Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

Before I Die I Will…

I just did a sort-of-trial-packing for my Camino, and all I can say is: now I know why a 24-liter pack is considered small. Oh boy.

In other news, I wanted to write about something I saw the other weekend. I was visiting friends in Maryland (one of whom walked the Camino years ago), and it was a Camino-filled two days: we spent hours talking about the walk, practicing Spanish phrases, eating tapas and drinking sangria at a Spanish restaurant, going on a few hikes.

We were there for the town’s ‘First Saturday’ and the theme was art- there was live entertainment, art demonstrations, community art projects. We walked down a street and saw large chalkboard panels propped against the side of a building, with the words ‘Before I Die I Will…’ written at the top.

Dozens of people had supplied answers, from ‘Go to Italy’ to ‘Be a Mom’. We spent a few minutes reading through the panels, and pointing out our favorite answers.

“Look,” I pointed. “Someone wrote, ‘Find Waldo’.”

“And look just above that,” my friend said. “Walk the Camino.”

It seemed amazing to me that someone had written that they want to walk the Camino. Maybe it was because I rarely see or hear Camino references in my every day life. Maybe it’s because when I tell people what I’m doing this summer, almost nobody has ever heard of the Camino.

Or maybe it’s because the Camino is something that people dream about, something they put on their bucket lists. Knowing that someone answered the question ‘Before I die I will…’ with ‘walk the Camino’ makes me think about how incredible this experience is going to be. I’ve been so caught up in the preparations and the scrambling and training that I’ve lost some of the pure excitement and giddy disbelief of going on a pilgrimage through Spain.

I’m about to walk 500 miles across Spain. Before I die, I WILL attempt to walk 500 miles across Spain. What a great thing to get to do.

Before I Die I Will...

(‘Walk the Camino’ is on the right column, near the bottom)

10 days, rain, and stress.

I was one mile into a hike the other day when it started to rain. I swung my pack onto a picnic bench and reached into the bottom for the rain cover, when I realized that I’d left the rain cover in my apartment. Draped over a drying rack from my rainy hike the day before.

This illustrates two things: it’s raining. A lot. And I’m forgetting stuff.

I’m normally not a forgetful person, so when I start to leave things behind, I know that I have too much going on in my head.

And I do. I have 10 days before I leave for Europe and I feel completely and totally unprepared. I know that’s not true: some things are taken care of, like my flight and my train ticket and where I’m going to stay for my first two nights. And I have most of my things. I still need to find a long sleeved shirt, and I need to get to REI to pick up another fleece that I ordered (yes, I second-guessed the white one. If I had loved it-regardless of the color- I think I would have kept it. But the fit wasn’t great). Otherwise, I think I have everything I need.

I told myself, months ago, that all I really needed was a way to get over to St Jean Pied de Port (my starting point for the Camino), and a good pack and good shoes and a few extras. After that, the rest would take care of itself.

But I also know that I like to be prepared. And the closer this Camino gets, the more nervous I feel.

And what’s with all this rain? The one thing I had been doing really well was training for this walk, but in the last few weeks? Other than a great 8-mile hike with a loaded pack and some good friends, I haven’t done much. My days are too busy for long hikes, and when I do have a little more time, I strap on my pack and as if on cue, the skies open up and dump water on me. I’ve done a few smaller hikes in the rain- to test out my jacket and the pack cover- because at some point in my 35 days of walking this summer, I’m sure I’ll have to walk in the rain. But yesterday, as I set off on a hike and began to get rained on for the third time this week, I gave up and turned around.

All of this being said, I can’t wait for this time next week. Work will be over for the school year, I will be leaving for France in three days, and inevitably, I will have more items checked off my to-do list. And I suspect that the little kernel of Camino excitement that is currently buried somewhere in me is going to be making more of an appearance.

And today? Today the skies are blue and the sun is shining strongly. In a few minutes I’m going to go outside, stretch my legs, and soak up some of this little-seen, late spring sun.

maryland hikefog on creek

testing out my rain jacket

A can of tuna and a white fleece (pre-Camino thoughts).

I was opening a can of tuna fish tonight and it slipped off the edge of the counter and fell down towards my bare feet. In my mind I was shouting, “No!!! Don’t hit my toes!!!!” I tried to jump out of the way, my big toe got nicked, but- you can rest assured- it was in no way a Camino-ending injury.

My feet, these days, are precious. My health is precious. The money in my wallet is precious. My time is precious.

It’s all so precious because my Camino is close. 27 days until I leave and I’m holding my breath that it all comes together and that I will somehow find myself on a trail, walking.

It still feels a little bit impossible. As more people are asking me about my summer plans and I explain this long walk, I find that I have some disbelief that I’ll actually do this. It still feels so far away, like there’s so much that needs to happen before I can believe that I can do this.

Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to feel like a hiker? Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to have a surge of confidence? Isn’t there a point when I’m supposed to feel certain about my pack and my shoes and my gear?

Some parts of this are slowly coming together, but other parts are a comedy of errors.

For instance, I bought a white fleece. A white fleece! To wear on a 500-mile summer walk through Spain! My best friend has been staying with me for a few weeks, and she’s been great at giving advice and opinions when I ask for them. So I even talked over the whole white fleece thing with her, and she looked at me and said, “White gets dirty.” And I agreed but what did I do? I bought a white fleece.

I get so overwhelmed with shopping and choosing the ‘right’ things that at a certain point, I usually give up and buy whatever strikes my fancy. In this case, I fixated on having something white to wear, because I love wearing white in the summer. It’s impractical and ridiculous but it still seemed like an okay idea. And then, today, the fleece arrived in the mail and I opened it and man, is it white. A pure, soft, beautiful white that is going to be so dirty and stained covered by the end of my walk… what was I thinking?

I’ve spent so much time reading and researching gear and clothing and sleeping bags and micro-fiber towels and sock liners and buffs and water bottles and rain jackets and my head is spinning. There always seems to be more to read, more to learn, more opinions to hear, more advice to receive. And usually, by the end of all of this reading and researching, I feel further behind than where I started. Confused. Clueless.

I’ve written about this already, but as ever, it’s a practice in letting go. It’s okay to have anxiety about this trip and whether I’m preparing enough, but I also need to let go of all the small worries. Is my fleece going to get dirty? Yes. Is my fleece lightweight and going to give me a layer of warmth when I need it? Yes. And both of these answers are okay.

What’s not okay is dropping a can of tuna fish on my foot and breaking a toe and being forced to delay my Camino. This, luckily, didn’t happen, but you’d better believe I’m going to be extra careful with my feet in these next few weeks.

Walking in circles (with a perfect pack).

One month until I start walking.

Man, these days are going by fast. My lofty Camino goals (Learn Spanish! Back-to-back-to-back 15 mile hikes!) have been put on the back burner. At this point, all I’m really focused on is buying a few more items, reserving a train ticket to St Jean Pied de Port, and hiking when I can.

I know that I’m not as prepared as I could be, but I think I’m prepared enough. And I still have a month to go.

4 months ago I had visions of doing lots of long hikes with my loaded pack and well worn-in shoes. The reality is that I can fit in a long hike about once a week. Because, surprise surprise, long hikes take time. They take a lot of time. (I know this is the most obvious thing, and yet, I may have underestimated just how much of my day would need to be devoted to 15 mile hikes. I just can’t fit in a 15 mile hike after a full day of work. Darkness catches up with me).

But I’m continuing to walk, a lot. I drive to the same local state park, wind my way through the same trails which I now know like the back of my hand. I’ve begun to recognize the same people, too. I try to smile and say hi to most people I pass, and now others have started to recognize me and give me friendly greetings in return.

Two days ago I passed a man and a woman as I walked along a paved loop trail. The man said, “Looks like you’re preparing for a backpacking trip!” We talked about the Camino for a few minutes, and as I walked on, he called out, “Remember! The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plains!”

“Yes,” I replied. “I still need to get my rain gear.”

I passed another group further on that path, and a man in the group said, “I definitely recognize you. You’re walking at a really good pace.”

That made me smile.

About a week ago I bought a pack and I love it. It’s a Deuter 24 liter and I know it’s small for a 5 week walk. Maybe really small. I went to REI prepared to buy something in the range of 28-32 liters, 28 being the lowest I would go. I tried on pack after pack, adding and removing the 5 pound weights, walking around the store. I switched back and forth between the Deuter 24 liter and Deuter 28 liter packs several times, wanting to like the bigger pack better. But I didn’t. Something about the 24 liter pack felt just right, it felt perfect (even though I’ve never owned a good backpack and I’m not really sure what perfect should feel like).

But after several hikes, with about 10 pounds in the pack (less than what I’ll be carrying on the Camino, but a good start for now), I still think that pack feels perfect. I was on mile 10 of a 12 mile hike the other day, and I found myself thinking that the weight of the pack pressing against my lower back felt sort of comforting. Not heavy or intrusive or weighing me down. Just comforting.

I’m curious- very curious- to know how I’ll feel about my pack in two months, after walking for hundreds of miles and having the pack nearly permanently attached to my body. ‘Comforting’ might not be my go-to word. But for now, loving my pack is a good thing.

My mom thinks it’s too small. She saw it and exclaimed, “You have to carry everything you’ll need for 5 weeks in that thing! There’s not enough room!” But I disagree. I’m walking in the summer so my layers will be light, plus a small-sized pack is going to force me to weed out all the stuff I don’t actually need. That’s not to say that in two or three weeks when I finally have everything I need and put it all together, I won’t be running back to REI for a larger pack. But, my instincts tell me that this is the one for me.

I’ve got a pack, I’ve got a good pair of pants, a good t-shirt, a new pair of shoes that I think are going to work. Slowly, it’s all starting to come together.

Here’s a photo of me with the pack that I didn’t get:

Nadine & Pack

This is bravery.

A few weeks ago I’d emailed a friend about my summer plans and the Camino. She wrote back, saying how great the trip sounded, and that she wished she had my courage.

My first thought when I read those words was, “No, this isn’t a brave thing I’m doing. I don’t have courage. In fact, I’m really scared.”

This idea of bravery and courage has been rattling around in my head for several weeks now. Am I brave to be doing this? Have I ever been brave to do any of the things that I’ve done in my life?

My immediate reaction is always to think, “No.” I just do the things that I do, and often, those things are accompanied with fear. Any big trip that I’ve taken has, initially, been full of nerves and anxiety. Change stresses me out. One of my nagging worries is that I’m living a small life and fear is holding me back.

I think about this quote: “I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” (Nelson Mandela)

So often in my life I think I’ve assumed that because I have felt fear, I was not acting with courage or bravery. My fear usually feels so strong that it doesn’t leave room for much else. How can I possibly be brave if I feel so afraid?

When I went to France for my junior year of college, I was terrified. I was fine in the days leading up to the trip, and okay as I walked onto the plane. But as soon as we began the descent into Toulouse, my nerves hit. And I realized that I had no idea what I had just walked into. I was going to live with a host family- a bunch of French strangers- for 9 months? I wouldn’t go home for 9 months? I’d have to speak French for 9 months?

I struggled in the beginning, missing home and feeling uncomfortable and uncertain. What I was doing did not feel at all brave. It felt just the opposite: like I was somehow failing the experience because I was scared and timid.

Sometime in my first few weeks abroad, I received a letter from my uncle. I was the first ‘kid’ in the family to go abroad, and he told me how proud of me he was. How I had just hopped onto a plane without a clue, and flown to another country, not knowing what would meet me on the other end. That it was a brave thing to do.

He was right. I had hopped onto a plane without a clue. But he was also right in that it was brave. It still didn’t feel brave, but when I read his words, I was able to look at my experience differently. It was okay that I was scared and uncertain. The bravery was taking the steps: making the decision to study abroad, and walking onto that plane and into the unknown.

This has been a slow kind of acceptance for me, that making a decision and taking a first step- any kind of step- is bravery and courage. And that it is okay to have fear, that fear does not preclude bravery.

I am filled with fear for this Camino. Excitement, too, but also fear. So when someone tells me that I am brave to do this, I automatically think that I am not, that a brave person wouldn’t feel this kind of fear.

And that is not true. There is courage in this, in walking across a country in search of adventure and connection and discovery.

This is bravery.

Camino Countdown: 7 weeks.

7 weeks until I start walking. I don’t know where the last two months have gone; I remember thinking, in March, that I needed to start getting serious about my Camino preparation. I wanted to have my flight and my shoes and my pack. I wanted to stay on top of my preparation so I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed as my trip approached.

Life has just sort of gotten in the way.

This usually happens in the spring: the days are longer and lighter, the weather is warmer, everything blooms and the world is beautiful and I want to be outside, doing things.

How much have I done for the Camino, how much do I still have to do? Here’s an update:

1. Equipment: I still don’t have much. Still walking around in the first pair of shoes that I bought, still no pack. BUT, I have three pairs of Smartwool socks and they are the most comfortable things I’ve ever worn on my feet. I’ve spent years walking and hiking in cheap, thin, cotton socks, and those did no favors to my feet. Now, when I put on the Smartwool socks and start my hikes, I feel like I’m wearing soft, cushion-y slippers. Amazing.

My mom bought me a pair of hiking shorts, I have a t-shirt, and that’s about it. But I’m not too worried about getting everything I need. An afternoon of online shopping and a trip to REI and I think I’ll be set.

Speaking of REI, I went back for round 2 of shoe shopping. I only had a little time in the store before I had to be somewhere else, but it was just enough time to renew my hope and boost my spirits. I went in the evening on a weekday, and I had the shoe section to myself. The girl helping me was fantastic. We tried on more shoes, and I have a few options to think about. I’m going to bring in the pair I already have and compare those to a few other contenders. I’ll probably buy another pair to break them in and then decide on which pair I like the best. My first pair of shoes (the ones that I thought were ugly and maybe too tight for my feet) have grown on me. Maybe I’ve started to get used to the way they look, maybe I’ve broken them in and they feel more comfortable, or maybe I just get attached to things too quickly.

While I was trying on shoes, another salesperson was hanging around. At one point he came over and held a shoe out to me. “Look!” he said, pointing at the sides of the shoe, “If you ever decide to grow bunions, this shoe compensates for them!”

The other salesperson who’d been helping me gave him a hard look. “Dude, ‘if you ever decide to grow bunions’ is something you should never say to a woman.”

2. Training Hikes: I’m walking, a lot. I went on a 13 mile hike last weekend, which finally broke my 8-9 mile maximum. I’ve been wanting to do longer hikes, and it’s just been hard to find large enough chunks of time. But I’m hiking or walking most days of the week- even if they are small hikes- and already I can feel that my legs are stronger, and that I can climb hills a bit more easily than I could a month ago. If I can get a few more big hikes in before I leave, maybe do a couple big hikes back-to-back wearing my loaded pack, then I’ll be happy. I need to remember that part of the reason I’m walking the Camino is to physically challenge myself. I want to prepare, but I also expect- and want- this Camino to be hard.

3. Travel/logistics: Not much is planned. I have a flight, and I sent an email to the refuge in Orisson (which is about 10km from St Jean Pied de Port, my starting point for the Camino. If I stay the night at Orisson, I will only walk a few hours on my first day, but I think this could be a wise choice. Those 10 km are steep, and it will be a good way to ease into the Camino. Besides, somewhere I read the words, “When do you ever get a chance to spend the night in the Pyrenees?” and that made a lot of sense to me).

Otherwise, I spent about an hour looking up train schedules and times and trying to predict how long it will take me to make my way from Paris to St Jean Pied de Port. The answer? All day. I might gamble on an early train out of Paris- relying on my “knowledge” of the RER and metro to get me from the airport to Gare Montparnasse quickly- so I can get to SJPP in time to check into a hotel I’ve heard a lot about so I can experience their communal dinner. We’ll see. My head is spinning just reading that sentence. Travel plans and figuring out connections and timing is not very fun to me, but that’s also the beauty of the Camino. All I need to do is get down to SJPP, and after the first couple of nights of reserved lodging, I can just wing it the rest of the way.

So, I still have a lot to do. But in the meantime, here are a few photos of my shoes, hikes, and this beautiful spring.

Pre-Camino Visions.

I have this sort of ominous feeling that I’m in my last few weeks of quiet and calm. Everything is still fairly relaxed: I’m going to work and seeing friends and family, going on hikes and occasionally picking up something to bring along on my Camino. There is still so much left to be done, but I don’t feel as if there is any hurry- surely, I must still have plenty of time?

And I do, kind of. I have about 2 months until I leave, and that sounds like a lot. Panic hasn’t set in, but it’s like I can sense it, waiting just around the corner. I’m afraid it’s going to suddenly hit and I’ll feel like I won’t have enough time: not enough time to train with my pack (which I still have to buy) or time to research all of my travel plans or time to work out what I want to accomplish on this long walk.

But that panic isn’t here, not yet. I’m still settled into this pre-Camino time, going on hikes when I can, and dreaming idly about my summer plans. It’s still a nice phase to be in.

Yesterday I went on a hike, at a nearby park. I’d been walking for over 2 hours, approaching mile 7, when I saw a deer. I’d been walking on a small stretch of pavement before going back into the woods on a trail, and the deer was positioned perfectly: far off in the distance between two lines of trees, standing in a still silhouette.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” I whispered, as I swung my backpack around to reach in for my iPhone, so I could snap a photo. The deer was far away, but because it was standing so still, I thought that it must have sensed me. I zoomed in with my phone and took a picture, but it was blurry and I could barely make out the deer.

So I inched closer, taking steps through the tall grass crunching under my feet. The deer was standing so perfectly still, and with each few steps I would take another photo. Two steps, photo. Two steps, photo.

I couldn’t believe my luck. That deer wasn’t moving!

I was still far away but finally, I realized that something was wrong. The deer hadn’t moved in a few minutes- not an inch. I blinked, and then shifted my position. Was that actually a deer? Or… a tree trunk?

I waded off-trail through knee-high grass to take over a dozen photos of a tree trunk that I thought was a deer.

So, these are my days, lately. Long spring hikes with my camera, dreaming about the things that I’ll see this summer.

I still think it looks like a deer…

"Deer", Ridley Park

These Boots Are Made for Walking… Hopefully

There’s a reason that I love flip flops so much.

I don’t like shopping, and one of the worst kinds of shopping I can imagine is shopping for shoes. I’ve been this way for a long time. Shopping with me can be a nightmare: I rarely find things that I like or things that fit, and for someone who in nearly every other situation has an infinite amount of patience, I become very easily discouraged when I shop.

And trying to find shoes is the worst. I have wide feet, and for as long as I can remember, trying to find a pair of shoes that are comfortable and sort of cute has been, well, just about impossible. I don’t even need ‘cute’ shoes, I’ve just always wanted to wear shoes that look good on me, shoes that I like. And except for a pair of Doc Martin’s that I wore every day in high school and college, finding shoes I like, and that fit, has been a challenge.

Yesterday I went to REI to buy a pair of shoes for my Camino. I wasn’t looking forward to this trip, but I also wasn’t dreading it: I figured that it wouldn’t be too hard to find a pair of hiking shoes or boots that could fit my feet.

But I was wrong. It took 2 hours, 3 salespeople, and trying on dozens of shoes before I left the store. I left with a box of shoes under my arm, but after one training hike, I realized that I may have to return them.

So much about the experience was discouraging, though maybe I was just at the store at the wrong time. The place was packed; dozens of people were trying on shoes. The first person to help me was an older woman. I explained that I was doing the Camino de Santiago, and right away she knew what it was. “Oh, lots of people are doing it this year,” she said. I asked questions, she brought out boxes of shoes, and I quickly became overwhelmed. She bombarded me with information, and then started giving me general tips on hiking. I got the impression that she thought I had no idea what I was getting myself into- and while I guess that is the case, it didn’t help my confidence. Besides, all I wanted was to find a pair of shoes.

I sat there on a bench, lacing up shoes, waiting for her to come back and help, and after awhile I realized that she had left me. She’d always been helping other people, but now all of her attention was on a younger girl and her parents. Another salesperson wandered by- a guy- and asked how I was doing. I gestured to the boxes around me. “Okay, I guess. But I need some help.” Once again, I explained that I was walking the Camino, and he took one look at the shoes I was trying on and said, “You’re going this summer? You don’t want waterproof shoes.” Then he started singing The Proclaimers.

So he brought out boxes and boxes of non-waterproof hiking shoes, and I tried those on.

And then a third salesperson came by. She glanced down at the shoes I was trying on and said, “Just so you know, those won’t give you any support.” She’d overheard that I was doing the Camino and had probably gathered, by the vacant and hopeless look in my eye, that I was having trouble.

We talked about my wide feet, and she brought over boxes of shoes that she thought might fit. I found shoes that felt great across the widest part of my foot, but that were too loose in the heel. The salesperson tried several different knots, hoping to better secure my heel, but to no avail. So I tried on more shoes. And more and more. Hiking shoes. Trail running shoes. A few hiking boots. Trying on a men’s shoe was mentioned.

At some point in the middle of this, as I sat with stacks of shoe boxes towering around me, I felt like I was going to cry. It was ridiculous, because I’m 33 and all I was doing was trying on shoes. But it’s a feeling I’ve had before. Wanting- very badly- to just find something that I like, and that fits. And not being able to find it.

So in the end I left with a pair of shoes, but I wasn’t sure about them. They fit in the store, and I guess they were overall the best fit, though after 2 hours I couldn’t keep track of everything I’d tried on and what felt the best. Plus, I think they’re kind of ugly. I know that when it comes to shoes for this Camino, I’ve got to take one for the team: it doesn’t matter what they look like, as long as they are comfortable and can support me over 500 miles.

I took the shoes on a training hike yesterday afternoon, and I have doubts that they are wide enough for my feet. Because at the end of the hike, those shoes felt tight. Cramming my toes kind of tight.

So it could be back to the drawing board, though I’m going to go on several more hikes and give my new shoes a better chance. Maybe they’ll stretch a bit, maybe they need to be broken in.

But for as discouraging my first shopping trip for shoes was, it was necessary. Parts of this Camino aren’t going to be easy, and if hours of dreaded shoe shopping is what it takes to give me some comfort as I walk, then so be it. I’m determined to find the right shoes for my Camino.

52 days. 3 countries. Suddenly, this trip has become real.

I booked my flight last night. And just before I hit the ‘confirm booking’ button on my computer screen, I could feel my heart beating in my chest, sweat forming on my palms, my breathing becoming shallow.

Man, I was nervous. I’ve been preparing for this trip for three months now: reading everything I can, writing about all of my reasons for doing this long walk, training and hiking and learning how to take care of blisters. I’ve told everyone that I’m walking the Camino, I’ve told myself that I’m walking the Camino, and yet, until yesterday, it wasn’t actually real.

Without a flight, I could back out. I could have decided that I am indeed crazy for doing this, that I didn’t want to go alone, that walking for 5 weeks was not how I wanted to spend my vacation. I could be on a beach instead, I could be in Maine, I could go back to France and write.

And all of those thoughts have gone through my head. Am I crazy for wanting to do this? Do I want to be alone? Do I want to be on a beach in Maine instead?

I always knew that the answer was ‘no’, but it didn’t stop those questions from tip-toeing around my mind. And even though I have been so certain that I will walk the Camino this summer, until now, it’s all been words. Only words, and some hikes through a local park.

But now I have a plane ticket, and I’ll be away for 52 days. I look at that number and I have some disbelief. I just committed to a 52-day trip in Europe. 52 days. Right now, it feels a bit daunting. And… incredible.

There is still so much planning to do, but for now my trip looks kind of like this: fly into Paris. Get down to St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and start walking. Walk for about 5 weeks. Arrive in Santiago, possibly on my birthday. Meet up with a friend and (maybe) walk to Finisterre. Fly/train back over to France and spend time in Provence. Return to Paris.

And here’s the final twist. In Paris, get on a plane, and on my way home, stop in Iceland for 17 hours.

I couldn’t resist! I’ve been looking at flights for months, and trying different combinations of dates and airports and airlines. Flying in and out of New York, rather than Philadelphia, was $300 dollars cheaper on Icelandair, and when I saw that I could fairly easily roam around Reykjavik and experience the midnight sun, I was sold.

There are now so many parts to this trip that I feel overwhelmed, but it’s a very, very good kind of ‘overwhelm’. I’m just relieved that I still have several months to prepare.

So I just put a giant check mark next to ‘purchase flight’. Phew. Next up: a new pair of shoes.

A Perfect Camino.

I’ve been doing A LOT of reading/research about the Camino. I can’t get the Camino off my mind, and I don’t know if I want to: this summer is shaping up to potentially be one of the greatest of my life, and I’m feeling more excitement by the day.

But recently, I’ve wondered if I’m doing too much research. If I’m trying to over-prepare.

Right now, I’m a bit overwhelmed by everything I need to purchase for this trip. It’s not even that I need so much: a pair of pants, a pair of shorts, a few t-shirts, socks, a sleeping bag, a pack, shoes. A few extras, too: a lightweight fleece and a rain jacket, maybe a sarong because I hear those things can be used in dozens of different ways.

The thing is, I don’t really “know” anything about hiking/backpacking/travel gear. I’m learning about lightweight, moisture wicking clothing, about synthetic vs cotton, the importance of ounces and grams. I’m weeding through review after review, curious about what others have used on the Camino, what worked, what didn’t.

I’m finding myself wanting to get everything just right.

And it’s not just my gear, it’s everything else, too. What camera should I bring? Should I break up the monstrous first day with an overnight in Orrison? Which albergues should I stay in? Which ones should I avoid?

I haven’t fallen down the rabbit hole yet, but I’m dangerously close.

I’m beginning to fool myself into thinking that I can have the perfect Camino. The ideal pack, not an ounce too heavy. Bringing every essential item and leaving behind all the non-essentials. Walking 500 miles without a single blister. Seeing all the “must-sees” along the way, staying at the best albergues.

There is something that I must remind myself of repeatedly in the next three months, as I continue to prepare for my trip: There is no such thing as a perfect Camino. I will not get everything just right. There will be beauty in my mistakes. There will be discovery in the unknown.

I can’t fly off to Spain completely blind, with no idea what I’m getting myself into. If I took that approach, I’d probably never buy a plane ticket or walk a single step on ‘the way’. I’d be too scared. At times, I envy a “blind” approach: knowing little about the towns and cities I’ll be passing through, throwing a few things in a pack and figuring it out as I go along.  Some people will approach their Camino in this way, and I think to do that would be an incredible thing.

But that’s not my way. Instead, I’m finding my balance, my own way to approach this Camino. I’ve given up on the idea of trying to do everything ‘just right’, and it’s taken the pressure off. I’m going to research the things I need to buy for this trip, but I’m not going to obsess: I’ll buy some pants and a light sleeping bag and if something is not right: if I’m too hot or too cold or uncomfortable with my gear, I’ll figure it out while I’m in Spain.

In the reading that I’ve already done, I’ve discovered a few things and places along the Camino that I’ve very curious about: my own ‘must-sees’. But I’m keeping that list small. I want to be able to set off on my Camino with a vague and flexible itinerary. I’ll stop walking when I want to stop walking, keep walking when I want to keep walking. Maybe I’ll stay in the “popular” places, maybe I’ll take detours, maybe I’ll walk with others, maybe I’ll walk alone.

There will be no perfect Camino. There will be only my Camino.

First training “hikes” and first blisters

Last weekend I hopped in my car and drove out to a nearby state park to do some hiking. The weather was mild and sunny- it was the first warm air I’d felt in what seemed like years (this has been such a long, cold winter). I was excited to be outside and to get on a trail, and to actually begin my training.

I’ve been to this park many times before, and I know its trails inside and out. There are four ‘wooded’ trails that provide about 13 miles of hiking, and a 5-mile paved “multi-use” trail that loops around in a circle. In the past I’d always hiked the trails that run through the woods: there are several hills, and few people hike them, which I like. I never really measure my distance when I hike (though this is about to change), but I’d guess that I typically hike 4-6 miles.

I got to the park and realized that the trails are almost completely covered with snow. Of course. If I were walking the Camino at a different time of the year, I might have considered hiking through the snow, but since I’ll be in Spain during June & July, there’s no need for me to attempt to snow-shoe it through the park.

I was bummed, at first, but then realized that I could walk the multi-use trail instead. It’s a paved trail, and that’s probably a good thing; a portion of the Camino (I’m not sure how much… 1/3 of it?) is on paved roads, and it’s probably good experience for my ‘training’ to include all types of surfaces.

So, I walked. I’ve been out to the park multiple times in the last week, walking 5 miles, 9 miles, 6 miles, 7 miles. My feet hurt, a bit, but by the next day they usually feel better.

And then there are the blisters.

I have a few, and they’re not bad. If anything, I was sort of glad to see them (probably the last time in my life that I will say something like that). I don’t have the shoes I’ll be taking on the Camino yet, so these blisters don’t tell me too much… and yet, it’s a good reality check. If I’m not careful with my feet, I will get blisters on the Camino. Once I get my Camino shoes, I’ll hopefully be able to figure out where the problem spots on my feet are going to be. In the meantime, I’m getting some practice treating blisters/practicing better prevention.

So as I sit here, early on a Friday morning, drinking some coffee before heading into work, I’ve got a couple small blisters on my toes and a dull ache in my legs. But I don’t mind. Signs of things to come.park trail- Ridley Creek State Park

Camino Planning: Time to Begin.

It’s nearly March, and it’s time to get serious about my Camino.

It’s not like I haven’t been serious; at this point, there’s not much that can stop me from going to Spain this summer to walk. My mind has been made up for awhile, I’ve done a ton of research, and most of my friends and family know about my plans.

But everything else? I feel like I haven’t even begun.

Let’s run down where I stand on training, supplies and equipment, and logistical stuff that needs to be planned:

Training hikes completed: Zero.

Equipment purchased: Zero. (As ever, all I currently have for this walk is a Spork. And a headlamp that either belongs to my ex-boyfriend, or my handyman. Either way, it’s mine now).

Spanish learned: Zero.

Flights/hotels/trains booked: Zero.

Aside from work, a major portion of my time is spent thinking about and focusing on the Camino, but I don’t have much to actually show for all of this. What, then, have I been doing?

For starters, I get lost in reading blogs and books about people who have walked the Camino or are preparing to walk (and on this note, I’m so excited that several bloggers I follow will be walking the Camino in the next month or two. It’s so great to be able to follow along in “real time”, and makes me even more excited about this crazy adventure).

What else have I done? I signed up for the Y, and I’ve been pretty consistent about driving out there, lacing up some sneakers, and walking/running on their indoor track. It’s not a training hike, but walking 4 miles is certainly better than nothing. It feels so easy and I feel like I’m walking so fast, but then I think about wearing a 12-15 pound pack, walking an additional 4-5 hours, and doing it every single day. Yikes.

And, finally, I watched ‘The Way’. Again.

So with approximately 4 months left until I leave for Europe, I know that it’s time to check some items off of my Camino to-do list. I’ve got a few goals for March; nothing too difficult, but all stuff that is going to push me into the reality of the Camino.

I’ve got a lot of time to purchase all of the items I need for this walk, but the two big things I want to have by the end of March are a backpack and shoes. This is the perfect time to try out different models and find a pack and shoes that really fit and are comfortable. Then, moving into April and better weather (hopefully), I’ll be ready to find some long trails and begin my practice hikes.

I’m also hoping to buy my plane ticket by the end of March. I’ve held off on this mostly because I need to wait and see how long the school year is going to last, and whether winter is going to hit us with any more snow days.

I also really need to pin down my plans for this trip: how many days to set aside for the walk, and what my post-walk plans will be. I’ve been considering a dozen different options, many of which involve spending some time in France. The latest plan is to have a friend meet me in Santiago, walk with her to Finisterre, and then travel over to France and spend time exploring Provence. Just typing this all out seems unreal. Walking across Spain, meeting a friend and walking to the coast, roaming around France, spending the last day of my trip in Paris… it’s just unreal.

My plans keep getting bigger and bigger: at first, I figured I’d spend 5-6 weeks in Europe. Now I know I’ll be there for at least 6 weeks, but I’m leaning towards 7. And then there’s this crazy part of me that thinks, “But Nadine, you have 8 weeks off in the summer! Why not spend that entire time in Europe?”

I may never come home.

But first, before any of this craziness and fun, I need to get some things done.

How do you say, “Let’s begin!” in Spanish?

Walking 500 Miles.

Why am I walking the Camino? Every day I think of new reasons, and at times I think that I must have 500: a reason for every mile I will walk.

I started this blog to share my story of walking the Camino, but in these early stages, I’m struggling to know what to share. It doesn’t feel very exciting to talk about all of my pre-planning and my thoughts and my fears. I’m sure I’ll get into it all, and I suspect that as the summer approaches I will have Camino fever and want to write every day. But today? It’s a cold day in the middle of January and the Camino is still a far-off dream. It doesn’t feel real.

I think about the days I will be spending, walking through a hot summer in Spain, and I can start to feel the heat of the sun and the burn in my legs, the weight on my back and the plates of food I’ll devour at night. I think about why I’ve decided to do this, why these images are in my head. And for the beginning of a blog, I can’t see a better place to start with than at why.

Reason #1 for walking this Camino is a big one: lots and lots of walking. I’m doing this Camino so I can walk. Walk every day, walk for hours, walk across a country. I love to walk and I love to hike. I don’t have a lot of hiking experience- I’m not a backpacker and don’t even have hiking boots. I don’t really know that much: nothing about elevation or gear or trail etiquette. But maybe that’s why I love hiking: you don’t need to know or have much to go for a walk in the woods.

It’s not just the woods, either. Most days, I throw on some sneakers and head out my door to take a 30 minute walk through my neighborhood. I walk the same streets, day after day. I pass the same houses and the same neighbors, the same dogs who bound through their yard as I approach. I wave to the same mailman and jump over the same small puddle on the days when it’s rained. I thought I would have gotten bored years ago, but I haven’t. There is something therapeutic about being able to walk through a place I know so well, to know what my exact steps will be, to know where my legs will carry me.

The Camino is going to be a different path every day, but I have a feeling there will be some consistency and routine in the walking. At the very least, there will be the routine of waking every morning, putting on my shoes, and stepping outside for a walk.

Walking clears my head and it clears my lungs. I think when I walk, and I zone out when I walk. I listen to music, I listen to nothing, sometimes I listen to my own voice as I talk out loud. I nearly always feel better after I’ve gone on a walk or a hike. I feel alive and invigorated, but also settled and calm. Good, good feelings.

Hikers in France

If Not Now, When?

I’d been thinking of walking the Camino this summer for the past few months, but it’s only been in the last 3-4 weeks that I’ve been giving it “serious” thought. As soon as I said to myself, “I might be able to do it in the summer of 2014,” I began to read everything I could about the Camino. I started with blogs, for day-by-day accounts of pilgrims who have walked in the past year or two. Then I started checking books out from the library (as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t make it through Shirley MacLaine’s account of her Camino). Then I went on forums, studying the questions that people were asking: learning about equipment, foot care, budgeting. I’ve probably overwhelmed myself with information, but to me, this is a fun stage to be in: before anything is real, before I’ve told anyone (with any certainty) that I AM going to do this; before any training or booking a flight; before taking any footsteps. It’s all fun and exciting and ideal.

But when, exactly, do I move from the pre-planning stage to the actual planning stage? I think it’s as soon as I say the words, “I am going to walk the Camino this summer.” Whenever I talk about my plans, the words ‘maybe’ and ‘if’ and ‘I’m thinking about it’ always come out of my mouth.

What am I waiting for? Well, there are some questions. The first one being: is this how I want to spend my summer? I work in a school and have two months off, from mid June to mid August. Most years, I take short trips, visit family and friends, and otherwise relax and lounge around. Not a bad way to spend a summer, by any means. But last year, I spent an incredible three weeks in southern France, and it reawakened a strong desire for travel and experience. With so many places I want to see, not to mention wishing that I could repeatedly return to France, do I want to spend my summer walking through Spain?

And then there is the question of money, and it’s what has stopped me from big summer traveling in the past. I never thought that I had enough, and the practical side of me heard warning bells every time I thought about spending the money I saved up during the year on month(s) long European travel.

Money needs to be a consideration, but so does the question: “If not now, when?” I may never again have two months of my life when I have nothing tying me down, when I do not have to work, when I am healthy and able, when I have the desire and willingness. I may never have this time again. So if that means scrimping and saving throughout the year, sacrificing other things so I don’t have to sacrifice this, then I know that I can afford to travel. Besides, I’ll be traveling like a pilgrim: sleeping on mattresses or bunk beds with dozens or even hundreds of others in the same room, and cooking my own meals or eating off of the inexpensive Pilgrim’s menu.

My plans are still hazy, but as my desire to walk the Camino grows every day, my vision of this becomes clearer. I’d like to give myself about 6 weeks in Europe, which should be more than enough time to walk from St. Jean Pied-de-Port to Santiago. It allows for a few travel days and rest days, and maybe even a return to southern France for a week, or the chance to spend a few days in Paris or Barcelona.

And as these plans become clearer, the questions begin to be answered. I will have enough money to do this. I do want to spend 5-6 weeks walking through Spain. Slowly, I am moving into the planning stage of this journey. I have a lot I want to do: talk with people who have done this before,  walk and walk and walk and then do some practice hikes, learn some basic Spanish, buy a backpack and shoes and everything else. I don’t really need to do any of this (except for acquiring the backpack and shoes), but I can only do anything remotely adventurous with a lot of preparation.

So. I am going to walk the Camino this summer. Let the planning begin.

All my bags are packed

On my last morning in Labastide, I headed up for one last trek to Le Roc, which had become “my spot”. As I hiked up the rocky trail past the church, I saw John coming down towards me (John and his wife Kerry are owners and hosts of La Muse). He slowed for only a few steps and said, simply, “It’s a perfect day.”

I got up to Le Roc and immediately understood what he meant: it was the clearest morning of my three weeks in Labastide. I could see far into the valley below me and beyond, to the clear outlines of the Pyrenees and their still snow capped peaks. For weeks, my eyes would strain and only make out hazy outlines of the Pyrenees; and now, suddenly, here they were. It felt like a message, but whether that message was “hello” or “goodbye” I’m not sure.

In any case, it was perfect. I had lots of perfect days in Labastide, and many in my last week. I intended to blog so much more while on my trip: funny and strange details about the people I interacted with, relearning and remembering how to speak French, my daily hiking adventures. And I still might tell those stories.

But for now, the end.

The day before I left, I woke up at 6am so I could hike to Le Roc to see the sunrise (even though the mountains blocked most of the view). I headed out of La Muse and Homer, John and Kerry’s dog, ran up to me. Normally, Homer would accompany residents on their hikes and walks, but at the beginning of our retreat Homer got sick, and his daily jaunts were restricted. For three weeks I would head out for a hike and Homer would stare at me with sad eyes, begging to come along.

I don’t know what he was doing outside so early, it was almost as if he was waiting for me. He bounded over, gave me a quick look, and then took off, sprinting, out of the village. He wasn’t missing this walk.

I headed towards Le Roc, with Homer leading the way. We made it up to my spot and sat together and watched the morning for awhile.

Homer at Le Roc

The rest of the day was a blur: lingering at lunch, a last hike, a pizza dinner with the entire group, starting a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle at 10pm. I woke up the next morning, not quite packed, not quite prepared to navigate Paris, not quite ready to leave. I sat on the terrace and ate my breakfast with Jean-Christophe and other residents filed in and out, everyone up earlier than normal that day.

I sat at Le Roc and stared at the Pyrenees for as long as I could, and then raced back to La Muse to throw things in my suitcase and write an entry in the guestbook and give away the extra food in my cupboard and say goodbye to La Muse and Labastide.

We drove away in the jeep, only Diane and I leaving that morning (Glenn and Julia came along for the ride and a trip to the grocery store; both had figured out a way to stay in Labastide for another week). As we drove away from the village, someone started singing, “All my bags are packed I’m ready to go, I’m standing here outside your door…” and we all joined in. It’s the slightly corny kind of thing you’d see in a movie, but for us, and in that moment, it worked. It was bittersweet and beautiful.

So many people who go to La Muse end up going back, and I understand why. Already, there was lots of talk about reuniting next summer. I think I knew, on my first day there, that I would want to go back, and that feeling only intensified throughout my stay.

But if I never make it back, it’s okay. It’s the kind of experience that stays with a person forever, and I got more out of it than I ever imagined I would.

Nadine at Le Roc, Labastide, France

 

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