Nadine Walks

stories of trekking and travel

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

Walking in Circles

I was reading a post the other day, from my Camino buddy-in-blogging, Beth. As I read I realized how nice it was to hear her voice. I knew she wasn’t out walking in France or in Spain, but that wasn’t why I opened up the post. I just kind of wanted to hear how she was doing, if she was thinking about the Camino, if she missed walking, if she was restless or energized, in despair or filled with hope.

And then I started to wonder if maybe I should l find my way back to my own blog, and post an update of my own. ‘Update’ feels like the wrong word, because not much has been happening. I was on a family FaceTime call today, and I opened my mouth to give some news, but realized I didn’t have much to say. What has changed day-to-day? It starts to feel tedious to say that I went on another walk, I baked another cake, I read on my porch.

Quarantined porch sitting

So maybe this isn’t an update, but I’ve used this blog to write about my thoughts and feelings too, so here we are. Have I blogged at all since being under stay at home orders? I don’t think so. In fact, I think in my last post I wrote about travel considerations in the time of coronavirus, which feels a bit ridiculous now because a few weeks after I published that post, all travel shut down, just about completely.

It feels a little hard to write about travel. I didn’t go to Japan- a trip that was scheduled for the beginning of April- and I’m not going to Europe this summer, either. Well, despite my June flight having been canceled, I’m still harboring some wild hope that there could be a chance that I could sneak away to La Muse for a week in late July, or August (I know that the odds are less than slim, but I’m letting myself have this hope, because I think I need it).

cherry blossoms over Ridley Creek

I was supposed to walk in Portugal this summer, on the Camino Portuguese, but also on the Fisherman’s route, and then I would still have some time to do more walking in Spain, at least from Santiago to Finisterre, but maybe even the Camino Invierno if the timing was right. I’d given myself 40-days to walk, the most I’ve ever walked in one go, and it felt right. There have been a few years- last year in particular- when I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do, where I wanted to travel, which route I wanted to walk. But plans seemed to fall together so easily this year. Once the idea of the Kumano Kodo in Japan lodged itself in my mind, I couldn’t shake it, and it seemed to work perfectly: an inexpensive flight, rooms booked despite the late planning, a chance to see the cherry blossoms.

I’ve always had a vague sort of sense that I’d travel to Japan ‘one day’, but it always felt so far, so difficult, so out of my league. But after I did a little research and started to see how a trip might come together, I realized that I was more than ready to tackle Japan. Again, it felt right. I was doing something new, something so exciting. And it made a decision about my summer feel easy, too: by going somewhere new in the spring, I felt free to go back to Europe to do my favorite things: walk a Camino and spend time at my writer’s retreat, La Muse. I found a perfect flight for the summer too: an unbelievable price that took me into Lisbon, and the return out of Paris. It couldn’t have been more perfect!

Bamboo curtain

To have travel canceled any year would have been a blow, but for some reason it felt particularly cruel this year (although- and I’ve thought about this a lot- does it feel worse only now that I can’t have it? I’ve always appreciated my ability to travel and the time that I have in the summers, but I wonder if it feels even sweeter, in hindsight, now that it is (temporarily) lost). But I do wonder if it feels harder this year because I felt so settled. For the last seven years, ever since I walked my first Camino, I’ve continued to return to Europe, searching for something: to push myself further, a new adventure/experience, a community. Some years, I’ve wondered if I should skip a summer of walking, and see some new countries, instead.

But I didn’t have those questions this year. I felt so confident in knowing what I wanted, confident in the life I’ve built for myself, in the things I’ve grown to love, in the community that I have built from my summers in Europe.

There are other things about these last few months that have been hard, but if I’m going to talk about anything here, it will probably be about travel. But I can’t publish this post without acknowledging that I still have a job, that my family is healthy (even my two grandmothers: 89 and 101 years old! I still worry, so if you have a moment, send a good and warm thought out for my Babas). I live alone, so I’ve been particularly isolated during this long stay-at-home order, but I can’t even really complain about that. For better or for worse, I like being alone, and video-chatting (plus a job where I spend many hours a day conferencing with teenagers) makes it not too difficult to hunker down and not see anyone. And, as I mentioned at the top of this post, I’ve been spending my days walking and reading on my porch and baking bread and cake and scones. I’ve made pesto from scavenged wild garlic mustard, and syrup from the violet petals I picked in my yard. I’ve done a few puzzles and turned myself into a Vermeer painting (this was early on in the quarantine; I thought I’d do a series, but I’ve lost some of that initial energy). I’ve also been writing every day; not in a big way, just small, daily diaries that I post to Facebook. I’m not sure how Facebook became the place where I shared my musings, but so be it. I’ve been taking photos every day and sharing those, too, and I think that small daily habit of writing and taking photographs has been really good for me. I won’t continue forever- in fact, I think I only have another week or two in me- because then I want to turn to other writing.

Art in Quarantine: Vermeer

Garden focaccia in quarantine!

What’s a summer of my life without travel, without a long walk, without the view from my window at La Muse? I’m not sure, and it’s hard to face, but I’ll need to come up with something. I’m going to have a few months at my disposal. The obvious answer, the one that is trying to knock me over the head, is the one that says: “Nadine, finish your book!!”

It feels inevitable, doesn’t it? I can’t spend 40-days walking through Portugal and Spain, so maybe I should finish writing about that first time that I walked through Spain. Face the difficult parts of the book, do a little research, a lot of editing, find a few people who might be willing to read a few chapters, and see what happens.

So that’s one part of my summer. And the rest? It’s hard to know what this country is going to look like in a few weeks or a month, but I’ve been tentatively putting together notes for a little backpacking trip, and a road trip to the mid-west (I know that Nebraska is not Europe, but I’ve always had some strange fascination with Nebraska, and this could be the summer that I finally make it out there). It might be impossible to do any traveling like this at all, even a road trip or a backpacking trip, but I’m going to remain hopeful.

Yesterday, over on Facebook, I wrote about a cake I tried to bake. I followed a recipe for a Berry Buttermilk Cake, though I didn’t have buttermilk. In the end, it turned out that I didn’t have berries either (where did those frozen blueberries get to??), and all I could do was laugh at my buttermilk-less and berry-less Berry Buttermilk cake. It felt like an analogy for my life, for maybe all of our lives: trying to bake cakes without the key ingredients. But someone commented on my Facebook post, saying it’s what we do with those ‘berry-less’ cakes that matter.

Which is the truest thing I know at the moment. This virus isn’t personal, we’re all affected, every single one of us. I can get caught in feeling frustrated about a plain cake sort of life, a life that’s supposed to have the berries in it, but I can’t let myself get stuck there for too long. I’ve got to make the best I can with the ingredients I have.

 

I’ll try to write more here in the next few months, to keep you updated on the different kinds of adventures I’m having this year. I hope you’re all well, finding hope and peace and creativity and energy where you can, making the most of your berry-less cake days. More (hopefully) soon.

Redbud with raindrop

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

Italians and Puppies and 19-year old Knees; Highlights of the Camino del Norte

This is the first year that I haven’t written daily journal posts from my summer long-distance walking adventures. Last year’s recaps from the Pennine Way took me nearly 10 months to write (or some incredibly delayed amount of time like that), and that walk only lasted 15 days.

But this summer I walked a total of 29 days on the Camino, and since I didn’t blog in real time, the thought of going back and writing a post for each day feels too overwhelming. It could take me years to write, especially if I also want to be working on other writing projects!

I’ve written a couple of posts from the Camino Aragones, the first part of my walking journey. But I still have 19-days from the Camino del Norte that I haven’t even begun to talk about here. There was a post of my favorite photos (which I loved putting together), but what about the stories?

The Camino has been on my mind lately. This happens every year, right about now. It’s early November and we’re turning the clocks back, the leaves have turned and many have fallen, the temperatures have dropped too, and winter is approaching. My hours of walking are limited and it’s been nearly three months since I came back from Europe. I’m settled back here at home, but that also means that my mind starts dreaming about the next adventure, picturing a time when I can be back on the road.

I’ve been thinking about how to write about the Norte, and I decided to just share some highlights. Maybe it will be one post, maybe there will be several. When I think back to my walk this summer, I always seem to remember the really happy memories: the days when I felt strong, the friends I made, the beautiful landscapes. My walk on the Camino del Norte wasn’t perfect, but right now I’m struggling to remember the frustrating bits (well, aside from all the closed albergues and the race for beds. But that might be a separate post altogether).

Mostly, I had a great Camino, a great return to the Norte. I’ve already written about my experience of repeating a Camino, but for this post I just want to talk about some of my favorite moments of those 19 days in northern Spain. These are the moments I think about when I’m longing to return, the moments that keep me planning my next trip, the moments when I’m stuck inside and missing those long days of walking .

In no particular order:

My Italian Family

“Ecco che arriva l’americano!” I heard a voice from down the pathway, and moments later there was singing, five voices joining together, loud and boisterous and off-key. I walked closer and the voices swelled, and I could see the group of Italian pilgrims that I’d been running into on and off for the past four days. They raised their arms, smiling and singing and cheering.

They were singing a famous old Italian song, about an American or maybe just America. I can’t remember the details, only that their song was one of the best welcomes I’ve ever had on the Camino.

I first met Alba and Ruggero in the albergue in Getaria, after my second day on the Norte. Alba could speak just a bit of English and Ruggero only knew a few words, and so we communicated mostly with smiles and gestures.

And then, we kept showing up in the same albergues- sometimes this is all it takes to make friends on the Camino. After only a few more days, Alba and Ruggero called me their Camino daughter. I only walked with them a little here and there, but they looked out for me and I looked out for them. They’d also befriended another group of 5 Italians, and I just sort of folded myself into the mix.

Italian pilgrim friend on the Camino del Norte

We were all together, the seven Italians and me, in Islares, where we stayed in bungalows at a large campground (this was when I had my serenade). I ate a long dinner with them, at a restaurant overlooking the sea. From time to time Gloria or Alba would try to translate the conversation but it was mostly all Italian, and I didn’t really care that I couldn’t understand. I was sitting in the middle of this warm and friendly and kind group of people, feeling like I belonged.

Camping bungalows in Islares, Camino del Norte

I lost Alba and Ruggero when I stayed in Güemes and they continued on to Santander, and afterwards, even though I started to walk longer days trying to catch up, I never could. We’d send each other text messages and notes through Facebook, updating our location and where we were staying, but I just didn’t have enough time to try to catch up with them again.

It’s funny- I walk alone, and I always think that Camino families are for other pilgrims. It’s so important for me to have my freedom on these longs walks that I never fall in with a group and stick with them until the end, which always makes me think that I don’t form “families”. But this year, I had to laugh when the truth hit me over the head. Alba and Ruggero called me their Camino daughter, and in return, I joked that they were my Camino parents. What’s more of a Camino family than that? I might not have stayed with them- or the rest of the Italians- until the end, but they had become my friends.

Ruggero, Alba, and Nadine; Camino del Norte

A Poem by the Sea

One of the best parts about the Norte is that, often, the route follows the coast. But a frustrating thing about the Norte is that sometimes the route veers away from the coast, continuing parallel to the water but a kilometer or two out of view. There are various alternate routes that leave the official Camino and continue along the coast, and I tried to take these as much as possible. But something else I did was to plan some of my stages so that I would end in a town or village by the sea.

One of these stops was at Caborredondo, a very small village between Santillana Del Mar and Cóbreces. The albergue here (Albergue Izarra) was small and charming and offered a communal dinner, but the best part of the experience was my late afternoon walk to the coast. The hospitalero pointed me in the right direction, and after a kilometer or two I found myself on a narrow pathway that ran along dramatic cliffs that dropped sharply down to the water. I looked to my right and to my left and there wasn’t another person in sight. 

Rocky coastline, Cantabria, Spain, highlights of the Camino del Norte

I found a flat rock and settled down on my perch. At first I was hot, and restless, and preoccupied with whether I was walking this Camino in the way that I wanted. I’d walked about 25 kilometers that day, but when I arrived in Caborredondo, I hadn’t been ready to stop walking. I’d felt stronger than any previous day, the kilometers were flying by, and I just wanted to walk and walk. But days before I planned to try to stay at this particular albergue because I’d heard good things, and sitting there on the rock along the beautiful coast, I was still conflicted over my decision. I didn’t know anyone else in the albergue, I’d lost Alba and Ruggero a few days before, and I was feeling lonely. All of that, and my body had wanted to keep walking, but I hadn’t listened.

You’d think I’ve walked enough long-distance trails at this point to know how to go about the whole thing, but the same challenges are always there: walk alone, or stay with others. Plan ahead or be spontaneous. The lessons of this Camino were no different than nearly every previous one. 

So I sat and I sat, and eventually the thoughts in my head quieted. And once they did, other sounds appeared. The waves crashing against the rocky coastline. Insects in the grass. A whistle of wind, a spray of water. 

Something made me think of the Wendell Berry poem called ‘The Peace of Wild Things‘. 

“Ah,” I thought. “I’ll memorize a poem. I’ll memorize this poem.”

I looked it up on my phone and hunched over so that my body blocked the glare of the sun and I could see the screen. I read the words, over and over and slowly, I worked through each line, repeating the words aloud. Over and over and I put the phone down, closed my eyes, said the words. I checked the lines again, then I put the phone away. I sat on that rock, alone but no longer lonely, just me and the sea and cliffs and the birds and the insects and the rough grass and a new poem, a poem that I recited out to all the wild things. 

The Peace of Wild Things, Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Nadine on the Cantabrian coast, Camino del Norte

The Knees of a 19-Year Old

When I saw that a massage therapist was offering massages at the albergue in Güemes, I was tempted. I’ve never actually had a massage before, not by a professional, but of all times when I thought I could use one, it would probably be in the middle of a really long walk. 

I was talking about it with a pilgrim I’d met a few days before, Astrid, and together we decided that since there wasn’t much else to do, we might as well wait in line and see what it was all about.

We sat on the pavement behind 6 other pilgrims and waited nearly two hours. In that time I started to grow a little nervous. Everyone coming out of the small room was smiling, their legs shining with oil, their posture relaxed. “It’s great,” they said. “Worth the wait.” I knew that there was nothing to be nervous about, and yet, I wasn’t sure I wanted someone touching my legs and my feet.

When it was my turn I went inside and met the massage therapist, a Spanish man named Miguel. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Please lie down.”

I stretched out my legs and waited. Miguel moved around the table, looking at my feet, staring at my feet. He was silent, still looking at my feet, and I grew worried. I knew there was something wrong. I’ve never really liked my feet: they’re wide and my toes are stubby and finding proper fitting shoes has been an ordeal for my entire life.

I could feel my heart start to beat harder and I was about to hop off the table and tell Miguel to forget about the whole thing but then he looked at me, and smiled, and said, “You have the perfect feet for walking.”

I laughed. “It’s true,” he continued. “They are perfect.” He looked at them again, touching one lightly and moving it a little to the right, then the left. “Do you practice yoga?”

I shook my head ‘no’. “A shame,” he sighed. Then, all at once, he clapped his hands and started the massage. 

He continued to say that my feet were perfect, which was when I decided that this massage thing might not have been a bad idea after all. He massaged my calves, telling me that it was amazing that I walk these long distances day after day, but I have completely relaxed muscles. I wasn’t really sure what to say, because I wasn’t doing anything special, at least I didn’t think I was. I was just walking.

Then he got to my knees, and when he started in on the right knee he suddenly stopped, and looked up at me in disbelief. 

“What, are you 19??” he asked.

I laughed again and he did too. “I know you’re not 19,” he said, “But you have the knees of a 19-year old.” He shook his head. “Incredible.”

Maybe he was just being kind and flattered everyone with observations like these, but I like to think that I really do have the perfect feet for walking, and knees of a 19-year old (even though I’m twice as old), and that maybe this combination will keep me walking for years and years to come. 

I’m counting on it. 

Walking along coast on the Camino del Norte

A Swim in the Sea

There was a lot working against me when I decided to go for a swim at the beach in Pendueles. For starters, I hadn’t brought a bathing suit on this Camino. Then there was the fact that the little beach was tricky to access: there was a very steep and narrow dirt path that required using the provided rope to get up and down. The beach itself was rocky, with no comfortable place to sit, and the water was chilly (I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to cold water).

But the day had been one of those really good Camino days. I walked an easy 19km from Serdio to Pendueles, taking a gorgeous alternate path along the coast for the last few kilometers. I arrived at the albergue over two hours before it would open, so I went to a nearby bar and ordered a large salad and a cold beer and took my time eating. When I got back to the albergue (Albergue Ave de Paso), I talked with two Italian girls and a group of Spanish college students- they’d all made reservations for the 14-bed albergue, and were alarmed when I told them that I hadn’t. “What if it’s full?” they asked. I shrugged; I was feeling relaxed that day, and had a good feeling that I would get a bed. But even if I didn’t, I knew there was another albergue in the village that I could try.

When the albergue opened and Javier checked us in, he announced that there were 13 beds already reserved and just one free one left… for me! 

So it had already been a good day and I knew that there was a beach nearby. The Italian girls changed into their bathing suits and headed out, so did the group of Spanish students. I stood at my bunk, thinking. I knew I wanted to go to the beach, and the day was sunny and warm and the idea of taking a dip in the water was appealing. I looked through my very limited clothing options and decided that I could fashion a bathing suit from the thin pair of shorts I wore for sleeping, plus one of my buffs.

One of the buffs I was carrying is the one I’ve had since my first Camino, but the second was gifted to me by an Italian pilgrim, just before I took a bus up to the start of the Norte. He’d been going through his pack and removing things to ship home, and he was insistent that I should take his buff. At the time I wanted to be polite but I also wasn’t sure if I would ever need it; now I had the perfect solution. A bathing suit top! (It wasn’t perfect, but it worked).

When I arrived above the beach I clutched the rope and slowly made my way down the steep hill. The Italian girls weren’t anywhere to be found (turns out they missed the beach and walked two kilometers back to another one), but I could see the group of Spanish students, gingerly putting their toes in the water.

I left my shoes and bag in a small pile on the rocks then carefully made my way down to the water. It was cool, but not cold. I waded further in, up past my knees, then took a deep breath and dove under. And after that first shock of cold it felt perfect. I swam a little, back and forth, and then just floated for awhile. 

I’ve walked the Norte twice now (or at least parts of it twice), and this was the first time that I’ve gone swimming. If I ever return to the Norte for a third time, I’m definitely going to pack a bathing suit and get in the water a lot more.

Rocky beach at Pendueles, on the Camino del Norte

Beach at Pendueles on the Camino del Norte

A Sunset on a Hill

The day I stayed in Piñeres, I walked 40km when I thought I’d only be walking 33. I’m not sure where the mistakes were (could have been one of the alternate routes I took, and getting stuck in a field with no clue how to get out and walking in circles for awhile). In any case, I was tired when I arrived in Piñeres. The first albergue I tried was completo, so I had to continue another kilometer up a long hill to the Casa Rectoral that purportedly had more beds. 

I wasn’t sure what I was going to find at this albergue. Most of the group in Pendueles, where I’d stayed the night before, had made reservations at a new albergue in Villahormes, about 6km back. I’d passed by and the place looked attractive: an outdoor terrace with strings of white lights, colorful signs advertising ice cream and coffee and beer. There were a few pilgrims sitting at a table when I walked by, and I lingered, wondering if I should see about a bed. The race for beds on the Norte had been a distraction, and for the most part I’d resisted calling ahead and making reservations. Sometimes I get a feeling when I’m in a village or town, urging me to stay or else to continue walking. Nothing in my gut was telling me to stay at this albergue, and yet I worried that if I passed it by, I might have trouble finding a bed later. But I continued to walk, trusting in my gut, trusting that there would be a bed ahead.

The first albergue in Piñeres was full, so all I could do was trudge up the hill to try the next one. But in the middle of walking up that hill, I suddenly stopped, overcome with a strong memory from my previous pilgrimage on the Norte. It was on this hill that I took a selfie with some cows, green mountains in the background, and I remember feeling really happy. I’d been alone for a few days, not running into many pilgrims or anyone I knew (and I would continue to be mostly alone for another day or two), but I’d settled into the solitude and was loving the walking. So this time, when I realized where I was, I smiled. I looked up the path and saw two buildings at the top of the hill, and realized that one of them must be the albergue. Already the memory from my 2015 pilgrimage felt like a good omen.

Me, Cows, Mountains- Camino del Norte

Camino del Norte 2015

The Casa Recotral had plenty of beds. The building was old and quirky, but the location was amazing. The building next door was a church with a small cemetery, and otherwise there was nothing around as far as I could see. The hospitalero was kind, and when I was making my dinner from items I’d bought earlier that day, he offered me a huge piece of watermelon. I took my food outside and sat at a table and watched as the sunlight changed the color of the mountains. I chatted with some pilgrims- a few that I knew, a few I’d never seen before- but mostly it was quiet and peaceful.

As the sun dropped and the mountains glowed pink, I started to gather my things to head into bed, but then wondered if I might be able to see a sunset. So I walked over to the church and then along a path next to the cemetery, and was greeted with the most stunning sky. My view stretched across the hills and I realized that I could see straight out to the sea, and sure enough, the sun was sinking down below the water’s horizon. And just as the sun dipped down, the church bells started ringing 10pm, and I listened to the bells and watched the pink sky, and a small cat wandered out of the grass and brushed against my leg. 

It was an unexpectedly magical night.

Sun setting on the Camino del Norte

Sunset in Pineres, Camino del Norte

Puppies!

My walk on the Norte this summer provided lots of puppy encounters. There were other animals, too, but the puppies were my favorite. I said hi to a couple on my first day, about 30 minutes after I left the albergue in Irun. Then there were two more outside of a farm on the way to Deba (these two came sprinting over to me as I walked up, so excited and happy). And then there were four more at the albergue in Pozueta. After I showered and washed my clothes, I sat down and pulled one of the puppies into my lap, and wondered if I could somehow tuck him into my bag and walk the rest of my pilgrimage with him. 

Puppies playing on the Camino del Norte

A pile of puppies in Pozueta, Camino del Norte

A puppy friend on the Camino del Norte

The Walking Stick

When I walked my first Camino- the Camino Frances, in 2014- I bought a walking stick in a tiny shop in St Jean Pied de Port, right at the very start of my pilgrimage. But for each long walk since then, I’ve always waited until I was on my way to try to find a piece of wood that would work as a walking stick. Sometimes I’ve had to walk several days before I find something. Some sticks are perfect, some are a little short, or a little tall, or have a quirky bend.

But this year, I got my stick from a pile in the back of the gîte in Oloron-Ste-Marie, where I started my pilgrimage on the Camino Aragonés. I’d noticed the pile of sticks the night before, and as I was eyeing them up I thought one or two might make a perfect walking stick. Before I left the next morning, I asked the hospitalera if I would be able to take one, and she was thrilled to be able to pass one over to me. 

So my walking stick was with me every step of the way on this pilgrimage, and like all the walking sticks that have come before, I grew very attached to this one.

On my last day, as I walked into Oviedo, I met a Spanish pilgrim. We walked together for about 30 minutes, he had just started his pilgrimage the day before, and would be continuing from Oviedo on the Camino Primitivo. He was eager to talk to me: asking questions and telling me why he was on the Camino. Already, he had blisters, and his pace was slow and labored. I had to really slow down to stay next to him (remember, I was on my 29th day of walking!), but even so, I think he had to quicken his pace to stay next to me. 

I was feeling distracted, knowing I only had another hour or two left of my summer Camino. What I really wanted was to be walking alone, and thinking about the last kilometers of the walk, and thinking about the last month, and trying to process it all… not walking really slowly and trying to make conversation with a new pilgrim.

At one point he looked at my stick. “That’s nice,” he said. 

I also looked at my stick, the part at the top rubbed smooth by the palm of my hand, the bottom that was covered in dirt. I looked at the stick and then looked at the pilgrim. “When we arrive in Oviedo, if we are at the same albergue, I’ll give it to you.”

A little later I continued ahead, and had the last hour of the pilgrimage to myself. And later still, in the municipal albergue in Oviedo, I found the Spanish pilgrim, and presented him with my stick. 

“This is for you,” I said. “It’s helped me on my walk, and I hope it helps you on yours.”

He was thrilled, smiling and thanking me and telling me that I might have saved his Camino. 

Sometimes I just need to leave my stick when I finish a Camino: in Santiago I left it resting against the cathedral, on the Chemin Le Puy I left it tucked into the corner in an albergue. After my first Camino del Norte I was so attached to my stick that I shipped it home (and now it’s on the mantel above my fireplace). But this ending felt the best: putting it in the hand of the next pilgrim. Maybe it continues to be passed from hand to hand, maybe it’s still out there now, walking someone to Santiago.

Beginning of the Camino del Norte; selfie with a sign to Santiago (787km)

Pilgrim shadow with stick

Hopefully I’ll be back with more soon… more posts from my summer, more thoughts and musings about life and writing and walking. 

How to Walk the Camino in a Heatwave

One of the stories from this year’s Camino was the heat. Oh, the heat! I like to escape the humidity of a northeastern US summer for Europe where it’s almost guaranteed to be a little cooler and all-around much more pleasant. And usually, it is.

But this summer, Europe experienced some record-breaking heatwaves, and I happened to be walking through one of them.

It was intense.

Pilgrim shadow; Camino Aragonés

I like to think that I can handle heat pretty well- after all, until earlier this year, I’ve never owned a car with working air conditioning. I rarely use air conditioning in my apartment, either (I have one small window unit and I generally only use it a few times a year, on the very hottest and most humid days. But I suppose I should say that my apartment stays pretty cool and a fan is often all I need to manage the heat). In any case, walking a summer-time Camino has never been too stressful to me. I expect that it will be hot, but I never worry too much. There have been some pretty uncomfortable days, but I’ve always been able to handle them pretty well.

But this summer was a different story. All told, I only walked for about 3-days in really bad heat, but that was enough. It was the end of June, and the end of my Camino Aragonés. The heat had been building and building and then suddenly it burst: unrelenting and all-consuming. At times, it was hard to think, that’s how hot it was. The highest temperature I saw recorded was 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit), displayed on one of the pharmacy signs as I walked through an empty town one afternoon (empty, because every other person was inside, taking a siesta. More on that later). 40 degrees is hot, and it’s very possible that I may have experience heat a degree or two higher; I know that other parts of Europe certainly did.

Temperatures during a Camino heatwave

I learned a few things about walking in this kind of heat, and I thought I would share more of that experience here, in case anyone else ends up in the middle of a long walk and trapped in a heatwave. 

When I think back to those days, what stands out the most is the sense of community and support that developed among the pilgrims on the Camino. We were all walking through the heat, and it was a struggle for everyone. I think that the heat helped us form stronger bonds; pilgrims looked out for one another, always checking in and making sure others were okay. And, in addition to the sometimes intense experience of walking really long distances, we added an incredible heat to the pilgrimage, and it was like we were all in it together, even if we were walking separately. Like I’ve said in a previous post, the Camino Aragonés had this really nice community feel to it anyway; there were about 12-15 other pilgrims walking the same stages as me, so I got to know the others from staying in the same albergues. But I think the heatwave just made the connections easier. By the end of the Aragonés, I felt like the entire group was my Camino family, even the Spanish guy in the red shirt who didn’t really say much to anyone. It didn’t matter. When I saw him at the albergue in Puente La Reina, I ran up and smiled and gave him a big thumbs up (we couldn’t really communicate so gestures and body language went a long way). His smile was just as big as my own: we’d each made it, and in a way we’d been looking out for one another. That’s what mattered.

Pilgrim family dinner; Camino Aragonés

I walked through the heatwave but I never felt like I was in it alone. That meant a lot.

This idea of group support leads me to my next point. When walking in a heatwave, start early. Start really early. I was trying to do that anyway, but ‘early’ took on a new meaning the morning we left Sangüesa. The night before, a Dutch woman organized a 4:30am wake-up call. We were all in one big bunk room in the albergue, and this pilgrim figured that if a few of us were going to wake up really early, we might as well all wake up really early. Initially, I thought the wake-up call was way too early; anything in the 4 o’clock hour is a time that is meant for sleep, and I’ve always felt pretty strongly about that. And sure, I could have stayed in bed while everyone else woke up, but when you walk a Camino, if several people are moving around in an albergue room and packing up their things, it’s guaranteed to wake you up.

So I rose with the others and drank a cup of instant coffee in the common room, ate a bite of leftover tortilla from the night before and then headed out alone, pilgrims a few minutes ahead of me, pilgrims a few minutes behind me.

It’s probably no secret that I like to walk alone. I don’t mind occasionally walking with other people but mornings are my favorite time to walk alone, so even though I left the albergue just after 5am and it was pitch black outside, I was happy that I was walking by myself.

Walking before dawn; Camino Aragonés

This was good and fine for the first 20 minutes: I was walking on a sidewalk out of town, the arrows (when I could find them with my flashlight) were pointing straight ahead. The air was somewhat cool and it was kind of exciting, a little thrilling, to be walking under what still felt like a night sky.

But then, naturally, I missed an arrow. I walked, then turned around, confused. I heard voices behind me and realized it was a group of pilgrims from the albergue. I waited until they caught up with me and then, together, we figured out where to go. I walked with them for awhile, up and down the hills until the sun began to rise behind a mountain, throwing a soft pink light through the sky. Eventually I stopped for a break and let them walk ahead of me so that I continue walking on alone. But I learned something that I should have already known (because I’ve gotten confused walking in the dark before): if I need a flashlight to walk the Camino, I shouldn’t be too far from other pilgrims. 

Sunrise on the Camino Aragonés

In any case, waking up really early and starting your day’s walk well before the crack of dawn is important in extreme heat. The first few hours of the day were really pleasant and so, so beautiful as the sun was rising. Once that sun had crested the mountain, however, the heat began. It was a bit like a race against the clock, walking as fast as I could before the sun had fully risen in the sky. But the more kilometers you can walk before the sun rises, the less you’ll have to walk in really bad heat. For those three days of walking through the heatwave, I think I had finished walking and was checking into my albergue by noon, or 12:30 at the latest. The last few hours of the walk each day were tough: by 10am the heat was strong, and the time between 11:00am and noon was just a difficult hour, the kind where you need to focus on each footstep and tell yourself- “One step at a time. One step at a time.”

I can’t imagine what I would have done if I’d needed to continue walking through the afternoon on those days. It would have been really difficult, and maybe dangerous. In the past, I’ve heard pilgrims say that they walk in the morning hours, take a really long siesta during the afternoon, and then continue walking in the evening when the heat has cooled. I think this could be possible if you’re walking a Camino route where you know there will be availability in albergues, or else if you’ve made a reservation in an albergue or hotel, so that you could arrive late and still be guaranteed a bed.

On some Camino routes, it can be easy to alter your schedule and just walk short days in extreme heat. A 10 or 15 kilometer day, if started early, could have you finishing by mid-morning before the worst heat of the day. A lot of albergues don’t open until early to mid afternoon, but it would still be better to hang out inside, at a bar or restaurant, and wait for the albergue to open, rather than continuing to walk through the heat. On the Aragonés, I met two French pilgrims who decided to skip ahead a stage and take a bus to the next town, so that they could walk shorter stages and still arrive in Puente La Reina on schedule. They were worried about walking 25 or 30 kilometer stages in the heat, and so they adjusted their plans. 

Open road of the Camino Aragonés

I think this is always a good idea. Some pilgrims will stop walking if it gets too hot, and either hang out in a village or town, or take a bus to a city for a few days and then just return when the weather has cooled. I think mentioning this is important, because walking through a heatwave can be dangerous. I never felt like I was in any danger this summer, but it helped to start early and walk fast before the sun had fully risen. If I hadn’t been able to end my walking day by noon, it could have been a very different story.

But ending the day around noon has another advantage: if the albergue is open, it gives you time to claim a bed, take a shower, wash your clothing, and then head out for a big menu del dia lunch before returning to the albergue for a nice, long siesta.

I loved doing this. I had some incredible meals and with a full belly and a hot sun bearing down, there was nothing more I wanted to do than go back to my bunk and rest for awhile. This is a pro-tip for the Camino: a menu del dia (menu of the day) is very similar to a pilgrim’s menu, but the quality of the food is often better. The price is comparable- around 10 euros- and you’ll get a starter, main dish and dessert, bread and wine, too, just like the pilgrim’s menu. But it was a treat to have varied and delicious options (and the little pitchers of wine help slow you down for the siesta, too).

Menu del dia lunch on the Camino Aragonés

Walking in the dark and eating big lunches are good and fine, but what about actually walking in the heat?

I focused on three things: keeping myself as cool as possible, drinking water consistently throughout the day, and resting in shade every chance I got. 

In terms of keeping myself cool, options are a bit limited, but there are still some strategies that I think any pilgrim could use. The first is to wear a wide-brimmed hat that will keep the sun off of both your face and the back of your neck. Initially, I only had a ball cap, but when the heat got bad I went out in search of a better hat. The town of Sangüesa had a pretty awesome general store with really cheap stuff, and I found a 2 euro hat with a somewhat wide brim. It was navy blue which wasn’t the best (lighter colors are recommended), and the fit was rather poor, but at least it shielded my head from the sun more than my ball cap did. (Some pilgrims carry an umbrella to fully protect themselves from the sun, which can also work really well).

How to walk the Camino in a heatwave

My other tip for trying to stay cool while walking in a heatwave is to use a buff. I’ve written about my buff before, and it’s come in handy more times than I can count. But my very favorite way to use it is this: when passing a fountain, run it under the water until it is soaked and dripping. Without squeezing out too much of the water, I’ll put it either around my neck or up over the top of my head. Water gets everywhere, but- at least initially- it’s cool and refreshing. The buff will dry out and warm up pretty quickly under a hot sun, but even ten minutes of a cool sensation against my neck or head is such a relief. I’ll refresh the buff at every fountain I pass.

Camino in a heatwave; Camino Aragonés

And speaking of fountains, it might go without saying that staying hydrated is really important during a heatwave, but I’m going to say it anyway. Water is key. I read somewhere that it’s better to take small sips continuously throughout the day during extreme heat (rather than gulping down a ton of water all at once), and I’m not sure if that’s true or not, but it’s what I tried to do. In any case, I made myself drink even if I wasn’t feeling thirsty, just to make sure that I was giving my body enough water. And this is something I do on the Camino anyway, but every time I passed a fountain I would fill my water bottle. Even if the bottle was nearly full, it didn’t matter. I’d make sure it was filled to the very top (and often, the water from a fountain is cooler than what’s been sitting in your bottle, so it helps to refresh). You’re going to sweat a lot while walking in hot temperatures, so that makes it extra important to stay hydrated. Many people carry electrolyte tablets or some equivalent, and I think this is a good idea, especially if you’re walking in the summer. (There are lots of different kinds you can buy: I’ve tried these, and these). 

Fuente sign, Camino Aragonés

Finally, the shade. If you’re on a forested path or walking in an area with lots of trees, the air will be a little cooler and the shade will be a relief. But on the Camino, it’s often difficult to find shade. So much of the path is out in the open, and my walk on the Aragonés during the heatwave was no different. There was a long stretch when I could see the path winding far ahead of me, the heat shimmering up from the ground, the path was a blaring white and there wasn’t a spot to hide in the shade for what felt like miles. In a case like this, there’s not much that you can do. But if you do pass a tree, even just a tiny section of the trail that has just a bit of shade, my best advice is to make a beeline to that spot and stand there for a few minutes. Small breaks are good for your body during a heatwave, and a chance to escape a relentless sun is important. I actually learned this from a dog that I hiked with a few years ago in France: on hot afternoons, he would criss-cross the road to walk in shade as much as possible. At first I thought it was funny, but then I realized that this dog was really smart. He knew what he had to do to stay cool. 

A break under a tree, Camino Aragonés

A little shade on the Camino Aragonés

I now look back at those days of walking in the heat and I wonder- “Was it really that hot?” Then I remember the last day in Puente La Reina, sitting around a table in the albergue with a group of pilgrims: from Italy and France and Japan. Most of us had just met and we were eating and laughing and toasting to the Camino and even while sitting still at the table, sweat dripped from all of us. There was no escape. 

Walking in the heat isn’t always fun and it’s important to be really careful, and the smartest thing might be to change plans and avoid walking during the hottest days. I’m curious if others have had experience walking the Camino in a heatwave: what did you do? Do you have any other tips or tricks?

Camino in a heatwave; temperature sign

Repeating a Camino

I don’t think I wrote quite as much about my pre-Camino planning this year as I normally do, or what my process was like deciding how I wanted to spend my summer, but I was, in a word, conflicted.

I’ve been feeling both a pull to do something new and to go some place totally new, as well as a small tug to spend a little more time at home. So there was all this pulling and tugging when I’d been thinking about Summer 2019 plans, and I kept thinking: “Is this the year for another Camino? And if it is, which Camino do I want to walk?”

There wasn’t a clear answer, and that’s the first time this has happened. I’d felt really certain about each of my previous walks. That’s not to say that I don’t spend time researching and flipping back and forth between various options, but I usually have a feeling in my gut about where I want to walk. But I just didn’t this year.

And yet, it had been several years since I’d been in Spain. Without any obvious answers coming to me, I wondered if maybe it was time to go back to the Camino. I planned a 10-day walk on a new-to-me route (the Aragonés, read more about that here and here), but I’d still have more time to walk. I wanted to walk for a month. I didn’t want a route that was too crowded, I didn’t want a route that was too isolated. I wanted the Goldilocks of Camino routes, and there was one I couldn’t get out of my mind: the Camino del Norte.

yellow arrow on beach in Noja, Camino del Norte

I’d walked the first nearly 500km of the Norte in 2015 and most of the remaining 300km in 2016 and I loved it, especially the first half. It’s not a perfect Camino, and there are a few things I wish could be different or “better”, like maybe a stronger ‘Camino’ feel, a few more albergues especially in some key places. Walking in the summer can be tricky as tourists as well as pilgrims flock to the beach towns, and lodging tends to fill up. Prices are a touch higher than in other parts of Spain. There’s a lot of asphalt walking. 

But there was also so, so much that I loved. When I first walked I thought that it had nearly the perfect amount of people for me: just enough so that I could form my own little Camino community, but not too many that I would constantly see other pilgrims throughout the day. I loved how solo it felt, and I also loved the friends that I made. The food was really great. While at times I may have wished for more of a Camino feel, it was also nice to walk through parts of Spain that didn’t feel dominated or defined by the Camino. More locals tried to have conversations with me, curious about why I was walking alone, making sure that I was okay and having a good time.

And, most importantly, the scenery. Another caveat: just as the Camino del Norte isn’t perfect, it’s not 100% beautiful views either. Every time the path dips away from the coast, my heart sinks. Sometimes the Camino runs nearly parallel to the coast but also frustratingly just out of view. Sometimes it rains. But the rest of the time, it is just so, so beautiful. I’m not sure I’ve found anything on any walk that I enjoy more than rounding a corner and arriving at a small, pristine beach with perfectly worn sea glass and gentle waves and not a person in sight. And it happens over and over.

sea glass on beach, Camino del Norte

When I walked the Camino del Norte in 2015, I learned how to truly be independent on a long-distance walk. I learned how to ask myself what I both needed and wanted, and I learned how to give that to myself. I learned when I needed to show up for others, and when I needed to go my own way. I sort of figured out that I loved the freedom of being alone on the Camino Francés, but I gave myself that freedom on the Camino del Norte, and I’ll never, ever forget what that felt like.

So the Norte has had this special role in all of my Camino-ing, and for the past several years I’d been adding to a document on my desktop, making notes for my next walk on the Norte, knowing that someday I’d return.

All of this and yet, even though I’d sort of decided that I would probably walk the Norte after I finished the Aragonés this summer, I wasn’t totally convinced. In fact, I didn’t make a final decision until the day before. I hesitated and hesitated because I didn’t quite feel ready to repeat a walk that I’ve already done.

There are so many other walks out there! There are so many other experiences to have! Despite sometimes feeling like I could live forever, I know that I won’t. Despite feeling young and strong, I know that I’m aging out of my youth (maybe already have). And what if my situation, having 8-weeks of freedom every summer, what if it changes? Because surely, one day, it will. Maybe soon. And all of these thoughts made it really difficult to say with any certainty: “Yes, I’m going to walk the Norte again.”

So I hemmed and hawed and honestly one thing that made the decision kind of easy was that, as I was finishing the Aragonés, I was walking through a heatwave. It was intense. Sitting at a table surrounded by pilgrims in the albergue in Puente La Reina, I could feel the sweat rolling down my back, my legs. I wasn’t even moving or exerting any energy, it was just that hot. I looked at the weather app on my phone and checked the temperature in Irun and it was significantly cooler and my decision was made. Go north. Go to Irun, start walking.

Repeating a Camino, first day in Irun, Camino del Norte

This has been a long introduction to a post where I wanted to talk about what it was like to repeat a Camino, so here we go:

It wasn’t what I expected.

It felt nearly like a totally new experience.

And I guess that makes sense, though I certainly didn’t anticipate that I would feel that way. But maybe I should know better: I don’t have the greatest memory, and I marvel at people who can remember specific details about their long-distance walks, especially details of the landscape. I think back on my walks and I can certainly remember the bigger picture, and the memorable moments are etched into my brain, and I take photos and write in my journal (and blog!) to try to remember the details, but so much of the daily walking just gets lost.

I just didn’t realize how much of it escapes my memory, I didn’t realize it until I went back to the Norte. Because once I started walking, there was so much I didn’t remember. In fact, there was a point where I was convinced that the path had been altered considerably since I’d last been there, like they’d rerouted big portions, because I just had no memory of it! I arrived at an overlook over the beach of a sizable town and… nope, nothing. Had this part of the Camino even existed in 2015? Had this beach even been there at all??

But, also there were other parts I remembered, some things were so clear. One day, I was walking on the path and rounded a bend and looked up at a slight hill and thought- ‘This is where I saw that white horse.’ And then I looked to my left down the field and there was a white horse, hanging out by the trees! And it dawned on me that it was probably the same exact horse, and something about that made me really happy. 

White horse on the Camino del Norte

And that kind of thing happened a few times, when I’d be walking and not really remembering the specific part of the trail but then be suddenly hit with an intense feeling of familiarity, and remember all at once exactly where I was.

So it was this interesting mix, of things I’d completely forgotten but also things I’d remembered. But there was another layer too, and that was that most of the things that were familiar were also different. It’s because I was often walking different stages than the first time, staying in different albergues, passing things at different times of the day, in different weather, with different people, and it all adds up to a new experience. 

Sometimes, I recreated an experience. I love a good tradition, and walking a Camino twice is enough for me to start up traditions. And so, I took the detour down to the little beach in Onton to look for sea glass, like I did in 2015. I had the really good tortilla in Liendo. I got ice cream before the long walk along the boardwalk in Laredo. I ordered tostada con tomate at the beachside café in Noja. And I took a lot of the same photos. Sometimes this was intentional- I remembered a photo from my first walk on the Norte and came to the same place and couldn’t resist snapping another. But now that I’m home and reviewing all my pictures, from both 2015 and 2019, it’s shocking to see how many times I took the same photo in the same place, unintentionally (ahh, that photographer’s eye!). 

Path up El Brusco, Camino del Norte, 2015 Path up El Brusco, Camino del Norte, 2019

Camino del Norte landscape, 2015 Camino del Norte landscape, 2019

Tortilla in Liendo, Camino del Norte, 2015 Tortilla in Liendo, Camino del Norte, 2019

House on hill, Camino del Norte, 2015 House on hill, Camino del Norte, 2019

Then there were other times when I purposefully set out to do something different. And this, I think, is the beauty of returning to walk a Camino for a second time. There were a couple towns and albergues that I wanted to revisit, but mostly I tried to stay in different places. I discovered new and wonderful albergues (I have a post that lists my favorite albergues on the Norte, which I’m going to update soon), and I discovered new villages and towns too.

I also hit the beach more. Last time, in 2015, I walked on the beach when it intersected with the path of the Camino, and sometimes during the walk I made little detours to small beaches along the way. But I never really took the time to go down to a beach in the afternoons or evenings, and I didn’t plan my stages to end in towns by a beach. This time was different. I love the feeling of my feet in the sand and the sound of the waves and I wanted more of it. I stayed in villages that were on the coast, and after finding a bed in the albergue, I went down to the beach and lounged on the sand. After much hesitation, I went swimming at a little secluded beach in Pendueles (there are two things of note: 1. To access the beach you practically have to rappel down the trail with a provided rope; I was in flip flops but I made it. 2. I’d decided not to pack a bathing suit and it turns out that there’s another handy use for the buff I always bring!). That little swim in the sea was one of the highlights of my Camino. I also went for several evening walks on the beach, after everyone had packed up and left for the day and I had the stretch of sand all to myself. 

Late afternoon beach lounging, Camino del Norte

La Isla beach, Camino del Norte

Walking on beach in Pobena, Norte

Another goal for my return to the Norte was to take more coastal alternatives. As mentioned above, the route of the Norte sometimes veers away from the coast, and while often it’s not very far, it’s far enough that you can’t actually see the coast. After some searching on the Camino forum, I discovered a great document that lists out a bunch of coastal alternatives; some I’d already explored when I walked in 2015, but there were more I wanted to find for my second time around. One very fun day was when I walked the 36km coastal route from Santander to Boo. It wasn’t an official “Camino variant”, but with some detailed instructions I’d found online, I was mostly able to find my way, and so much of the route was stunning. 

Coastal alternative, Santander to Boo, Norte

I had a thought as I was walking the Norte this summer, I wondered if I could try to come back every 5 years to walk. Wouldn’t that be fun? To see how the route has changed, to see what has remained the same. To return to my favorite albergues and to find new favorites. To take the same photos, again and again, to sink into my traditions. To find that white horse. To walk more of the coast, to brave the chilly waters, to meet new friends, to remember who I was when I last walked. 

It would take a lot, to return to a place and commit time to repeat a long walk and to do this continuously throughout my life. I may never walk the Norte again; to walk most of it twice was a gift. To walk like this at all is a gift, and I wonder how long I can make this last. I dream of having enough time and enough health to walk all the long walks on my list, to walk the walks I haven’t yet discovered, to return to walk the paths I’ve already been down. 

Maybe all of it will happen and maybe none of it will, but I know this: I’m happy I returned to the Norte. 

Repeating a Camino, Noja, Camino del Norte

Camino Aragonés Guide: Essential Info to help plan your walk

I can’t remember when I first heard of the Camino Aragonés, or when it became a walk that I added to my “list”, or even when it moved to priority status. I just know that at some point, somewhere, I must have read more about it and thought, “Huh. Sounds like a pretty good Camino.”

I’ve already written about why I found the Aragonés to be a nearly perfect Camino, and if you haven’t already read that post, I think it makes a good companion piece to this one, especially if you’re considering planning a walk. But for now I’ll say that yes, indeed, it was a pretty good Camino.

This Camino Aragonés guide post will attempt to delve into some of the more practical considerations, and I hope it will give you a sense of what the walk is like, useful tips, and some inspiration to add it to your list. (Otherwise, sit back and enjoy more photos!)

Camino Aragonés guide; view from Arrés

First of all, the basics

I love taking a good alternate route, and it turns out that the Camino Aragonés (or, the Aragonese Way) can be considered one long alternate to the beginning of the Camino Francés. Rather than starting in St Jean Pied de Port and crossing the Pyrenees into Spain by ending in Roncesvalles (as you would on the Camino Francés), the Aragonés begins at the pass in Somport- which sits on the border of France and Spain- and continues for 170km until it rejoins the Frances at Puente La Reina.

But this is a route that has a long history, a route that was popular in the Middle Ages and served pilgrims who were walking the Via Tolosana (the Arles Route), which begins in Arles and continues to Somport (and the Via Tolosana was one of the four major pilgrimage routes cited in the Codez Calixtinus, a sort of first “guidebook” to the Camino written in the 12th century).

The Aragonés, beginning in Somport (border between France and Spain) and ending in Puente La Reina (Spain) is typically divided into 6 stages (more on that below). It is possible to extend this Camino by beginning in France somewhere on the Arles route, or continuing on the Camino Francés once you reach Puenta La Reina.

Wise pilgrims map of Camino routes

A great Camino map; look towards the top right for the path of the Aragonés (dark gray)

Why would someone choose to walk this route, rather than begin where everyone else does, in St Jean Pied de Port?

This is a great question. The Camino Francés is typically the first Camino for most pilgrims, and for those who choose to cross the Pyrenees, they do so by starting in St Jean. I did this too, when I first walked in 2014. At the time, while I vaguely knew that there were other Camino routes, I had no idea that there was an alternate Pyrenees crossing that would eventually lead me back to the Francés.

So I think for most pilgrims who find their way to the Aragonés, it is not their first Camino. It is often a pilgrim who has already walked the Francés and is coming back for more- and has maybe returned to the Camino a second, or third, or fourth time- who discovers the Aragonés and decides to see what it is all about.

On the other hand, during my walk on the Aragonés this summer, I met pilgrims who were embarking on their first Camino. One had chosen the Aragonés because he’d studied Spanish history and wanted to walk through Jaca (a city along the route). Another because she’d heard that the Camino Francés could be very crowded, so preferred to have a quiet experience to start.

I think the Aragonés could be a great option in either case: whether you’re returning for a second, or third, of fourth (or more!) Camino, or if you’re walking your very first. For a first Camino it may take some additional planning, and beginning in Somport won’t give you the same sort of Camino fanfare as beginning St Jean would, but it would make for a special and very unique experience.

Path of the Camino Aragonés

In a nutshell, what is so great about this route?

You can refer to my last post, where I go into more detail of why I loved the Camino Aragonés. But to sum it up: the scenery is varied and beautiful. The route is quiet but you probably won’t be totally alone, and you’ll build a nice pilgrim community with others on the path. There are well-spaced albergues that provide just enough infrastructure to make you feel like you’re truly on a Camino (unless you want to make shorter stages, there is no need to stay in hotels or pensions. Although you certainly could opt to stay in other lodging!). Locals aren’t used to seeing crowds of pilgrims, so you’ll experience kindness and openness and maybe even some curiosity. 

Curious horse on the Camino Aragonés

What is the way marking like, am I going to get lost?

I thought the waymarking was very, very good on this route. If you begin in France you’ll want to follow the white and red stripes of the GR-653, and in Spain there are the traditional yellow arrows and scallop shells (though you may also continue to see the white and red stripe markings). 

White and red stripe markings of the GR-65

Overall the signs and arrows are plentiful, and I honestly can’t remember a time when I got confused. Well, aside from when I walked for an hour in the dark (due to a heatwave), but that’s no fault of whoever painted the arrows along that section of the path. They were there, I just couldn’t find them with my flashlight. 

Shell marker on the Camino Aragonés

And speaking of finding your way, is there a guide to this Camino?

That’s another good question. I didn’t use a guide for my walk, and instead just referred to the Gronze stages (a Spanish website that gives information for various Camino routes, including basic maps of each stage, an elevation profile, and albergue information, as well as where to find food and other services). I thought that the Gronze stages- even without knowing Spanish- were sufficient, and along with some prior browsing and note-taking on the Camino forum, I never needed a guidebook.

However, there are a few guidebook options out there. I can’t speak to either of them, but I’d imagine they’d only give you more information than what you’ll find online. The first, The Confraternity of St James’ guide, Arles to Puente La Reina, is in English. You’ll want Part 2, which is ‘Toulouse to Puente La Reina‘ (this will include the Aragonés). There is also the Miam Miam Dodo guide (in French), which includes the Aragonés. I used a Miam Miam Dodo when I walked the Chemin du Puy and while I can somewhat understand French, I found that you don’t really need a grasp of the language to get what you need from the guide. The maps are easy to read, and icons will show you where there are albergues and restaurants/bars. 

Sign to Santiago, Camino Aragonés guide

I keep hearing mention of the Pyrenees; how difficult is this route?

If you begin in Somport- also referred to as the Col du Somport or the Canfranc Pass, and sits at an elevation of 1632m- the most difficult part of the entire route will probably be the walk down to Canfranc Estación. The path drops over 400 meters in about 7km, and some parts can feel steep and may be tough on the knees. I didn’t think it was particularly challenging, and just went real slow at times (then again, climbing hills has always been more difficult for me than descending them), but if this descent is a concern you would always have the option to begin the pilgrimage in Canfranc Estación, or Jaca. Otherwise, the path of the Aragonés is often flat, or else has you climbing relatively small hills- not unlike anything you would find on the Camino Francés.

Descent from Somport through Pyrenees, Camino Aragonés

If you begin back in France, and decide to walk up to Somport, then be advised that you will be ascending quite a bit on the final stage from Borce to Somport (the final 6km of the 17km stage have you ascending approximately 600 meters, and the total elevation gain for the stage is nearly 1000 meters). This basically means that you’ll be climbing, and climbing through the Pyrenees. I was pretty intimidated heading into the day’s walk: I’d been alone in the albergue (gîte) in Borce, didn’t pass another pilgrim for the entire day, and walked mostly in the rain with sometimes poor visibility. Aside from snow, those were probably the least ideal conditions, and yet, despite all of that, it wasn’t as bad as I feared. It helped that 17km isn’t a huge distance, so I had plenty of time. There was one point when I was only a few kilometers from Somport (and high in the mountains) when I worried a bit because I hadn’t seen a way marker in awhile, but as soon as I started to worry I found one. The rain wasn’t fun, but then again it never is, and I can only imagine how wonderful that stage would be in clear conditions.

And the bonus of the day was finding some Camino magic: someone had set up a little pilgrim rest area under some pine trees by their home. There were tree stumps to sit on, a tin with biscuits and tea bags, a stack of mugs, and a thermos with hot water. I had what might have been the best cup of tea in my life, huddled there under the dripping trees, chilled from the rain, all alone in the middle of a long climb. The tea warmed me up, the notebook where I signed my name reminded me that I wasn’t totally alone.

Camino magic on the Aragonés

What time of year should I walk?

I’d say spring, summer or fall; winter will likely have snow up at the pass and what I can imagine would be dangerous conditions down to Jaca. I’d also be careful in late fall and early spring, where there would also be a chance of walking through snow.

Are there any special sights along this Camino?

Yes!! Here are what I consider the ‘Big 5’:

1. Canfranc Estación. 7km into the Aragonés you will enter Canfranc village, where it is hard to miss the ruins of an enormous old railway station. It’s been abandoned since 1970 but recently there has been renovation work and a plan to restore the building to its former glory (and, I believe, restore the railway line). It was officially opened in 1928 and serviced the Pau-Canfranc line, which crossed under the Pyrenees, and had quite an interesting history during World War II. I believe it’s possible to take tours of the station, though I’ve read that they need to be booked online and in advance, and that the tours will only be in Spanish (and possibly French). I didn’t take a tour, and it seemed like the station was only accessible if you had that magic tour ticket, but it was still such an impressive sight.  

Canfranc Estación, Camino Aragonés

2. Detour to Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña (Saint John of the Cliff). There are two monasteries here: old (10th century) and new (17th century), and while the new monastery is worth a visit, it’s the old one that’s the real reason to detour from the Camino. The incredible building is camouflaged against the cliffside, some rooms carved directly into the stone. There’s an impressive Romanesque cloister and even a legend that the Holy Grail was sent here for protection!  

Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña, Camino Aragonés 

A note on getting here: Don’t do what I did. This was the thought continuously running through my head as I climbed a series of mountains on narrow, steep, extremely rocky trails. It took me a long time to reach the monasteries after some pretty challenging hiking, and once I did, I was told that the old monastery would be closed between 2:00 and 3:00 (I arrived at 1:40, and I still had a 1/2 mile walk to reach the old monastery). I had still had a fair amount of walking to to do after I finally toured both monasteries (in order to reach Santa Cilia), and overall it was a long day. Worth it, but long. There’s a detour that’s listed in Gronze’s stage that I followed, and there’s a sign along the path of the Camino that points out the detour 5.2km from Jaca. DO NOT FOLLOW THIS UNLESS YOU WANT SOME LONG AND STRENUOUS HIKING, UP AND DOWN AND UP AND DOWN THE MOUNTAINS. I walked 36km and some of that was very slow going. Instead, there are a few other options.

-After leaving Jaca, you can continue along the Camino (past the sign for the turnoff to the monasteries) to a turnoff on the left about 10km in, just before the Hotel Aragon. From here it’s about 6km to Santa Cruz de la Seros, which is a beautiful little village. I’m not sure what this path is like and I suspect it may be a bit challenging, but it’s got to be better than the 12.5km of mountains that I went through. There’s no albergue here (oh, if only!) and the only accommodation was a hotel- Hosteleria Santa Cruz de la Seros- that was a little too expensive for me (45 euros in high season for an individual in a double room. It’s still quite reasonable but when compared with the 10 euros or less I was paying for the albergues, it becomes a significant difference. However, I heard it’s great). But if you want to splurge this would be a great place to stay: you can drop off your bags at the hostal and then continue up to the monasteries, the old monastery is 3.5km up a rather steep path (or you could follow the road for 7km; because of the difficulty of the path the time distance is roughly the same). Tour the monasteries and then return back down the path or by road to Santa Cruz. It would be a long day, but I think a bit easier than what I attempted.

-The other option is what the hospitalero in my albergue in Jaca told me to do, but I didn’t listen to him. And that would be to stay in Jaca for an extra night and take a bus (or taxi) to the monasteries and then back down to Jaca. I suppose you could take the bus up to the monasteries and then just walk the rest of the way down to either Santa Cruz or further to Santa Cilia too. The albergue in Jaca had information and time tables for the bus, as well as the tourism office. 

This all sounds really complicated and I tried to think of an easy way to explain it, but it’s tough. There’s simply not an easy way to walk to the monasteries AND to stay at an albergue, unless you want a very long day (I didn’t arrive to the albergue in Santa Cilia until 7pm, which is very late for the Camino). But it’s an incredible place and despite the effort it took for me to walk there, it was kind of magical to arrive on foot.

Walking to Monasterio de San Juan de la Peña, Camino Aragonés

3. Detour to the Foz de Lumbier gorge. This is a detour that’s just a few kilometers after leaving Sangüesa (2.4 km into the walk, you’ll want to bear right off the path of the Camino. If you’ve reached Rocaforte, you’ve gone too far). I intended to take this detour but because of a heatwave had left early and was walking in the dark, and completely missed the detour. But I’ve heard that this is a beautiful part of the Camino, taking you to a narrow gorge that’s cut by the river Irati, and the footpath leads you between steep rock outcrops and through a tunnel where a headlamp or flashlight could come in handy.

4. Church of Santa Maria de Eunate. I wrote about this in my last post, but the 12th century Romanesque church with a unique octagonal plan is not to be missed! (It’s right on the path of the Aragones, and a 4km detour from the Frances).

5. Puente La Reina bridge. In the 11th century, Queen Doña Mayor (wife of King Sancho the Great) had this bridge built in order to help pilgrims cross the River Arga on their way to Santiago. (Puente la Reina means ‘Bridge of the Queen’). 1000 years later the bridge is still being used, and is one of the iconic images of the Camino.

Puente la Reina, Camino Francés and Aragonés

Any advice on how to get to the start of the Aragonés?

Travel to the Somport pass isn’t simple, but it’s certainly not impossible. If traveling through Paris, your best option is to take a train down to Pau, and then transfer to another train to Oloron Ste-Marie, then a bus to Somport. (Or, if you have the time, I’d recommend starting the walk in Oloron; it’s three days up through the Pyrenees to Somport, a really beautiful walk! You can even begin walking in Pau if you have more time). 

Coming from Barcelona, you’ll take a bus or train to Zaragoza, then a bus (from the same station) to Jaca, and from here another bus or taxi to Somport. 

These are some links to bus and trains that may help you plan your journey:

ALSA (Spanish bus company)
http://www.alsa.es/en/

Renfe (Spanish train)
http://www.renfe.com/

TER (French regional rail)
www.ter.sncf.com/aquitaine

Typical Stages for the Aragonés:

This walk is usually completed in 6-days, though pilgrims who detour to the monasteries of San Juan de la Peña will likely add an extra day. If you want to walk shorter distances (for instance, the first stage from Somport to Jaca is 32km!) it is often possible to find additional albergues, hotels or pensions. *Note, some of the albergues between the typical stages aren’t exclusively for pilgrims, but you will often find other pilgrims staying there. 

Day 1: Somport to Jaca, 32km.
Day 2: Jaca to Arrés, 25.4km
Day 3: Arrés to Ruesta, 28.4km
Day 4: Ruesta to Sangüesa, 22km
Day 5: Sangüesa to Monreal, 27.2km
Day 6: Monreal to Puente La Reina, 30.6km

Camino Aragonés guide, sign to Arrés

Below are my stages, including where I stayed. The first three stages were on the Voie d’Arles, and beginning in Somport I crossed to the Camino Aragonés. My detour to the monasteries of San Juan de la Peña added a day to my itinerary, so with 3-days on the Arles route and 7 on the Aragonés, I walked for 10-days total.

Day 1: Oloron Ste-Marie to Sarrance, 20.6km
Accueil Pèlerins Le Relais du Bastet (*where I stayed in Oloron… very good)

Accueil Pèlerin Communauté des Prémontrés  (*where I stayed in Sarrance… must-stay!)

Day 2: Sarrance to Borce, 22km
Gîte communal de Borce

Day 3: Borce to Somport, 17km
Albergue Aysa

Day 4: Somport to Jaca, 32km
Albergue de peregrinos de Jaca

Day 5: Jaca to Santa Cilia, 36km (with detour to monasteries)
Albergue de peregrinos de Santa Cilia   (*very good albergue)

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

What is your packing list like?

I brought the same things on this Camino that I have on my others, and you can find my pretty comprehensive packing list here. For this Camino I’d definitely recommend walking poles or a walking stick, particularly for the stretch between Somport and Jaca. A wide brimmed hat to protect your face and neck from the sun would also be helpful; much of the route was open and without tree-cover. 

Tips for the Camino Aragonés:

-Be prepared for solo walking. If you’re looking for a Camino where you’ll meet a lot of people and always have someone to walk with, then this may not be the Camino for you. I nearly always walked alone during the day, and rarely saw other pilgrims. In the afternoons and evenings, however, I always met up with the same 10-15 pilgrims, staying in the same albergues. This lent a beautiful and small community feel to the Aragonés, but it will certainly not be the boisterous and sometimes party-like atmosphere that you can find on the Francés. It is possible that you may not encounter many pilgrims in the evenings, either, so be prepared for a quiet Camino. 

Horses in Pyrenees, Camino Aragonés

-I’d recommend loading your phone with a local SIM card, if you’re traveling from the States or a country outside of the EU. There isn’t always wi-fi in all of the albergues, and because there were days when I didn’t encounter another pilgrim on my walk, I felt secure in having a working phone on me. I never needed to use the phone to call the albergues when I arrived (which I’d been worried about), though I think the first pilgrim who arrived in Sangüesa needed to call a number on the door to notify the hospitalera that we were there. I don’t think a SIM card is necessary, but I was glad to have one. Especially because I was able to help a fellow pilgrim when she dropped and broke her phone; she was able to use mine to communicate with her parents and figure out some transportation options (this was at the monastery in Sarrance, where the monk in charge didn’t have a smartphone). 

This link takes you to a thread on the Camino forum that has good advice about setting up a SIM in Spain. The Orange Holiday SIM (which I’ve bought at Charles de Gaulle in Paris) has always worked well for me. 

-On the stage from Arrés to Ruesta (28.4km), the only services available are in Artieda. If you’re not sleeping in Artieda and walking all the way to Ruesta, there’s a shortcut that avoids the climb up the hill to Artieda. You might be tempted to take this- and certainly could (because that hill looks big!)- but this will be your only stop for food and it might be the only fountain on the day’s stage as well. I’d recommend walking up there, filling up your water, and finding the Casa Rural that has also has a restaurant/bar. I had one of the best sandwiches of my Camino there. 

-If you stay at the albergue in Arrés, you’ll probably get a village tour from the hospitalero/as. Take them up on this offer, and if they don’t mention the best spot in the village to view the sunset, ask them. And then go see the sunset. I had a mostly cloudy evening but still got such a peaceful and beautiful view. 

Sunset in Arrés, Camino Aragonés

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I hope this little Camino Aragonés guide helped show you more of what the route is like, and that it could be useful to you in planning your own walk. Let me know in the comment section below if you have any questions, or email me at nadinewalksblog @ gmail.com. I’d be happy to tell you more about my experience! In the meantime, I’m going to be dreaming about when I might be able to return to walk the Aragonés again.

Church against Pyrenees, Camino Aragonés

Why I think the Camino Aragonés is the Perfect Camino

What is a perfect Camino? Can such a thing even exist? In late June I walked the Camino Aragonés, a 10-day pilgrimage from Oloron-Ste-Marie, France, to Puente la Reina, Spain. Technically, the first three days of my walk were on the Voie d’Arles, a route in France that runs from Arles to Somport, but for the sake of simplicity I’m including those three days when I say I walked the Camino Aragonés.

 

The Camino Aragones: the perfect Camino

First, some basic info. The Camino Aragonés is a 160km route that begins on the border between France and Spain in the Pyrenees, and continues down through the Aragón region of Spain, crossing into Navarra where it joins with the Camino Francés just east of Puente la Reina. This distance is typically walked in 6 stages. If you begin in Somport- the beginning of the route- you are at an elevation of 1600m and the initial descent on the first day can give your knees a pounding. Some prefer to begin in Canfranc Estación or Jaca (end of the first stage and 32km from Somport), to avoid the initial descent (or because transport to Somport can add some extra steps). Others, like me, choose to begin walking a little further back, in France, where you have the chance to walk up and into the Pyrenees.

The Pyrenees at Somport pass, Camino Aragones

And this brings me to my first point on why the Camino Aragonés is the perfect Camino. The scenery! Even if you don’t choose to tack on a few extra days in France, you will still get to experience the Pyrenees mountains if you begin in Somport or even Canfranc Estación. I had one day of bad weather walking up to Somport, and one day of beautiful and clear weather walking down to Jaca, and each of the days were stunning. And I found both to be a very different experience to walking through the Pyrenees on the Camino Francés. The terrain isn’t so different- it’s the same mountain range, after all- and that makes it difficult to articulate why I found it different. I didn’t encounter a single other pilgrim or hiker on the day when I walked up to Somport, so maybe that was part of it; the mountains felt a little more wild and raw, the peaks higher, more jagged. It was just me, taking on the mountains, and that was exciting and adventurous in a different kind of way than I’d experienced on the Francés.

A mule in the Pyrenees, Camino Aragones

But then, very quickly, the landscape changes. All that saturated mountain green is replaced with colors more subdued, bleached and faded by the sun: dusty whites and deep golden yellows and soft browns with tinges of orange. The terrain evens out, flattens, and you can see a white road stretching and curving until it fades into the horizon. Fields of wheat, dotted with red poppies, wave in the wind.

Red poppy in a wheat field, Camino Aragones

Landscape of the Camino Aragones, perfect Camino

This is similar landscape to what you see on the Camino Francés, and so for me, this is classic Camino. In fact, you might be thinking that what I’ve described so far is very similar to the Camino Francés, and you would be right! I think this is one reason why I’m calling the Aragonés a perfect Camino. Ever since I first walked the Camino Francés in 2014, I’ve been chasing after that elusive “Camino feeling” that I experienced on that route. Other Camino paths- the Norte, the Primitivo, the San Salvador, the Chemin du Puy- certainly were wonderful and unique in their own ways, but each felt very different than the Francés. I think I was searching for some particular combination of landscape and community and Camino magic, something that I felt on the Francés. It’s hard to articulate or define, I just know I felt it again on the Aragonés.

Canfranc Estacion, Camino Aragones

It was the landscape, but it was the community too. Sometimes other routes can feel too crowded or too isolated, but the Camino Aragonés felt just right. There was a sort of core group of about 10-15 of us, the numbers shifting a bit each day but mostly everyone walked the same stages. 15 pilgrims on any given stage is certainly not a lot, and unsurprisingly, I often didn’t see other pilgrims during the day’s walk. But in the afternoons, we’d all arrive at the same albergue, and so after only a few days you got to know everyone else. This is certainly the experience on other Caminos as well, but it was so easy and natural on the Aragonés. Because there weren’t so many albergues, it was difficult to walk different stages from the other pilgrims. And because there were only ever about 15 others walking the same stages as you, you got to know the group fairly quickly.

Pilgrim group in albergue, Camino Aragones

And for me this was perfect. I think the numbers can certainly fluctuate- in Arrés, the hospitalera told us that there had only been two pilgrims the night before!- and I suppose the time of year can influence the number of pilgrims walking, as well. So maybe I lucked out, though from reading through posts on the Camino forum, it seems that others tended to meet up with at least several pilgrims each night. But it’s this: the combination of quiet and solo walking during the day, with a known and comfortable little community in the evenings, that make a Camino so special to me. I worry that if I walked the Francés again, it would feel too crowded. Even the Norte, a route much less populated than the Francés, felt a little crowded when I walked it again this summer. So a combination of solo days and social nights on the Aragonés was just right.

There was an ease that developed among my Camino Aragonés cohort; for a few days we were walking through an intense heatwave, and everyone checked up on each other. We ran into each other during café con leche breaks. I gave some shampoo to the two young Spanish girls. I went grocery shopping with Micky, from Japan. One night, Javier cooked his famous tortilla for the whole group. In Sangüesa, we propped our cameras against an old stone wall and set the self-timer and gathered together for a photo. But there was a looseness, too, it wasn’t like we had purposefully picked each other to be part of a “Camino family”. We were just all walking the Aragonés at the same time. That was enough. That made us family.

Pilgrim group photo, Camino Aragones

The fact that the Aragonés isn’t a popular route may lend a little extra “Camino spirit” to the experience. Sometimes I wonder if, on more populated routes, there can be this sort of monotonous feeling, like it’s one more day and one more big group of pilgrims, and towns and villages are used to it, they absorb the pilgrims, it’s all sort of normal and automatic.

Maybe it’s like this on the Aragonés too, but it didn’t feel like it. It all felt special. Like the route was a secret, one that had been around for a long time, and those of us who walked were lucky to find ourselves on it. There was a sense in many of the villages that I was popping in to very local spaces. In one town, I’d arrived just at 9am, and was walking through the quiet streets looking for an open bar. I ran into a man who started asking me about my pilgrimage, and then he walked me to the bar and said that we were arriving just at opening time. He waited with me until it opened, then went in and had his usual: a café solo and a croissant. He drank his coffee at the bar while I sat at a table, but when he left he nodded and smiled and wished me a Buen Camino and it all made me feel- even though I was just passing through- that I was welcome there. Even, maybe, that I belonged there.

Walking the Camino Aragones

And then there are the albergues. There are just enough on this route that you never have to stay in a hotel or pension, and while there aren’t so many that you can stop whenever you feel like it, I think there are enough that you can walk reasonable distances. There are other Camino routes in Spain that I’m interested in walking- in particular the Invierno– but the lack of albergues on that route have made me hesitate. I’ve heard that it’s a wonderful Camino and I’m sure I’ll check it off my list at some point, but being able to stay in albergues has always been a huge draw of walking a Camino.

Some of the albergues on the Aragonés are really special. At the albergue in Santa Cilia, there were two clean and small bunk rooms: one for peregrinos, one for peregrinas. I was the only female pilgrim that night, and so I had the room to myself! In Arrés, the two hospitalerars were volunteering on a two-week stint, and they took us on a tour of the village before preparing a big dinner. We ate outside, crammed around two long tables: there was wine and water and juice for the kids, and a big green salad and pasta salad and soup and bread and melon for dessert. We toasted, one of the French pilgrims sang “Ultreïa!”. In Ruesta, the albergue is part of a crumbling, abandoned village; if there weren’t signs pointing the way, you might walk right by. There was a communal meal here, too. In Sangüesa, the albergue was simple and the kitchen was small, and while there was no organized communal meal, we made our own.

Communal dinner in Arres, Camino Aragones

What else makes this a perfect Camino? After the descent to Jaca, the majority of which is during the first 7km on the first stage, the path mostly evens out and the walking isn’t very difficult. The way-marking is thorough and the only time I got a little confused was when I was walking in the dark at 5am (this was during the heatwave), and I had to wait for others to catch up with me to figure out where to go, because it was hard to find the arrows in the dark.

There are a couple of alternate route options that lead to incredible sights: the detour to the Monasterio de San Juan de la Pena, and the detour to Foz de Lumbier gorge. I’d intended to take the Foz de Lumbier variant but that was the morning I began walking at 5am, and I completely missed the turnoff. Other pilgrims who walked showed me their photos, and it looked stunning. But I did take the variant to the monasteries and it was probably my toughest day on the route- I went the long and difficult way, not paying close enough attention to notes I’d made from pilgrims who’d done this before. I plan to write more about this in a future post, outlining what I recommend and do not recommend in terms of getting to the monasteries. But in the end the effort was worth it: the old monastery is tucked away deep and high in the mountains, carved into a cliffside. You almost can’t believe it’s real.

Monasterio de San Juan de la Pena, Camino Aragones

And then, just before the Aragonés ends by joining up with the Francés before Puente La Reina, the path runs right by the fabulous Church of Santa Maria of Eunate. I’d been here before, back in 2014 when I walked the Francés, and that little detour was one of my favorite parts of the entire walk. I turned away from the other pilgrims, heading left into the fields of Navarra, and in a remote location with seemingly nothing else around, out of the fields rose the 12th century Romanesque church. Its octagonal design and free-standing cloister, along with its remote location, make this a truly unique sight. It had been closed the day I detoured there in 2014 (a Monday), but this year I passed by when it was open. This felt really special to me- not just seeing the church again, but walking the path that leads straight to it. When I first walked the Camino and detoured to Eunate, I’d been vaguely aware that I’d crossed onto another Camino route, but it was something I’d just pushed from my mind. Back then, the Camino Francés was the Camino, nothing else seemed to matter much.

But now, having walked all over northern Spain and through parts of France, I have a different perspective. Pilgrims walked to Santiago from all over Spain but from all over Europe, as well. The Francés is just the most popular route today; in the Middle Ages and over history, it was a different story. And by walking the Aragonés and stopping again at Eunate- where scallop shells have been discovered among the remains of what are believed to be pilgrims, lying beneath the church- I felt even more connected to the history of the Camino. 

Church of Santa Maria de Eunate, Camino Aragones

Finally, the Camino Aragonés ends in Puente La Reina, which is a wonderful town on the Camino Francés, with storks in their nests high in the church towers, and an iconic 11th century bridge. With daily buses to Pamplona and beyond, this is a convenient stopping point. Or, if you have more time, you could continue walking on the Francés, as some pilgrims do.

Bridge, Puente La Reina, Camino Aragones and Camino De Santiago

There’s so much more about the Camino Aragonés that I want to share, and I anticipate writing a round-up post of planning and walking tips, to help future pilgrims. But for now I’ll end by saying what I’ve said at least a dozen times: this felt like a nearly perfect Camino. I’m not sure why more people aren’t walking this Camino. Maybe, at just 6 stages, it feels too short (although by starting a few stages back in France, or continuing on the Francés past Puente La Reina, you could make this into a longer Camino). Maybe it’s because it doesn’t end in Santiago. Maybe it’s just that not enough people know about it, or are uncertain of what they’re about to walk into. 

I hope that I can help spread the word about the Aragonés. Yet, even with an increased awareness, I don’t anticipate flocks of pilgrims suddenly descending and flooding the path. But I do hope more come to walk this way. The infrastructure is there, the beds are waiting to be filled, the locals are ready to greet you with a ‘Buen Camino’ and a great big smile. 

Add this perfect Camino to your list. I’m so glad that I did.

Sunrise on the perfect Camino, Camino Aragones

Capturing Time

What will this year’s Camino be about?

A quick recap, for those who may not have read my last post: I’ll be setting off from France and crossing into Spain on the Camino Aragones, followed by a stretch on the Camino del Norte. The trip begins in just under a week. I should have about 28 or 29 days of walking, and though I won’t make it all the way to Santiago, I am going to be able to sink into a nice long walk across Spain.

So it’s another long walk, and another long walk in Spain. This will be my sixth summer of walking, and I can’t imagine that I’ll grow tired of this any time soon. 

Pilgrim shadow, Camino de Santiago

But there’s something about this year’s trip that feels a little different. I’ll be walking a new Camino- the Aragonés– and that will be about 10 days of the trip. But the other nearly three weeks will be a repeat; I’m going to return to the Camino del Norte, and walk a portion of what I did in 2015. 

I’ve been wanting to return to the Norte, and yet I worry that repeating an experience while there are still so many other walks out there will make me feel restless. I can’t know what I’m going to be feeling until I’m out there, walking, and mostly I think I’m going to love my summer. I knew I wanted at least another return to Europe, and I wanted another taste of Spain. The Camino del Norte was where I felt like I really settled into walking, where I really owned my Camino, and that was a powerful experience. 

But still, I think: what will this year’s Camino be about?

Every other year had something. Something new or something different, a challenge, an experiment. The 2014 Camino Frances started it all, and as I set off from St Jean I didn’t know if I would be able to make it to Santiago. Everything was new: my pack and my shoes and my clothing and all my gear and I’d never done anything remotely like this before.

Marker 0.00, Finisterre, Spain

At the end

The 2015 Camino was on the Norte, along with the Primitivo and a super fast walk from Santiago to Muxia. In many ways, this Camino felt like a continuation of the year before, it’s where I asked myself if I really loved this walking thing, where I asked myself how I wanted to walk, where I challenged myself to walk how I needed to walk.

View of the coast on the Camino del Norte

2016 was on the Camino de San Salvador, followed by the last 9 days on the Norte, followed by 5 days on the West Highland Way in Scotland. This was a year of solo walking, where I learned that I could walk alone and stay alone and that it was okay. It was more than okay: it was thrilling, it gave me such a powerful sense of freedom and agency over my life. I finished the West Highland Way and felt like I might just be able to walk around the whole world if I wanted to.

Me walking the West Highland Way in Scotland

Then there was the Chemin du Puy in France, in 2017. Speaking French was the challenge here. It was a Camino in another country, but it was also the language and the culture and figuring out how to belong. I was conversational in French, but speaking had always intimidated me a bit. But I’d also spent years working hard to understand the language, and spending a few weeks walking through France forced me to remember words I’d thought I’d long forgotten. I remembered what it was like to sometimes sit on the outside, not understanding what was going on. In some ways, I felt more out of my comfort zone on the Chemin du Puy than I have on any other walk, but it was good for me. In the end, I wasn’t on the outside at all.

Last summer, in 2018, I walked for 15-days on the Pennine Way. It was a mostly solo, very challenging walk. I carried a much heavier pack than previous trips, and camped for a couple of nights. There was beauty and that glorious feeling of freedom, but this walk was very physical. I proved to myself just how strong I could be, but a lot of the walk was tough. That’s not a bad thing, not necessarily, but it was different than the experience of a long Camino when I can often let my mind wander and fly, where my feet find a rhythm, where the walking feels automatic. 

All smiles in my tent; Pennine Way

So this year, what is this year about? What will it be like to return? What will it be like to remember? To slip back into memories from 4 years ago, to a time when it all still felt so new and unknown? Will it rain on the walk from Irun to San Sebastian? Will another huge blister spread across the bottom of my foot? Will I curse the hills out of Deba, will I grumble my exhaustion to the cows? Will I stretch my arms as wide as the sea as I spin down the trail? Will I meet new friends, friends as kind and generous and bright as the friends from years before?

There are all of those questions. But there’s also this: a new camera! I seem to have this need to introduce at least one new element into each year’s walk, so this year, I’m finally bringing along a camera other than my iPhone. It will add weight to my pack, but I figure after last year’s trek on the Pennine Way, I’m up to the challenge. I’m still not sure how I’m going to walk with the camera, if it will be tedious to carry in my hands, if it will bounce annoyingly against my chest as I walk, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. 

I like the feel of a camera in my hands again. When I was a teenager and into my early 20s, I had a Pentax SLR that I carried around with me nearly everywhere. I shot rolls and rolls of film, and probably a lot of it wasn’t very good, but I loved it. I loved looking through the viewfinder and shutting out the rest of the world, it was nothing but me and that image and it was like time stopped. And it did, for a split second, I could stop time and capture something and I really loved it. 

Selfie in an iPhone with new camera

Ideally, I would have had more time to experiment with this camera first, to figure out all the settings and to practice and practice. But it seems as though my practice will be on the Camino, and I’m looking forward to that. I’ll share some photos here, though I can’t imagine I’ll be able to get any substantial posts out until after the walking is done. My plan is still to post a photo with a little caption on the blog most days, but it’s going to be nothing like these 1,000+ word posts I’ve been putting up lately.

But if you think you might want more photos in “real time”, I’m planning to post a bunch over on Patreon, in somewhat ‘exclusive’ posts that only my patrons have access to. But to be clear, I’ll eventually be sharing those photos here, too, just not quite in real time. So if you’ve been thinking about supporting me (pledges start at just $1.00 a month!), or want to read a little more about why I set up a Patreon, you can follow this link and check it out. And thanks again to all of my current subscribers, your support fills my heart. 

Detail of leaves on Ridley Creek hike

But thank you to all who continue to come here, who keep on reading, who are following along on my journey. Your support fills my heart, too, it always has. And I’m so excited to share this next leg of the journey with you. Stay tuned.

 

Ready for the Next Round: Summer 2019

My new hiking shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, another pair of my beloved Keens. This can only mean one thing, and you must know what it is: I’ll be on another long walk this summer!

In some ways, I feel like my adventures of last summer are still so fresh, and maybe it’s because I’ve only just finished writing about my Pennine Way walk. Immersing myself in those recaps kept my heart in England through the fall and winter and even into the spring. And it’s only been very recently that I’ve let myself think about my plans for this summer.

“What are those plans for this summer?” you might be asking.

It may come as no surprise that I’m embarking on another long walk, and more specifically, another Camino!

Pilgrim shadow on the Camino

While technically I did squeeze in a very quick, three-day Camino last summer (I still haven’t written about the three stages of the Chemin Du Puy that I walked in August, but I am posting those photos over on Instagram, so go over and have a look!), it only gave me a small taste of a pilgrimage. And yes, I walked for two weeks on a fabulous trail in England, but a long-distance walk is different than a pilgrimage. And I’ve been craving that pilgrimage experience lately, so I’m going back.

And I’m going back to Spain. The last time I was there was 2016, when I walked the Camino de San Salvador, and then continued from Oviedo onto the Norte to (almost) walk into Santiago. That trip both does and doesn’t feel all that long ago and it’s funny what time can do. It’s only been three years since I’ve been to Spain, but suddenly I am nervous again. I’m nervous about the language, mostly, but also all those other little cultural differences that I may have forgotten. I know it’s going to be okay, and I know that after a few weeks or even just a few days I’ll remember some basic words and gain the confidence I need to communicate (because all that is really required is an honest effort and a smile).

But I don’t really think it’s about the language and communication, not really. I guess these are the same ol’ nerves that tend to hit several weeks before I leave for a big trip. If you’ve been reading for awhile, you’ll probably remember me saying something along these very lines each year!

So yes, I have another big walk coming up. The first ‘leg’ of the walk is going to be the Camino Aragones, a 160km route that begins in the Pyrenees and ends in Puenta La Reina (one of the early stages on the Camino Frances). The Aragones technically begins in Somport, which is on the French/Spanish border, but I’m planning to start a few days back in Oloron Sainte-Marie, so that I can spend several days walking up into the Pyrenees which, in good weather, should be breathtaking.

After the Aragones, I have some options. Since the route ends in Puenta La Reina, it would be so easy to just continue for awhile on the Frances (the first Camino I walked, back in 2014). But for some reason, I’m not ready to repeat the Frances. I’m sure there are lots of reasons for this (that I won’t get into in this post), but unless I change my mind when I finish the Aragones, my plan is to take a bus up to Irun, which is the start of the Camino del Norte.

Ahh, the Camino del Norte. I’ve walked this one before: I did most of it in 2015 (from Irun to Oviedo), and the rest in 2016. I’ve loved all the Camino routes I’ve walked, but it’s hard to compare them, or say which one I liked the best. They’re each special in their own way.

And the particular aspects that make the Norte so special have been tugging at me for the past year or so. Last spring I starting putting together some notes on the route, marking new albergues or alternates that I didn’t walk the first time around. I was tempted to walk it again last summer but settled on the Pennine Way instead.

But this year? I think I’m ready to go back.

Crossing water on the Camino del Norte

But this wasn’t the easiest decision. My summer planning felt very delayed this year, and it took me a long time to decide exactly what I wanted to do. A retreat at La Muse (which I’m doing again, after my Camino) and a long walk somewhere have sort of become what I do in the summer. I haven’t even had to think about it in the past; I knew that this combination of walking and writing were how I wanted to spend my summers.

I still want this particular combination, but I want other things, too. I finally bought a new (to me) car in February, and it’s made that dream of a cross-country road trip a strong possibility (now that I have reliable transportation that won’t break down before I even get to Pittsburgh). I want to go to Africa, I want to try to climb Kilimanjaro. I didn’t quite feel ready for either of these options this summer, but I think the fact that I’m being pulled towards other kinds of travel made me hesitate about another European summer. I have my health, I have my freedom, I have my time, I have the means to travel and I’m so grateful for all of this but, as always, I don’t know how long this will be the case. Is it maybe time to try something new, while I still have the chance to try something new?

Maybe, but maybe I do want one last European summer, for this stage in my life. One more long walk, one more retreat in the mountains of a small French village. 

Wine bottles on terrace at La Muse

So this is what I’m doing, and I leave in about three weeks. I’m curious about how I’ll feel once I’m there, if I will strap on my pack and head off into the Pyrenees and breathe deep and say, “I’m back”, and if I will feel really good about that. I’m curious if I will feel restless on the Norte, knowing that the route isn’t new and unknown, or if I will feel thrilled about being back on a trail that showed me so much beauty that I still think that some of it must have been a mirage. I wonder if I can dive back into my writing when I’m at La Muse, if I can sink into the editing of this book I’ve been working on for the last four years, if I can move myself forward and feel ready to take the next steps. I wonder if Homer will be around, if he will remember me and want to take walks with me. I’ll be passing through Paris, and I wonder if I will cry when I see Notre Dame. I wonder who I will meet, if I will see any old friends, I wonder at all the new connections I might make. I wonder if I will get a blister, if I will find a suitable walking stick, if I will drink red wine or cold beer (or both?), if I will take beautiful photos, if I will walk steady, if I will walk strong.

I hope to write a few more posts before I leave for my trip, but in case I don’t, here is what I hope you can expect. The Pennine Way took me so long to write about that I don’t anticipate doing long, daily reports from the Norte (and besides, I already wrote ‘live’ posts from that walk, you can read them here). Instead, I’m going to try to do a daily or almost daily post, with just a photo and a long caption. I want to just capture a moment and write about that moment, and in doing that, tell the story of my Camino. I’ll plan to write more in-depth posts about the Aragones after I finish the walk, especially since this is a relatively little-walked Camino route and I think the information could be helpful to future pilgrims. But it is my hope to blog at least a bit while I’m on the Norte, because I’ve loved doing that in the past, and it adds so much to my experience.

I’m also hoping to create a little extra content for my wonderful supporters over on Patreon (if you’ve been meaning to check out my Patreon or curious about what it is, just follow this link!). I’m thinking some additional real time photos from the walk (and if I buy a fancy new camera like I’ve been wanting to do for years, then those photos might be extra special!).

Okay, that’s the update from these parts. My porch door is open and a pleasant breeze is blowing in and through the room. I’ve got my feet propped up and some soft music playing and it feels like summer is just around the corner, waiting for its entrance. Soon it will be here, soon. I hope you’re all well, maybe also enjoying porch breezes and soft music and anticipating upcoming adventures, big or small. More soon.

Porch sitting and coffee drinking

Day 15 on the Pennine Way: Byrness to Kirk Yetholm, 26-miles

My alarm went off at 4:30am the morning of my 15th and final day on the Pennine Way. Already the sun was starting its slow rise over the horizon and soft light was pouring through my window.

I was in the bunkhouse in Byrness and despite the early hour, despite the intimidation I felt over the challenge ahead, I couldn’t wait to get out of that place.

I woke up remembering the very poor reception I’d received the night before, but already the sting wasn’t as sharp. At this early hour I knew that I could pack my bag, drink a fast cup of coffee in the kitchen downstairs, and slip through the door and out of the village without anyone noticing. I could leave, and I would never have to return.

I remember learning this on the Camino Frances, and it’s one thing I really like about long-distance walking. Every day is a new day, and every day you move on to some place different. In regular life, a bad interaction or experience can linger: often, you need to drive down the same roads, go to the same building for work, encounter the same people, the same neighbors, sleep in the same bed. It can feel hard to get away from a bad day.

But on the Camino, or the Pennine Way, or any long-distance trail, you get to walk away and never look back! For better or worse, every day is different. From the terrain to the villages and towns, to the people and the locals. If you have a bad experience one day, at the very least you can be assured that it probably won’t be repeated the next day (unless you’re walking with blisters. Blisters follow you for far longer than you’d like).

So after washing my face and gulping down some coffee, I hoisted up my pack and started walking out of the village. It was just past 5am. I had never had an earlier start, nor had I ever carried a pack so heavy.

Both of these facts were due to the day I had ahead of me: 26-miles through a mostly wild and remote landscape in the border country of England and Scotland. There would be no water sources that day, no services or pubs or food trucks or towns or villages for just about the entire stretch. I’d be walking up and down, up and down for a total of 4800ft of elevation gain over the 26-miles. It was also due to be another hot and sunny day, and while I vastly preferred this kind of weather to rain, I knew that the heat would take its toll. And so because of this, I’d packed more water than I’d ever carried before, and I can’t even remember how much. 4 liters? Maybe? (Which is a little under 9 pounds).

It was July 4th- America’s Independence Day- but the date barely registered. Instead, I was grateful for the long hours of daylight that the summer days had been giving me, beginning with a sunrise around 4:30am. With a very long day of walking in store, I decided that I might as well start as soon as the sun came up.

I’d felt defeated the night before, but as soon as I started walking, I felt so much better. This was what it was all about: walking into the hills in the soft morning air, alone and free. 

The climb out of Byrness was a doozy, and as soon as I started going up I could feel the weight of my pack pulling me back. But I just leaned forward and propelled myself up, stopping every once in awhile to look behind me. I was climbing above the tree-line, and soon I was above even a thin layer of clouds.

Above the tree-line, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

The morning light was golden, it lit against the blades of grass and shone through the white puffy flowers and etched out the trail so that I could see its snaking line, winding over the hills. 

Last day on the Pennine Way

I was walking down one of these hills when I fell. It was the first time I’ve ever fallen on a walk, and luckily the fall was more funny than anything else. There was a subtle mound in the grass and as I was descending a small hill my foot hit the mound and threw off my center of gravity. Now, if I hadn’t been wearing a pack (or if I had a much lighter pack), I’m pretty sure I could have caught myself and straightened out. But my pack was just too heavy, and as soon as I was thrown off balance my pack did the rest of the work, and pulled me toward the ground. I felt like it was all happening in slow motion: I realized that I stood no chance against the pack and so I just sort of tipped over. I landed with my pack mostly underneath me and for a minute I just laid there, sprawled out in the grass, unable to get up easily because my pack was keeping me down. When I finally pulled myself up, I noticed two things. One: the end of my walking pole was now bent (I had tried to catch myself with it to no avail), and two: a group of sheep was staring at me in alarm. 

Sheep in the Cheviots, Pennine Way

“It’s okay, sheep!” I said, as I brushed the grass from my pants. “Nothing to see here! All good. Just a little tumble, no one’s hurt!”

My strategy for the walk was to break it up into chunks. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to think about the day as a whole, otherwise I worried that I might get too overwhelmed. Instead, I’d marked up the maps in my guidebook with notes and circles and arrows and I’d determined the spots where I could stop for a break. 

My first destination of the day was the Lamb Hill Refuge Hut, about 8-miles into the walk. I didn’t note how long I had been walking but my guidebook estimates that those 8-miles take about 4 hours, and this is due to the constant up and down of the terrain. On and on I pushed, and those first 8-miles were difficult and glorious. I’m convinced that the quality of the light was different that morning: it was golden and glowing and it illuminated every blade of grass, every sheep, every rock, every wooden slab. 

Winding Path, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

Byrness to Kirk Yetholm, Pennine Way

Wooden planks, Byrness to Kirk Yetholm, Pennine Way

On and on and there, in the distance, the only thing for miles and miles was a little wooden hut. I waved my broken walking stick in the air and shouted, “The hut!!!!!”

No one could hear me, except maybe a sheep, because after those 8-miles I still hadn’t seen a soul. The hut was much further away than it appeared and there was a moment when I wondered if maybe it was some sort of mirage, because I kept walking and walking and it didn’t appear to get any closer but finally it did, and then I was there.

Lamb Hill Refuge Hut, Pennine Way

I threw off my pack and sniffed around. There wasn’t much inside: a flag and a some notes on the trail encased in plastic, a granola bar and a broom in the corner. The simple wooden shelter would be a relief in bad weather, and is used by some hikers as a camping spot. As for me, I kicked off my shoes, settled in on the wooden porch, and dug into some snacks.

Snack break at the Lamb Hill Refuge Hut, Pennine Way

When I left the shelter behind, I felt a bit like I was heading back out into the great unknown. I didn’t feel frightened or uncertain; the weather was fine and the path was marked clearly and I had good maps and despite the distance I felt like I would be able to make it to the end. But there was a wildness to that last day on the Pennine Way. To have that great, rolling, open landscape all to myself make me feel like I was alone in some far corner of the world. I loved it.

Open landscape of the Cheviots, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

I walked and I walked: up Lamb Hill, down a sharp descent. Over stone slabs and wooden planks, down the narrow path worn into the soft grass. All around were the soft, rounded hills of the Cheviots, the highland range that marks the boundary between England and Scotland. Up Beefstand Hill, up Mozie Law, up to the trig point at Windy Gyle which was the halfway point of the day. I paused here for a photo, dropped my pack and stretched my back and stood sipping water for a few minutes, but then continued on.

Stile in the Cheviots, last day on the Pennine Way

Rolling hills of the Cheviots, last day on the Pennine Way

Trig point at Windy Gyle, Pennine Way

Up to King’s Seat and then up, and up, and up, a long, drawn out ascent. It was somewhere around this point where I caught up to the four Australian women who had stayed in Byrness the night before. They had split this last stage into two days and were on their second and final day, having been dropped off somewhere a bit further back. When they saw me they stared in surprise. “What time did you start walking?” they asked. “How do you feel?”

I was tired, I could feel it all over my body, but I also felt like I had found a good rhythm. I chatted for a minute but continued on: on and on and when I got to the Auchope Cairn- a huge pile of rocks that sits just before the descent to the second refuge hut- I took a break. I’d been intending to stop at the hut but suddenly it felt so far away, down at the bottom of a very steep descent and I decided that some lunch and some time to prop up my feet was the best idea. 

Stone slabs on the Pennine Way, the Cheviots

Auchope Cairn, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

After the break, and after the second refuge hut, I still had 7-miles to go. I don’t remember as much about these last 7-miles, and I only have a few photos. Clouds had rolled in and I hunkered down and set my mind firmly to the task ahead. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, over and over, and in this way, somehow, I would make it to Kirk Yetholm.

The Schil was the last ascent of the day, a slow and steady mile and a half climb from the second refuge hut, and I remember my determination as I walked. “The Schil!” I said as I walked, “The Schil!”. The name felt dramatic, direct. I paused for just a moment at the base of the steepest part of the climb, and looked at what stood before me. “This is it,” I whispered, “this is the final push.”

The Schil, Pennine Way

I made it to the top, slow but steady, and then on legs that were beginning to feel wobbly I continued walking: cheering when I saw a sign for Kirk Yetholm, 4 1/2 miles. It was here that the route divides, giving walkers the option of either a higher or lower route. The higher route is more scenic but also more challenging, the lower route offers a much more straightforward and easy path to the finish.

Kirk Yetholm signpost, Pennine Way

For me it was an easy decision: I was taking the lower route all the way. The day had been full of beauty and adventure, and I was done. I plowed ahead, willing myself to continue putting one foot in front of the other, savoring the last of the hills and simultaneously hoping that civilization would soon come into view.

Descent towards Kirk Yetholm, Day 15 on the Pennine Way

And before too long, it did: I passed through farms and saw trees and the dirt path spit me out onto a paved road and after one final, sharp climb, I arrived in Kirk Yetholm (also, at some point, I’d officially crossed into Scotland!).

I was exhausted. Exhausted, but also quietly triumphant. I walked around the tiny village twice before asking someone to help me find my lodgings: the Kirk Yetholm Friends of Nature House (a hostel with a lovely name). 

I think the poor reception I’d received the evening before in Byrness still had me a bit shaken because I felt somewhat on guard when I entered Kirk Yetholm, but very quickly the village righted the score and helped me end the Pennine Way on such a high note. The man working at the hostel was so kind and thoughtful: he congratulated me on my walk, showed me to my room, and promised that he would help me navigate my travel options for the following day. While I didn’t meet anyone else who finished the Pennine Way that day (aside from the Australian women, I was the only other one), I did encounter groups of other walkers who were curious about my adventure (Kirk Yetholm, in addition to being the start/end point of the Pennine Way, also sits along St Cuthbert’s Way). 

And then, after my shower, I walked over to the Border Hotel, which has become something of an unofficial end point of the walk. Inside, if you ask, you can sign a Pennine Way guestbook, receive a free half-pint of beer, and a certificate, too. All it took was for me to mention that I’d just finished the walk and the guy behind the bar smiled, brought out the guestbook, wrote the date on my certificate, and quickly poured me a beer (the free beer tradition was started by Alfred Wainwright, who wrote a famed guidebook for the walk after his 1966-67 experience. He promised to buy a pint for anyone who completed the entire trail, and this tradition has lived on today, though it was downgraded to a half-pint sometime in the last few years). 

Free beer and Pennine Way certificate at the Border Hotel, Kirk Yetholm

After my half-pint I ordered a full pint along with a good, hearty meal, then walked back to my hostel. The sun was setting, the sky blazing pink and orange and yellow and I stood outside for a minute, watching the colors, watching the clouds shift and expand. I breathed deeply, and thought about how I felt. I felt tired, but I also felt strong. I felt sad that my journey had ended but I felt so proud, too. And more than anything I felt a deep contentment: content that I’d spent the last 15 days walking for 268-miles through the moorland and dales and countryside of Northern England. I’d done it, and even though this wasn’t my first long-distance walk, there is always a profound sense of satisfaction and contentment that follows each one, and the Pennine Way was no different. The walk was done, and for now, I needed a rest. But long-distance walking has me hooked, and I knew it would only be a matter of time until I started planning the next journey.

 

Day 14 on the Pennine Way; Bellingham to Byrness, 15-miles

My 14th Day on the Pennine Way (and my penultimate day!) wasn’t much to write home about. For all intents and purposes, it was a fairly standard day. 15-miles, modest ascent (which is to say- not much), mostly easy walking through farms and moorland and down a long forestry track.

Path through moorland, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

The night before I’d stocked up on food at the grocery store in Bellingham, so I had plenty of supplies for snacks and lunch. I also stopped at a bakery around the corner from my bunkhouse before leaving town, where I bought a blueberry muffin that I carefully wrapped and tucked into my pack for a mid-morning snack.

The walking might not have been difficult, but it was another day where I felt like I was dragging. I couldn’t explain it because the day before had been one of glorious and strong walking. Maybe it had been a few too many miles with a little too much elevation, but I had eaten a good dinner and gotten an even better night’s sleep, so I couldn’t really explain my sluggish feeling.

(Or, maybe, this is just long-distance walking. Some days are strong and some days are a struggle, and it’s simply the result of so many miles, day after day after day. Somewhere on this blog I’d written about a theory, how every strong day seemed to be followed by a weaker day. This seemed to happen a few times on the Pennine Way, so maybe there’s something to this?)

Signpost on the Pennine Way

But, as usual, there was nothing to do but keep walking, and so I did. Then, in the middle of a great stretch of empty moorland, I felt desperate for a break. I looked around for a place to sit and didn’t see much, but finally went off the path a few steps where I’d spotted a small rock in a very tiny clearing. I dropped my pack and dug out the blueberry muffin, along with a cold bottle of coffee frappuccino from Starbucks (a nice treat from last night’s grocery run!).

Second breakfast on the Pennine Way

The muffin and coffee didn’t erase my fatigue completely but they certainly helped, and with a little more energy I continued on. But then, shortly after the break, I managed to get myself off track. I’d reached a section of open land and was following a very faint, barely discernible path through the brush. After awhile, the path just disappeared (or maybe I’d stopped paying attention?). My guidebook’s map didn’t help and so I just headed up a small hill, hoping something would look right.

I walked and walked, ignoring the gut feeling that was telling me I was wandering further and further from the Pennine Way. I thought I was heading towards a road in the distance- which I thought I saw on my map- but it actually wasn’t a road or wasn’t the right one in any case- and so I had to admit defeat and turn back around and retrace my steps. When I made it back to the point where I’d gotten confused I of course saw a Pennine Way marker and so I got myself back on the path. I probably lost at least 30 minutes, maybe more, to my mistake, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as those additional 4-miles of mistakes I’d made on the very first day of walking. 

Singpost, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

More walking and then I saw a man approaching me from the opposite direction, decked out in hiking gear. Much further down the trail was another man, and even from my distance I could tell that he was moving slowly.

“Hello!” the first man greeted me, with a deep voice and a big smile.

We started talking, and I learned that he and his friend had just started the Pennine Way, but were walking north to south. “We started two days ago,” the north-south hiker told me. “It’s been glorious so far, but my friend has really bad blisters and I don’t know if he’ll be able to continue.”

He marveled that I was walking alone, that I was almost at the end of my journey, and that I’d be doing the Byrness to Kirk Yetholm stretch in one day. I tried to think of some advice I could give him, some helpful hint or important information but how can you reduce a walk like this into just the essentials? Besides, these men probably already knew the most essential thing: that it’s about the walking, nothing more and nothing less, and that you have to just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

When his friend caught up they both carried on, smiling and waving as I headed off into the moors. “Congratulations on the end of your journey!” they called after me.

I walked and I walked and about an hour later, I came across two more hikers, this time two young women, also coming from the opposite direction! They, too, had just started the Pennine Way two days before, and were thrilled and exhausted and daunted and excited. We had a very similar conversation to the one I’d had with the two men, but I added that I’d just met these other hikers, that they were very kind, and that they should keep an eye out for them in Bellingham.

And this time I sent them off with encouraging words. “Enjoy this hike,” I said to them. “Enjoy every moment, even the hard ones.”

Cairn and signposts, Pennine Way

I climbed a big hill, I walked through rough grass, I entered an area my guidebook called “new forestry” which is a nice way of describing a landscape that looked like the apocalypse hit. The land was dry and cracked, trees were razed and for a long, long stretch all I could see were dead branches and stumps and there was no movement, no sound, no wind and no shade from the sun. I was still dragging and needed to find a spot to have lunch, and for the past several hours I’d been dreaming about a green patch of grass in the shade but instead I was walking through dead earth. It was so hot, and I was tired.

I found a big tree stump and threw down my pack and took off my shoes and sat on the stump and ate my lunch but it was uncomfortable, and unpleasant. 

And then, because it’s all there really is to do, I kept walking. Soon the path spit me out onto the forestry track, a long paved road that would lead me to Blakehopeburnhaugh. At first it was nice to walk on flat, even ground, but very quickly I started despising the road. There was no wind, the sun was beating down and baking my skin, the road was covered in small rocks so it made easy and quick walking difficult. The road was dusty and if I stopped for a moment- to adjust my pack or take a sip of water- big horse flies would land on my arms and legs and bite. 

Forestry track, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

I was walking like this for about a mile when I heard a sound somewhere behind me. It was a deep, low rumbling, but it seemed to be growing louder. I stopped, turned around, and squinted down the path. At first I couldn’t seen anything but then I saw a swirl, a great swirling dirty cloud coming up from the road and I realized that the cloud was attached to a truck. It was a lumber lorry and it seemed to be barreling down the road, gaining speed as it approached, the cloud of dust growing bigger, and bigger. My guidebook had warned me about this. “If you’re lucky you won’t be covered in dust by a speeding timber lorry!” 

Well, this wasn’t my day, and I wasn’t lucky. The shoulder of the road was narrow and it dropped steeply off into the woods and I looked ahead and behind and I couldn’t find a spot where I could tuck myself away. So I moved as far into the shoulder as I could, turned my back to the truck and braced myself for its arrival. 

And because sometimes the only thing you can do is to try to find humor in an unhappy situation, I decided to take a photo as the truck sped past. “Maybe I’ll look at this later and laugh,” I thought to myself, and so here it is, the truck just visible in the background and the dust that is about to coat me, head to toe.

Close call with a lumber truck, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

Dust from a speeding lorry, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

You’d better believe the horse flies were biting as I stopped to let the truck past too. And then, about 10 minutes later, another truck approached but at least this one was moving slower, and I got covered by marginally less dust the second time around.

I’m not sure how much longer it took me to get into Byrness, but once I was finally off the forestry track the walking became easier, the views were better, and I was relieved to finally be close to my lodgings.

But this wasn’t meant to be a good day. I’ve struggled with knowing how to write about this part of my journey, thinking I would just skip it all together, say that I arrived in Byrness, settled into my bunkhouse, ate a good meal, went to bed. I guess I don’t want to be too negative or critical, but this was part of my journey, and I had a bad experience with where I stayed in Byrness.

Aside from a campsite, there’s really only one place to stay in the tiny village that’s 26-miles before the end of the Pennine Way. The next 26-miles are mostly through an empty, wild landscape, and the only options for breaking up the day are to wild camp, or to stay in the Bed and Breakfast in Byrness for two nights and be shuttled back and forth.  

I’d planned to stay in the B&B but when I was making reservations I discovered that the owners also operated a bunkhouse. “This will be perfect!” I’d thought. So I made my reservation and assumed that all would be fine. I was going to do the final 26-miles all in one go, so I wouldn’t need the assistance of a ride back and forth from my ending/starting point.

My guidebook also raved about this place, and I think that’s one reason that my experience stung so much. The guidebook didn’t mention the bunkhouse, but said, “They also allow walkers to camp for free if they eat a meal in their restaurant, campers have access to toilet and shower facilities… they also have a shop (4-10pm) selling a wide range of foods. (The lodging) is designed around walkers and campers and is highly recommended for anyone camping or hostelling along the Way; nothing is too much trouble for the owners.“

Path near Byrness, England, Pennine Way

I arrived, had to wait for the bunkhouse to be opened, but eventually was greeted by one of the owners. He led me to my room and then I asked about having dinner that night and that’s when things took a turn. A look crossed his face and his smile disappeared. “You’re supposed to have brought food with you,” he said. “That’s why we have a kitchen here.”

“Oh, I thought I could have a meal in the restaurant.” And then I apologized, several times, telling him that I was really sorry to have misunderstood. He just kept shaking his head, mumbling something under his breath. Then he looked at me and said, “This is why we’re closing the bunkhouse. It’s only open for a few more weeks. Too many people arrive here without food and expect to eat in the restaurant.” He left, saying that he would ask his wife about the possibility of a meal.

I’m sure some of this was probably my fault, because it had happened before, when I had to wait several hours to be served at the Inn in Dufton. So maybe, given that I wasn’t staying at the B&B, I should have known that I couldn’t eat in the restaurant without a reservation. But because they were owned by the same people, because my guidebook raved about their hospitality, I hadn’t even given it a second thought.

Forest outside of Byrness, Day 14 on the Pennine Way

I ended up getting to eat in the restaurant, but the rest of the evening was awful. I’m a sensitive person, and so when the husband and wife barely looked at me for the rest of the night, never smiled, only talked to me when necessary, but were so kind and accommodating to their B&B guests, it really stung. I wouldn’t have eaten in their restaurant unless I didn’t really, really need to. The last 26-mile stage of the Pennine Way is a very difficult one, it would be the single most difficult day of walking I’d ever done. I was already nervous for it, and I couldn’t imagine how I would survive on a dinner of snacks that I could cobble together from what I was carrying. 

And when they heard that I was doing all 26-miles in one day, they acted like I was a foolish girl who didn’t know what she was doing. The husband relented a bit and brought me an empty water bottle, telling me I needed to carry way more water than I thought I needed to. Other than agreeing to make me dinner, it was the only kindness I received. But even that act indicated that he thought I was unprepared and would have trouble.

There were seven other people eating there that night, four women from Australia at one table, and me and three men at the other. I was holding back tears for most of the meal, I just shoveled food in my mouth and listened to the conversation but I felt uncomfortable here, too. The men weren’t too friendly and they seemed more interested in joking with the women from Australia than talking to me. I think one of them was bothered that I was walking the final 26-miles in one day, like I was trying to show off or something, or maybe it hurt his ego, I don’t know.

But it was also me. I’m usually a very friendly, happy person, but when I’m uncomfortable or my feelings are hurt, I shut down really fast, which I’m sure made it difficult for me to make an effort in conversation with the other hikers.

So I finished dinner and then there was another sting- the wife announced that she was opening her ‘shop’, and that we could buy supplies for the next day if we needed them. She’d already asked everyone if they wanted a packed lunch for the next day- she asked me too, but the big smile that she had for the others vanished when she talked to me, and so I told her no, I wouldn’t need lunch. But then she announced the shop that my guidebook had mentioned, and I walked over with two of the Australian women. In a cabinet underneath the stairs were six shelves lined with so much food: cookies and biscuits, candy and chips, canned beans and milk and packaged noodles and tuna fish. I looked at all the food- food that I so easily could have bought and taken over to the bunkhouse and cooked in the kitchen for my dinner- and I almost started crying. Why, if they were so put out in making me dinner that night, why couldn’t they have offered their little store, and suggested I cook myself a meal with those supplies instead?

I bought a pack of noodles because I was now paranoid that I would arrive in Kirk Yetholm and once again be shut out of dinner, but I would have loved to buy more- a Twix bar, a bag of chips, a little treat for my long, long last day on the Pennine Way- but on principle I wouldn’t take a packed lunch, I wouldn’t buy myself a treat. I was made to feel small and so I didn’t want to take anything from them that I didn’t have to. I paid for the packaged noodles and my dinner and went back to my empty bunkhouse.

Church and cemetery, Byrness, England, Pennine Way

I let a few tears fall, because this wasn’t how I wanted to end my Pennine Way, but I quickly brushed them away. This wasn’t the end. I was close to the end, but this wasn’t the end. This wasn’t how my journey needed to end, because I still had one final, big day.

And so I opened Jane Eyre and ate my last ginger biscuit and I remembered the quote I’d seen on the wall of the parsonage in Haworth. “Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, that I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!” I closed the book and covered myself with a blanket and told myself that I was okay. I’d eaten well and I had a place to sleep and that was all that mattered. Tomorrow, I would walk 26-miles, from England into Scotland, and I would finish the Pennine Way. Nothing would stop me.

Page from Pennine Way guidebook

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Day 13 on the Pennine Way: Greenhead to Bellingham, 21.5 miles

(July 2018) I woke up in my bunk at the Greenhead Hostel feeling excited for day 13 on the Pennine Way. I’d be returning to Hadrian’s Wall! And I could start my morning with a hot breakfast and multiple cups of coffee!

After the morning fuel I headed out, back through the narrow pathway that had lead to Greenhead and onto both the Pennine Way and Hadrian’s Wall Path. The two routes overlap here, just for 7 miles, but these are 7 glorious miles and I was so happy to be walking them again.

When I walked Hadrian’s Wall Path back in the spring of 2017, I had mostly cloudy, windy days. I had walked east to west (into the wind, which maybe was a mistake), and spring had only just begun. The landscape was still feeling rough, and a bit wild.

But now I was here in the summer, walking west to east, and although my first steps of the day were under gray skies, after about 30 minutes the clouds rolled away and I was treated to more of that wonderful northern England sunshine.

It was so fun to be back at the Wall. I’d really loved my walk in 2017, walking through those long, gray, windy days along the ancient remains of what used to be a massive defensive barrier, imagining what the wall was like when it was built, who had walked the paths that I now walked on, what kind of fighting and battling must have taken place here.

This time, I mostly knew what to expect, and so I just enjoyed every second of those 7-miles. These miles follow the best preserved sections of the wall, from Walltown Crags to just before Housesteads Crags, taking in Great Chesters Fort, the trip point at Winshields Crag, my favorite milecastle (#39), and Sycamore Gap. I took so, so many photographs, I smiled constantly, I found an energy from deep within as I climbed up and down and up and down the steep small hills of the escarpment.

And the weather was perfect. It was perfect! This was the very best day yet, with clouds perfectly dotting the wide blue sky, a light wind that cooled the heat of the sun, the exactly right temperature for walking.

Here are a bunch of photos from the wall (and if you want to read a little more about that same section when I walked two years ago, here is that post). But keep reading after these photos, there were more adventures on the rest of the stage!

Curving path of Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Endless sky on Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Nadine Walks along Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Trig point on Hadrian's Wall, Pennine Way

Milecastle 39 on Hadrian's Wall

Approaching Sycamore Gap, Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

The Robin Hood Tree! (Sycamore Gap)

Looking down on Sycamore Gap from the west, Hadrian's Wall

The Robin Hood Tree, Sycamore Gap, Hadrian's Wall

Sycamore Gap from the east, Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Stretch of Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Wildflowers on Hadrian's Wall, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

I split up my time on the Wall at the Northumberland National Park Visitor’s Center, which is just a slight detour from the path, in Once Brewed. This would be a good place to split the stage if you have the time; there’s a youth hostel here, and an Inn (named Twice Brewed), as well as a campsite a little further down the road. It would make for only a 7-mile stage (Greenhead to Once Brewed), but it would allow plenty of time for exploration and site-seeing and you can take your merry time. I’ll touch on this in a later post, but if I could plan another walk on the Pennine Way, I think I’d give myself 17 or 18 days, rather than 15. And one of those extra days would be here. 

The Northumberland National Park Visitor’s Center is shiny and new (and I think it must have been under construction/being built when I walked through in 2017), and it was a nice place for a quick break. There’s tons of information and exhibits on the wall, though I didn’t have much time to linger. I just used the bathroom, bought a couple postcards, stopped by the little shop for a Twix bar and a bag of chips (essential snacks along the way!), reapplied my sunscreen and then headed back out.

Bag of chips on the Pennine Way

After another two miles I reached my turnoff to continue on the Pennine Way, and I have to say, it felt really good to turn left at the signpost and walk north, leaving the Wall behind me. It felt right. Walking along the Wall almost felt like I was on a vacation (even though, technically, walking the Pennine Way was my vacation). But how can I explain it? I’d been there before, I knew where I was going. Even though it was early enough in the morning that I was avoiding the crowds, I was still running into other day hikers and tourists. For those 7-miles, I’d stopped walking north, towards Scotland, and was instead on a bit of a detour and going out of my way to the east. I can’t be sure, but it seems like as soon as I turned left at the signpost, everything grew quiet. And calm. And peaceful. I’d left everyone else behind. I was back on my walk.

Signpost for the Pennine Way on Hadrian's Wall

But almost immediately I- quite literally- stumbled onto some excitement. I was climbing over a wooden stile and coming down the other side of a stone fence when I nearly stepped on a little lamb. The poor thing was stuck in the gate next to the wall! It was butting its head frantically, shaking its whole body, but one of it’s horn had gotten wedged under one of the railings of the gate and he was trapped. 

His mother was standing further off in the field, watching us. I climbed down from the stile, put my pack on the ground, and approached the little guy. As soon as I reached down he froze, terrified. 

I was kind of terrified, too. Sheep are great and all, but only when they’re at a bit of a distance, grazing in a field or tottering away down the path. I’m not scared of sheep, but to be honest I’m not sure if I’ve ever touched a sheep before. Petting zoos weren’t really my thing, and if they ever were, I’m sure I was only looking, and not petting.

But I couldn’t leave the poor little lamb stuck in a gate, and the whole thing was probably comical if anyone else was watching because I’m sure it took me far longer to get the guy unstuck than it should have. But after some maneuvering and  gentle pushing I got his head unstuck and like lightening he dashed away to his mother and then they ran off together. 

Sheep and lamb on the Pennine Way

After my valiant lamb rescue, I continued on, down a forestry track, briefly into a forest and then back out into the open land. My guidebook mentioned a small enclosure just off to the side of the path which would make for a nice rest spot (or wild camping spot). I saw it from a bit of a distance and when I approached, I found that it was- indeed- the perfect place to stop for lunch. I climbed over the low stone wall, found a flat spot on the ground, and settled in for a little picnic. Even though I was in the open country of Haughton Common, I felt secluded away, protected and safe.

Haughton Common, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

My perfect lunch spot!

A satisfying lunch and then more walking, on and on, the sky wide above me, the countryside stretching out before me. It was sometime during this afternoon section that I had one of my perfect walking moments. It’s a little hard to describe these, only that I know I usually have one or two on every long-distance walk I’ve ever done. The moments are made up of similar ingredients: usually there is nearly perfect weather, making for very comfortable walking. I feel strong and energized, full of food, my feet free of blisters, my legs free of any pain. I am all alone, with no one ahead and no one behind. Sometimes I am listening to music, sometimes I am listening to the wind. 

This time, all I know is that I was walking along and this feeling was building and building- I think it was joy, or maybe utter happiness- and then it nearly overwhelmed me and I felt like I could fly. Or at least run, or dance, or spin, and so I did all three: there, alone in a wild field, spinning and dancing down the trail and smiling up to the sky. I feel so free in those moments, so certain that where I am is exactly where I’m meant to be. I feel like I want to do this- I want to walk and be free- forever.

The moments never last forever though, but I have to say that this time, the feeling of happiness followed me all the way to Bellingham. I had miles to go, but I can’t remember much of them, other than they felt easy and I felt strong.

But before Bellingham- maybe a few miles before?- I passed through a farm and saw a sign painted on an old green door, reading ‘Pit Stop’. “What’s this?” I asked myself, before venturing inside.

Pit Stop on the Pennine Way

The little shed to the side of the main house was a walker’s oasis. It was a dark and a bit dingy inside, but obvious care had been taken to provide walkers with everything they might need. There was a fridge stocked with rows of cold drinks. There was a basket full of packaged biscuits, and jars of candy. There was a notebook registry, and a basket of medical supplies. There was a box full of things that walkers had left for others to use. There were couches and there was even a bathroom, with rolls of toilet paper! Toilet paper!

A cold drink on a hot day, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

I only had a few more miles until Bellingham and I was still feeling strong, but I had already walked nearly 20 miles and I was starting to feel tired, so I gratefully sat for a few minutes with a cold drink. I left a few coins in a donation box and signed the registry, leaving a note for the friends I’d met that were somewhere behind me. 

On my way out I met the owner of the farm and his wonderful black Labrador, chatted for a few minutes, then continued on. And because this was shaping up to be a wonderful day, the path continued to provide so much beauty and joy around nearly every corner. 

Approaching Bellingham, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Path through the grass, Pennine Way

Near Bellingham, Day 13 on the Pennine Way

Once in Bellingham, I found my lodgings- Demesne Farm Bunkhouse (I wrote about it for the Independent Hostels UK  website!)- was shown up to my room (alone again, naturally!), showered and washed my clothing and then set back out into town, to buy supplies from the grocery store. Along with lunch and snacks for the next day, I bought stuff for dinner and took it back to the bunkhouse, and set up my little feast in the kitchen. Just as I was about to head up to my bunk room, I met several cyclists who were in the middle of the Reivers Coast to Coast Route. While they made tea, I answered their questions about the Pennine Way, and in turn, asked them about their own adventure.

Dinner at Demesne Farm Bunkhouse, Pennine Way

Then my usual routine in my empty bunk room: a few ginger cookies, a few chapters of Jane Eyre, and then fast asleep under the heavy blankets with a cool breeze blowing through the open window.

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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

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Nadine and backpack on beach, Camino del Norte

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