pilgrimage Archives - Nadine Walks

Why I think the Camino Aragonés is the Perfect Camino

August 19, 2019

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

15 Photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

August 13, 2019

I’ve returned home from my European summer adventures, and have so much to share. I’d had good intentions of blogging while I was away, but it seems that in the last few years, “live” blogging from my Camino has become quite difficult. I love capturing the photos and notes and details while I’m in the moment, but I’ve moved away from doing that on the blog (if you aren’t following on Instagram, you can go over there and scroll back a bit to see some photos from my walk!).

But I do have a slew of post ideas now that I’m back. I also have thousands of photos that I’m not entirely sure what to do with (well, I suppose in this digital age we ALL have thousands of photos that we’re not quite sure what to do with). My new camera was a great success; before my trip I bought myself a Fujifilm X-T20 Mirrorless digital camera with a 35mm lens, and while I still have a lot to learn, the Camino was an excellent training ground. I wore the camera around my shoulder every day as I walked, and alternated between using that and my iPhone to capture and record my Camino.

So with all of these photos in mind, I thought I would start with a post that captures some of my favorite images from the Camino del Norte. This was the second time I walked a section of the Norte (this year I walked from Irun to Oviedo, a total of 19 days), and the coastal scenery reminded me again why I love this Camino. It’s the coastal walking, yes, but as I’ve begun to go through my photos, I realize that there’s so much other beauty, too. I had a lot of gray and rainy weather, but I also had beautiful, soft mornings when the mist created magical blankets and the sun filtered through the clouds and created golden rays of light. I look through my photos and I’m reminded again that the Norte provides lots of animal encounters: cows and horses and goats and sheep and cats and dogs (and this year, lots of puppies!). There are rolling hills and the outline of mountains and vibrant cities and sleepy towns.

And there’s the coast, the blue and wild and often empty coast, rocky and jagged and windswept.

I doubt I’ll write detailed daily recap posts from this year’s walk on the Norte (you can start here to read about my past walk, in 2015); but I do want to share parts of this trek. So for now, I’ll begin with 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte. These are 15 photos that I look at and I find myself in love all over again, already wanting to return, to walk a third time, to just walk it again and again and again. I’m not sure if and when I’d ever return- there are just too many other walks out there and my feet are itching for new terrain- but in the meantime I have these memories.

Here they are, 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte!

1. Horse on a hill outside of Zumaia (Day 3); in the far right corner of this photo you might be able to see the sea; the views were incredible here even under gray skies, but it was this horse, grazing on the slanted hillside, that caught my eye.

15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte; horse on hillside

2. Archway in the Monastery de Zenarruza, Ziortza (Day 4). There is an Albergue at this monastery, where I stayed in 2015. Because it was one of my favorite places to stay on the Norte I made sure to stop here again, and it did not disappoint. The location is stunning: set up high in the hills, isolated and quiet, with a long terrace and a peaceful cloister, a communal meal and artisanal beer brewed by the monks.

Monastery de Zennaruza, Camino del Norte

3. Strutting rooster and pilgrim laundry (Day 5). Just a typical late afternoon albergue scene on the Camino! This was Caserio Pozueta, an albergue 5.3km past Gernika. Not only were there chickens and roosters roaming around, but there were four 5-week old puppies! This was a private albergue where the family lived in one part of the building and ran an albergue in the other. Their young boys helped show pilgrims to their bunkrooms, and the communal evening meal was one of the best on my Camino.

Strutting rooster at Caserió Pozueta, Camino del Norte

4. Walking out of Bilbao (Day 7). I often find large cities on the Camino to be overwhelming, and sometimes I find myself passing through rather than staying the night. But my favorite thing about staying in cities might be leaving the next morning: the streets are quiet, people are still sleeping, the air is soft and the city is yours. There are several Camino route options when leaving Bilbao, and having taken two of them, I’d highly recommend walking with the river to your left. This photo was taken looking back on Bilbao as I walked away; further ahead I would pass the stunning building of the Guggenheim, and later would get to take a transporter bridge across the river to Portugalete.

Walk out of Bilbao on the Camino del Norte

5. Goat on coast (Day 8). Another animal photo, but I couldn’t help it, I’d just be walking along, another heavy cloud day on the coast, and then I’d see a goat, and then another, and they’d just be set so perfectly against that great blue water that I had to take photo after photo.

15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte; goat on coast

6. My favorite stretch of coast, before the descent into Laredo (Day 9).

Coastal views on Camino del Norte, before descent to Laredo

7. Pilgrim still-life on beach (Day 10). This rock with the big yellow arrow is on the beach that leads to Noja, just after you descend the steep Colina de El Brusco. Beach walking on the Camino del Norte is the best! And that includes getting sand in your shoes (although what’s also best is taking off your shoes and socks, feeling the sand between your toes, and walking in the water for a bit).

Yellow arrow on beach in Noja, Camino del Norte

8. Soft morning light, countryside after Guemes (Day 11).

Sunlight through trees, Camino del Norte

9. Sunrise leaving Santander (Day 12). Another beautiful and quiet morning as I left a big city; I took a coastal alternative out of Santander and while this wasn’t an official Camino route and the added kilometers set me a stage back from many of the pilgrims I’d gotten to know, most of the day was full of the stunning views and so much beauty.

10. Sunrise cobwebs (Day 15). I think the mornings were my very favorite time on the Camino; on this day, leaving Serdio, I had the most beautiful, soft light and a hovering fog that burned away once the sun fully rose.

Morning cobwebs on fence, Camino del Norte

11. Coastal alternative to Pendueles (Day 15). This was also the Camino of alternate routes; I took as many as I could if it meant that I could walk along the coast.

Alternate coastal path to Pendueles, Camino del Norte

12. The bougainvillea on the church wall in Llanes (Day 16). I love this landscaping, I love the contrast of the purple against the white, I love the twisting roots and the old stone wall.

Bougainvillea on church in Llanes, Camino del Norte

13. Another photo of a horse, because there hasn’t been an animal photo in awhile (Day 17).

A friendly horse; 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

14. And another shot of the coast, because it’s the Camino del Norte and many believe that the coastal walks make this the most beautiful Camino of them all! (Day 17)

Coastal path before La Isla; 15 photos that will make you fall in love with the Camino del Norte

15. Early morning in Oviedo, with cathedral enveloped in fog (Day 19). I ended this year’s Camino in Oviedo, which is quickly becoming my favorite city in Spain.

Oviedo cathedral in morning fog, Camino del Norte, Camino Primitivo

So those are 15 of my favorite photos from this year’s Camino del Norte; there are many more to share and hopefully I’ll weave them into more blog posts soon. In the meantime, if these photos did encourage you to start planning a Camino, you can check out these past posts:

Which is better? The Camino Frances or the Camino del Norte?

Favorite Albergues on the Camino del Norte Part One

Favorite Albergues on the Camino del Norte Part Two

Like a Rolling Stone: Day One on the Camino del Norte, Irun to San Sebastian

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Surefooted

June 20, 2019

Today as I walked I thought about the word ‘surefooted’. I thought about it as I was descending a small, steep path in the woods that was covered with stones, some of them wet. I had to watch the ground, I had to be careful about where I placed each step, how my foot landed, making sure not to slip or stumble.

All the hiking experience in the world can’t always prevent you from taking a fall, but I do think experience counts for a lot. I’m not so nervous stepping on/over/around rocks anymore. When I first started hiking, before my first Camino, I was slower and shakier. I wasn’t sure where to place my feet, my steps were hesitant.

But sometime in these last years I’ve realized that I’ve become surefooted. I know where to step (most of the time!). But it’s my ease, too, my confidence and competence when I’m hiking. Inside, I can often be full of small worries and concerns, but when I start walking, the worries and concerns seem to quiet down.

Today’s hike required lots and lots of surefooted-ness; the path ran up and down through the woods, on often uneven and muddy ground. The trail was narrow, sometimes hugging the side of a steep slope. Parts were overgrown with thorny branches (wore my long pants- best decision of the day!), sections were covered with thick black slugs, and I nearly stepped on the absolute largest toad I’d ever seen (so maybe that’s not the best example of being surefooted…)

I began to feel tired today, the muscles in my legs started aching, my feet demanded a break. But this is being surefooted, too: knowing when to take a break, knowing that despite the fatigue I’ll be able to carry on.

Now it’s night, I’m alone in the gîte in Borce, I cooked a dinner of spaghetti and tomato sauce, I’m wrapped in blankets in my bunk bed. Inside, again, worries are starting to nag: tomorrow will be a day of steady rain. I have a difficult and long climb up to Somport. What if I’m tired, what if there is no place to stop for a break, what if my feet get soaked and I get blisters?

But then I remember that, when I walk- in the sun or wind or rain, through moorland or meseta or mountains, on pavement or grass or mud- I am surefooted.

So bring on the mountains and the rain, I’m ready.

A ribbon and a monastery

June 19, 2019

I promised myself I wasn’t going to commit to any long posting while on the Camino (for fear that without enough time I wouldn’t post at all), so I’m here with a photo and just a little story. I want to share all the details: how I went the wrong way when leaving town this morning, how my pack feels heavy but not too heavy, how I found the perfect lunch spot, how I met two friendly dogs who wanted to walk and play with me, how I’ve moved closer and closer to the mountains and am now in the mountains.

There was all of that. And, also, I made my first Camino friend, a young woman named Alodia, from Spain. She began walking the Arles route four years ago and has continued in bits and pieces since then. She started one day before me, and planned to walk just 4 days into Jaca, where her pilgrimage would end. We met last night in the gîte in Oloron, then ran into each other in the Carrefour (grocery store), then had dinner together back at the gîte.

She left early this morning- by 6:30- so I didn’t see her until I arrived at the monastery on Sarrance, where we’re both staying for the night. As soon as I saw her I noticed something was wrong. She’d dropped her phone and it broke, and she decided to catch a bus in the morning and end her pilgrimage early.

I think she wrestled with this decision, but ultimately didn’t feel comfortable walking into the mountains alone without a way of contacting help if she needed it (I decided to get a Spanish phone number for this very reason!). And once she decided she needed to end, her mind was made up.

“Something is telling me that I need to end,” she said. “I don’t know why, but I have to listen.”

We spent some of the afternoon and evening together, and just now, she knocked on the door to my room to say goodnight.

“I have something for you,” she said, and held out her hand.

In it was a blue ribbon that she’d received in Zaragoza, at the Church of Our Lady of Pilar. Inside the church is a pillar that is topped with a statue of the Virgin Mary; brightly colored ribbons, 15-inches long (the length of the statue) are offered to visitors and represent protection and blessing.

“The tradition says that whoever gets the ribbon from the church is supposed to pass it on. It has walked all across France with me, and now you have it to carry onward.” Alodia passed the ribbon over to me.

I’ll hang it from my pack tomorrow, and I’ll think of the protection it offers. I still have a very long way to go, and these mountains are tall, and the forecast calls for rain. And, it’s been several years since I’ve walked this great of a distance. I know I can do it, I’m excited to do it, but standing at the beginning, the way looks very long.

So goodnight from my bunk room in a monastery in the mountains; more soon.

Ready for the Next Round: Summer 2019

May 26, 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!

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.

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.

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.

24 little nuggets of wisdom for walking the Camino de Santiago

February 7, 2018

I’ve been talking to several people lately who are going to embark on their first Camino sometime later this year. I love hearing their enthusiasm, their questions, their worries, and it makes me remember those months before my own pilgrimage. There was so much I didn’t know, so much research I tried to do, so much I learned in such a short amount of time.

But I couldn’t learn it all, and there was so much I needed to figure out along the way. And so because I’m in a very nostalgic mood, I thought I would put together a list of tips that I gathered as I walked the Camino Frances. This is not a very informative or even necessarily helpful sort of post, so if you’re in serious preparation mode right now, then you might find more help elsewhere. But it was stuff like this that I remember reading before my first Camino, the kinds of words and images that made me think- “Am I actually about to be doing all of these things? Am I going to be having these experiences?” And I could feel the little ball of excitement in my chest expand.

So here they are, 24 little nuggets of wisdom for walking the Camino de Santiago:

Begin with a single step.

Your walking stick might just become your new best friend.

I may or may not have shipped the piece of wood I plucked off a hillside in Northern Spain home to the States…

Hang out with people in a different age bracket than you.

Fill up/top off your water bottle every time you pass a fountain. There should be plenty of fountains along the way, but this ensures that you always have more than you need.

Bring an empty container along with you on the day that you pass by the wine fountain. (I’m not necessarily saying that you should fill it up and drink it during the day’s walk, but rather that it will be convenient to have a vessel for sampling the wine. Or, you could be like me, and just stick your face under the wine stream and hope that you don’t make a mess. There’s a picture of me doing this, but it will never, ever see the light of day).

Whenever possible, stop for second breakfast. I didn’t even realize this was a thing until I walked the Camino, and once I did, it quickly became my favorite thing.

Soak your bare feet in every cool stream that you pass.

Sleep in the bunk by the window: you might be able to watch the moon and the stars, plus you might be able to have some control over whether the window is opened or closed (hint: crowded albergues on hot nights = open windows. But not all pilgrims may agree…)

In larger towns/cities, look for the menu del dia. Similar to the pilgrim menu, it tends to offer higher quality, regional food at a fabulous deal.

If you come across an albergue offering a communal meal, stop here and dine with your fellow pilgrims, and always offer to help prep and clean up.

Don’t be tempted to think that a donativo albergue means a free albergue. Pay what you think the service and accommodations are worth; some of my best experiences were in donativo albergues, with kind hospitaleros, communal dinners, coffee and toast in the morning, a generous spirit and a sense of community and care. You can certainly choose to drop only a few coins into the can, but I’d encourage everyone to take a moment and think about what the experience was worth to you. Without ample donations, these albergues will struggle to remain operational.

Even if you’re not typically an early riser, do it anyway, and walk at sunrise. The sun will be at your back, so don’t forget to turn around and take in the splendor.

You’ll get a deeper tan on the left side of your body than on your right. I have no tips for this. And unless you wear sandals, you’ll get an intense sock tan. Even in the depths of winter, I can still see my Camino sock tan.

Take the detour.

Eunate is closed on Mondays. Go there anyway.

Magnum White ice cream bars are the best thing you’ll ever taste on a summer day on the Meseta.

Don’t dread the Meseta. The path through this stretch of land known as the breadbasket of Spain may be long and straight and monotonous, but there is great opportunity for insight here. Use the time to walk alone, walk in step with the rising sun, and consider the world around you. Consider the world inside yourself, too.

Visit the chickens in the church in Santo Domingo, and consider the miracles in your own life.

Whenever you stop for a break, take off your shoes and socks and let your feet air out. This can help prevent blisters! Plus, it just feels really good to feel fresh air between your toes. (Also, consider coating your feet with a thin layer of Vaseline before putting your socks back on. I’m convinced it helped me avoid (most) blisters).

Push your limits. This could mean a lot of things: a 40km day, making a friend who doesn’t speak your language, trusting that you’ll find a place to sleep even if all the albergues are full, accepting help from a stranger.

Try the pulpo.

Consider yourself lucky if you happen upon a festival in a small village while walking to Santiago. And always stop for awhile and join in the festivities.

Embrace the rain (I’m still working on this one).

Always, always, walk your own Camino. This is the most important one, which means that you can feel free to ignore all of the tips above. Everyone will have opinions, and everyone will have the things that work for them (boots vs sneakers, sock liners, bed bug prevention, how many km per day to walk, how fast/slow you should go, carrying your pack/shipping it ahead, etc). One of the most beautiful things about the Camino is that you can do this pilgrimage any way you want, any way you need. No one walks your Camino, but you.

If you’ve already walked the Camino, what are some of your favorite little nuggets of wisdom?

Holiday gift-guide for the pilgrim/traveler/walker in your life

December 14, 2017

Does anyone else save their holiday shopping until the last minute? I always think that I have all the time in the world, or certainly enough time to have gifts bought and delivered in time for Christmas. But inevitably, every year, I cut it awfully close.

And this year is no exception- it’s December 14th, and I’m just now starting to think that I should probably go out and buy a few gifts for the people in my life. That, and also give my family a few suggestions from my own wish list.

It was when I began to put together a little list of my own that I started to see a trend: guidebooks and good socks and travel notebooks. In other words, some of my favorite things to take on my trips and my walks.

So this is a little collection of gift suggestions, for the traveler/pilgrim/walker/hiker in your life. And, of course, don’t forget yourself; sometimes the holidays are a nice time to treat ourselves to the things we’ve been wishing for all year long.

(As I briefly referred to in my last post, some of these links will be affiliate links; this means that if you click through and order one of these items, a small commission will come to me at no extra cost to you. A win-win! And, I’ll never use an affiliate link on something that I haven’t used and loved myself.)

Stocking Stuffers $15 and under

Dr. Bronner’s Soap: While this could give some people the wrong message, I think a good bar of soap is always a fun and appreciated little nugget to find in your stocking. There’s a lot I like about Dr. Bronner’s- it’s a family business that focuses on organic and environmentally responsible products, and I’ve used their Castile bar soaps on every Camino and long-distance trek (my favorite is peppermint). On my walks I use the soap to wash my body and my clothing and it works great, and smells even better.
Buff: Ah, the strange piece of tube-shaped fabric that has countless purposes. It took me a couple Caminos to warm up to my buff, but now it’s an indispensable part of my pack. Some popular uses: head band for windy days, head band on hot days (soaked in cold water first), wrist band for strange patches of sunburn (shout-out to my cousin!!), neck wrap to avoid sunburn, napkin, worn over the mouth in dusty areas, etc. The list is really endless.

Moleskine Journal: I use Moleskine notebooks in my job, and I also use them in my travels. The link will take you to the particular type I use on my walks: they are thin and lightweight but high quality and perfect for capturing details and memories.
ExOfficio Underwear: You might not give this to a friend (unless it’s a really close friend!), but with family anything goes. This is great underwear for traveling: light, comfortable, dries extremely quickly.
Nalgene Water Bottle: I’ve had my Nalgene for years and years (I have several, but my 16oz bottle comes with me on the Camino, along with a backup supply of water in my pack). The bottle has taken quite a beating, but it’s been indestructible.
ChicoBag Daybag: I’ve taken one of these on every summer trip for the past 4 years: they barely weigh a thing, are perfect for using in the evenings when I’m not carrying my large pack around, and they also work well as a shower bag (they are water resistant and can hold an incredibly large amount of stuff).

Gifts $15-$50

Camino Frances Guidebook: Now’s the time when pilgrims are planning their 2018 treks on the Camino de Santiago, and many will start with the Camino Frances. Love it or hate it, John Brierley’s guide is the most popular of them all (personally, I really liked it).

Or if you’ve already walked the Frances, get the Norte guidebook!

Darn Tough socks: They keep my feet warm in the winter, cool in the summer. They are durable and the pairs I’ve had for several years and worn day after day on my long-distance treks have held up really well.
Eagle Creek Packing Cubes: These were a game-changer on my second Camino. They helped me organize my clothing, protected it from the rest of my (dirty) pack, maximized space, and were ultra-lightweight. I’ll probably never travel without them again.
Havaianas Flip Flops: Hiking shoes or boots aren’t the only footwear you’ll need for a long-distance trek… you’re going to need something to change into in the evenings. For a summer walk, I love a pair of Havaianas. Soft, durable, designed and made in Brazil.

Camino break!

Gifts $50-$100

Marmot Rain Jacket: Bought it for my first Camino, used it ever since. Lightweight and protects pretty well from the rain. A must for any long-distance walking trip.
JetBoil Cooking System: I suppose you’d only take this on a pilgrimage if you were planning to camp (which some pilgrims do!). But if you are planning on any camping or backpacking trips in 2018 and don’t have a way to heat up water to cook food, then I highly, highly, highly recommend this system. Compact, lightweight, beyond easy to use, heats water to boiling in 2 minutes. I’ve only really been on one solo-camping trip, but this thing worked like a charm.

I use my Jetboil to make coffee… what else??

These are just a few ideas; if you want to read more about the things I brought on my Camino you can take a look at my packing list, as well as this post, which goes into more detail about the items I used and loved on my treks.

Happy holidays to everyone, and I’ll be back with more soon.

Ending in a Blaze of Glory; Day 14 on the Chemin du Puy, Cajarc to Cahors (undetermined number of kilometers)

October 29, 2017

My last day on the Chemin du Puy had a bit of everything: Beautiful trails. Transportation snafus. Kind and helpful people. A couple of tears shed on the side of the road. Ice cream, to make up for those tears. A big dose of adventure.

It was my 14th day of walking. I was ending my Chemin in Cahors, which is roughly 250km from where I started in Le Puy en Velay.

I needed to end in Cahors because I had a reserved train ticket, one that would take me to my writer’s retreat a little further down in the south of France. So I’d needed to make it to Cahors by a specific date, but because of a decision to arrive in Conques when the rest of my friends did (still one of the best decisions of my Chemin), I knew I wouldn’t be able to walk all the way to Cahors.

This meant that I needed to come up with a Plan B. The day before, when I’d arrived in Cajarc, my very first stop was the tourism office. I propped my walking stick against the wall, leaned over the counter, and explained to the women working there that I needed to arrive in Cahors the next day, and wondered if there were any alternate routes that I might be able to take.

Maps were pulled out, discussions had, and finally we came up with a plan: I would take a bus to Saint-Cirq-Lapopie (voted the most beautiful village in France, although I’m pretty sure that this was at least the 3rd village that seemed to have this distinction), from Saint-Cirq I would walk on an alternate route, the GR36, to Cahors. The woman pointed her finger along a wavy line on the map. “See,” she said, “It is only 22km. Easy.”

This seemed like a fabulous solution, and I was full of confidence and a renewed sense of adventure when I woke up in the morning. It was early and while everyone else slept, I quietly gathered my things, loaded them into my pack, and headed out into a still dark morning. I was catching an early bus, the 6:30 which would get me to Saint-Cirq before 7am. Once there, I reasoned that I could have a coffee and a little breakfast, and then enjoy my last day of walking.

Oh, the best laid plans.

First of all, the bus schedule had been changed the day before. The tourism office didn’t know this or have the most updated version of the bus schedule, so I missed the bus I’d intended to catch by only a couple minutes, and had to wait nearly 30 minutes for the next one.

Then, when I got on the bus, the driver spoke quickly and sternly, first making me stow my pack in the luggage compartments under the bus (which I thought was a bit unnecessary, given that my pack is on the small side, but who knows, maybe he wanted to keep his bus clean). Then, he rattled off something in French and I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. Something about Saint-Cirq and when I should exit the bus.

Eventually I realized (only when he waved at me to get off the bus) that this bus for some reason didn’t actually go all the way to Saint-Cirq, and so I’d had to get off at a stop about a 4km walk away from the village.

No problem, I thought to myself. I’m a pilgrim after all, and I can certainly walk.

When I did arrive in Saint-Cirq, it was after 8am and while the village was beautiful, it was also a gray day and the place was deserted. Maybe it was too early, but I still can’t figure out why there were no people. I circled through the village, walking up and down, exploring the church and some ruins and snapping photos and I only saw one woman, who was outside watering the flowers in front of her house. This was a very touristy place but nothing was open, and finally I went inside a nice looking auberge (guest house) and asked if I would be able to get a cup of coffee.

If you’re new to this blog, let me briefly tell you how important coffee is to my walks. Coffee is… necessary. Usually getting my first cup isn’t too much of a problem on the Camino, though there have been a few mornings in the past that I’d had to wait several hours for that initial coffee. But the Chemin du Puy excels at the coffee conundrum; because nearly ever gîte offers breakfast, I always had a hot cup of coffee (or two, or three) before I started walking.

So coffee was never a problem on the Chemin until that very last morning. I’d stayed in the municipal gîte in Cajarc and no breakfast was offered. So after waiting 30 minutes for a bus, then walking an unexpected 4km to Saint-Cirq, I was not amused to see that there were no cafés open.

But luckily, the woman at the auberge must have seen the desperation in my eyes, because she told me that if I could wait a few minutes, she’d bring out some coffee.

A white ceramic pitcher of hot milk and a mug full of espresso, along with a half of sleeve of cookies pulled from my pack (no other breakfast available), and I was finally ready to get going.

The first couple of kilometers of the walk were great. I was walking on a canal towpath next to the River Lot that was carved directly into a cliff-face. It made a sort of half tunnel that snaked along the river and the walk was pleasant and quiet and the scenery dramatic.

I arrived in the next village, Bouziès, found a public bathroom in a park and then saw a sign for the GR36 route that I’d be following.

Cahors, it read. 34.2km.

Wait one minute. 34.2km? How could that be right? I pulled out the map that I’d gotten in the tourism office and studied it a little more closely. Somehow we’d made a mistake, or we’d added the wrong numbers or we’d followed a line for a road rather than a hiking trail. In any case, Saint-Cirq to Cahors was not a mere 22km.

I added the numbers in my head. I’d already walked 4km to get to Saint-Cirq, and then another 4km to Bouziès. If I could actually walk all the way to Cahors, it would make for a 42km day.

Now, readers of this blog know that I’ve done 40+km days before. I’ve done several, so I know it’s not out of my comfort zone. But the day that was unfurling before me was a bit out of my comfort zone. It was already 9:30 and I still had 34km to go. This wasn’t ideal, but it was a distance that still seemed do-able. No, the biggest problem was that I had no idea what the route was going to be like. I didn’t know if it would be flat, or hilly, or steep or rocky or if it would ascend or if it would descend. I had no idea.

I passed slowly through the town, mulling over what I wanted to do. I saw an open boulangerie and bought half of a baguette and a croissant and then I kept walking. And I started walking fast.

I decided that I would going to try to do it. I walked as fast as I could and then I started climbing a hill, and after awhile it felt like a small mountain. I huffed and puffed and finally made it to the top and then I began the descent and sometimes I was walking on small rocks and I had to be careful. I wasn’t moving as fast as I wanted. I felt more tired that I wanted to feel.

I walked and walked and I ascended a second very large hill and my legs and calves screamed at me and I walked slower, daring to only rest for 10 minutes at the top to eat some cheese and bread and dried apricots.

Eventually, I stopped walking and consulted the bus schedule I’d gotten the day before. Something in me knew that I didn’t want to walk all the way to Cahors. I wasn’t making good time, I felt stressed about not knowing what was ahead of me on the route. I hadn’t passed another pilgrim, I didn’t even know if I could make it to Cahors before dark. I suspected I could, but I just didn’t know, and that made me feel very unsettled.

So, finally, I decided to just take a bus. I looked at the bus schedule, I looked at my map, and I walked onto another GR route to get to the town of Vers, where I had about 90 minutes to wait for the 2:37 bus that would take me to Cahors.

I arrived in Vers, I confirmed the bus stop with some people in a hotel restaurant, and then I made my way to a bench outside of the church where I would wait for my bus. I took off my socks and shoes and filled my water bottle at a nearby fountain and I thought to myself, “This is the end of this year’s Camino. Not what I expected, but overall, not a bad walk.”

This would have been a decent ending, if only I had gotten on that bus.

The hour for my bus came and went, and every time I heard a vehicle I’d anxiously look and wait and hope it would be my bus but it never was. Five minutes passed. 10 minutes passed. Finally a bus turned onto my road and it was moving fast as it approached but I waved it down and the brakes screeched to a stop. I went over and the door opened and a woman looked down at me curiously. “Is this the bus to Cahors?” I asked.

“No, no,” she said. “That bus stops at the other side of the bridge. Down there.” She pointed.

My heart dropped and I thanked her and then without thinking I took off down the street, running to the bridge, fearful that I’d already missed my bus.

I stood at the side of a busy road and waited and I could feel in my gut that something was wrong. I didn’t know exactly where to stand. It was already 15 minutes past when the bus was supposed to arrive.

And then, coming down the road, having just passed the church where I’d been waiting for the past 90 minutes, came a bus. It was moving fast and turning onto the road where I was standing and I realized that the spot by the church had been right all along, the bus had just been late.

I waved my arms, I’d started waving as soon as I realized that this was my bus and the driver was looking straight at me. I waved wildly, I started jumping up and down but the bus turned and roared down the road and headed off to Cahors, leaving me in its dust.

The next bus wasn’t for another 4 hours, not until after 7pm.

I tried to hold it all in but I couldn’t help myself. Tears gathered in my eyes and a couple rolled down my cheeks and I was hot and tired and I felt like I was somewhere far off of the Chemin, in a small and empty village and the only way out- other than my own two feet- had just rolled out and left me behind.

I didn’t know what to do and in that moment, I just wanted to be done with the Chemin. I wished I were at La Muse, in my cozy room at the writer’s retreat, not having to worry about speaking French or going off route or having to eat broken cookies for breakfast or waving wildly at buses or any of it. I was done.

I brushed the tears off of my cheeks and tried to hold back the lump in my throat. Sometimes a Camino ends in a blaze of glory, arms lifted in victory… and sometimes it ends on the side of a road in a sleepy village that’s not even on the actual route, the tail lights of your ride out of town fading from sight as they leave you behind.

But, you know, sometimes that’s the just the way. I went back to the hotel’s restaurant and asked the staff if they could help me call a taxi. At first everyone was confused about what I was doing. They told me that they didn’t know if a taxi would drive out here. That the taxi would have to come from Cahors, that it would be expensive. They doubled checked the bus schedule, and it was confirmed that there wouldn’t be another one until that evening.

The manager asked all of her staff if anyone was going back to Cahors that afternoon. “It’s too bad,” she told me. “Someone just left for Cahors, but you missed him.” The staff ran around the hotel, seeing if they could find me a ride, but they came up empty. (Still, this was such a bright spot in the day, how willing they were to find a solution for me).

In the end, the manager called a taxi for me, and within 20 minutes I was picked up and whisked away to Cahors. The ride was at least 30 euros more than the bus would have been, but I suspect that the driver didn’t charge me as much as she could have. We chatted in French, I think I was so relieved to be in a moving vehicle that I didn’t worry about what I was saying or whether what I said made any sense.

And then, when I arrived in Cahors, I had a pretty special Chemin evening. My gîte, Le Papillon Vert (green butterfly), was a quirky place in a slim apartment building that spanned at least four floors. The first floor was a large entryway cluttered with bags and shoes and socks and a table covered in papers and books and half empty glasses of flavored water that Eden (our hospitalero) provided for pilgrims. Eden was a former pilgrim himself: in either his 30’s or early 40’s, with long dark hair and small glasses and a quiet and gentle manner. There was another group of women who’d just arrived to the gîte and we all spoke together and Eden told us where we’d sleep and when dinner would be served. As he stamped my credential and took my money for the night, he asked where I was from.

“Des Etats-Unis,” I said.

“Non,” he replied, shaking his head.

I wasn’t sure what to say to this, but he went on to tell me that he couldn’t believe I was an American. He complimented my French and my accent and thought that I must be European. It was a great compliment to me, that after two weeks of muscling my way through French conversation that I might have improved. In fact, I knew that my French was better than when I’d started. I could understand conversations more easily, and I wasn’t quite as timid when speaking. Eden even asked me to translate a bit throughout the night for a German pilgrim, a woman in her 20’s who I was sharing a room with.

It was a good evening. It was the kind of evening that redeems a pretty challenging day. Before dinner I wandered through the city; the sky had cleared to a perfect shade of blue, there were bustling markets and narrow roads and quiet corners.

And then dinner was one of the best meals of the trip: a salad with chunks of blood-red tomato and cucumber and thick slices of brie, a vegetable puréed soup, two different homemade tartes, boiled potatoes, a local wine, bread, and surely something wonderful for dessert that I’ve since forgotten.

And the conversation was good. There were 8 women at the table: a group of 4, a group of 2, the German girl, and me. The other women were French but they were friendly and jolly and make an effort to try to translate or speak slowly and there was so much laughter and happiness. As we were finishing our last bites of food and lingering over wine, Eden told us a few of his favorite pilgrim “lessons”, stories like parables, examples of Chemin magic, of long-lost friends and finding what you need.

Finding what you need, yes. I’d found what I needed in that gîte: community and laughter and the spirit of the Chemin. My pilgrimage hadn’t ended on the side of a dusty road with tears in my eyes. After all of these years, how could I have thought that my Chemin ended when the walking did? No, a Camino or a Chemin is about more than the walking, it’s always been about more than the walking.

It’s the journey, the villages I pass through and the cities I explore, the people by my side, the voices joining together in laughter, in song. This was the blaze of glory. This was what it was all about, all of it together, all of these pieces. It’s the walking, but more than that, it’s the spirit of everyone who is walking and everyone who has walked for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Will I walk again? Surely. There are so many paths to discover, there are more routes to Santiago, there may even be some footsteps to retrace. I will certainly walk again, and the only question that remains is- ‘where to next?’.

*****

Previous Post: Days 11, 12, 13 on the Chemin du Puy

Have you walked a Camino/Chemin, returned home and wondered ‘what comes next?’ If so, check out my e-book, ‘After the Camino’!

Revealing my latest Project: ‘After the Camino’ e-book!

October 18, 2017

Hi everyone, I’ve written an E-book! It’s called ‘After the Camino’!

Here it is, for your viewing/reading pleasure (click this link, or any of the links in this post). I’ve been calling it a ‘small’ and ‘simple’ thing, though when all was said and done it clocked in at a little over 50 pages. Some of those pages are photos and there’s much less text per page than what I’m used to, so 50 pages feels much bigger than it actually is.

Despite this, ‘After the Camino’ is a book, and I’d love for you to take a look. The chapters read like blog posts, so in a way it feels a bit like a collection of blog posts, with a focus on tips for dealing with the ‘post Camino blues’. Its ideal audience is anyone who has walked a Camino and has returned home and felt a bit lost, or felt like they weren’t sure what to do next.

But in some ways, I think it can be for anyone who has had a big experience and is transitioning back to regular life, and feeling like something is now missing. Most of the content is framed around a Camino experience, but the concepts can be applied to nearly anything. In any case, the book is free, so I think you should all take a look, pilgrim or not! (And if you’re in the planning stages of a pilgrimage, then bookmark this page and come back when you’ve returned from your Camino. This book might help).

Writing this and putting it together was a good experience for me. It never felt overwhelming, and maybe that’s because I worked in stages, and with small steps (like I usually do). I wrote most of it back in the spring, added a few chapters this summer, and have spent the last couple of months tinkering away at putting it together in an e-book format. There was a lot to learn there, and still more to go, I’m sure.

I could have toyed with this for another two months but have you ever heard the expression ‘begin before you’re ready?’. Hmm, well, I’m not sure that this was the expression I was looking for… but in any case the idea was that I may have never felt ready to hit publish and send it out into the great unknown. I needed to finally say to myself ‘good enough’ and then just take the next step.

Here are a couple technical details: if you want to download the book, you’re going to have to submit your email to essentially ‘subscribe’ to the book. There are a couple emails involved here; you’ll have to enter your email and name, then confirm, wait a few minutes (this is key… just wait for it, the email will eventually arrive), and THEN you’ll get the email with the link to the book.

I wish this process could be smoother and less complicated, but it’s what I’ve got for now. Doing it in this way is important to me because it gives me a sense of how many of you are interested in taking a look at the book. As I’ve mentioned before, I have other ideas for projects around this ‘After the Camino’ idea, and am thinking about developing an e-course. But in order to invest a lot of time into that, I want to have a sense of the level of interest.

So, happy reading, and the next time you’ll hear from me here will hopefully be soon, with my final blog post from the Chemin du Puy.

In The Center Of It All; Day 10 on the Chemin du Puy, Sénergues to Conques, 9km

October 3, 2017

The day I walked to Conques was probably my favorite day on the Chemin du Puy (the favorite part of my post-Hilary time, anyway).

What made it so special? It certainly wasn’t the actual walking; I woke up to another day of gray, heavy clouds, and needed to don my raincoat from the moment I stepped out the gîte door in Sénergues. The rain pelted down, and sometimes the wind blew so fiercely that the rain drops came in sideways, splashing against my cheeks and my forehead and my nose and my lips. At one point, I started to walk backwards, just so that I could have a break from the wind and the rain against my face.

It was a short day, too, at only 9km. Typically I don’t love short days on the Camino or the Chemin, especially if I’m feeling strong and good. But with the rain and the promise of potentially meeting up with friends in Conques, I was relieved that I’d only have to walk for a couple of hours in the morning.

The descent into the village of Conques was tricky. It’s already a stretch of path that’s infamous for it’s steep, rocky downward slope, but it’s made infinitely harder when the rocks are slick and wet. I walked carefully, slowly, measuring each step, always looking for a spot to plant my foot before I made any movement.

In the middle of my descent, my concentration was broken by the sudden appearance of a large, black, angry barking dog. He seemed to appear out of nowhere but now, all at once, he was below me on the path, taking steady steps towards me, growling as he bared his teeth.

The rain continued to fall, water was now dripping from the hood of my coat onto the tip of my nose. My hand, gripping my walking stick, was slick with the rain. I was mid stride, one foot planted lower than the other and I wasn’t sure how to take my next step. The dog continued to bark, slowly advancing. My heart pounded and I did the only thing that I could think to do- I pushed my stick out towards him, keeping my voice stern. “Arrêt!” Stop, stop. I repeated the word and brandished my stick but the dog only barked louder.

Finally his owner appeared, yelling his name and eventually grabbing him by the collar. “He is afraid of your stick,” she told me. Hmm. I carry the stick to protect myself from angry dogs- not that there are ever all that many, but if makes me feel better to have some sort of protection, just in case. But meanwhile, maybe I’m making the dogs angry because I’m carrying a stick?

In any case, they walked past me, the dog giving me a side-eye the entire time, and I continued slowly down the path until I arrived at the entrance to the village of Conques.

Oh my. Even in the rain, this small village was stunning. I’d been here once before, when I studied in Toulouse during college, but I have almost no memories of the trip. It was likely that we had just passed through the village, stopping only briefly to see the cathedral.

But now, at 10am, my walking done, I had the entire day at my disposal. The rain had slowed and then stopped as I gingerly made my way down the wet cobblestones and into the village. I took my time, walking up and down the streets, snapping photos and getting my bearings (which wasn’t difficult; this truly is a small village, with only a few winding streets).

I knew that Conques was an important stop on the Chemin du Puy, and had been since the Middle Ages. The relics of Sainte Foy (Saint Faith) are located in the Church, and these have drawn pilgrims for centuries. In the second century, when Sainte Foy was only 12, she was decapitated for refusing to worship pagan gods. She became an extremely popular saint in Southern France, and her relics drew a great number of pilgrims to the small and very isolated village of Conques.

And Conques continues to be a popular site on the Chemin du Puy. I knew this from the bits of reading I’d done before setting off on my pilgrimage, but as I walked I kept hearing people mention Conques. “You need to stop there,” they told me. “And be sure to stay in the Abbaye.”

The Abbaye was just behind the Church, and even though I wouldn’t be able to check in until 2:00, I was greeted and instructed on where I could store my bag in the meantime. I pulled out my day bag and stuffed it full of things I might need for the next few hours: my bottle of water, a snack, a fleece, my journal.

And then I headed back into the village, wandering through the streets, into the cemetery, up and down and around and around until I decided that it was time to sit with a hot coffee.

And as I was walking down a road to find a café, I heard someone shout my name. Inside one of the cafés were the two French women I’d shared a room with back on the day when Hilary left. I’d been criss-crossing with them for awhile but it had been a few days since I’d seen them. I knew they were both ending their pilgrimage in Conques (and in fact, Conques is a stopping point for many pilgrims who are only able to do the Chemin du Puy in stages); so it made me happy to see that we’d arrived in the village on the same day.

They ushered me into the café and over to their table, paying for my coffee and asking me how my days had been. We spoke in French, but already I could tell that I was getting a little better, and even if the conversation was basic, I could mostly understand what they were saying. They hadn’t yet dropped their things off at the Abbaye, so I instructed them on where to go, and then set back out into the village. I walked through the Church and then went back outside into the square, and in the distance, walking down the street, was Mario.

I leaned against a stone wall and waited until he was closer to call out his name. When I did he looked at me, did a double take, and gave me a huge smile. “You’re here!!” he laughed. “I thought you might have walked past, or walked here yesterday.”

“No,” I shook my head. I couldn’t really say anything else then, I could only smile. I’d felt it so strongly the day before, the fact that I hadn’t said goodbye to Mario. He was the only real friend I made on this year’s Camino- there were others I considered my Camino friends, but Mario was a true friend. It hadn’t felt right to just walk away the day before, and I regretted the decision as soon as I’d realized what I’d done. There were many reasons for walking that short day to Conques, but the most important was to see Mario again, and to spend the last day of his pilgrimage with him.

We walked to the Abbaye together and on the way we saw Jerome and Nassim, hanging out at a nearby bar. We saw others, too- the kind French men, the French Canadian couple, and more. Mario stored his pack, and we headed back out- into the rain- to find a place to eat lunch. There was a restaurant just outside of the Church square, and inside we saw Pierre and his wife (who wasn’t on the pilgrimage but had arranged to meet him here for a rest day).

Mario and I ate a huge meal- I can’t remember what I had anymore, but I know that we lingered over several courses and I had ice cream and there was bread and wine (does the rest of the meal really matter, if I had those other things?).

And then the rest of the afternoon, the rest of the day, was Camino/Chemin perfection. It seems like at least once on every pilgrimage, I have a day like this. When everything just comes together. My friends are all in one place and we spend time together and we eat great food and see beautiful things and I’m just overwhelmed by a strong feeling of happiness.

Somehow I ended up in the quiet, mostly empty dorm room in the Abbaye. Everyone else was squeezed together in one of the large bunk rooms and I was in the other, with only three other people. I rested and wrote postcards and then headed back out with Mario to find something to drink. We saw Jerome and Nassim and we all walked together and somehow ended up on the upper, covered terrace of a bar, shielded from the rain. No one else was up there and we pushed two tables together and ordered a bottle of wine. From our perch we could look down onto the streets and it seemed like every 10 minutes, Nassim would see someone he knew, shout down to them, and our group grew larger, and larger. Paul Andre and Chantal, the French Canadian couple, joined us. So did Therese, and later Georges, and we talked and laughed and I sat in the center of it all, not completely understanding all the French that was swirling around me, but for maybe the first time, not really caring.

I was included in this group, the group that had somehow become my own. It didn’t matter to any of them that I couldn’t speak French very well, in fact, it seemed that they hardly thought twice about it. I had been folded into the mix or, maybe, I’d even folded myself into this mix and once again, for just this short time, I’d found myself a Camino family. My Chemin family.

There was a communal dinner back at the Abbaye and afterwards a service in the Church, followed by an explanation of the stunning Tympanum of the Last Judgement. And following all of that, an organ concert in the church with the chance to walk around the upper levels.

It was one of those evenings that I wished could last much longer. I thought about this as I walked around the upper corridor of the Romanesque church, Pierre Soulages’ stained glass glowing gray and blue and even orange, the organ pounding and filling the body of the church with a swelling, glorious sound. The music built and built and I walked out to the very center of the church and looked down and everything was glowing: the windows and the candles and the aisles and the faces of all the pilgrims: some in their seats, some in front of me and some behind me and all of us on the very same path.

It’s the sort of moment that rises above, quite literally, everything else. I felt full of something that night, full of so many things: of wine and bread and hearty French food, full of friendship and love and community, full of light and full of music and full of spirit and full of faith.

After the concert Mario and I stood outside for a few minutes, other pilgrims lingering as well, soaking up every bit of that soft night. The sky had grown dim, a dark blue, and a half moon hung, heavy, in the sky above us.

I breathed it all in, as deeply as I could. I knew that tomorrow everything would change but that night, I stayed rooted in the moment: in the center of it all, in the middle of France, in a small mountain village under the moonlight, music still in my ears, the love of my friends enveloping me. I wrapped myself in the warmth of it all, and breathed deep.

Previous Post: Day 9 on the Chemin du Puy

Next Post: Days 11, 12, 13 on the Chemin du Puy

Should I Stay or Should I Go? Day 9 on the Chemin du Puy, St-Génies des Ers to Sénergues, 22km

September 12, 2017

When I woke up on the morning of Day 9, it was raining.

It had started raining the evening before and continued through the night. There were puddles of mud in the yard. We’d forgotten to close the windows of the outer porch area where our clothes were drying, and I was dismayed to discover that my clothes were just as wet as they’d been the night before. I squinted at the sky, all I could see were dark clouds.

But the little kitchen of our gîte was warm, there was coffee, and bread, and leftover plums from the day before.

Mario and I looked through our guidebooks as we ate breakfast, and he told me his plan for the day. We were about 30km from Conques (it was hard to tell because we were on a variant, the GR-6, and the guidebook wasn’t specific), and it was a distance that Mario was going to split into two days. He was ending his pilgrimage in Conques (as were many other pilgrims), and there was no reason for him to cover the distance all in one day, especially in the rain.

I was undecided. A big part of me wanted to walk the 30km into Conques. I felt that I needed to reclaim my Chemin, break out on my own, walk a bigger stage, have my own adventure. I also knew that I needed to make up some kilometers if I wanted to arrive in Cahors in 5 day’s time (for my train reservation).

Mario was trying to talk me out of it. I knew that he wanted to have my company for the last few days of his pilgrimage, but he had other good points as well. “It’s raining,” he pointed out the window. “You’re going to walk all day in wet conditions, and arrive to Conques late in the afternoon. It’s an amazing village and you’ll wish you had more time to spend there.”

I nodded. Conques is a significant site along the Chemin du Puy; not only does it have the reputation as being the most beautiful village in France, but it has a rich history. I didn’t want my time there to be rushed, but I also knew that there was more rain in the forecast for the next day.

There was one other factor that I was weighing in my decision: if I walked the longer day, I’d not only be saying goodbye to Mario, but I would most likely be moving ahead of everyone else I’d met so far on the walk. I hadn’t seen any of them for the past few days, and it made me sad to think that I might never see them again.

I told Mario that I would make up my mind as I walked, and that I would surely see him somewhere on the path. And then I left, and he gave me a head start because he knew I wanted to walk alone.

The morning was… just okay. I don’t like walking in the rain. That’s no surprise, and I’m sure that most of you probably agree with me on this: rain just sort of dampens the whole day (haha). I just plodded along, the skies were gray, the path was muddy, rain spit at me on and off. My hood was up, I could only see the path in front of me, and I focused only on thoughts of a dry café and a hot cup of coffee. Because I was on a variant, my guidebook had no information on towns or services, so I knew that it could be a long time before I passed an open bar or café (if at all).

But to my surprise, I came upon a lovely village with signage for a café, a little grocery store, and a bakery. The place looked deserted, but I crossed my fingers as I walked through the empty square and headed towards the café. To my great delight, I saw a woman sitting inside at one of the tables, so I took off my pack, left it outside in the driest spot I could find, and went in for a café crème. The owner was kind and she asked me questions about my walk and where I was from. In turn, I asked her what she knew about the weather for the next few days, and if she had any opinions on whether I should walk all the way to Conques or not.

I still didn’t have an answer for myself, but I continued to linger over my coffee. It was nice to let my clothes dry out a little, but I was also sort of waiting for Mario. He eventually arrived (after the first 20 minutes of the morning’s walk he realized that he forgot to put money into the donation jar at our gîte, so he turned around and went back). We chatted for a few minutes, and he told me that he was definitely walking a shorter day and not going all the way to Conques.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

I was leaning towards walking all the way to Conques, but I told him that I was sure I’d see him again at some point during the day. We’d only been walking for a couple hours, and I knew that I would probably stop again a few times. I was certain that Mario would catch up to me, even though he had a doubtful look on his face.

The rain had stopped and I felt anxious to keep moving, so I said goodbye to the café owner, waved to Mario, and headed out. Before leaving the village I found the boulangerie, and bought a fresh croissant. I ate it as I walked, flakes of pastry falling onto my white rain jacket, and I brushed them off and smiled. I was feeling energized by the coffee, comfortable now that my pants were no longer wet, satisfied with the fresh croissant, happy that I had seen my friend.

The rain continued on and off but it was never heavy, and I felt energized. I walked fast, barely taking note of the places I was passing through. After a few hours, I arrived in another small village just as the skies were beginning to clear and sunlight poured over the square. It was the perfect spot for a little lunch break, and I set up at a picnic table: my jacket and shoes and socks came off, and I positioned them in the sun so they could get a chance to dry. I filled up my water bottle at a nearby fountain, and took out my food: apricots and cheese, day old bread.

As I ate I looked at my guidebook, and when I saw where I was, I could feel my heart sink. I’d passed the place where Mario was planning to stop for the day, and I hadn’t realized it. I must have misjudged the distances or underestimated how fast I’d walked, but I knew that unless I walked backwards to find him, and if I did indeed continue on to Conques that day, I’d never see him again. We hadn’t exchanged contact info and I hadn’t even said goodbye- I’d just breezily waved at him when I left the café.

I sat at that picnic table for awhile, tilting my face up towards the sun and letting the warmth pour over me. I knew I wasn’t going to turn around, but I was hoping that Mario might decide to walk further than he planned. I kept looking over my shoulder, thinking I might see him on the path, but there was no one. In fact, I didn’t see a soul in the entire village.

I kept walking. It was just past 1:00 and the next village was less than 3km away, and it felt like I arrived in no time. It was the village of Sénergues: another small place, with a church and a bar that closed on Wednesday afternoons (guess which day it was??), a tiny cemetery and a park. There was a large gîte/inn at the entrance of town, with pale blue shutters and a beautiful terrace in the back. I circled through the town twice, and then sat down on a stoop in front of the gîte. I still hadn’t seen anyone, the village was empty, and it was barely 2:00pm.

Should I stay, or should I go? I sat there for what felt like a long time, not knowing what to do. I wanted to keep walking, I could feel it in my bones. The sky was a brilliant blue, the clouds were a shocking white, the sun was warm. There was more rain in the forecast for the afternoon- a chance of thunderstorms- but I wondered if I could beat the rain. And I didn’t know what I was going to do with an entire afternoon and evening in a deserted village with a closed bar.

But there was a lump in my throat. I hadn’t said goodbye.

And then a group of pilgrims arrived- two men and two women- and we all wondered if the gîte was open and suddenly I was walking inside with them, and inquiring about a room.

And I was given a bed in a room with no one else, in a small little private corner right next to a small little private bathroom. I took a shower and washed my clothes and hung them on the shutters in a small patch of sunlight. I walked through the town again, three more times, around and around in circles. I went to the small grocery store and bought a bag of chips and a banana and two postcards and a cold drink and took it back to the gîte, where I set up at a table on the beautiful terrace.

It began to rain after only 10 minutes, a heavy and lashing rain and I ran upstairs to my room and pulled my clothes from shutters, as the wind howled and tree branches whipped and lightening flashed through the sky.

Thank goodness I had decided to stop walking. I think I might have known, all along, that I wasn’t going to walk to Conques. I think I just needed to feel like I was making my own decisions. I’d enjoyed Mario’s company, but I needed a little time on my own, and I’d given it to myself that day. And even though I was feeling a little lonely, and a little restless, even though I wished I were still walking, I felt good about my decision.

The evening was quiet: I wrote in my journal and tried to plan out the next few days of walking. At 7:00 I went downstairs to dinner, and met other pilgrims. They were all walking in groups or pairs, all of them from France, and it was hard to understand the conversation but the food was good. There was quiche and salad, sausage and mashed potatoes, and some delicious pudding-like thing for dessert. (And bread, of course, always bread).

I went to bed early, by 9:30, tucked under the covers and with a cool breeze blowing through the room. The next day would be a short one- only 9km to Conques- and I wondered what I would find there. A beautiful village? Familiar faces? Mario? The rest of my friends? I hoped so.

Previous Post: Day 8 on the Chemin du Puy

Sprigs of lavender and a bowl of fresh plums; Day 8 on the Chemin du Puy, St-Côme d’Olt to St-Genies des-Ers, 26km

September 5, 2017

I woke up in the gîte in St-Côme d’Olt feeling like I had gotten a really good, refreshing sleep. In fact, it was probably the best sleep that I’d gotten so far on the trip, and I could feel the effects of that throughout the day: I was energized, happy, and able to walk and walk and walk.

And that’s what I did- or, at least, that’s what it felt like I did.

I suppose the 26km distance wasn’t incredibly long, not compared to what I’ve done before, but Day 8’s walk wasn’t flat; in fact, it was anything but flat.

Mario and I decided to opt out of taking the morning detour that would lead pilgrims along a rather flat path bordering the Lot river. This detour was supposed to be pretty, but it was no comparison to the main route of the Chemin, which would climb steeply for several kilometers (and then descend almost as steeply). Why climb unnecessarily? For the views, of course!

The morning was perfect: blue skies, warm but not-yet-hot sunshine, low humidity. I felt strong on the ascent to the Vierge de Vernus (the statue pictured above), and then just as good on the walk back down. It also helped that things moved a little more slowly with a walking companion. Mario’s pace was similar to mine, but whenever you’re walking with someone, the journey always seems to take a little longer. He would stop for a photo, then I would stop for a photo. He would point out a large cobweb, I would stop to admire the view. With a lot more stopping and starting, it was like I had little breaks built in (when I walk alone I always take photos, but I usually just slow my walk down to a ‘pause’, and begin again just as quickly).

But by the time we got to Espalion, I was feeling a little restless. Maybe that’s not the right word, I’m not sure what the right word is. I’d had fun walking with Mario, but I was also craving a walk to myself. I know, I know, I’d been walking alone ever since Hilary left, but these walks are completely different when you’re with someone vs when you’re alone. At least, the feeling changes completely for me; it’s a different experience. I knew that Mario would respect whatever I wanted to do- continue walking with him or continue on alone- but I also sensed that he liked my company, and maybe that he expected that we’d continue on together.

So it was back to the drawing board for me- isn’t this always the case? I continue to come back to the Camino, in part, for the camaraderie and to make strong connections with like-minded people, and some of my very best moments have been in the company of the friends I’ve made. And yet, and yet, I lose my sense of freedom and that pure feeling of adventure when I’m with someone else. I don’t have time to crawl into my head, to think my big thoughts, to write essays and books in my imagination, to go wherever I please.

The truth is, I want both of these experiences, and that can sometimes leave me conflicted.

So, on this day, I tried to have a little of both. When we were in the small town of Espalion, I turned to Mario and said, “I think I’m going to find a coffee somewhere and then continue on a bit by myself.”

We were going to stay in the same place again that night so I knew I’d be seeing him later anyway- but that, too, was leaving me feeling conflicted. He’d found a gîte that was similar to the one we’d stayed in the night before, and I was beginning to wonder whose Chemin I’d decided to walk that day. Where did I want to go, where did I want to stay? I wasn’t really sure.

In any case, I had a coffee, I bought a ham and cheese sandwich and then I left town, alone.

And it felt really good. After a few kilometers there was an unexpected (to me) REALLY steep climb, it felt like the most difficult part of the Chemin so far. I don’t think the climb was actually all that long but it felt like it stretched on forever, and I couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t yet arrived to the top.

But finally I did, and there was a cooling wind and a wide landscape and I could feel the energy returning to my legs. I walked fast, eating my sandwich as I went, smiling as I passed other pilgrims.

Before long I ran into Mario and a few others, resting at a church. I stopped there too, to douse my buff in cold water and to use the bathroom and to eat a juicy peach. From here, Mario and I continued walking together and once again the day shifted and, finally, I let go of trying to control the experience I was having.

And as soon as I did, I could feel myself relax. We told jokes and laughed, we plucked sprigs of lavender from a bush along the path and tucked them behind our ears. We passed through gorgeous little villages and chatted with other pilgrims.

In Estaing, we stopped for a break and I saw two pilgrims who I’d met on the 2nd and 3rd day of my walk, and who I hadn’t seen since. They were two men from Nantes, both were kind but one always seemed to want to make sure that I was having a good time, that I was understanding things, that I was finding the walk through France to be beautiful. (I sometimes think that, as Americans, we’ve generalized the French as being cold or haughty or unfriendly… or maybe just disinterested. But walking the Chemin proves just the opposite: I met some of the warmest, most generous people on the Chemin du Puy, the Man from Nantes being one of them).

Estaing was another beautiful, charming and completely idyllic town, but Mario and I weren’t staying there. Once again, just as I had the day before, I felt a pang of regret when I saw how nice the town was. I’d agreed to continue walking, and to take a detour away from the main path of the Camino, so while most of the people I’d gotten to know were stopping in Estaing, Mario and I were continuing on.

We were hit with yet another steep climb. The day had grown hot, it was 4:00pm and I should have been tired… but I wasn’t. Looking back, this might have been the strongest I felt on any day on the Chemin, and when Mario and I finally made it to our destination, overall I felt good. Did it matter that I was still conflicted on whether I wanted to walk alone or with a friend, did it matter that I’d chosen not to stay in every idyllic village that I passed along the way?

Maybe it only mattered that I was healthy, and strong, and walking in good company.

Back in Estaing, Mario had picked up grocery supplies because the place we were staying in didn’t provide dinner, and when we arrived we found a large house with a small addition where we’d be sleeping. There was a well equipped kitchen and the owner of the house, Caro, made sure we had everything we needed, and brought over a bottle of red wine and a loaf of bread for the morning. There was a friendly dog, a plum tree, and a large tent in the backyard (which would have been a pretty cool place to spend the night but a storm blew in and I was happy to have chosen to sleep indoors).

Mario had picked up four bottles of beer while we were in Estaing (he chose a kind that he thought I would like, noticing that I’d mentioned I wasn’t much of a beer drinker. Once again, more proof of the kindness and generosity of the French!), and we shared it with Caro while he and Mario talked about their philosophies of life. I didn’t feel quite as frustrated that I couldn’t completely follow the conversation- and it might have been because Caro’s accent was easier for me to understand (or maybe my French was improving??)- and if anything I really enjoyed listening to the guys talk. After Caro left we made a late dinner- I chopped veggies while Mario threw together a stir fry, and we talked about the reasons that we were walking, the questions in our lives, the things we believed in.

At the end of the night I felt like I had made a friend. A real, true friend and even though it didn’t solve my ‘walk alone/walk with others’ dilemma (oh just wait for the next post), it only reaffirmed my feeling that I didn’t need to figure everything out. How would I spend the rest of my walk? In that moment, it didn’t matter.

Because I had spent my day well.

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Next Post: Day 9 on the Chemin du Puy

You Get What You Need: Day 5 on the Chemin du Puy, Les Estrets to Aumont-Aubrac, 8km

July 17, 2017

Today, I only walked 8km.

This was all according to plan, but I have to say that initially, I was not pleased. 8km? That’s less than what I typically do after work when I walk around my neighborhood. And this was a day on the Chemin!

But I was doing it out of necessity. One of my previous posts mentioned the trouble around Nasbinals, the town that was hosting a road race for hundreds or thousands of people who had taken all the hotel/gîte rooms.

So my solution around this was to do a really short day, and stop in Aumont-Aubrac, where I had been able to find a bed in a gite. And the following day, I would walk 35km to make up for the shorter day. Now that was the part of the plan I liked: a long day, a physical challenge.

8km, on the other hand, would pass by in the blink of an eye. I tried to linger- I really did- I savored a second cup of coffee, I took a long time lacing my shoes, I was the last to leave my gîte in the morning.

And as I walked, I stopped to take photos and to try to enjoy the view. But my feet felt restless, and I was distracted. When I arrived in Aumont-Aubrac, what in the world was I going to do? I was going to have the entire day at my disposal, I was all alone, and all I really wanted to do was walk.

I was deep in these thoughts when suddenly the boy in the red shirt with the big pack appeared at the side of the trail. There was no avoiding him this time- he started walking just a pace behind me- but I wasn’t in the same mood as the day before. I decided that I might as well say hi and try to be friendly.

It turns out that he wasn’t French afterall- he was German and his name was Sten, a name that means ‘stone’. Even though he could speak English we spoke in French, and I found that I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it: our levels were pretty evenly matched, and it was so much easier to speak with him than with a native French speaker. We both made mistakes and often had to search for the right word. He spoke slowly and I could understand him easily.

Sten had to catch a bus in Aumont-Aubrac at 9:40am; he had already walked a couple of the upcoming stages so he was going to skip over the sections he had already done. This meant that he had to walk fast in order to catch the bus, but I was able to easily match his pace. It felt good to stretch my legs like this, to move quickly down the trail, to talk easily with the person at my side.

The only downside of walking with someone like this was that I arrived at my destination by 9:20am. We went to a cafe and Sten bought me a coffee, but before I knew it he was standing and shaking my hand and saying how nice it had been to meet me, then was running off to catch his bus.

I watched him go, and then smiled. The interaction had been just what I’d needed, just enough to shake me out of my loneliness over saying goodbye to Hilary, enough to bring me back into the world of the Chemin. And as I sat in the cafe, I watched as people I knew filtered in and out. They came over and said hi, Pierre sat with me while he waited for Stephanie, the young Quebecoise girl. Katherine, a blond German women who had been in the samegîte as I had the night before, talked to me about how out of place she’d felt at dinner. “Really?” I said. “You looked so comfortable.”

“I wasn’t,” she replied. “I try to speak in French but it’s really hard.”

Eventually they all left, on to other towns and other gîtes (most of them had found beds in a gîte that was a bit off the main path of the Chemin. I’d tried to get a bed there as well, but had been too late).

I walked around the small town to get my bearings. It wasn’t a large place, just one main street with several restaurants and shops, a main square full of cafes, a church, a park. I found a boulangerie and bought a sandwich to eat for lunch, I stopped by an epicierie to load up on snacks for the next day.

In the park I settled into a picnic table in the shade, opened up my guidebook, and mapped out a plan for the next several days. I made phone calls too (this was one of my least favorite parts of walking the Chemin; calling ahead to book gîtes meant that I not only had to talk on phone, something I don’t even enjoy doing in English, but I had to speak in French which was still kind of nerve-wracking).

I looped through the town a few more times and then around 1:00 decided to see if I could get into my gîte. I was suprised to see that the door wasn’t locked, and that in the hallway on the bottom floor was a note that said to leave my shoes and pack downstairs, and then go upstairs to see which bed I had been assigned to. The hospitalera would be by in the evening to take our money and stamp our credentials, and in the meantime there were notes and signs all around, instructing us on what to do.

The gîte was perfect. Sometimes on the Camino and on the Chemin you get just what you need, and this had been happening to me all day. The place was clean and bright and modern and spacious. We were in a narrow apartment building and the gîte was spread out over three floors. Above the entryway and downstairs hallway was a floor with a sitting room and the kitchen, along with a couple of bedrooms. And the floor above was where I was staying. There were several rooms up here, too, and I was staying in a room with four beds. Since I was the first to arrive in my room, I could have my pick of beds, and I discovered that my room was actually split into two spaces. One had three beds, and another- behind a curtain- had one bed and a little desk by a large window. It’s like it was meant for me! Maybe it was.

The bathroom was large and clean, there was a rack to dry my clothes outside on the small balcony (set up in the sunshine), there was a fridge where I could keep my fruit and yogurt, there was an outlet right next to my bed where I could plug in my phone. This was gîte paradise.

The rest of the day was slow, relaxing, restorative. The other three beds in my room remained empty, the other pilgrims never showed up. The hospitalera, when she arrived, was so kind and helpful; she gave me the names of other gîtes along the way that she thought I might like, and gave me some advice about the trail for the next day. I met another pilgrim who was also staying in the gite- a guy from the Netherlands who had been carrying a big guitar down the trail. In the afternoon he played for us, slow Spanish flamenco music, the sound filled the rooms and floated down the hallways and out the windows and I was so relaxed I almost fell asleep in my chair.

There was no demi-pension at the gîte so in the evening I went out to one of the restaurants nearby. I wanted something simple so I ordered a goat cheese salad and a glass of wine and I should have known that my salad would be anything but simple: there was the goat cheese over toasted bread slices, yes, but also tomatoes and corn and carrots and peppers and lardons and grilled onions and slivers of garlic.

After dinner I walked through the town again, just to stroll through the streets and stretch my legs before bed. I found my way to the church, stained-glass glowing, empty pews, a line of lit candles and I added my own, giving up a small prayer of thanks for the day, for getting what I needed, for feeling renewed and refreshed and ready for what would come next.

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And there goes our shuttle; Day 4 on the Chemin du Puy, Le Sauvage to Estrets, 21km

July 14, 2017

Here is the image that stands out the most from Day 4 of the Chemin du Puy: standing next to a small chapel in the middle of nowhere, waving our arms wildly at the shuttle hurtling down the road, watching as it passed us by without even slowing down. This was Hilary’s ride back to Le Puy.

But let me back up for a minute. We started our morning in Le Sauvage, eating breakfast after nearly everyone had already finished and headed off for the day. We were in no hurry because Hilary’s shuttle wouldn’t arrive until 11:10am. We would have to walk just a bit- 4km- to the place where the shuttle made its pick-ups; usually shuttles come to the gites, or some central place in town, but since we were in the middle of a field and the only roads were gravely and sandy, the man at La Malle Postale (luggage delivery and shuttle service) told me that the pick-up was 4km away, at the Chapelle de St Roch.

I’d made the shuttle reservation before leaving for France, and then confirmed it in La Malle Postale’s office in Le Puy at the start of our journey. So I wasn’t really worried unil we we met a couple who were also lingering over breakfast. The woman told us that they were also getting picked up by the shuttle- at 11:20- but their pick-up was at the gîte.

This seemed a bit strange, and Hilary and I laughed about that fact that she was going to walk for an hour, only to be picked up by a shuttle that would most likely be taking her right back to where she’d started walking an hour before. But we shrugged it off and walked on, and finally the morning was cool and almost crisp, the path running through a forest track that was quiet and peaceful and beautiful.

We got to the chapelle an hour early, and had plenty of time to eat snacks and for Hilary’s to rearrange her bag, and to sit and talk about the last few days of our journey together. As 11:10 approached we gathered our things and stood as close to the road as possible. We waited, and waited, and I didn’t start to get really anxious until about 11:15. The minutes ticked past and finally, at 11:20, we saw a white van approaching.

“That must be it!” I said, but the vehicle didn’t seem to be slowing down- in fact, I swear it was gaining speed as it drove past. We waved frantically and I’m pretty sure some of the passengers must have seen us but the driver just stared straight ahead, and we watched as the shuttle faded from view.

I immediately got on the phone with La Malle Postale’s office and didn’t even attempt to speak in French as I explained what had just happened. The guy in the office put me on hold as he made a call to another driver who was out in our area, and luckily, in about 5 minutes another shuttle came by and pulled over to pick up Hilary.

I’m still not sure exactly what happened- later, Hilary told me that the driver of her shuttle said that she was lucky that the office had called him and that he was nearby. That first shuttle was the one she was supposed to be on, and it was clear that the driver had no idea he was supposed to pick someone up (although, two girls on the side of the road waving their arms wildly would have been a good tip off…). Something must have gotten mixed up with my reservation, but with an email confirmation AND an in-person confirmation of the date and the time of pick-up, I have no idea what the mix-up was.

In any case, after a long hug and holding back some tears, Hilary got on the shuttle and I watched as it drove away. And man, did I feel strange and alone. It’s worse than the feeling you get when you leave your walking stick behind: it’s like a vital part of my pilgrimage was no longer with me, and I would have to figure out how to carry on without it.

I wasn’t even totally alone just then- a few minutes before Hilary got on the shuttle, a young guy in a red shirt and large backpack had walked up to the chapel and was taking a break there. After Hilary left I saw him lingering but I waited until he packed up and moved on. I was in no mood to meet someone new or try to speak in French or anything else. I just needed a little time to be on my own and to miss Hilary and to adjust to Phase 2 of my pilgrimage.

To be honest, the rest of the day was… off. I didn’t feel particulary strong as I walked, the day grew hot, I was indecisive. I passed through a town that felt abandoned and strange, and even though I was hungry and needed to pick up something for lunch, I walked past several open cafes, not wanting to go inside. I sat in the shade by the church, knowing I should take off my shoes and rest for awhile, but I felt restless. I saw the guy in the red shirt again and still didn’t want to even attempt to say hi.

Eventually I got myself a sandwich and ate it on bench in the shade just outside of town, and then I kept walking, and the day continued to be off. Right on cue, it seemed, dark clouds suddenly rolled in and I was walking at a bit of elevation and without much cover. I was so focused on the clouds and listening to the rumbles of thunder in the distance that I took a wrong turn and got myself off of the Chemin. I think I was happy to be on a path that was heading away from the clouds and towards a patch of blue sky that I didn’t realize I was no longer going the right way. But the Chemin is well marked and after awhile I realized I hadn’t seen the red and white striped waymarkers for quite a long time. Feeling defeated, I turned around and had to trudge back uphill, towards those dark clouds.

I saw one bolt of lightening and that’s when I got scared. Several days before, Mario had warned me about getting stuck in a thunderstorm and now here I was, alone and off-track with a storm brewing. I found the most tucked away spot that I could and crouched down and waited for awhile, unsure of what else to do. Was it safe to keep walking? Was it safe to stay here?

Finally, when I hadn’t heard a rumble of thunder for several minutes and it seemed as though the clouds were beginning to move away, I started walking. I found the Chemin, I continued on, and as luck would have it, not 10 minutes further down the trail was a shelter made of branches and sticks! There were wooden stumps inside and a sign that welcomed pilgrims and I hunkered down in here until I was sure that the threat of the storm had fully passed.

I was actually fairly close to my gîte and arrived after only another 30 minutes of walking. I was staying in another beautiful spot: a large stone building with a big lawn and plenty of space to hang laundry. There was a cozy space inside to sit and read, and you could “order” a drink and the hospitalera would bring it to you from the kitchen. I was sharing a 4 bed room with two other women, and even though I was probably the last to arrive in the gîte, I still had time to shower, wash my clothes and have a glass of wine before dinner.

But dinner was difficult without Hilary. I think I was feeling sad that she was gone, and suddenly self-conscious about speaking French. I was sitting at a table with such nice people-Pierre, who I’d met the day before- was there, so was a young girl from Quebec, and two brothers, and the kind women I was sharing a room with. But the French was spoken so quickly, the voices jumbling together and it was so difficult for me to keep up, to understand what was going on. I felt isolated, sitting at the end of the table and hoping the meal would be over quickly so that I wouldn’t have to keep feeling so awkward, and out of place.

Mostly, I think I needed a little time to transition into this now solo journey, a little time to adjust to being alone and speaking French and needing to meet people and make friends. I tried to remind myself that it doesn’t happen all at once.

Sleep that night was restful, and in the morning the two women I was with agreed: the way to go was to try to stay in a room without men, to be assured of no snoring! (I know it’s no guarantee, but throughout the night we were all quiet as mice, and it was such a relief to get some sound sleep).

Stay tuned for the next post: no room at the Inn, so I need to come up with a plan of how to walk the next few days AND find a bed for the night.

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Oversleeping and Walking Sticks, Day 3 on the Chemin du Puy, Saugues to Le Sauvage, 19km

July 12, 2017

It’s not easy to oversleep on a Camino/Chemin, but Hilary and I figured out how on the morning of Day 3: share a room with 4 people who begin to get up and pack their things before 5am. Listen to them rustle around, bump into things, whisper in the small room. Finally fall back asleep after they leave. Realize, a little after 7am, that you’d forgotten to set an alarm and because there is no longer anyone else in the room with you, you sleep well past the time you’d intended.

7:15am may still seem early, but I can’t remember another day on any Camino when I’d slept so late. By many accounts, the time we started that day shouldn’t have mattered: we were walking 19km- so not a huge day- and we already had our reservation for the night. But there was one factor that did make this late wake-up a slight issue: the heat.

Somehow, we weren’t actually on the road out of town until nearly 9am. Packing up, eating breakfast (no milk for my coffee, grr), searching for a boulangerie, then an epicerie for fruit… and once we finally got moving, we were sweating within minutes.

“How is this possible?” I turned to Hilary, sunglasses already secured over her eyes. “It feels like we’re walking under a hot, mid-day sun.” I paused to catch my breath, and we weren’t even going up a hill. “This is crazy.”

Much of our walk that day was over a dirt track through rolling countryside and deep green forests. The stage wasn’t technically difficult, but the heat was oppressive, and made every step feel like we were climbing a mountain. We ran our buffs under cold water at every opportunity, we listened to music and show tunes to regain energy, and we stopped for breaks. We stopped a lot.

Our first rest was in one of those spots that seems utterly ideal: just as you’re truding along, wishing that the perfect rest stop could appear, BAM! There it is: a picnic table nestled in the shade. This particular spot had an added bonus- a perfectly straight, carved walking stick was propped up against the table. Hilary’s knee had started to act up and we’d been keeping our eye out for a suitable stick, and now here was one that seemed to be waiting for us.

We looked around for an owner of the stick, we took our time and rested and finally decided that either the stick had been left there accidentally- and by taking it with us we might be able to return it to its rightful owner- or the stick had been left there purposefully, for someone who needed it.

So we marched on, sticks in hand (I’d found mine sometime on my first day- crooked and with some sharp bits and at that point I wasn’t sure if I would keep it or not). More cows, more countryside, and then our second rest stop, a beautiful lawn with cold drinks and umbrella-covered tables and puppies running around. One playful guy got a hold of Hilary’s sock and for a long time refused to let go (he also grabbed onto someone’s walking stick- clearly this dog was meant to be on a pilgrimage).

More walking, more resting, and finally we entered the home stretch- a slight uphill section through a forest path that opened up onto a wide-open field in the middle of hills and forests. It was here that the path wound though patches of wildflowers and down to a massive stone complex; the only building in sight (aside from a lone cottage). This is where we’d be staying for the night, in the Domaine du Sauvage.

The day before, one of the men in our gîte told me to look up the history of this place and read all about it in English so that we could understand exactly where we were staying. Hilary and I tried, but all the information we could find was in French, and it was difficult to understand and follow. About all I could gather was that we were in a massive farm building, whose granite stones had probably weathered hundreds and hundreds of years of history.

Despite not understanding where, exactly, we were, the place still had a powerful and special feeling about it. Maybe it was the sweeping sky, so vast; maybe it was the thick, anciet stone walls; maybe it was that there was nothing else out here, just this large building that was here for us, for the pilgrims on their journey, all of us arriving by foot like we’d been arriving for so many years.

We settled into our room, again waiting for a free and open shower. Once all my chores were done I headed downstairs to the main room/bar/restaurant area to try to make a few phone calls. Hilary would be leaving the next day and I hadn’t thought much beyond these first few days of the trip, the part that I was sharing with her. I needed to chart a course for myself, at least for the next few days, and I needed to call ahead to the gîtes I hoped to stay in, and make sure I could reserve a bed.

But right off the bat, I ran into a few problems. I couldn’t get a cell signal anywhere on the property (everyone else was having this problem too) so I asked a man behind the bar if I could borrow the gite’s phone. Another pilgrim was already using it; she had a notebook and papers spread across a table and was sitting with two other pilgrims, shaking her head with a frown.

“Everything is full!” I heard her say, so I hovered nearby and then starting asking questions. It turns out that she was trying to make reservations not for the next night, but for the following one- Saturday- and she couldn’t find anything. There was a big race being held in Nasbinals, a medium-sized town where many pilgrims ended their day’s stage. I’m not sure how many runners were registered for the race, but I heard the number was in the thousands. Not only was everything in Nasbinals booked up, but so were all the gîtes and auberges and hotels in all of the surrounding towns and villages.

Hmm. I borrowed the phone and made my reservation for the next night and decided to worry about what to do on Saturday later.

Dinner that night was much better than the awkwardness of the previous night, in Saugues. Earlier that evening I’d met Pierre, a French man who had just retired and was walking to Santiago. When Hilary and I found seats at an empty table, Pierre asked to join us. Two older French women also came to the table, along with another American- Stephen, from St Louis (he would be the only other American I’d meet on my trip).

It was a good group. There was a mix of French and English, and a lot of laughter and hilarity. And the meal was another good one (as they all would be): vegetable soup, a beef ragu and potato casserole, a cheese plate with three different selections (the sheep’s cheese was the best), an almond cake (that I couldn’t eat because of my nut allergy but I heard it was delicious). Bread, of course, and wine.

Hilary and I stayed up to watch the sun set; we ate gummy candy and compared notes on the day and I thought about how much I would miss her when she left the following morning. Even though I’ve been doing these Camino’s and treks mostly solo, it had been such a joy and so much fun to be with my cousin. There was so much laughter and encouragement and odd moments and joyous singing and shared misery and I wondered what this trip was going to be like without her. I was happy to be entering into a new phase of this pilgrimage, eager to tackle some big days and capture that pure feeling of freedom that only standing totally alone under a big open sky can give me… but I was suddenly nervous, too. I hadn’t even said goodbye and already I was overcome with such a bittersweet feeling: that happiness to have shared something big and amazing with one of my favorite people, the sadness with having to say goodbye and continue on alone.

But that’s been such a big part of these Camino experiences for me, hasn’t it? Being together, being alone.

We couldn’t hold onto the night forever so we gathered up our notebooks, collected our laundry that had dried completely in the hot sun, and tip-toed up to bed.

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Why is it so hot? Why are we still going up? Day 2 on the Chemin du Puy, Combriaux to Saugues, 17km

July 9, 2017

Even though I’ve done this walking thing many times before, it still takes a few days to get into the rhythm of the pilgrim life. I woke up on Day 2 feeling a little disoriented; our room had been hot during the night, and at some point in the night I had flipped myself so that my head was at the foot of the bed, and closer to the window. Once we woke up, we had to tiptoe through the other rooms with sleeping pilgrims in order to get to the bathroom, and we packed our things as silently as possible

And then downstairs to another pilgrim breakfast in France. These breakfasts would all look the same: coffee or tea or hot chocolate, bread and butter and usually at least 3 flavors of jam (many of them homemade), yogurt and sometimes fruit. Once I had a fresh croissant brought over from the boulangerie two doors down (this wouldn’t happen until nearly the end of my trip, and oh what a good morning that was!). I really loved the breakfasts on the Chemin, bread and butter and coffee are my preferred breakfasts at home, too, and it was such a treat to come downstairs every moring and have a spread laid out for us. Unlike on other Caminos, I never had to walk before my morning cup of coffee (well, actually, I had to do this on my very last day but you’ll have to wait for that story).

So after fueling up and rearranging things in our packs, Hilary and I headed out for Day 2. The morning was soft and beautiful, and the beginning of the walk was stunning: we were headed into the hills, climbing above the clouds and looking out onto views that stretched over the countryside.

There was another beautiful view that I loved seeing France, but one of a different sort than the sweeping landscape: the WC. France nails it with their public bathrooms; not only would you sometimes come upon a little shack in the middle of the trail (usually not much more than a toilet, but it’s still a good option), but in so many of the small villages and towns you would always see a sign pointing you towards the nearest WC. Some of these toilets were, ah, quite adventurous, but I appreciated them all.

Our morning was wonderful, and despite the increasing heat, Hilary and I were both in really good spirits. After about 5 or 6km we stopped in the small village of Monistrol-d’Allier for a coffee and a snack; this would be just before starting a long and diffficult ascent and fueling up seemed like a good idea.

We ran into Mario, our French translator and fellow pilgrim from the night before, and he told us about the amazing sandwiches the cafe could prepare for us to take along. He held up a wrapped sandwich that was roughly the size of his head. “Local goat cheese with a carmalized onion and fig compote,” he said. “You don’t want to miss this.”

Hilary and I were both already a bit loaded down with food; we’d picked up Babel cheeses wrapped in wax that could last the journey, as well as little sausages and a loaf of day old bread. Suddenly, our lunch options didn’t seem so appetizing, and we made what I think might have been one of the best decisions of the trip: to buy the sandwiches with fresh and local ingredients. (Later, we spread out on the grass for a long picnic lunch and those sandwiches were, indeed, the best sandwiches I’d ever tasted. It helped that we’d walked a long day and were hungry, but then again we were also in France, where the food truly is top notch).

Our packs now even more weighed down, we began our ascent. The guidebook we were using (along with all the French) was the Miam Miam Dodo. It breaks down each stage into detailed sections and shows either a green, orange, or red line (going up, down, or flat) to illustrate the difficulty of the grade of the route. Green is easy, orange is tougher, red is difficult. And very quickly, we came to regard the red line (especially a red line going up), as the enemy.

We began a nearly 4km stretch of ‘red up’, and remember, this was during the European heat wave. We were drenched in sweat within minutes. We criss-crossed on the trail in order to find tiny sections of shade. Water breaks were only taken in the shade. The buffs came out, and for the first time on any Camino, I discovered the momentary delight of running the buff under a cool stream of fountain water, then wrapping it around my head.

But despite the heat this continued to be a good day. Other highlights included: stopping in a chapel carved into the rock of a hillside, our first walk alongside a line of cows, a kind man resting in the shade of a tree who gave us cherries, the wooden carvings lining the entrance to Saugues- our destination for the evening. The day’s walk was only about 17km (but with the ascents and heat I wouldn’t call it an easy day), but it meant that we had time for long, leisurely breaks, and still arrrived to our gîte an hour before it opened.

But once we did get inside, we discovered that there was only one shower for 8 pilgrims (this, too, would become a theme of the trip). There was a lot of waiting around in our sweaty clothes, a storm rolled in and cooled off the air a bit, and once we were finally cleaned up we headed into town to explore and find some ice cream.

Dinner that night was, in a word, awkward. I don’t even know if it would have helped much if my French were stronger; the combination of people around the table was not a good one, and there were a lot of long silences. Then, when dinner was over and the owner of the gîte was trying to arrange a breakfast time, there seemed to be a tense moment. The group of 4 pilgrims staying in our room were pretty insistent on ther 5:30am start time (the only time I would see anyone leave this early on this Camino), and the owner of the gîte didn’t want to serve breakfast that early. There was a lot of back and forth that I didn’t completely understand, but it was finally understood that we’d all help ourselves to breakfast, whenever we decided to get up. (All the while, in the background a radio played 90’s soft rock and sometimes I’d just disengage from trying to understand the conversation and instead tune into Whitney Houston and Celine Dion).

Hilary and I escaped once dinner was over and headed back into town for a pre-bedtime glass of wine, and when we returned to the gîte we sat outside with the kind dog, watching the day’s light fade to black, strains of soft rock drifting through the air.