never ideal, I also never really minded it all that much, but this year is different.

And if I’m feeling uncomfortable with albergue life, I’m resolving to book private rooms, and most certainly will for part of the time anyway. But all of this thinking and researching and planning has taken time, and while it’s been sort of fun and has added to the anticipation, I’m now overthinking everything. Do you want to know how many times I’ve checked the weather app on my phone to see what the forecast is going to be like for Oviedo? No, I don’t think you want to know. It’s a little ridiculous.

15 photos that might make you plan a walk on the Camino del Norte; Oviedo cathedral in fog

I’ve been alone a lot during COVID, I recently took a long road trip to the southwest and it was wonderful and amazing but I was alone for that, too. I don’t mind being alone (readers of the blog know that I all but insist on walking alone!), but some of my happiest memories from the Camino are the days and the moments when I’m with someone, when I make a strong connection. I worry about how to do that, this time around. Have I completely lost practice, will I be too nervous, and if I stay in private rooms will I ever have anyone to eat dinner with?

All of this, and yet, a very solo pilgrimage appeals too. Honestly, just being out there and walking is the thing I want to do the most, it’s the thing I’ve dreamt about since March 2020, when I wasn’t sure when I would be able to get back to Europe. The fact that I can go at all this year feels like nothing short of a miracle, and I’m so very grateful.

What else do I need to do? Call my bank, make sure all the windows to my apartment are shut, find those leftover Euros from two years ago, maybe make a walking playlist, if I have time. But, really, I just need to take a deep breath, and remember the biggest lesson that the Camino has taught me: begin with a single step.

And so, very soon, I’ll take that first step, and I’ll be on my way. The Camino is calling, and I’m going back!

January Recap: A Long Winter, In My Nest

Last month I read Curtis Sittenfeld’s Rodham (a fictional account of what might have happened to Hillary Clinton had she not married Bill), and in it the author describes how Hillary would create her ‘nest’ each night: burrowed into her bed, robe and tea, surrounded by blankets and pillows and a tower of books and notebooks. She would study here, read here, research here, plan here. I’m not sure whether this is actually true or not, but I like to think that it is, as I sit here in my own nest, my winter nest.

I’ve often talked of how I like to write in my kitchen, next to a little heater, my toes hooked around the rungs of an opposite chair. But sometimes, especially in the winter, I’ll retreat back to my bedroom as soon as the sun goes down. I spread out layers of blankets and prop myself up against a stack of pillows, make a mug of tea or hot chocolate or pour myself an icy glass of seltzer water, and settle in with my computer.

It feels warms here, hidden away in the back of my apartment, across from a window that faces nothing but trees. It’s where I am right now- a winter afternoon at the very end of January, where outside the snow has started falling (this could be a big storm!) and I’m here tucked away, with nowhere I need to go, nowhere I need to be.

winter creek

Outside of my working and walking hours, this is probably where you could have found me this month, buried in my winter nest: tinkering away on my Camino videos, watching episodes of Game of Thrones and eating dark chocolate caramels. There are worse ways to spend a Pandemic January, for sure. In fact, in many ways, this month wasn’t all that bad. Certainly better than I’d expected it to be.

I could probably end this post right here, having already mentioned the main highlights of the month: making Camino videos, watching Game of Thrones. But here are a few more things!

Movement

I walked a lot this month. Maybe because it was the start of a new year and I felt recommitted to moving and walking and hiking. I squeezed in the walks where I could, nearly always a short one in the morning before work, a longer one after work, always walking with the sunrise and the sunset. These were the usual, neighborhood loops, and lately I’ve started to wonder what my neighbors must think of me. “There she goes again,” they might say. “The lady who walks.” But by now I’ve met a lot of these neighbors, and the small interactions always add a perk to my step. There’s Bill who walks in the sanctuary, who proudly told me that he recently celebrated his 90th birthday. And Steve, who was driving by and rolled down his window so we could chat about the vaccine, and the attack on the Capitol. And a new (to me) neighbor, who was heading down the street to check out a fallen tree (this is a somewhat common thing in my neighborhood), and who urged me to join the tennis club this summer. Mary, and Sue, and the man who jogs in a Santa hat, and all of the dogs who run over to greet me.

I met up with a few friends for quick walks and small hikes this month; the temperatures were cold, but it’s the only way I feel comfortable seeing anyone these days. And honestly? On a sunny day and with a brisk pace, the cold doesn’t bother me too much (and wearing a face mask helps!). I walked around Potts Meadow and past the Wyeth Studios on the Harvey Run Trail, and explored a quiet trail in Green Lane Park. Not adventurous stuff, but my local winter landscapes are full of such quiet, soft beauty.

Green Lane Park, Montgomery County PA

Pennsylvania barn in winter

I also started doing yoga again this month! I’ve never consistently practiced yoga, but there was a year or two (a rather long time ago, now) that I took some classes and practiced just a bit on my own. A friend has been doing Yoga With Adriene during the pandemic, and encouraged me to check out her month-long January ‘journey’, so I did. I made it halfway through the month and then stopped, but even just those two weeks were great. It reminded me that I have an awful lot of muscles that I don’t use much, that my body could really benefit from the stretching, that it’s a nice way to slow down in the evenings. I’d like to try to incorporate a bit of yoga into my days again, even just once or twice a week.

Creating

I didn’t do a ton of writing this month- my focus was on creating YouTube videos, more on that below- but I did manage to continue my habit of posting one personal-essay a month to my Patreon site (these are essays available only to my patrons, who pledge a dollar-amount per month). This month’s was about what it was like to walk through a heatwave on the Camino Aragonés. It was good timing for that essay, too, because it went along nicely with some of the footage in Pt 2 of my Camino Aragonés series on YouTube.

Ahh, the YouTube videos. I wrote about it here, and I know I said it in that post but I can’t help but say it again: making these videos has been a lot of fun. There’s something really energizing about learning a new skill, practicing, getting better, making something. I posted two videos that cover my walk on the Aragonés, and now I’ve moved on to working on footage from the Norte. I wish- so much- that I had taken more videos while I walked. But learning the process has been great, and it’s filling my head with ideas of the kinds of videos I might be able to make in the future. Now, I just have to be allowed back into Spain to actually go on another walk, and at this point who knows when that will be…

Face in the woods

The Small Stuff, the Big Stuff

Game of Thrones is getting me through the winter. So is freshly baked bread, and London Fogs from a local coffee shop. Thick, warm, polar bear socks that I put on immediately after I come in from my walk. On so many days I wish I could be working from the safety of my home, but getting to work with some students in-person is revitalizing.

And then, the even bigger stuff: my grandmother turning 102. A new president. My first vaccine shot.

first vaccine shot

***

Some days feel hard, the cold is endless, the clouds are thick, summer seems a lifetime away and what will it be like then, anyway? Will it be another summer in the US, without a long walk, without a Camino, dreaming and dreaming of an open, safe world? Maybe. In the meantime, I’ll walk, and write, and edit videos, and eat caramels and sink into the world of Westeros, and carry on with my work, and drink hot tea, and hold onto moments of beauty wherever I can find them.

streetlamp, winter dusk

Video: Camino Aragonés Pt 2

Nadine writing in journal in Arrés on the Camino Aragones, sunset in background

If you missed part one, click here to watch the first part of my journey on the Camino Aragonés.

After those first 5-days (beginning in France, walking up a mountain in the rain, crossing into Spain and descending into a completely different landscape), I’m now in the small village of Santa Cilia and on my way to Arrés, where a famed albergue awaits me.

The theme of this second half of the Aragonés was definitely the heat. Much of Europe was experiencing a heat wave in late June 2019, and I walked some of my hottest days to date. The temperature reached 40ºC/105ºF on several days, and much of the time the path ran through an open, treeless landscape. This made for some early starts to beat the heat, even some pre-sunrise walking.

The end of the Aragonés- in Puente La Reina- was only the end of that particular path, and not the end of my walking that summer. I finished the Aragonés and caught a bus heading north, where I hoped the air would be cooler.

Here are the stages and links to places I stayed for the five days this video covered:

Day 6: Santa Cilia to Arrés, 10.2km
Albergue de peregrinos de Arrés   (*this is a must-stay albergue!)

Day 7: Arrés to Ruesta, 28.4km
Albergue de Ruesta.  (*very good albergue)

Day 8: Ruesta to Sangüesa, 22km
Albergue de peregrinos de Sangüesa

Day 9: Sangüesa to Monreal, 27.2km
Albergue de peregrinos de Monreal

Day 10: Monreal to Puente La Reina, 30.6km
Albergue de los Padres Reparadores

And here’s the video! I hope you enjoy the adventure.

Becoming a YouTuber?

January tends to be a really creative time for me. It was the month when I first created this blog. The month when I hatched the idea for my e-book. The month I started a Patreon, the month I explored posting photographs on Shutterstock (that one never really took off, but it was fun to experiment with.)

This year, and this month, I’ve thrown myself into yet another new thing, and it’s been fun. I started making videos!

I know very little about YouTubing, I don’t even spend all that much time on YouTube. But recently- and probably due to really missing the Camino- I’ve started watching hiking videos. It started with my friend Alan’s videos of his trek across Japan, then I discovered Sara’s Camino journeys. And then another YouTube channel, and another. 

I thought back to an idea I’d had after my 2019 walks on the Aragonés and the Norte. I’d taken short videos every day on those walks and posted them to Instagram stories. I’d had a lot of fun with it and had thought about stringing the videos together into something a little larger, more continuous. Not all of my friends and family were or are on Instagram (and I’d imagine some blog followers aren’t, either!), and many missed those videos. I thought it would be a fun thing to create and share.

So, 2020 turned to 2021, and the pandemic is still here, and the days are cold, the nights are long, and I decided to work on making an Aragonés video. I know I keep saying that making the video was fun, but I can’t think of a better word. It’s fun! I’ve made a few videos before- not really knowing anything about the process and figuring out iMovie by trial and error- but I’ve always really enjoyed the process. And this time was no different. 

There’s so much still to learn, and a lot about the videos that I wish could be different. For starters, all of the vertical clips! (Instagram uses a vertical format for their stories, and so on that platform it made sense to use a vertical orientation. But for YouTube? Not so great!) And because I never really intended to make a video like this, I wish I had shot a lot more, I wish my narration was a little different, a little fuller. 

But I can only work with what I have, and I loved sorting through the clips and stringing them together and finding music and choosing photographs and just… reliving it all. Watching my own progress, seeing how I grow more confident throughout the month, hearing the certainty in my voice, the joy. 

I have one video completed and posted up on YouTube. Here it is! It’s the Part 1 of my walk on the Camino Aragonés, and Part 2 will be done soon. I’m also planning to put together some videos from the Norte as well. After that… well, I’ll have to go on another walk. I think- maybe?- this will be a new project for my next Camino, another way to capture and share the stories of my walks. I’m still going to take lots of photographs and write blog posts, but the videos feel like a very natural evolution. A different kind of picture, a different way to show you my pilgrimage.

I hope you enjoy this new little venture. If you like the first video, please subscribe to the YouTube channel! I’m certainly no expert on this, but it’s a way to be notified when more videos are posted, and it gives me a good sense of how many people are engaged and watching. 

That’s the small update for now; more soon!

December Recap: Winter is Coming

It feels as though I was just writing my November recap post, and here I am again, at the end of another month, another year. At the time of writing, New Year’s Eve is tomorrow, and it’s going to be a quiet one. Fitting, of course, to have a quiet end to a very quiet year.

A few weeks ago I was trying to write a different blog post, one that could recap the year, but I struggled with it. I couldn’t quite seem to muster up enough enthusiasm to write about travel highlights, or the lessons from the failures and mishaps, or even just general highlights. Maybe I’ll manage to string some words together if the inspiration strikes, but for now, I’ll stick with recapping this past month and then wipe my hands of this year. Even if the first half of 2021 is more of the same, I’m eager to move into a time when at least the promise of brighter things are ahead. And it feels as though 2021 might just offer up that promise.

Dusky December evening, streetlight and sunset

So, December! As we entered the month I couldn’t help but think back to 2019, when December was an all-around solid month and gave me a great deal of momentum to head into the new year. I visited my sister in Cleveland where we went to a rollicking live Christmas band and a festive house party, I drove up to Maine for a lightening fast visit to surprise a friend for her 40th birthday (and during the weekend managed to see another friend as well as the former owners of La Muse… and, maybe most importantly, my beloved Homer the dog). I ended the year in Maryland celebrating New Year’s with friends, and in-between managed to get out and about for other festive activities. 

This year? You guessed it: no running off to any new places, no visiting friends afar, no leaving the state, no live bands, no holiday house tours, etc. Despite all the extra time at home this year, I’m still- on the whole- enjoying the extra peace and quiet. In the best of times I like to hunker down in the winter and stay in more than go out, and so on the whole it was a good month. But I do worry a little about the weeks/months ahead, looking down the long, dark stretch of winter, wondering if there will be a point when I’ll go stir crazy.

But for now? I’ll end this month and this year in the same way I spent most of it: at home. Writing at the kitchen table, with a glass of red wine (well, maybe champagne for the holiday), a book at my side, long walks through the neighborhood, greetings to my neighbors. 

Those were all highlights of the past month, here are a few more:

Hiking

The two notable hikes of the month were at Stroud Preserve in Chester County, and the Mt Gretna loop trail in Lebanon County. I went to Stroud with my Camino friend/neighbor; we’ve vowed to continue to meet and hike all through the winter, regardless of how cold it might get. Our morning hike at Stroud was chilly but I was reminded of how quickly you can warm up once you get moving. It had been several years since I’d hiked the trails here, and was reminded of a steep hill that could be good Camino training. I’ll definitely go back.

Stroud Preserve, Chester County, PA

And while I was home to see my parents for Christmas, I drove out to find some hiking trails and wound up doing nearly 6-miles through the forested trails of Mt Gretna. At the end of the hike I climbed up to the top of an observation tower (steel ladders all the way up!!), and I had 360 degree views. It felt good to explore something new, and it’s certainly a spot that would make for beautiful hiking in the spring and fall.

View from observation tower at Mt. Gretna, Lebanon County, PA

Zooming with friends

I’m tired of Zoom, and at the same time, greatly appreciate Zoom (or, any video-conferencing app). This month, a few of my traditional holiday hangouts with friends had to shift to virtual meet ups, and for as fatiguing as it can sometimes be to spend hours on a screen, I was so appreciative for each call. From a fondue/wine night to toasting to nearly 20-years of “Christmas dinners” with my high school pals, I am so grateful for strong and enduring friendships and the traditions they carry.

  • Zooming with friends, Christmas Dinner

Snow!

It’s been awhile since my area has seen a good snowstorm (at least a couple of years), so to get a decent snowfall in December was something to celebrate. What I love more than fresh snow is fresh snow against a blue sky, and so I ran out with my camera to try to capture the magic. Here’s hoping for more snow this winter!

December snow in the northeast

Reading/Watching

I read three novels this month: Writers and Lovers by Lily King, Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi, and Rodham by Curtis Sittenfeld. Each was released in 2020, and I loved both Writers and Lovers and Rodham (each took me just a little bit to get into, but by the second half of both I was hooked), and liked Transcendent Kingdom.

And speaking of being hooked, I started watching Game of Thrones with my family over Christmas and now I can’t stop. I’m certainly late to the party on this one, and for the longest time just thought that the show wouldn’t be for me, but I was wrong. Now I know what I’ll be doing in January!

I also couldn’t stop watching Camino YouTube videos (here, and here); I keep adding more and more routes to my list!

Writing

This wasn’t my greatest month for writing; despite not being out and about nearly as much this December, there was still more to do and more distraction because of the holidays. It was hard to settle into a good writing routine (but I’m hopeful for January!). In addition to some work here and there on my book, I posted another essay up on Patreon (a site where you can support my writing/walking, with a new essay every month, just for my patrons! Subscribing starts at as little as $1/month). This one was about the early days of quarantine, childhood memories and the joy of naming things.

***

For as hard as this year has been, there’s so much I have to be grateful for. I was thinking about this as I spent Christmas with my family: a roof over our heads, plenty of (good!) food, board games and books and lots of warmth. I’m safe and healthy and even though it feels as though life is on pause, I trust that it will restart again, and I’m lucky to be able to sit here and make plans for when it does. And in the meantime, grateful for all of the connections with family and friends, for the ability to write my stories, to walk my path, to keep going despite it all.

A Happy New Year to all, may the days ahead be joyful and bright!

Path through the snow

November Recap: Ringing bells and blazing sunsets and writing the book!

I’ve spent a lot of time in the past 8 months thinking about windows (though maybe not in the most traditional sense). Rather, I’ve been thinking about windows of time and how to ride the waves of this pandemic.

I was so fixated on this in the summer, trying to find the best window of time when it might be possible to travel. When restrictions would lift and case numbers would fall and when it might feel safe enough to venture out and take a trip, or when it might be okay to see family, and friends.

The fall has been like this too, and I think it’s why, in October, I took a few weekend trips and made an effort to get together with friends/family for hiking and coffee as much as possible (well, for me, an introvert through and through, “as much as possible” really means “on the weekends”, but I digress).

November started off strong, fall was still chugging along at full steam, the colors were never more vibrant, the sun was still shining, the air was warm enough for outdoor get togethers.

But all at once (or so it seems), we’ve reversed course. The fall/winter pandemic wave has descended, and even though I expected it, that doesn’t lessen the jolt of its arrival.

I canceled plans, work goes virtual in December (I work in a school and right now it’s only for a week but that could stretch into something much longer), the Thanksgiving table was small.

And yet, despite it all, November held a lot of good moments. I used to think that October was the most beautiful month of fall in the northeast (at least where I live), but in the past few years I’ve found November to be almost as good. And this year it felt as though fall stretched longer than ever- with crisp and sunny days, and the trees displaying a slow and long unfolding of color (are the Japanese maples always this spectacular in November? The reds never seemed so red!)

Fall colors, Japanese maple

Here’s my roundup from November, maybe not as full as October’s, but nearly just as satisfying.

Hiking

Bryn Coed Preserve, Chester Springs, PA: My local Camino chapter gathered in early November (well, actually, it was the last day of October but it didn’t make it into last month’s roundup, so I’m including it here), to hike the trails in the Bryn Coed Preserve (which means “wooded hill” in Welsh). This preserve is part of the “Natural Lands”, a nonprofit organization in PA and southern New Jersey that aims to save outdoor spaces in order to connect people to the great outdoors. There are 16 preserves in the greater Philadelphia area and I’ve been to four of them so far; one of my winter hiking projects is to visit all 16! This was my last meet up for the foreseeable future with my Camino group; due to the rise in COVID cases, all of our scheduled group events have been canceled. Our group only started up again with organized hikes in early October, and I’m grateful I got to several of them while it lasted. Here’s hoping that late winter/spring will bring a return to the Philadelphia-area Camino group hikes!

Camino group walk in Bryn Coed Preserve, Chester Springs, PA

This was the only notable hike of the month; I was scheduled to hike with my Camino group in Havre de Grace, MD, to see the bald eagles at the Conowingo Dam. I did this hike 2 or 3 years ago and it was spectacular, we saw dozens of bald eagles fishing in the Susquehanna and nesting in the trees; the hike was canceled this year but if travel restrictions are eased I might try to make it there sometime this season; eagle spotting is good between November and February.

Otherwise, it was a month full of my local walks. I zipped out to the Harvey Run Trail in the Brandywine valley several times (this is a small network of trails totaling about 5-miles that I discovered in the spring; there are wide open spaces, fields of wild flowers, hardly any people, and the trails wind past the studios of N.C. Wyeth and Andrew Wyeth. One of the bright spots of the pandemic was finding these paths!)

Wyeth studio, Brandywine River Valley, PA

I also made an effort to hike down to my local wildlife preserve, the place I frequented in the spring when I was working from home (a quick ten-minute walk from where I live).

Late fall in Saul Wildlife Preserve, PA

When visiting my parents for Thanksgiving, in Lancaster County, I walked in loops around the park at the top of the neighborhood. I’ve walked in that park so many times that it doesn’t feel notable, but then the light hits the fields just right and I raise my camera to take a photo and realize just how beautiful the landscape in this area of the state is.

White farmhouse, Lancaster County, PA

Watching and Making and Listening

The best show I watched this month was The Queen’s Gambit, on Netflix. It was so wonderful! My initial thought was that a series about chess would be slow and a little dull, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The fashion, the music, the characters, the drama… I highly recommend it!

Listening: this song.

The best thing I made this month was my annual Thanksgiving cheeseboard; no cooking or baking involved, just a bunch of cheese, meats, crackers and some fruit, throw it all together on a big tray, and voila! I love putting this together for my family every year, and even though our Thanksgiving was small, the food was plentiful and the company was good.

Thanksgiving cheeseboard

Writing

This month I did something to try to jump-start my writing: I attended a writing conference! It was an all-virtual event out of Philadelphia, two days of lectures and talks. A lot of it was geared towards writers who were in the final stages of their book writing, and ready to pitch an agent or go after a book deal. Even though I’m not quite there yet, I took a lot of notes and it was so helpful to visualize what the book publishing process would be like. It made it feel like, when I’m ready, I’ll know the steps to take to try to find an agent, what that relationship would be like, the steps to getting published, etc. It also helped me realize that I’m solidly in the “re-write” phase of my book, and that I need to stop hemming and hawing and just get working. I’ve already rewritten chunks of the book but the beginning and first half need a ton of work. But I’m encouraged, and- for the moment- more focused. It feels good!

My essay this month on Patreon is about a Camino date with an Italian man who gave me a necklace (it wasn’t really a date, but then again, on the Camino, it’s so easy to pull up a chair, sit with a stranger, have a drink, and drop into a deep and interesting conversation. It happens all the time, and I wish it were the sort of thing that could happen more in my real life!)

I also wrote a blog post about my summer road trip through the US, here it is in case you missed it.

Other highlights

Around 11am on November 7th, I heard a bell ringing bright and clear, it sounded like it was coming from the house next door. I thought for a moment, then leapt up and grabbed the bell that sits on my mantle. I raced outside and rang and rang, adding to the chorus going up through my neighborhood, all to announce the news: Joe Biden will be the next President of the United States! I knew that it could be (and I’m sure will be) a long two months until he is inaugurated, but in the moment I only felt joy and hope.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it every year: are there any skies more beautiful than November skies? It can be frustrating to contend with the dwindling daylight hours, to race against the sun to get a post-work walk in, but so often I’m treated to the most stunning sunsets as I round the corner and head towards home:

Blazing sunset sky

Fall trees and glowing sunset

When I think back on this month, more than anything it feels quiet and calm and still. I think that feeling is going to continue all winter as the pandemic forces me to retreat even more, to hunker down, to be cautious and safe. There will be hikes, bundled-up rendez-vous for coffee, hopefully some Christmas spirit sprinkled in, maybe another backyard fire with my parents, some freshly baked bread, a stack of good books, a few bottles of wine. It might not be an easy winter, but as ever, I’m going to keep my eyes opened to the beauty and the joy.

Hoping everyone is safe and healthy and finding your own moments of joy. More soon.

COVID Road-Tripping: what it was like to travel in the US during a pandemic

I was reading a post recently from a very successful travel blogger. I’ve never followed his blog but he gets mentioned a lot in the travel blogging industry, and I occasionally read a post or two of interest. Something led me to his site- I can’t even remember what- but the thing that caught my eye was a post on his experience traveling in the US during the pandemic.

He road-tripped this summer, mostly along the east coast, and his conclusion was that he probably wouldn’t do something like it again (not during a pandemic, anyway). There was some fear about catching the virus in places where cases were spiking, but overall, his assessment seemed to be based more on the closed attractions, not being able to be a last minute traveler, not getting the chance to interact with and meet people, feeling lonely.

These are all perfectly valid reasons to not have a great time on a trip, especially if the kind of travel you’re used to is flying by the seat of your pants, lots of interactions with locals, seeing the popular/major sites, etc.

But my initial reaction was to want to come to my own blog to write about my impressions of what it was like to travel the US during COVID-19, because so much of what I came away with was very different.

 

I wrote just one post about my road trip, and it was filled with imagery more than anything, and short on specific details. While my trip wasn’t perfect, while it wasn’t all I had once imagined it could be, while there are things I would have done differently… I had a really good time. And since I haven’t written much about this trip, I thought this would be a good time to talk about what it was like, and why I maybe had a much better time exploring the US this summer than this top travel blogger.

Lone horse in a field at Little Bighorn National Monument, Montana

I think, in some part, it was about expectations. We’re in a pandemic, so just the decision to travel at all took a lot of time, and thought. I weighed it all: what was my risk, was it possible to travel and mitigate my risk based on my itinerary, my activities, my route? Should I travel alone, should I travel with others? Should I visit friends and family? When should I go?

Not everyone would make the same decisions that I did. Some wouldn’t have traveled at all, some would have done a smaller trip. Some would have done a bigger trip, or done things differently: hit the more famous National Parks, stopped in on friends. 

But for me, it was about deciding what I was comfortable with, and then I let that guide how I was going to build my trip. I lowered my expectations. I let go of the idea that this (almost) cross-country trip would ever come close to what I had been imagining for so many years.

Because this trip has been a long time in the making. It goes back to when I was a kid, to when I read the Little House on the Prairie books and dreamed of what it would be like to cross the prairie in a covered wagon.

Little House on the Prairie book on porch, Kansas

My image of this trip has grown larger and larger over the years, and it’s taken on many versions: the Little House pilgrimage, but also a tour of Major League ballparks, a tour of the National Parks, staying with friends and family as much as possible, hitting the most off-beat roadside attractions, eating a slice of pie in as many diners as possible.

There have been so many versions of the trip in my head that, even in non-pandemic times, I never would have been able to do it all.

But even in limited circumstances, I decided I wanted to give it a go, and see what I could see. I reduced it down to that: to a road trip, a chance to get in my car and drive for thousands of miles, and see where the road would take me. I would see what I could see.

I did some research, I planned out a route, I checked to see what might be open, I gave myself a theme. I might not be able to see a baseball game or visit friends on the West Coast or hike in the biggest National Parks, but I would do a Laura Ingalls Wilder pilgrimage, focusing on the mid-west.

This was a good plan. Aside from one small museum in De Smet, Little House stuff was open, the attractions were all there: the dugout on the banks of Plum Creek, the cluster of cottonwoods that Pa planted for the family, the surveyor’s house and schoolhouse in De Smet, Pa’s fiddle, Pa’s hand-dug well, Laura’s writing desk, a ride in a covered wagon. From Minnesota to South Dakota to Kansas to Missouri, I saw (almost) all.

Pa's hand-dug well from Little House on the Prairie, Independence, Kansas

My sister joined me for the first part of the trip, and most of the Little House stuff. I’d initially intended to do the trip alone, but having my sister with me for the beginning worked out perfectly. At the end of the trip, I stopped at the beach in North Carolina to spend a few more days with family, but otherwise, I stayed solo. I got so many messages and texts from friends as they saw my posts on social media, offering to meet up, offering me a place to stay. I was deeply touched by these invitations- some from friends that I’ve never even met before (a few a result of this blog!)- and if there wasn’t a pandemic raging I would have absolutely made the effort to visit people. But I made a rule for myself- only family- and this felt good.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but I think it made me feel more settled in doing a big road trip. COVID was always on my mind, but by staying mostly solo, I felt like I could keep my risk down (as well as not risk others!).

And despite being alone for a lot of the trip, I didn’t feel lonely. It helps that I like to travel solo, that I already have a lot of experience with it. And maybe, again, it was about expectations: I didn’t expect that I would meet people and make new friends (not that this couldn’t have happened, I just didn’t expect it), and so having a mostly solo trip didn’t disappoint me. I had some really nice interactions along my way, but it was no big deal to keep mostly to myself.

Baby bison in Wind Cave National Park
One of the “friends” I made along my journey!

Little House was the theme, but I incorporated other stuff, too: a couple of National Parks, Mount Rushmore and Devil’s Tower. The Field of Dreams movie site, Buddy Holly’s Crash site, a Frank Lloyd Wright house, hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

There were a few things that were closed. The Surf Ballroom, for instance, the site of Buddy Holly’s last concert before his plane crash, was closed (despite the website saying it would be open). My sister and I would have loved to go in, but it was okay: we took pictures outside, had lunch on a bench with a view of Clear Lake, and then a beautiful drive through cornfields to find the crash site. The Frank Lloyd Wright house was closed, too, but this wasn’t even on our radar! We’d just been driving to our next destination and saw signs for Cedar Rock and decided to detour. We were still able to hike out to the property and stop by the visitor’s center and I think this was a highlight for both of us.

Maybe I had a really good time because I didn’t expect to be able to do it all. Maybe I had a really good time because the whole point was the road.

Dirt road in Kansas

And oh, what a road!

Is the United States not the very best place in the world for a long road trip? You don’t need open attractions for a road trip. You just need a car that runs and eyes that are open to the wonder that’s all around. The pandemic doesn’t stop an eagle soaring through the sky, it doesn’t stop a sunrise from shining through the doorframe of an abandoned building. In my case, it didn’t stop me from drinking bad gas station coffee, or an ice-cold coke from a styrofoam cup, or a couple of beers on the porch of a little white cottage in Kansas. It didn’t stop me from hiking through the mountains or picking wildflowers or walking through tall prairie grass or seeing a field full of bison.

Sunrise and abandoned building in Formoso, Kansas

I wrote this reflection about one of my favorite moments of the trip, just after I’d say goodbye to my sister in Rapid City, SD, and continued on towards North Dakota:

“My sister heads home and I continue on, now just me in my little white car and the great stretch of open road. I’m in the very northwestern corner of the state and it seems like there is nothing up here, nothing but the subtly rolling land and I think that I can see forever. The window is down, the sun shines in through the passenger side and warms my right arm. Gas station coffee and Tom Petty’s ‘Wildflowers’ playing and there isn’t another car or person here but me. Then a fox in the field to my right, and five minutes later, soaring in the sky to my left, a bald eagle. I let out a great and loud cheer when I see the eagle and it feels incredible: there are eagles and foxes here? I see deer, maybe mule deer and one stands close to the road, with great big horns. A small one darts out in front of my car but passes to the other side unscathed. After miles and miles of nothing, a small building on the side of the road. A little country diner. I walk inside and the woman running the place asks what I want for breakfast. She goes in the back and fries up an egg, and some sausage, and toasts an English muffin and it might be the best sandwich I’ve ever had. I ask her about the fox and the eagle, still wondering if I’d imagined them, but she confirms that you can see them up here. “You can see a lot of things here,” she says, “if you look closely.” “

All told, I traveled a little over 6,000 miles in 21 days. My route: Pennsylvania -> Ohio -> Indiana -> Illinois -> Iowa -> Minnesota -> South Dakota -> North Dakota -> Montana -> Wyoming -> Nebraska -> Kansas -> Missouri -> Kentucky -> Tennessee -> North Carolina -> back home to Pennsylvania. A couple states- Illinois and Kentucky- I just passed through on the way to the next stop. 

This map doesn’t show the exact route I took, but it’s pretty close. 

map of road trip route, 2020

With regards to COVID-19, overall, I felt relatively safe. I think the worst experience was towards the very beginning of the trip; after I picked up my sister in Cleveland, we did a big day of driving in order to move ourselves west. The plan was to drive through the rest of Ohio, then Indiana, Illinois, and well into Iowa before stopping for the night. I’d looked at the map and thought a nice place to stretch our legs would be Indiana Dunes National Park, which sits on stretch of shore along Lake Michigan. Our timing was bad: it was a Saturday and we arrived at the park around lunchtime. Everyone was out. It was a summer day during a pandemic and finding a green spot or, better yet, a little stretch of sand along a big lake was what everyone had in mind. Really, it was one of the only things to do! My sister and I headed towards the start of a small trail just as it started to rain, and it truly felt like there was a mass exodus of people leaving the beach. We weaved in and out of groups of people, dodging beach chairs and inflatables, trying out best to keep our distance. I would say the majority of people weren’t wearing masks. I remember that my sister and I looked at each other and wondered if this trip was a good idea.

It went uphill from there (quite literally, ha!). We found our trail and climbed up a long series of stairs and because the light rain had scared most people away, we had the trail mostly to ourselves. At the top we looked out over the lake to a hazy view of the Chicago skyline, then continued on the loop to get back to where we started. We had to walk for a short stretch on the beach, and this, too, felt harrowing: hundreds of people were crammed onto a tiny stretch of sand. Going from months of isolation to a scene like this was jolting.

Indiana Dunes National Park, beach crowd, summer 2020

This was the only time on my trip that I felt like I was around far too many people. A few other spots had a lot of people, but they never felt too bad. At Mount Rushmore, there was plenty of room for people to space out, and my sister and I quickly moved past where people were lingering and to the much more quiet and spacious Presidential Trail that loops around under the mountain sculpture. Wall Drug (in Wall, SD) is a huge general store/shopping/eating area, and while I don’t regret stopping, I think because of the pandemic I didn’t quite feel at ease. Too many people there for the free ice water and 5 cent coffee (myself included)!

But in general, I think the theme of my trip suited a pandemic: a pilgrimage to the prairie, walking and hiking in wide open spaces. It was difficult to not want to keep driving west, especially when I hit Montana/Wyoming, and I could feel- strongly- that I wanted to see the mountains. 5 more hours and I could have been in Yellowstone! But I decided to stick to smaller, lesser known parks, and it was a good decision.

A highlight of the trip was Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It’s a similar landscape to Badlands (maybe not quite as dramatic, but still so beautiful), but with far less people. At times I felt as though I had the park to myself! 

Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Unit

I mostly stayed in hotels, along with a couple of Airbnbs (I’d planned to do some camping, but without a camp stove and after long days of driving, I often just wanted to find a cheap hotel and not have to worry about setting up a tent). I’d had a little worry over what it would be like to stay in hotels on this trip, but again, overall, it was fine. You could add an extra layer of caution by cleaning/wiping down surfaces in the hotel rooms yourself, but I never did. I’d say the biggest downside to staying in hotels during a pandemic is that most of the amenities weren’t available: namely, breakfast! It’s nice to be able to fuel up at the hotel before starting the day, saving both time and money. Some hotels that typically have breakfast available didn’t have anything to offer, most others handed out a brown bag with a piece of fruit, bottle of water, and a granola bar (Nature Valley, always Nature Valley!). It was something, but it certainly wasn’t a hot waffle.

Summer 2020 road trip hotel packed breakfast

Masks were another thing that were practically nonexistent. The further west I went, the less masks I saw. Most business owners wore them, but often I’d walk into a gas station being one of the only people wearing one. Even though this was back in July, it seems like not much has changed in some parts of the country with regards to mask-wearing. There are big stretches of the States where people don’t believe in the risk of COVID-19, or else don’t believe it will ever reach them.

Sometimes, I questioned whether I should be out there, traveling at all. Sitting here back at home, months later (and with the world still very much in the thick of this pandemic), I’m glad I decided to go. I tried to make smart decisions and stay careful and safe: washing hands, sanitizing, masks in public, takeout dinners back in my hotel rooms, solo hikes in the great outdoors. 

I think about where we might be in summer 2021, and as much as I want to say that I’ll be in the middle of a Camino in Spain, followed up by a few weeks in the mountains of France… I’m not sure. I’m hopeful, but it’s too soon to say. What I do know, however, is that if I can’t travel to Europe or somewhere else further afield, there’s still so much more exploring to do in my own country.

I’m still dreaming of travel, but now- in addition to planning long walks in Europe- I’m adding more US road-tripping to my list: Rt 66 and the Southwest, the vineyards of Northern California, a rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon.

But for the time being, I’m sitting tight. It’s time to ride out this next wave of the pandemic and stick to local explorations. But I do wonder what my next trip will be like, if it will be another masked and socially-distanced road trip, or if it might feel a little more like the summers I’m used to: walking down a long path in Europe. Is anyone else dreaming about trips in 2021? Where is the first place you’ll go when it feels safe enough to travel?

Sunrise on the Blue Ridge Parkway

Sunrise hike in the Blue Ridge Mountains, NC

 

October Recap: Waterfalls and Scary Movies and Casting a Vote

There’s ragu simmering on the stovetop and I’m back to my regular spot at the kitchen table, beer in hand, the place where I sit to think and to write in the fall and winter months. Sometimes I think that I get my best writing done when the weather turns cool. Maybe it’s the shortening daylight (only 6:30 and already dark!), maybe it’s the desire to retreat, hunker down, put on my slippers and a long sweater and sink in. 

And so, back to writing it is!

Despite not posting a ton of content here lately, I think about this blog a lot. I have dozens of ideas for posts, a whole bunch of drafts and half-written things, and dreams of a grand return to blogging. At one point I was tempted to challenge myself to write a post every day for a month (who knows, it could still happen!)

In the meantime, we’ll start here, with a monthly recap. It’s my intention to start doing this every month, to put out a post that rounds up all the little things that I want to share: weekend trips and my latest hikes, what I’m reading/watching/listening to, the things I’m writing and the photographs I’m taking.

It feels like I’m always saying something like- “I can’t believe it’s ** already!”. Wasn’t I just saying that about the end of summer, or the month of September? But now we’re at the end of October and in some ways it still feels like spring. I’ve said this before and I’m still feeling it: it’s as if COVID froze time, as though it were still spring or that it’s one long extension of a very strange season, and that life- real life- won’t begin again until this virus is somewhere behind us.

It feels this way, and yet, life goes on. Real life, as strange as it is, is right now. And October was full of some good things!

Travel

I went on a couple notable weekend trips this month: up to the Adirondacks of New York, and out to the Pine Creek Gorge (often called the “Grand Canyon of PA”) in north-central Pennsylvania. Both trips involved hiking and finding good food and lots of time outside. Plus a chance to soak up the beautiful fall foliage! I think each trip caught the tail end of peak foliage, but even under overcast skies, the landscape was stunning. I might not love cold weather, but I still really appreciate living in a place that has four, distinct seasons. 

Goose Pond Inn Bed and Breakfast, North Creek, NY

Old-fashioned dinner in Wellsboro, PA

Hiking

Moxham Mountain (near North Creek, NY), a 5.5 mile hike featuring expansive lookouts over the Hudson Valley and the Adirondack mountains. There were so many scenic viewpoints and the climb up was gradual/steady, and never very steep. I loved it! 

Summit of Moxham Mountain, NY

Mt. Joy & Mt. Misery, Valley Forge National Park, PA, 6.5 miles: my local Camino group met for the first time since February. The group limit was capped at 10 and we all wore masks throughout the hike (it was easier than I thought it would be! Sometimes when I was a bit out of breath on an uphill section I’d pull my mask down but for the majority of the hike kept it on). Our leader for the day took us on a great loop through the park, including a section on a ‘border trail’ that’s not marked on any of the official maps. Valley Forge can get busy, especially on weekends, but once we got into the woods the people thinned out and it seemed like we had the trees to ourselves. And it was so good to see some of my Camino buddies, and be in a small group again. I was a little nervous heading into the gathering but a hike in the woods- with masks and social distancing- felt safe and good.

Sign at Valley Forge National Park

American Pilgrims on the Camino Philadelphia Chapter, Valley Forge National Park, October 2020

Great Falls Loop, Ricketts Glen State Park, PA, 4 miles: On my way to north-central PA to meet my sister for the weekend, I stopped by Ricketts Glen State Park, known for it’s waterfalls. I’d heard of the park before but had never made the trip- now I’m wondering what’s taken me so long! (like so many others, it’s taken the pandemic to get me exploring more in my own backyard). The 4-mile loop wound past 17 waterfalls- 17!! Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, it did. With dappled sunlight and leaves fluttering down from the trees, it was truly a perfect fall hike. (There’s a longer waterfall loop hike- about 7 miles- but if you park in the Lake Rose lot it’s possible to do a shorter loop and still see all- or nearly all- of the waterfalls).

Great Falls Loop, Ricketts Glen State Park, PA

Double waterfall at Rickett's Glen State Park, PA

Reading/Watching/Listening

It’s taking me forever, but I’m loving Haruki Murakami’s ‘The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle‘. I was reading a ton in late spring/summer, but now that I’m back to work in a school, my energy is sapped at the end of the day. But I’m determined to finish and then start on some of my current library requests: on the docket is Elena Ferrante’s ‘The Lying Life of Adults‘ (still on a waiting list but I can’t wait to read this!), and Yaa Gyasi’s ‘Transcendent Kingdom‘. 

I mentioned this in my last post, but I’m really enjoying David Smith’s new podcast– Clearskies Camino. His blog is a great place for all-things-Camino, and the podcast is proving to be more of the same. Each week he interviews a different pilgrim about their experience on the Camino, and it’s been so much fun to hear the voices of some people I’ve been “following” (blog/social media) for years now. I’m gathering up the courage to be one of his guests- I think I would love talking about my experience but of course these kinds of things always make me so nervous! 

It’s October, and that means scary movies! I watched Netflix’s ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ and it was the perfect thing to get me in a spooky kind of mood. Along with my annual viewing of ‘The Shining’, of course. On a completely different note, I’m also watching the new season of The Great British Baking Show (I love, love, love this show).

Writing

This month’s essay on Patreon is a reflective piece, about how an encounter on the Pennine Way got me thinking about what my version of heaven might look like. I’m having a lot of fun working on Patreon essays, and love that I have a place for these writings to land. You’ve got to ‘subscribe’ and sign up as a patron to get access to these once-a-month essays, but levels start as low as $1 a month! The support I’m getting here means the world to me, and I love that a platform like this exists.

I blogged about what it’s like to walk the Camino as an introvert, and as ever, I’m continuing to make slow progress on my Camino book. (An early chapter is up on my Patreon site, and it’s a public piece so you don’t need to be a patron to read it. Check it out!)

Photos

Over on Instagram, I’m revisiting my first Camino- my 2014 journey on the Camino Francés- and it’s been fun to share some of those memories. Otherwise, my camera roll is full of tall trees and fall colors: oranges, reds, yellows. This is one of the most beautiful times of the year in my corner of the world, and I’m trying to get outside everyday for a walk, even if it’s often the same loop through my neighborhood. What a beautiful loop it is!

Majestic fall tree, southeastern PA

Fall neighborhood walk, southeastern PA

***

Two additional, quick highlights:

1: My grandmother turned 90! Happy Birthday Baba!

2: I voted! Election Day isn’t until November 3rd but this year, millions of voters are getting their ballots in early. I dropped off my mail-in ballot at a local drop-box (I was able to walk down my driveway and onto a path through the woods to get there- what a way to vote!), and I got confirmation that it got to where it needed to go. Hoping, praying, for some good change to come to this country.

 

Nadine Walks sometimes uses affiliate links, which means that if you make a purchase through one of these links, I’ll earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.

Walking the Camino as an Introvert

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.

Crossing the mountains, Dragonte route, Camino Francés

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.

Introversion on the Camino; solo pilgrim statue, Camino Frances

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?

Dreaming of Walking Again

This was going to be a big walking year. Well, I suppose you could consider every year since 2014 a big walking year for me, since I always planned at least one long-distance hike/walk. But this year? This year was going to be good.

Last summer I returned to Spain after three years away, and spent 30 days walking the Camino Aragonés and part of the Camino del Norte. As I walked (particularly at the three-week mark), I realized that I hadn’t walked a 30-day stretch since 2015. And I have to admit that I was a little surprised to realize that it felt GOOD.

coastal path on the Camino del Norte

Previously, I’d thought that my body adjusted and my hiking legs kicked in after about 10-days of walking, and while there’s probably some truth to that, something else seemed to happen after another 10-days, at least on this particular trip, something that I hadn’t felt since 2015: I felt like I could walk forever.

I not only start to feel strong, I continue to feel strong. My body adjusts, almost completely.

It’s physical but it’s mental too, because 30-days gives me enough time to really settle in. On my two-week long trips (like Le Chemin du Puy, and the Pennine Way), just as my body starts to adjust, my mind begins the wind-down process, and I never get the chance to just really sink into it. But to have an entire month to walk? The routines feel natural, normal. Walking becomes what I do.

Nadine and backpack on beach, Camino del Norte

I’ve wondered what it would be like to walk for even longer, and I fantasize about giving myself two months, even three months, to walk continuously. Would my body eventually break down? Would I become restless or bored, wishing I could just stop moving and stay in one place?

While I didn’t plan a two-month walking trip this summer, I did recognize that I wanted to walk for more than a few weeks. I wanted another long stretch. And so I booked a flight to Portugal and had a solid 40-days of walking before I would need to make my way over to France, and my writer’s retreat at La Muse.

I didn’t even have a plan of how I would spend those 40 days! I had a Camino Portuguese guidebook, and the thought that I could spend a few days walking south of Lisbon on the Fisherman’s Trail (Rota Vincentina) before making my way north on the Camino, towards Santiago. I intended to walk to Santiago, but knew that I’d have extra time and thought I could either do another trip out to Finisterre/Muxia (and finally walk the link between the two villages!), or maybe walk part of the Camino Invierno.

Muxia, end of the Camino

The coast at Muxia, Spain

All I knew was that I was excited, really excited, to have 40-days to walk.

But this wasn’t it; had all gone according to plan, I would have done some spring-time walking in Japan, as well, on the Kumano Kodo. That would have been 5 days of walking in the mountains of the Kii Peninsula, and it’s hard to describe how much I had been looking forward to that trip.

And maybe ‘hard’ is the best word for all of this. It’s been hard to give up these trips because of COVID. It’s been hard to not go on a long walk this year. It’s been hard to be uncertain about the future, to worry about where my country (the United States) is headed, to stay energized and hopeful in the day-to-day.

At first, I couldn’t look at or read anything that had to do with travel, it stung too much. But a few months ago, I listened to a podcast where Sherry Ott (of Ottsworld, a great travel blog) talked about her long-distance walks and at first I thought I would have to turn it off but as I listened some little spark reappeared. She talked about St Olav’s Way, in Norway, and my brain started turning. What would it be like to walk in Scandinavia?

rising sun, Camino Primitivo

Not Scandinavia, but a beautiful path in Spain, on the Camino Primitivo

I started to do a little research and before I knew it, I had a document outlining a 30-day trip on the Gudbrandsdalen Path (the most popular of the pilgrimage paths making up St Olav’s Way). I didn’t know that I would ever actually walk in Norway, and if I did, I had no idea when it would be, but it felt good to plan. 

And then, a few weeks later, I bought myself another ticket to Japan. I just pushed my trip back one year and honestly, I have no idea if I’ll be able to get to Japan next spring but I figure I might as well act as though I can (a caveat: I got 100% of my flight/lodging money back for the trip I had to cancel, and my flight for next year has good cancelation options). 

In the past couple of months I’ve let myself dream of travel again, especially of all the walks I want to do. A friend living in Spain traveled up to Scotland to walk the Great Glen Way… and instantly I was reading blogs and doing research, planning my own stages. And then I started thinking about Portugal, realizing that I never really looked through the guidebook that I’d bought for my trip and so I started dreaming of walks by the coast and pasteis de nata.

Boat on the Duoro River, Porto

I dug back into Kat’s blog (Following the Arrows). She passed away earlier this year and it was hard to read through her posts but I’ve always gone to her for information and inspiration, and her blog is excellent. I saw that she’d walked the Coast to Coast- had I realized this?

And then I remembered that a few years ago, I’d asked for a Coast to Coast guidebook for Christmas (this must have been right after I walked the Pennine Way), and suddenly I was planning yet another walk, this time a walk across England.

Winding Path, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

It’s hard to not be able to buy a ticket and hop on a plane and use the last few weeks of my vacation time on a walk through the moors, or along a coast, or deep in the mountains. But I have to say, planning feels good. It reminds me that this virus won’t shut down life forever, that there are so many amazing places yet to discover, so many roads to travel, so many walks left in me. 

It feels good to dream, and to have hope for the future.

Here are some links and resources to the walks mentioned in this post, in case you want to do a little dreaming of your own!

Camino Portugués (Portugal): 

Overview from American Pilgrims on the Camino, overview from the Confraternity of St. James. 
Blogs: Camino Portugues- the Nuts & Bolts, Following the Arrows.
Guidebooks: The Camino Portugués, Cicerone, A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino Portugués. 

Kumano Kodo (Japan):

Overview from Tanabe City Kumano Tourism Bureau.
Kumano Travel- Official Community Reservation System.
Blog: Following the Arrows.

St. Olav’s Way (Norway):

Pilegrimsleden website: information on the paths and planning resources
Blog: Everything You Need to Know About Walking St. Olav’s Way in Norway

Great Glen Way (Scotland):

The Highland Council: information and planning resources
Independent Hostel Guide: information on hostel/bunkhouse accommodation 
Guidebook: The Great Glen Way, Cicerone.

Coast to Coast (England): 

Blog: Planning Your Coast to Coast Walk, Rambling Man.
Guidebook: Coast to Coast Path, Trailblazers.
Guidebook: Wainwright’s Coast to Coast Walk.

 

And then it all went up in flames

I just returned home from a 2-day backpacking trip that was supposed to be a 9-day trip, though to be fair, I always knew that I might have to cut the trip short. I’m new to backpacking, and I like camping well enough but I don’t exactly love it. I’m nervous about animals at night and I don’t like being dirty and when I’m on vacation, I really like a glass of wine or a beer at the end of the day. On a Camino, you can sleep inside and take a shower and have a hot meal and an entire bottle of wine. All reasons I really like the Camino. So nine days for someone who’s never backpacked before was ambitious.

But, you know, I thought I could do it. If not for the coronavirus, I would be walking through Portugal right now; I’d planned 40-days of walking this summer, more than I ever have before, and I was excited for it. Walking long-distance paths has become such a big part of my life, ever since I walked that first Camino in 2014. What’s a year without a long walk? COVID has demanded this question, and I didn’t want to accept its answer. I felt restless, my legs itching to go: to go somewhere, to go anywhere. Could I find a long walk a little closer to home?

view on the C&O canal towpath

The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath (the C&O) runs for 184.5 miles from Washington DC to Cumberland, MD. It’s a mostly flat path and often used by bikers and day hikers, but there are some backpackers who hike the entire trail. With enough free campsites, water pumps and several towns close to the path, I thought it would be an ideal first backpacking experience. And in many ways, it is.

I threw my gear into my pack: a tent and sleeping bag and sleeping pad, a camp stove and a bag full of food and a water filter. I booked a hotel room halfway through the journey, in a town with a post office where I could ship a resupply box full of more food. If all went well, I’d walk for nine days, camping most nights.

I set out early, at dawn, driving to the my starting point, stowing my car, finding the start of the trail. The sun was shining and the air was fresh, my pack was heavy but my legs were eager. I was back on a long path! Nothing to do all day but walk and walk!

first steps on the C&O canal towpath

Cumberland, MD, C&O canal towpath

sunny day on the C&O canal towpath

After about 3 miles, I realized how much weight I was carrying on my back. I could start to feel an ache in my shoulders and around my hips. My feet were starting to hurt a bit, too. I walked a few more miles, stopped for a short rest. A few more miles, stopped for lunch. I was 9-miles into the walk and starting to get worried. I’d planned for a first day of 22-miles (I know, I know), and the next day I was due to walk 23, the day after that, at least 25.

I’d intended to start a little slower, but poor planning involving picking up my resupply box from the post office meant I had to do big miles (note to self: in the future, don’t time a resupply for the weekend). But I thought I could do it, because hadn’t I walked 20-miles a day before? On the Camino, I do it all the time!

But here’s the thing. When I was planning this little adventure, I was imagining myself on my strongest Camino days. After 3 weeks of walking when my body had adapted to the path and my legs were strong and my shoulders could bear the weight of what I carried. Those were the days I recalled, the days when I felt strong and unstoppable. And there were days on the Camino, or on a hike in England, when I pushed myself hard, when I struggled but kept going. And these are also the kind of days that stick in my mind, proof that I can push myself hard, that I can keep going through some pain, that I can endure.

straight path of the C&O canal

Well, maybe ‘endure’ should be the word of the last two days. There I was, on the C&O, putting one foot in front of the other, pain radiating through my body. “Have I ever hurt this much on a walk before?” I asked myself. I felt it everywhere: my shoulders and lower back and hips and thighs and feet and even in my ankles. My ankles hurt! I realized that I should have been more careful in my packing, that I probably should have done a few training hikes wearing my pack. Why did I think I could walk 20+ mile days with 30 pounds on my back like it was no big deal?

I made it to 15-miles. I stopped, I rested my feet. “4 more miles,” I told myself. “Then you can stop.” As I walked I came up with a new plan, one where I would shorten my next few days, and then take a bus or an Uber to the next town where I could pick up my resupply box.

Potomac Forks hiker biker campsite, C&O canal towpath

After 19.5 miles I made it to a campsite and I sat on a bench and didn’t move for awhile. Slowly, hobbling, I set up my tent and washed my socks and changed out of my sweaty clothes. Two people on bikes road up, and set up camp at the opposite end of the site.

I took out dinner supplies, figuring I could eat and then crawl into my tent and have an early night, that maybe sleep would soothe my muscles.

I have this little camp stove that is nifty and neat and so easy to use. It heats up water in under 2-minutes and I’ve had it for several years, used it a few dozen times.

But this time? I was using a new fuel canister so that must have been it, maybe there was a leak, there must have been a leak, because something went terribly wrong and my stove went up in flames.

I keep thinking of that expression- “burst into flames”. That’s what happened. One minute nothing, the next, the thing was engulfed in flames. I started at it for a few seconds, my brain lagging behind the reality of the situation, lulled by the licking and leaping flames.

I snapped out of it. “Help!” I called out, panicked. The bikers ran over, the guy reached in to turn off the gas and the girl suggested I douse the remaining flames with water. I’d been frozen. I don’t do well in emergency situations, when I need to think and act quickly. If I’d been alone I would have figured it out, I think, but thank goodness there were other people there.

The stove was dripping like a Dali painting, the lower component fused to the fuel canister, the smell of burnt plastic everywhere.

“My stove,” I whispered.

I knew that my trip was over. Half the food I was carrying needed to be heated, coffee included. I might be able to push myself through a lot but I wasn’t going to do this walk without a morning cup of coffee.

aftermath of stove catching fire

It’s hard to quit something. I was thinking about that today, on my drive back home, and I realized that once I set my mind to something and go for it, I rarely quit (sometimes to my own detriment, but that’s another story). I thought about all of my research, the stages I’d planned, the treats I’d tucked into my resupply box, the excitement I’d felt about being able to head down a long path again.

But I knew I was done. I let the stove cool off and ate a cold dinner of tortillas and babybel cheese and tucked myself into my tent and fell asleep to the sound of trains on the tracks and frogs in the canal.

The next morning, at 6am, I packed up my things and turned around and walked the 19.5 miles back to where I started. I didn’t think it was possible that things could get much worse, but maybe it’s just that kind of a year.

About 3-miles into the walk, I could feel a blister developing on the bottom of my foot. I’d felt something the day before, but figured it would be fine. But this time I knew it was a blister. Should I have stopped and tried to do something about it? Probably. But my pack was so heavy that I just didn’t want to stop to take it off and put it back on more than was necessary. I was already feeling defeated, I just wanted to get the miles done and get back to my car.

misty morning on the C&O canal towpath

So I walked, and walked, and the blister grew, and grew. After about 12-miles, I knew I’d be coming to a bench beneath a tall tree (aside from the campsites every 5-7 miles, there were few places to stop and take a break). I stared ahead, constantly looking for the bench, walking on and on.

Finally it appeared, but there was someone already there. A young guy, with a large pack and a tall walking stick.

My head was foggy from the lack of coffee, my blister ached with every step and I was annoyed that I couldn’t stop to rest at the bench. But then the guy called out- “Where are you headed?”

I stopped, and turned. “Just to Cumberland,” I said. “How about you?”

He gave me a small smile. “Denver.” A pause. “Colorado.”

I grinned, something shifted. “Tell me more.”

He talked about the route he’d plotted: starting in Pittsburgh, winding down to Cumberland and then onto the C&O to DC. He would hop to the Appalachian Trail and hike down to Georgia and then through the forests and into the midwest where he would pick up another long rail-to-trails path, and get himself over to Colorado.

“When the coronavirus hit,” he said. “I started to walk around where I live. It’s the best therapy I’ve ever found.”

I nodded and nodded.

“And then when restrictions started to lift,” he continued, “I knew that I just wanted to go out and walk for a really long time. It’s freedom.”

We talked for a few more minutes, he told me that I was the first backpacker he’d seen, and he wanted some advice. I sheepishly told him that I didn’t know much, that I was new to this too, that I didn’t even know the base weight of my pack. But I did know how to walk, and I also knew that walking was freedom, and maybe despite it all, that was enough.

He told me his name was Colby, and I wished him luck on his journey, then I continued on. I thought about him as I walked, wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t had to turn around. If I’d shortened my days would he have caught up with me? We would have been headed in the same direction and maybe I could have made a friend.

Or maybe, I wouldn’t have met him at all. Maybe I needed to turn around to find another person walking the same path.

scene on the C&O canal towpath

A half mile further on I found a flat and grassy patch where I could stop and rest. I aired out my feet, drank water and ate a snack and stared off into the distance, where dark clouds were gathering.

Dark clouds. I’d timed the start of my walk for days that promised sunshine and clear skies, no rain. But the clouds were moving closer, and then there was the rumble of thunder, too.

storms clouds on the C&O canal towpath

I kept walking. What else was there to do? The clouds moved overhead and rain drops began to fall and then in the next minute, the skies opened up and the rain poured down.

Another expression: torrential downpour. How else to describe this rain? I’ve walked a hundred days on long-distance trails and I’ve walked in the rain but I have never walked in rain like this. I’d put a rain cover on my pack but hadn’t bothered to put on a rain jacket, figuring that I might just walk under a passing shower and the rain would feel good and cool on my skin.

This rain was hard and cold. It pelted down, for 10 minutes, for 20 minutes. After about 30 minutes it slowed and stopped, and I stopped too. I took off my pack and dug through to find my little towel. I looked up and down the trail and then took off my shirt and dried off as best as I could, then put on a dry shirt and pulled out a poncho to carry in my hand and then continued on.

The rain started again, falling even harder than before. I threw the poncho over my head and for awhile I stayed dry but soon there was too much rain. And then thunder, and lightening, and my blister growing larger and larger, I limped with every step through the thunderstorm, through the puddles and the mud, retracing my steps from the day before.

Thunder directly overhead and the path coming to a clearing in the trees and I stopped, and waited, and stared at the ground as water ran down the poncho into my shoes and then I saw tiny white marbles bouncing in the grass. Hail!

When it felt safer to continue I kept walking, and saw that further up the path, there was a bridge overhead and people sheltering underneath. I approached, and a woman called out to me.

“Where are you headed?”

She told me all about her days of hiking the Appalachian Trail. There was wistfulness in her voice, a tinge of envy, she looked at my pack and my poncho and my shoes and told me to savor every moment. Just as I was leaving she asked if I had a trail name. “I don’t,” I said (though the name ‘Flame’ ran through my mind). Trail names are common on the the long-distance hiking paths in the US, but not at all on the paths I’ve walked in Europe.

Something else shifted when she asked this, just as something had shifted during my conversation with Colby. It didn’t matter that I’d only made it one day on the trail and had to turn around. It only mattered that I was out there, and doing it: the weight of the pack, my battered feet, soaked to the bone, water rolling in my shoes and dripping from my nose but my legs still moving, one step at a time. Just call me Flame, I thought.

bridge over the C&O canal towpath

I continued, two more miles to the end. The rain stopped, the clouds moved out just as quickly as they came in. The sun poured down, warming me again. A man on a bike pulled up alongside of me. “Where are you headed?”

He was biking the final stretch of the C&O, doing an out and back ride and had seen me at my campsite the night before. “I figured you were heading south,” he said.

I told him the story of my stove, that I’d decided to turn around. And the blister, and the rain, and the hail.

“Karma,” he said, “I think if you can make it through this with a smile on your face, then something good will come back to you.”

I had a half mile left, 10 more minutes to walk. The sun was shining. My legs were still holding me up.

I smiled.

hiking the C&O canal towpath

COVID-19 Update #1

Greetings to all of my quarantined friends! I can imagine that most of us- if not all of us- are hunkered down at the moment, staying in one place and doing our best to keep physically distanced from others. For the last two weeks I’ve thought about writing a blog post every day, and then inevitably, don’t write a thing. I’m about two weeks into a quarantine (16 days, to be exact), and one of the biggest things I’ve noticed is that it’s been hard to focus. Hard to sit down and get the coronavirus and all of its implications out of my head and focus on something that takes any sort of mental power. In other words, it’s been hard to write.

But here I am, I’m feeling just a bit more settled today (or at least, at the moment!), and I’m going to seize that energy and post an update.

First, a little glimpse into my part of the world. I live outside of Philadelphia, and we had identified coronavirus cases somewhat early on (in terms of identified cases in the US). It’s hard to remember dates, but the county where I live and the county that borders the school I work for had a few cases in early March, and from there things moved quickly. By March 13th my school closed for the day so that teachers could get some online learning training; the intention was that we’d be back in school on Monday, March 16th, but I think we all knew that wouldn’t happen. That next week there seemed to be a new restriction or new cancellation nearly every hour: school were closed for two weeks, parks and libraries and businesses closed, then my county (and surrounding counties) were issued “stay at home” orders. 

staying at home during quarantine

The stay at home order isn’t quite a lockdown (though maybe that’s a synonymous term? I’m not sure). We’re allowed out for groceries and medicine, and to go to work if it’s deemed an essential service. We’re also allowed outside to exercise, take the dog on a walk, get fresh air. The “rules” here get a little hazy. I know that in other places, there are more restrictions on outside time. I could certainly be misinformed, but I read that in France, people can go outside but need to stay within 1 kilometer of where they live. And in the UK, I believe the rules state that you only get one allotted walk or exercise session a day.

Here, it’s generally understood that you shouldn’t stray too far from where you live, but there don’t seem to be restrictions on what, exactly, that means. Initially, the nearby state park where I always hike had closed, then the trails reopened. But other parks that had remained opened are now closed, because too many people flocked there. It’s being left largely up to us, as individuals, to sort of ‘self-police’, and use good judgment. So, don’t walk or hike in an area where there are too many people. If you go to a trailhead and the parking lot is full, go somewhere else. 

Quarantined hiking

I’ve been mostly staying at home, and walking around the neighborhood where I live. I’ve made a few exceptions and have driven out to my park, and for the most part the trails are actually more quiet than walking around my neighborhood is! I’m grateful that I can still get in my car and go somewhere, but I also want to be careful about this. I worry that if everyone gets in their car to go somewhere, areas will become overrun. So for now (and as long as it’s allowed), I’m going to limit the park visits, and if I go, get there early in the morning when it’s guaranteed to be quiet. Otherwise, it’s walks around home for the time being. 

And walking, as ever, has kept my spirits up. These have certainly been a difficult few weeks, and for me, one of the most challenging aspects is not knowing how long this will last. Plans are cancelled, travel is completely upended, none of us know how long we will be sitting inside of our homes. There are the larger questions, too: if and when we’ll get a handle on this virus? What the cost will be in the meantime: who will get sick, how many lives will be lost, what will the economic landscape be when we’re gotten to the other side? 

Spring detail; grass growing on tree bark

It’s easy to get overwhelmed, and when I find my thoughts moving in this direction, I get up and I move. I lace up my shoes and go outside and sometimes it’s just 15 minutes around the block. Sometimes I walk for an hour. Sometimes- if it’s raining- I just walk inside my apartment. Back and forth and back and forth. I put earbuds in and listen to music and move. It helps. It’s the best thing I know to do in times like these. 

Many have commented that at least the weather is getting nicer, that spring is arriving and trees and flowers are beginning to bloom. It’s true, and the walking will become more beautiful, but I can’t help but be heartbroken, too. I walk in all seasons- winter doesn’t really slow me down too much- and while I’ll certainly enjoy nicer weather, it’s also a reminder of what I’ve lost. Nice weather had always been an indication that my adventures would soon be starting- and indeed, in less than a week, I was supposed to be on a flight to Japan, walking through the mountains of the Kii Peninsula, hopefully catching the last of the cherry blossoms. Needless to say, I’m no longer going to Japan. I hope it’s a trip that I can one day reschedule, maybe for next year’s spring break, but it feels too far away for me to even be hopeful. Right now, I’m just sad and disappointed. I’m also keeping perspective, knowing that there are much harder losses for so many to bear, but allowing myself to mourn the loss of this particular adventure.

March cherry blossoms

In fact, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to go on any long walks this year, and I’m having a difficult time sitting with that. I’d just bought a new pair of hiking shoes earlier this month, and after a couple weeks of hiking and walking, they felt good and broken in. But a few days ago, I went back to wearing last year’s pair, reasoning that maybe I should save these new shoes for a time when I know I’ll be going on a really long walk. 

Keen hiking shoes

It feels like I’m putting those new shoes up on a shelf forever, and I have to remind myself that it’s not the case. They won’t be put away forever. This ordeal might feel as though it has no end, and indeed, it’s hard to see a light when we don’t even know how long the tunnel is. But it will end, we’ll all emerge, we’ll dust off those new shoes and dance down a trail in the summer sunshine again. 

In the meantime, be well, send news, stay safe and dream of brighter days ahead.

Blue sky after the rain

 

Remembering a pilgrim friend

I was making my lunch and waiting for my eggs to cook when I glanced at my Facebook newsfeed.

What I saw was incomprehensible.

It was a post sharing the news that a fellow pilgrim/blogger/writer friend had recently passed away. I stared and stared and couldn’t make sense of the words or the photo. I’m writing about it here, in part, to pass along the news to others who may not have already heard, because surely some of my blog readers were also followers of hers: Kat Davis, of Following the Arrows. 

There are few details at this time; Kat’s partner, Howard, shared news that she passed on February 28th. There is a thread on the Camino forum, here. 

Kat was a young woman who had hiked more routes than you can count: countless Camino paths, two pilgrimage trails in Japan, the PCT in California, all over the UK, and more. 

I’d never met Kat, but I feel like I’ve known her for a long time. When had I found her blog? Was it before my first Camino, back in 2014? Or maybe a year later? Whenever it was, it was early-on in my walking adventure days. I remember reading about Kat’s journey on the Camino de Primitivo, and noticing that her blog header photo was a beautiful image from the route. When I left to walk my own Primitivo in 2015, I remember searching for the spot where she took her photo. I think I found it, but my photo was full of clouds and gray skies, with none of the rolling hills and glorious sunshine that Kat was able to capture. 

Kat’s beautiful photo

In the last few days, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of community. I’ve been living in my little apartment for a long time, and I know some of my neighbors but I wouldn’t call the people who live in my neighborhood my community. The idea of community has taken on a very different meaning in our digital age, and in these last 5 or 6 years, I’ve come to recognize that my largest and strongest community is my fellow long-distance walkers. The pilgrims, the trekkers. I’ve met many in person, whether it’s been on a trail- in Spain, in France, in the UK-, or in my local APOC Philadelphia chapter. But the larger part of the community exists somewhere else, somewhere behind the curtain. Through my blog, through Instagram, through Facebook groups and Camino forums, I’ve been able to connect with other pilgrims and walkers. And sometimes it’s more than just connection, sometimes it’s friendship.

Photos from a hike: March 1, 2020

The loss of Kat has rattled me. We’d never met, why should I be so shaken? But she was part of my community. We’d exchanged messages: about our travels plans and our photography. Late last summer, as I was coming off of my walk on the Norte and Kat was just about to start hers, she messaged me, asking for advice. I warned her that the trail might be crowded, and sent the names of some of my favorite albergues. A few months before, at the end of June when I was on the Camino Aragones, I received a message from Alan, another Camino friend, who I’d met briefly in northern Spain in 2016. He sent a photo with the note- “Look who I bumped into today…” and it was Kat, the two of them together, their smiles and shining faces. I didn’t even know Alan all that well but did it matter? We were all connected- he and Kat, because of their journeys through Japan… and Kat and I, because of our blogs… and Alan and I, because of the time we overlapped on the Norte. 

And it’s this, I think. This interconnection, this invisible thread that binds so many of us. There’s Kat, and there’s all the rest of you, so many of you who are reading this post. We may have never met on a Camino or anywhere in the “real world”, but the connection is there. Losing someone from this community is losing a friend. I feel it as though that thread is tugging at my gut, tugging and tugging, invisible yet felt with a force I didn’t know existed. One falls, and it pulls me down a little, causing me to stumble and miss more than a step or two.

Steps. I’ve often felt that I’ve been a few steps behind Kat, always looking to her blog to learn of new paths, new adventures. The route I’ve planned for my April pilgrimage on the Kumano Kodo was taken point by point from her own journey. I have a document of the trip with my daily stages and accommodations and in more than one place I’ve written her name: “This is where Kat stayed!” I’m planning to walk the Camino Portuguese this summer, and a few months ago ordered the Cicerone guidebook that she authored. Kat’s been one of my role models, as I’ve become a pilgrim and a long-distance walker. I’ve watched her, with respect and admiration, a strong and adventurous woman setting off on paths around the world, alone.

After I heard the news I left my apartment for a walk. I was going to go to the state park where I always hike, to the trails I’ve walked hundreds of times. But I decided, instead, that it was time to try something new. I drove to a wildlife refuge just 20 minutes from where I live- so close, but somehow a place I’d never before explored. I walked down the long path in the sunshine, through a landscape of tidal marsh, the sky so blue, the call of geese shouting overhead. It was beautiful.

To Kat, may I long follow in your footsteps.

 

Self-Love on the Camino

It’s February, and the word ‘love’ comes up a lot. I hadn’t planned to write a post about love (and not for Valentine’s Day, either), but as I was walking yesterday, my mind turned towards ‘self-love’. And I started thinking about what this has meant for me in the context of my Caminos and other long-distance walks.

Self-love is a practice, and it’s different than self-care, though the two certainly overlap. Self-care gets a lot of talk these days, which isn’t necessarily a good or a bad thing, but I’d say that it’s having a moment. We can have a long discussion about self-care on the Camino (and maybe we should! It’s a topic I’ve never written explicitly about), but for now, I want to think about self-love on the Camino.

Yellow arrow and red heart on the Camino del Norte

Loving ourselves. It can be hard, right? Like, to really, really love ourselves. It takes great self-awareness and intention and focus and practice. And because we’re constantly evolving and changing, and entering new phases of life, I think it’s probably a life-long thing, this idea of learning how to love yourself.

The Camino is sort of the perfect place to work on this. I actually think it can happen without us even realizing it. I’ve heard fellow pilgrims say: “I really liked who I was on the Camino.” The Camino can help us return or, or remember, or unearth our best selves, our truest selves. The people we are, when all of the noise and distraction are stripped away. The Camino gives us time, and space, and a pure physical challenge that makes it difficult to hide. Who hasn’t had a day when you’re in the middle of a long uphill stretch, and there’s nothing left: no energy, no optimism, you’re running low on water. It’s hot and the flies are buzzing around your head and the clothing you washed the night before never dried and you’re hungry and annoyed and you lost your earbuds and everything is wrong. Who are you, then? Do you love yourself, then? It’s hard to hide. It’s hard to hide because there’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing else to do. You can only continue walking up that hill, and then back down the other side. You can only continue walking until your clothing dries and you find something to eat and you regain some energy in your legs and you fill up your bottle at a fountain and you see a friend and you smile. You have to walk through all the pieces of who you are on the Camino. You’re forced to face yourself.

Camino reflection, Santillana Del Mar, Camino del Norte

And this experience has the potential to lead us towards self-love.

I’m not sure how much I practiced self-love on my first Camino. I’m sure I did, in ways that I wasn’t even aware of. Maybe it was when I bought a soft black t-shirt in a crowded shop in Burgos, so that I had something fresh and clean to wear in the evenings. Or maybe it was when I stopped in an albergue in the middle of nowhere, in a place where I knew no one, because I wanted time alone. Or maybe it was when I continued walking and walking, because I just didn’t want to stop.

But this idea of self-love has grown for me in the last few years, as I continue to return to Europe for more Caminos, more long walks. I suppose that going on a long walk, at all, is an act of self-love. I’ve learned that it’s something that makes me happy, something that makes me feel like one of the most true versions of myself, something that energizes me and makes me feel healthy and strong and good.

This is what self-love is, to me. Well, it’s a lot of things. But I keep coming back to those words: ‘truest version of myself’. It’s me, in all the wonderful and fun and sweet and quirky and annoying and difficult ways of being me. It’s knowing who I am, accepting who I am, and allowing myself to be who I am. And, the other piece, I think, is being kind and gentle and patient with myself, especially when things are hard.

And I get to do this on the Camino, every year I examine how I feel and try to let myself be totally present with who I am, and how I am. And then, I’ve learned to ask myself what I want. I ask myself what I need, too, but asking myself what I want is different.

All You Need is Love sign in café, Santiago de Compostela, Camino de Santiago

How have I practiced self-love on the Camino? What has that looked like?

It looks like this:

Taking myself to a bar and finding a table in the corner, or maybe out in the sunshine, and drinking a glass of wine. Alone.

Walking past where I planned because I’m feeling so good and I just don’t want to stop.

Waking up early in the morning and walking with the sunrise.

Eating three-course meals and savoring every bite.

Making a playlist of favorite songs every year to listen to when I walk. Putting old Disney songs on the mix, and singing aloud as I walk (apologies for anyone who may have overheard my rendition of ‘Part of Your World’ from Little Mermaid this past summer).

Grinning and laughing as I walk down an empty trail, with the sun shining and the wind blowing and my walking stick held high in the air.

Choosing to stay in albergues by the coast so I can spend time with my feet in the water.

Playing with puppies, taking pictures of horses, saying hellos to the cows.

The full English breakfast. (This is not a Camino thing, but it’s a ‘hiking-in-England’ thing, and I love it).

Sitting in a pew in a dark and empty chapel, saying small prayers for my family and friends, saying a prayer for myself, asking for strength as I walk.

Sharing my stories with my fellow pilgrims.

Toasting to my sturdy ankles, learning to appreciate those ankles, those wide feet (I can’t exactly say I love them yet, but I’m getting there).

Carrying the weight of a bigger camera, so I can take thousands of beautiful photos as I walk.

Giving myself pep talks and encouragement when I need it most. My go-to phrase is actually something I mutter to myself in French: Tu peut le faire. You can do it.

Booking a ticket back to Europe, to return to yet another path, to do it all over again.

Fort William Jacobite Steam Train, Scotland

I just re-read this list and I can feel myself being lifted up; any tension I might have been carrying from the day eases. I feel lighter, I’m smiling, I’m grateful for discovering this thing that I love, this thing that I can choose to give myself (time and time again!).

So in this month where lots of people are celebrating love, I hope that all of you- my good and true friends and readers- can find moments of self-love, moments when you can give yourselves the things that you want, the things that make you feel like the truest versions of who you are.

More soon. With love.

Heart of Stones, Camino de Santiago

Highlights (and Photos!) from 2019

Happy New Year, my friends and blog readers!

It’s felt like a long time since I’ve come on here to write, or to give any sort of update. But the new year felt like the perfect time, in so many ways, so here I am.

It’s one of my favorite times of the year: I love looking back, I love looking forward, I love taking stock of where I am right now. Every year, as the clock ticks down to midnight, I feel a flutter of hope and excitement for what’s to come, and I hope that never changes. There’s promise in a new year. Possibility. In some ways it feels like the slate is wiped clean, and I get another chance. “Begin with a single step”, I remind myself. It never feels more possible- whatever it is that I hope to achieve- than at the start of a new year. 

What do I hope to achieve, in 2020? Oh, the same old wonderful things. Wouldn’t it be a dream to finally finish my book? (or, at least finish a solid first draft?). I’ve been slowly working on some essays to eventually publish in an e-book, and it would be awfully nice to get that out to readers soon. I always say that I want to keep blogging- and blog more- and then never do, but there it is, that ever present hope: I want to do more with this blog. 

And I want to walk! I want to walk everywhere and I think (and know!) that 2020 is going to bring me to at least one path that’s a bit out of my comfort zone. Stay tuned.

Writing and walking, if I can do more of both in 2020, it will be a good year.

But this past year was a good one, too. Last year I wrote a highlight post of some top travel moments from the year, and I thought I would do something similar this year, too. But instead of travel highlights, I thought I’d just share any highlight, big or small. There’s travel, to be sure, but there’s also more: the stuff that made me happy, the things I’m glad I took the time to focus on, glad to have filled my days with.  

In no particular order (or, in vaguely chronological order), here they are:

A new car

At some point, several years ago at least, I wrote a post about change and the fear of it all, and how to take the first steps. I wrote about how I don’t like change and I get very attached to my things and I love them until they fall apart, and I wondered: what would happen if I sold my car? Sold it before I needed to? Bought something more reliable and then drive myself across the country?

Well, it was a good thought, but instead I did drive my car practically into the ground. A year ago I promised myself I wouldn’t put my car through another winter, and so I had a loose deadline, then hemmed and hawed and finally, finally, bought myself a new (used) car in early February.

For me, this is a pretty big deal. My old car, my little silver Volkswagen, it still ran. There was no check engine light on. When I cashed it in for $500 (which was about $400 dollars more than I thought I would get for it), I had a flash of regret. “There are still more miles left in it!” I thought. 

But I have to say, when I drove away in the new car, I felt something lift from my shoulders, and it’s been gone ever since. I don’t worry about this new car breaking down, or the transmission going, or the brakes squealing. I don’t worry at all. My old car was safe but this new one is reliable, and it opens up lots of new possibilities. Lots of road trips. And that’s exciting. 

Nadine and Honda Fit

Final odometer reading in the Golf

Final odometer reading

A somewhat “random” long winter weekend in Paris

It was fall 2018, a month after I’d returned from my summer trip, and already my legs were feeling itchy. I saw an email claiming that flights to Paris were insanely cheap, then confirmed it with a few google searches. I impulsively bought a ticket and when February 2019 rolled around, I found myself jetting off to Paris for a 5-day trip. (and when I say ‘jet’, I mean taking public transportation from Philadelphia up to Newark, and then getting on a flight to Paris that had a layover in Germany. Not the easiest or more direct trip, but still incredibly worth it for the price).

I’m extremely lucky to be able to do this, but even so, I worried that it was a little much. To fly from the States to Paris for 5-days because it’s the middle of winter and I need an break? No, I didn’t need to go to Paris. But I do think it was a wonderful thing to give myself. January and February can be hard months: hours of daylight are short, it’s cold where I live, and my job can be stressful and demanding and in the middle of winter it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t want to burn out from the work that I do, and lately I’ve been more intentional about taking time off and giving myself things to look forward to.

Anyway, this is a long intro to say that I had an incredible long weekend in Paris this past February. Did I write about it on the blog at all? I meant to, but I don’t think I did. I found an inexpensive studio apartment on Airbnb in the 12th arrondissement (it was a little far from the center and for such a short trip I don’t think I’d stay that far away again, but it was a charming little space and in the end just what I needed). I met up with a few friends, went to a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Company, drank lots of espresso and wine, and walked everywhere. I’d intended to spend a lot of time in museums, as well, but the city was having a warm spell, and it was hard to resist the sunshine. So I walked and walked, ate ice cream and sat in park chairs and wrote in my journal. It was perfect.

Ice cream in Paris, with a view of Notre Dame

Coffee on balcony of Airbnb, Paris, 12th arrondissement

Concert reunions

Whenever my favorite artist is on tour, I always get together with my sister and best friend and sometimes another good friend and sometimes my cousin. In those moments, I wonder if there is anything much better: some of my very favorite people all together, crammed into my apartment and sleeping on my couch and my air mattress, driving to the show and singing along to our favorite songs, ordering pizza and drinking coffee and hanging out. 

Matt Nathanson concert with friends

Our creepy “band shot”

Walks along the beach

When I was younger, I use to spend a lot of time at the beach. All through my childhood and adolescence my family would vacation at a beach house in North Carolina, and in my 20’s I’d spend time on the coast in Maine and New Jersey. I’d spend hours in a chair or a towel on the sand, hours in the water. But ever since I discovered long distance walking, I haven’t had the same kind of time to spend at the beach. 

But I still find something incredibly powerful and compelling about the ocean, or being near the ocean. I may not be sunbathing or riding waves anymore, but I look for almost any opportunity I can to spend some time walking along the sand. And when I tally it up, I realize that I’ve walked on many beaches this year: Cape Henlopen in Delaware, Higbee Beach in New Jersey, Miami, Assateague Island in Maryland, all over the northern coast of Spain, and several lovely stretches on the coast of Maine.

Walking along Higbee Beach, New Jersey, in winter

Backpack and walking stick on the beach, Camino del Norte

Winter walk on beach in Drake's Island, Wells, Maine

Friends, friends, friends!

I can be introverted and at times like to tuck myself away, but I also value and cherish my friendships, and the opportunity to see friends who live far away. I got a few good visits in this year, with friends I don’t get to see as often as I like (which goes for nearly all of my friends, whether they live near or far), and this made me so happy. Here’s hoping that 2020 includes even more friendship, and time to reconnect with friends that I didn’t get to see this year.

Camino reunion with Susie, Philadelphia

The two Nadines, La Muse Artists and Writer's Retreat, Labastide, France

Reunion with Vera, Paris, France

Reunion with Beatriz on the Camino del Norte

Camping weekend reunion with friends

Vineyard reunion with friends (and Nunzio!)

Winterthur at Christmas

Christmas backdrop, Cleveland

Surprise birthday visit in Maine!

Reunion with old friends

My favorite local park

I’ve mentioned it before, many times, but here it is again: I’ve loved all the hikes I’ve done in my local state park. I know the trails like the back of my hand, and it’s a joy to hike through the forest and let my mind run free. There are just enough hills for decent Camino training, but not enough to make the hikes too strenuous. I’ve also gone on a few great hikes with my Philadelphia Camino chapter, and time with this group always leaves me feeling full and happy.

Favorite tree in Ridley Creek State Park, PA

Hike in Valley Forge National Park with Americans on the Camino Philadelphia chapter

The Florida Keys!

I told my sister that I wanted to take her on a birthday trip, and asked her where she might like to go. “Key West!” she answered, and that’s how we found ourselves in the Florida Keys in April. I’d never been to that part of Florida before, and we had a blast exploring, seeing alligators in the Everglades, sunset dining on the dock, catching a Phillies game in Miami, and touring Key West with all its vibrancy and energy. We also got to tour Ernest Hemingway’s home, and I tried to soak up some creative energy in his studio. 

Alligator in Everglades National Park, Florida

Ernest Hemingway House, Key West, Florida

Camping  Weekends

First up, Assateague Island. Assateague is a 37-mile long barrier island off the coast of Marlyand/Virginia, and ever since my adventure on Cumberland Island, I’ve wanted to camp there. Wild horses roam the island and the campsites are steps away from the beach (some are on the beach!). My friend and I spent a great weekend on the island in May. We had ideal weather with no mosquitoes, a horse galloped through our campsite in the middle of the night (that was a close enough encounter for me!), we had hot dogs and marshmallows and wine and I pulled myself out of my tent for a sunrise walk on the beach. It’s definitely a place I hope to return to!

Campsite at Assateague Island, Maryland

Wild horse on beach, Assateague Island, Maryland

The second camping trip was with friends in Ohiopyle State Park, in western PA, this time in the fall. I liked getting to use my tent a few times this year, I liked getting an open sky filled with stars, I liked sitting around a campfire and spending entire days outside. Here’s hoping for more of this in the new year.

Campsite in Ohiopyle State Park, Western PA

A photo with my baseball hero

I’m a big baseball fan, and I grew up watching the Philadelphia Phillies and cheering for their underdog second baseman, Mickey Morandini. I’ve met him before, but this year it was a somewhat random encounter- my family had tickets to a game, and he happened to be there that night to greet fans. We were walking into the ballpark when a voice said, “Do you want to meet Mickey?” and there he was, hanging around for handshakes and photos. Baseball is the only sport that I really care about, and it’s provided hours of entertainment throughout my life, but also opportunities and friendships. It felt like a privilege to be able to thank my favorite player and tell him that I loved watching him play.

Mickey Morandini, Philadelphia Phillies

A good, long, summer Camino

I hadn’t been to Spain in three years, I hadn’t walked for longer than 19 days in three years either. This year, I was craving a long walk, and I was craving the Camino. I had 10-days on the Aragones, and 19-days on the Norte, and by the end of it I felt like I could walk forever. There’s no doubt in my mind (or anyone else’s!) that I love the Camino and will probably continue to return all throughout my life, for as long as my legs will carry me.

Walking along the coast on the Camino del Norte

Sunset on the Camino del Norte

Three days in Portugal

I’m hoping to write about Portugal on the blog (soon!); after my Camino I spent a few days in Porto and then took a quick trip to Sintra. I’d never been to Portugal before and my short time there told me that I wanted to come back (maybe even to walk a Camino!). I was charmed by Porto, by the blue of the tiles and the winding streets, the boats on the river, the port cellars dotting the hillside and the sound of fado, the taste of a creamy pastéis de nada. I’d just been walking for a month on the Camino and sleeping on bunk beds in shared albergue rooms, so to take a few days and slow down, in a room all my own, to wander through a city without a deadline or any real agenda, it felt perfect.

Boat on the Duoro River, Porto

Sipping port and listening to fado, Porto, Portugal

A birthday meal on the terrace

I returned yet again to La Muse- the writer’s and artist’s retreat that I can’t seem to get away from- and I spent two weeks writing and hiking through the mountains that surround the tiny village. When the other residents heard that I would be having a birthday, they organized a little dinner party on the terrace of the neighboring property (which is occasionally used for overflow musers). It was a magical night. I’m not used to doing much for my birthday, and initially I felt badly for the effort that everyone was making (I’d only met two of the residents a day before!). But in the end, I think it was a treat for everyone to be able to gather together, to dine on delicious food, to drink a glass of champagne, to squeeze around a table lit with candles, to share stories. 

Birthday meal on the terrace at La Muse

Another picnic along the Seine

For the past several years, I keep dreaming about moving to Paris. Not for the long term, but maybe for 6 months, or a year. I’ve never written extensively about Paris here before, but I’ve mentioned it enough for blog readers to know that it’s a city I love. What would it be like to spend more than just a few days there? To settle in and explore with more depth, to make some friends, to become a regular at my favorite spots? 

But for now, my life isn’t in Paris, and I’m not sure that it will ever be. That’s the reality, and yet, I look at the ways that I’ve been able to capture some of what I’m seeking, even if I’m not living in Paris full-time. I always seem to manage at least a couple of days in Paris every year, and for the past three years running, I’ve also been able to meet up with friends and have a picnic along the Seine. 

Sitting on the cobblestone, drinking a cup of rosé, ripping off a piece of baguette and smearing on some soft cheese, next to some friends, taking and laughing: that’s part of the image of my ideal Parisian life. And somehow, in these last 5 years of travel and walking and writing, I’ve been able to create that image for myself, even if it’s just for a moment. 

Summer picnic along the Seine, Paris, France

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As expected, most of these top moments involved travel, but when I really start thinking, there are so many more: my grandmother turned 100, I had a lot of quality time with my family and my mom and I just saw Little Women, which was so special. I went on hikes and walks with a couple of great dogs, I practiced taking photos with my new camera. Work never really makes the highlight list but I worked hard this year, and will continue to. The year wasn’t perfect- none of them are- but the good moments far outshine any of the difficult ones. 

I hope that the end of this year brings peace, and that the new year ushers in joy and adventure and opportunities for all of us to begin with a single step, and move ourselves towards our dreams. Happy New Year, my friends, I’ll be back soon.

Me and Homer

Inspiration

 

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

-Lao Tzu

 

 

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

-Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things

Camino Packing List

Nadine and backpack on beach, Camino del Norte

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