solo-female travel Archives - Page 3 of 3

No Sugar Tonight in my Coffee; the first days at La Muse

July 8, 2016

Yesterday morning I made myself a small pot of espresso, heated up some milk in the microwave, mixed it together and added a spoonful of what I thought was sugar. It was salt.

This is a pretty good way to describe what my first few days at La Muse, the writer’s/artist’s retreat in the south of France, have been like. I was here three years ago and some things- many things- are exactly the same. The village dates back to sometime around 1000 AD, and the house where I’m staying used to be the chateau of the village in the Middle Ages. So, things have been here a long, long time. Of course nothing has changed.

In some ways I imagined that I would walk back in here and slip straight to the past, to exactly how things used to be, to the same person that I was when I was last here. I could pick up wherever I left off: journaling in the mornings and gazing out at the mountains and marveling over my explorations while I hiked. I could access the same thoughts and excitement and spirit. It would be immediate, and seamless.

But instead, I walked back in and was hit with such a powerful sense of familiarity, but also of difference. The trees are taller, they change the view from the terrace. I walk up two sets of stairs to my room and not just one, I listen for the sounds of my friends but I only hear the voices of strangers. I go on a small hike and pace back and forth, searching for the turnoff of the trail. Eventually I find it; it is much further down the hill than I remember. I reach for sugar and I grab salt.

I don’t quite have the same sense of wonder that I did the first time, either. It reminds me of my experience with Paris: I entered the city and knew exactly where to go, and what to do. If Paris felt like some sort of temporary home, then La Muse and Labastide do, too. Returning to a place you love is a special kind of experience; it reminds you of where you’ve been, it reminds you of where you are now.

There are 14 residents here, it’s a big group. Many Americans, two Germans, two Australians, one Irish woman and one English woman. One is a film editor but all the rest are writers. This feels a bit daunting to me. I know I’m working on a book, but others are too. Without knowing all that much about their projects, I still have the sense that their books are these real, concrete, serious things. So different than my own, which just seems to be a bunch of words at the moment. Some of the residents have already published, I get the sense that many of them know what they are doing.

Or do they? Maybe we all give off that sense to each other. If I let myself see past my own doubts, I see that others have them, too. It’s a fascinating experience to be back, once again, with a large group of creative people. We’re all still feeling each other out, and as usual, I’m content to sit back and observe the group quietly. But already I can start to see where I fall within the mix: Vera and I have similar writing schedules, we often work and take breaks at the same time. Hilary is introverted, like me, and we take walks down to Le Fenial for coffee. I pour over a large hiking map with Will, pointing out my favorite trails.

I thought I might be able to jump right back into this experience, to hit the ground running with my writing, to feel at ease around the other residents, but (and really, this should come as no surprise to me), I’ve needed time to settle into this. And I’m getting there, I can feel myself beginning to sink in. My room is beautiful, and I’d forgotten how much I love watching and listening to the swallows swooping around outside my window. I’ve been wandering through the hills (a mild cold has stopped me from taking on big hikes, but it’s probably just as well in terms of getting into a good writing routine), and I’ve returned to Le Roc- my beautiful spot on top of the mountain with views that seem to stretch on forever. Homer, the resident dog, has accompanied me both times, and I love this. He runs fast and far ahead, but always circles back to make sure that I’m still coming. And when we get to Le Roc, he finds a cool spot in the shade while I write, and when I’m done, we walk back to the village together.

I love that I have three weeks here, that I can spend these first days adjusting and settling in and finding my routines- the routines of three years ago, but also the routines of today. I’ll mix them together and come away with a brand new experience, and I can’t wait to see what it will be like.

Paris and London, Art and Memories

July 5, 2016

I’m on a train heading down through France, on my way to the writer’s retreat in Labastide. There was a little excitement just now, though not the kind that you want: a bag was left in the middle of the aisle in one of the luggage areas on the train, in car 6 (which, incidentally, was just a few rows behind where I was sitting). The conductor and the staff made multiple announcements, searching for the owner, and someone came through our car to ask if the bag was ours. The next announcement threatened to stop the train if the owner couldn’t be found, and before too long everyone in car 6 was being asked to take our things and move up to the first car. We did, the train began to slow down, and just as we settled into our new seats (I think in a first class car- more room!), we were told that the owner of the bag showed up.

It wasn’t until the announcement that they were going to stop the train that I began to worry; I’m not typically a worrier, I don’t like to dwell on stuff that could go wrong. But for just a few minutes this had me a little rattled. It’s all the stuff we see on the news, the things that are happening around the world, the warnings of friends and family before I left for this trip: “Be careful!” they all said. “Europe’s not as safe as it used to be.” I don’t think that anywhere is quite as safe as it used to be, but that also doesn’t mean it’s so dangerous that we shouldn’t leave home. Still though, this was a reminder of how unsettling the world feels right now. In the past I might have just been curious about what was going on; this time, my mind jumped to the worst.

In any case, the train has picked back up to its regular pace, the conductor assured us that everything is fine, and the journey continues.

Or, maybe it’s just not a great morning. Last night I started coughing, and woke in the middle of the night to a sore throat. A few days before- in Bath, actually- the woman in the bunk below me was sick, and was coughing and sneezing quite a bit. “Oh no,” I thought. “The last thing I want is to catch whatever she’s got.” It probably hasn’t helped that I’ve been moving around constantly, that I’m not getting enough sleep, that my meals are a bit erratic and that I might not be eating quite enough fruits and veggies (but the scones! And the crepes!)

So I’m drinking tea and orange juice and I think this was the first time in my life that I was in Paris and didn’t drink any coffee. It doesn’t seem right, somehow. In fact, all of Paris felt a little… different. I was there for under 24 hours- arriving around 2:00pm on Sunday afternoon, and I left just after 7am this morning (Monday). It was such a short time in the city and really I was just kind of passing through. Different than my other trips, even if the others were on the short side as well- this one was just a quick stopover. But for being in such a big, grand city, it was all rather simple. I grabbed a few metro tickets, easily got to my hostel, checked in and stored my luggage then went back into the city, stopped by the place with the best baguettes to pick up a jambon/buerre sandwich (ham and butter, my favorite), then over to the Musee Marmottan, to see all the Monet’s. This was a new museum for me, I liked that even on a short trip I could see something new.

Back to the hostel to get my key, up to my room to have a shower, then back out in the city to wander around. This was when all I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep: it was chilly and raining and I was exhausted. But it’s not a trip to Paris without seeing Notre Dame, so I walked over, checked out the new Shakespeare and Company cafe, bought a crepe, then headed back.

There’s so much of Paris that I’m not familiar with; every time I go I stay in the same hostel, so I know just one area really well. But there’s something to be said for this- for maybe the very first time, Paris felt sort of like another home to me. It was easy, and effortless. It was like I stopped by to see an old, good friend. And I thought, once again, of something I realized after my very first trip there, when I was 20: Paris isn’t going anywhere. It will always be there, waiting, welcoming me for however long I want to stay. I like that.

I never got a chance to write about my other days in England, but they were great. Rushed and fast and maybe a little too much for someone like me (who wants time to sightsee, AND time to hang out in cafes and write). But I saw a bunch of stuff that meant a lot to me to see- things that are sort of on my unofficial ‘list’ (you know, the things in the world you always assume you’ll get to do/see one day. Lately, I’m realizing that I’m never going to see this stuff if I don’t actually plan a trip and make it happen… obvious, I know, but I guess I just feel that I no longer quite have all the time in the world for all the things I want to do).

So I saw Stonehenge, and I really loved it. In London, I went to the Tate Britain and spent a long time in the Turner rooms- JMW Turner was the first artist I ever really studied, way back in high school, when I was 16. (Come to think of it, I wrote a paper on Notre Dame for that class, too!). Whenever I’m in an art museum I check to see if there’s a Turner, and I was overwhelmed by the number at the Tate. And then I saw another painting I recognized- in another connection to high school, my English class was reading Hamlet and there was a depiction of Ophelia on the cover of our books. When the books were handed out to us, a boy across the room exclaimed, “Nadine! This looks just like you!” Everyone started laughing (maybe because Ophelia was floating down a stream to her death), but the boy was serious. I blushed, and ducked my head. At the time, I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.
But then I was walking through the halls of the Tate and came across this painting and I started smiling, almost laughing, at the memory.

The final connection to high school was also during my day in London; an old friend lives there, someone I haven’t seen since I was 18. She invited me over to her family’s apartment; that evening, in the square down below, the neighbors were having a communal bbq. It was an incredible evening: everyone spread out on blankets and chairs in a beautiful garden, a DJ playing tunes (a Beatles song was playing when we walked in), the smell of charcoal, kids running around, twinkle lights in the trees. Standing at the grill, my friend leaned over to me. “They don’t know how to grill stuff here.” And as predicted, the men around the grill watched as my friend flipped her burgers, then put down rounds of bright yellow pineapple. “American,” she explained, and the men all laughed, then asked if she could help them with their food.

Later in the evening, after lots of drinking, people started dancing. But it was the strangest sort of thing- it was like a wedding. There was line dancing and the Bee Gees and even the Macarena. That one brought everyone out to the floor. I was standing by another American and he kept shaking his head. “Don’t they know that no one dances to this anymore?” He gestured to the crowd. “Welcome to Brexit.” It was a combination of every age group: little children, a few teenagers, twenty and thirty-somethings, parents and grandparents. They were swinging their hips and waving their arms and smiling and laughing. England might be a bit of a mess right now, but on that night, in that square, it seemed like everyone was in it together.

Next up, I’ll be checking in from the south of France!

Me and Jane (and where’s my soap?)

June 30, 2016

It’s 8:30pm in Bath, England. I’ve been camped out in my bunk for at least the past hour, relaxing and sort of trying to get back in the travel groove. I’m getting there, I think.

For starters, this hostel has rooms of three-tiered bunk beds; some of you may remember my excitement when I discovered these last year, on the Norte? Well as you may guess, I am indeed up on the very top bunk, and it’s perfect. There are privacy curtains and the top bunks are roomier, because there’s a lot of space between your head and the ceiling. There’s a little shelf for my water, an outlet all of my own, a small lamp, sheets and a pillowcase and a warm blanket.

It might be summer, but the UK is chilly. Maybe in more ways than one? I can’t comment much on the mood here after Brexit; I’m a tourist and sort of moving through things fast and am in a traveler’s bubble. But I’m curious, my ears are perked up. So far though, the only notable news I learned of (totally unrelated to Britain leaving the EU) is that Jane Austen is going to be taking Charles Darwin’s position on the 10 pound note next year. Supposedly, many are in opposition to this, but I’m a fan.

So is this why I’m in Bath, then? On a Jane Austen pilgrimage? I wish I could say I’d had this all planned out, but it’s just a happy coincidence. I flew into London and Bath is about a 2-hour bus ride away. It’s smaller and quainter and possibly even cheaper than London so I decided to spend a couple of days here after a friend’s recommendation. It wasn’t until I was talking to my sister (just last week!) that I thought about Jane. And then I realized that I didn’t know much about Bath and should probably do some research and what do you know? There’s an entire Jane Austen Centre here!

That was my one goal for the day: hit some of the Jane Austen sites. I’m starting small, with baby steps: just one tiny goal for my first day. I’m jet-lagged and running on very little sleep and overall am really adjusting to the whole ‘travel thing’. I went into this trip sort of feeling like I know what I’m doing, and maybe I am a bit more comfortable, but there’s still an adjustment period for me. And it remains one of the more surreal experiences of my life: to one day be on my couch in my apartment, and the next day, dressed in period clothing in Bath, England. Not this specific experience necessarily, just at how quickly you can move out of your regular life into something very different, very far away.

I feel like I’m floundering- just a bit- because this trip isn’t just about a Camino. I have an entire extra bag of clothing and man, does it complicate things. Where did I put that shirt, is my hairbrush in my pack or the duffel, where in the world is my soap?? I think I spent nearly 15 minutes standing in front of the locker where I shoved my things, trying to figure out what I needed for the shower. (Never did find the soap…) But, I’ll figure it out. I’ll get my travel legs under me, soon it’s going to feel like the only kind of life I’ve ever lived.

So that’s the update for Day One. The disjointed, sleep-deprived, tippy-top of the bunk report from England. It feels a little strange, a little foreign, but overall it feels good to be on the road again.

Solo Travel on the Camino

June 10, 2016

The school year is ending and summer is approaching and that means I’ve been asked, a lot, about my summer plans. I find myself explaining to a whole crop of new people that I’m going to walk the Camino. “What’s the Camino?” they ask.

It’s always the first question.

And the second question, once I’ve explained that it’s a long walk across Spain, is invariably this: “Who are you going with?”

But I had a strange experience the other day: I was talking to a principal at one of the schools I work at, he was telling me that he and his wife and kids are doing a big cross-country road trip this summer. He asked me what my plans were, and I started like I normally do. “Well, I’m going to Europe, to do a thing called the Camino de Santiago.”

His eyes lit up. “The Way? Seriously?”

Turns out he knew all about it, and we got into a long conversation about the outdoors and hiking and the beauty of moving yourself across a great distance.

But it wasn’t until I was driving home from work that I figured out what really struck me about the conversation, more than the fact that he actually knew what the Camino was. He didn’t ask one question about who I was going with, if I was doing it alone. It hadn’t even seemed to matter.

And I really loved that. I get why people want to know if I’m going alone or not, but sometimes I get a little tired of all the explaining I have to do. Like, “It’s actually really safe, you meet loads of other people, there’s always someone walking nearby.” Even with these explanations, people still sometimes give me a look. They’re confused, they feel sorry for me, they look at me as if I’m a bit strange for wanting to do something like this alone.

But after two 500-mile treks across Spain over these last couple of summers, I have to say, I’m beginning to think it would be difficult to walk with someone.

There are lots of benefits, certainly, to have a walking partner, or a small group to go with. Even I have to admit that sometimes, I’m a little envious of the friends that come to the Camino together. I’ll pass them, sitting tight around a table at lunchtime, bottles of wine and beer and baskets of bread and they’re laughing and joking. They get to share this great experience with someone who knows them really well. I think that would be a cool thing to do. And sometimes- even in a crowd (most especially in a crowd, perhaps)- the Camino can feel lonely. There were a few nights on my Norte last summer when I envied the pilgrims who never, ever had to worry about eating dinner alone, who always had a companion with them.

And there’s the safety issue, too. To be honest, I very, very rarely felt unsafe on either of my treks across Spain. Nervous, sometimes, when a dog barked loudly. Anxious when I hadn’t seen a yellow arrow for a long time. But never unsafe. That’s not to say that bad things can’t happen on the Camino, and as always (and especially as a woman), I needed to keep my wits about me, to be observant and aware, to do my best to not put myself in a compromising situation. And I continue to do that, any time I travel.

But these points aside, I really love my solo-Camino time. In some ways, it feels like one of the most special things I can give to myself at this time in my life, and I know how lucky I am that I can spend a month being totally and completely selfish. I walk when I want to walk, I stop when I want to stop, I can walk a 50+ kilometer day and I don’t have to try to convince anyone to do the same.

A solo-Camino might not be for everyone, but I think it’s a wonderful experience to have. Two summers ago, when I started walking away from St Jean Pied de Port, I was so scared. I’d barely slept the night before, I froze in my bunk because I was too nervous to get up to close the window because I thought I would disturb the person sleeping beneath me, the clothes I’d washed hadn’t dried, I wasn’t even really sure how to get out of the town and onto the path of the Camino. But then I started walking, and that first day still goes down as my absolute favorite Camino walk. It’s hard to describe the sense of achievement, bravery, energy, love, peace, pride, solidity that I felt as I moved myself across a mountain. Others who had come alone were already pairing off, walking in groups, finding their “Camino Families”, braving the Pyrenees together.

I walked alone.

I eventually made friends, and there were times- especially on the Camino Frances- when I felt like I wasn’t as alone as I would have liked. But here was the beauty of coming into this experience myself: at any time, whenever I wanted, I could separate myself. I could walk with others, I could walk alone. I could take a rest day, I could walk a great distance, I could eat french fries for twelve days in a row and no one had any idea.

And it wasn’t just being alone whenever I wanted, it was the ability to be with others. I still think that a solo-pilgrim on the Camino attracts others in a way that pilgrims in pairs or groups don’t. Many, many people approached me to say hi, to start a conversation, because I was alone. And I, in turn, approached others when I was feeling a bit alone. You’re going to meet people on the Camino regardless of whether you’re alone or in a group, but the opportunity for new friends increases, I think, when you’re solo.

People help you, too. They look out for you, they take care of you, when they know it’s just you (well, they help you if you’re in a group too- Camino angels help everyone). On the Frances, I had so many mothers and fathers out there. I even had a little sister and a little brother, and someone who reminded me of my own grandfather. People who asked me how I was doing whenever they saw me, asked if I was wearing my sunscreen, made sure I had a place to sleep, that I had enough to eat.

One time, on the Primitivo, a Spanish guy had been walking ahead of me. We’d left a cafe at the same time and he was fast, and soon he disappeared down the path. But a little later I saw him standing off to the side of the trail. He was waiting for me, and he explained that there was a large dog up ahead. “I didn’t want you to be afraid, so I waited for you, to help you pass,” he said. The same thing happened a few days later- a different guy, and this time, a cow.

I wish I could explain about all of this, when anyone seems concerned that I’m going off to Spain alone. I wish I could explain that I’m never really alone out there, that in fact, I think the Camino Frances is probably one of the safest places in the world for a female to travel solo. And I wish I could explain that going alone isn’t so bad, that actually, it’s quite wonderful. That sometimes it’s good to do things by ourselves, to learn what we’re capable of, to remember what we’re capable of.

I’ve got another Camino coming up- soon- and once again I’m going alone. One of these years I’d love to share this experience with someone, and I have no doubt that I will. But for now I’m solo, and I couldn’t be happier.

Round Three.

April 25, 2016

Plans for Summer 2016 have been made! But here’s the truth- I’ve hesitated to talk about the long, long process of figuring out what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go. There are probably a few reasons, but none more than this: it feels a little ridiculous to spend so much time (publicly) fretting over how to spend my two months off. Because… I get two months off! Every year that I stay in the job I currently have, I am increasingly grateful that the work I do affords me time off in the summer. It’s a luxury that most people simply don’t get. I was pretty intentional about choosing this particular job in order to have the two months off, and like nearly everything in life there are trade-offs. But I still recognize how lucky I am, and for having this job at this particular time in my life: my family is healthy and I am healthy, I have no kids and no commitments or obligations that keep me state-side. And, for better or for worse, I have no partner to worry about. I can do exactly as I please.

It’s an amazing opportunity, but sometimes I feel a little self-conscious talking about yet another summer in Europe. But I work hard, and maybe never harder than I have this year. And for vast stretches of time during the 10 months of the year that I’m not traveling, my life is pretty simple. I have hermit-like tendencies. I am very, very careful about money; if I weren’t, I’d never be able to travel like I do.

Where am I going with this? I’m starting to ramble again. I’ve missed blogging, but as ever, it’s because my focus has been so wrapped up in writing this book. I’ve slipped just a bit from my weekly word-count goal in the past month, and I blame spring and sunshine and all those blooming trees out there. Makes it hard to get my butt in the chair. But here I am, with a simple and easy lemon cake in the oven and the last few fingers of wine in my glass and I am going to tell you about my summer plans, the ones I’ve worked hard for, the ones that I sometimes agonized over.

Here is my main problem this year: I want to do it all. I already wrote a bit about maybe buying a new car and driving across the country, I wrote a big list of travel goals that included Guatemala and writer’s retreats and long hikes. I want to do it all! (and don’t we all?) I tell myself not to think too big, that I can’t possibly do so much with only two months off, that I shouldn’t try to do it all, that there will be time for it all, one day.

But still, I couldn’t settle down or settle into a decision about this summer. I took the cross-country trip off the list, Guatemala too, but the other things were still up for grabs. I knew that I wanted to spend some of the summer focused on my book, so a writer’s retreat was high on the list. But- and if this comes as a surprise then you need to go back and read more of this blog, maybe from the beginning– I wanted to do another Camino. How could I go to Europe and not also go on a long walk?

I figured out a way to do both of these things, a very doable way to do a writer’s retreat and a Camino, and I thought that I should have been satisfied, that I immediately should have scooped up a flight. And, can we talk for a moment about flights? About the deals that I saw come and go? About the $500 round trip flight between Philly and Milan that pretty much worked with my schedule? Every day for over a week I checked to make sure that the deal was still there, until it wasn’t, and I never bought the flight.

Because something was holding me back. In the past few years, a little travel bug has nudged its way into my head and my chest and most certainly my legs and my feet, and I have a growing list of places to go, things to see, paths to walk. So while another writer’s retreat in France and another Camino in Spain would make me happy beyond belief, I still hesitated. I wanted something new, too.

All those thoughts of not trying to do it all, having time ‘one day’? One day is right now. I’ve been telling myself this for a long, long time, but it always bears repeating. One day is right now.

This isn’t leading up to anything epic or earth-shattering. I’m not quitting my job, the book is nowhere near finished, no radical changes (not yet anyway). But I’m going to try to do a lot this summer, a combination of things that seems just right, so right that now I certainly am happy beyond belief, at the thought of getting the chance to do it all.

There are three parts to Summer 2016. The first is another writer’s retreat, which takes me back to La Muse, the same place where I spent three weeks in 2013. When I was there the first time, I had that deep and knowing feeling that one day I’d return. But I also knew that in order to return, I’d need to be in a different creative place. That first trip was simply about learning to call myself an artist. I didn’t have a dedicated project to work on while I was there, I knew I loved to write and take photos but I’ve never really been serious about it before. So those three weeks in southern France were more about the experience of entering a different kind of world, a world where I could start to consider myself an artist, where I could learn what it takes for me to feel inspired and focused, to give me confidence moving forward.

And in the past three years, I’ve moved forward. Slowly, slowly, one small step at a time. I’m returning to La Muse as a writer, who is working on her book. How great does it feel to say that? Pretty great.

During my last retreat I would spend a few hours a day writing, but otherwise I was out in the mountains that surrounded the small French village of Labastide-Esparbairenque. I took long hikes and hundreds of photos, and more than anything soaked up the inspiration and beauty of where I was. This time around, there will surely be more hikes (photos too), but I also have a big project to work on. I’m excited to see what kind of progress I can make on the book with three solid weeks to do nothing but write.

Terrace-La-Muse-Labastide-Esparbairenque-France

Terrace of La Muse, July 2013

The second part of my trip will most likely be another Camino. Nothing is set in stone yet, but that’s also the beauty of a Camino… nothing really needs to be decided until I arrive. I’ve gone back and forth dozens of times on this, too: if I walk another Camino, which one do I want to walk? Return to the Frances? A path in France? In Portugal? My thoughts ran in circles until finally I stumbled on something that felt just right. Start in Leon (a city about two-thirds of the way towards Santiago on the Camino Frances), and walk about 5 days on the San Salvador, a short Camino that extends south to north, from Leon to Oviedo. I passed through Oviedo last year, when I left the Norte to go down to the Primitivo. So now, I’ll make my way back up to Oviedo on the San Salvador, and from Oviedo will continue north up to the point of the Norte where I veered off last year. If the timing works out well, I should have a dozen or so days to finish the Norte and arrive in Santiago.

I’m sure that explanation was super confusing. Basically, all you need to know is this: I’ll have roughly 17 days to walk a Camino, I’ll be back in Spain, I will drink cafe con leches, and it will be beautiful.

This map doesn’t show the San Salvador, but imagine a line extending from the Frances up to Oviedo. From Oviedo I’ll follow that dotted line to Aviles, and then continue on towards Santiago.

And finally, the third part of the trip gives me something brand new. My return flight to the states is out of Glasgow, Scotland, and I’m leaving about a week at the end of my trip to walk the West Highland Way, a popular long-distance footpath in the Scottish Highlands. This area of Scotland is rugged and remote (though the path itself could be crowded in August), there could be lots of rain, and there will definitely be lots of midges (small flying insects that will certainly be a pain). But what I’ve read and seen of this 96-mile route is nothing short of stunning. I’m only going to have 5-days to walk this path, and while it’s doable it’s also going to be challenging. But after a summer of hiking in southern France and walking a Camino, I hope that I’ll be in tip-top shape for the Highlands.

Photo by Bart vanDorp / CC BY

Big plans, exciting plans. Plans to do it all, at least all that I want for this moment in my life. And I can’t wait to share it all here.

Beware the raccoons!- Cumberland Island Camping Adventure, Part One

March 25, 2016

I’ve mentioned here before that I have next to no camping experience, but also that I got a tent for Christmas. One of my goals for 2016 was to take the tent out into the great unknown- “into the wild”- and use it, and I’m here to report that I survived my first ever, solo-camping trip.

I would almost go so far as to say that not only did I survive… I thrived. Though that might be pushing it a bit. Still, I’m racking my brain to think of something that went wrong, something I was woefully unprepared for, something that made me say, “I’m never going camping again!”

There was nothing. I wish sleeping on the ground had been a little more comfortable… and three days without a shower is a little much (there were cold water showers at my campsite, but I chickened out)… but this is camping. Being clean and sleeping comfortably are things I do in my every day life, and if a little dirt and discomfort were my biggest worries, then I’d say that my camping trip went pretty well.

But really, this trip ended up being about so much more than learning how to sleep and eat outdoors. It was elevated to another level by the location: Cumberland Island, a barrier island off the southern coast of the US state of Georgia. At 17.5 miles long, it has stretches of undeveloped beaches, salt marshes, maritime forest. It was designated a national seashore (and national park) in the 70’s, and is largely unspoiled and unpopulated. There is no bridge to the island- you need to take a ferry- no paved roads, no amenities. There are a handful of private homes but most of the island is designated as a wilderness area. There are birds and turtles and raccoons and armadillos and several hundred wild horses, that roam all through the island.

I’d anticipated that I would be blogging while I was there- that, since I was alone, I’d have nothing to do in the evenings and would use that time to write. But somehow, the days just slipped away and before I knew it, the sun had set and it was 8pm and I was ready to tuck into my tent with a cup of wine and cookies and my book (yeah, I brought a bottle of wine. I liked the idea of toasting my camping success each evening! So, not totally roughing it just yet).

Now I’m back, to my comfy and cozy apartment, and I imagine that I’ll devote a few blog posts to this trip. So here is part one: “Beware of the raccoons!”

I heard this warning multiple times- from a girl on the ferry ride over, from a park ranger giving us an orientation when we got to the island, from campers who had been there before.

“The raccoons are sneaky,” said an 11-year old girl on the ferry. “Last year, they took our pasta, and that was my favorite meal!”

I never got the name of the girl on the ferry, but she befriended me instantly (I always seem to make friends with the kids), and talked my ear-off on the 40 minute ride from St Mary’s to the island. She told me that this was the second year her family was camping on the island; she reported that last time, she’d pet both an armadillo and a horse (statements that I’m now questioning, considering how fast armadillos scurry away and by how many times we were warned to stay away from the horses). “I love this place,” she said, a slight southern accent to her voice, her blue eyes opened wide. “I hope we get campsite eleven again, that’s the one closest to the beach.”

As she talked, I found myself growing increasingly nervous. I’d felt the nervousness in the days leading up to my trip, and on the night before I began the long, 12-hour drive down to Georgia, I questioned what I was doing. Laying in a warm bed, four walls around me, a kitchen full of food and a bathroom with a hot shower, I wondered why on earth I was going to go camping for 3 days. This happens to me from time to time- I decide to do something and throw myself into the preparations, then just before it’s time to leave I get overwhelmed with the reality of what I’ve gotten myself into. I begin to think I was crazy to want to try something new, I begin to think that it would be so much easier to just stay home.

But that’s just fear talking: I hear it a lot, but I’m getting used to how it sounds. I’m also getting used to ignoring it, and then going and trying something new anyway.

By the time I was on the ferry my nervousness was mixed with excitement. Dozens of people were crammed in the cabin of the ferry- it was windy and cold outside, so we all squeezed inside, standing in the aisles. As the 11-year old continued to talk, I looked out the window: we were surrounded by blue water and strips of green land, deep colors with sunshine washing over everything.

Once the ferry docked at Cumberland Island and we all unloaded our stuff, the day-trippers went off to rent bikes, to trek over to the beach, or the ruins of the old Carnegie estate (more on that, later). The campers had to gather together for a quick talk from the park ranger, and then we were assigned campsites.

I felt a little awkward, sitting among groups of people: families who were loud and laughing, couples sitting close together with great, hulking backpacks. Everyone seemed surprised to find out that I was alone, and maybe moreover, that I was a girl and I was alone. But the woman next to me smiled and introduced me to her college-aged children, sitting behind us. And the 11 year old girl was in front of me, and gave me a high five and whispered, “Good luck” when I went to the front to get my campsite.

I chose the smallest site, and set off for the half mile walk to the campgrounds. I was loaded down with my stuff- my Camino pack on my back, a smaller backpack strapped to my front, a large duffel slung over my shoulder. But as soon as I moved away from the office building and began walking down the path, all of my fear left me, and I walked with a big smile on my face.

I was surrounded by so much beauty: a hard packed sand trail, bordered on both sides by a dense layer of palmettos- “little palms”- with their long, bright green leaves. Overhead were the twisting, gnarled branches of live oak trees, covered with draping Spanish moss, and the sunlight filtered through, giving off a shimmery, magical kind of light.

And once I got to the campgrounds, it was even better: those palms and the the Spanish moss were everywhere, creating natural borders between the sites, and a canopy of branches and moss casting shade over the ground. My campsite felt perfect- just the right size for one or two people- and I was able to set up my tent in a little area that was tucked away, totally invisible to anyone passing by on the path. I quickly stored all of my food in the food cage, and loaded up my pack with basic hiking/exploring supplies: lots of water, items for lunch, a first aid kit and a towel for lounging on the beach.

Just before I set off to explore part of the island I looked back: to my tent, hoping that I staked it down right, that a gust of wind wouldn’t knock it over. And to the food cage that held all of my food for the next three days, that I hoped was secure and raccoon proof. To the picnic table and the fire ring and the draping Spanish moss. This was home for the next few days, and I felt amazed and lucky that I had gotten myself there.

Stay tuned for more of my adventures (including some of those wild horses, a big black snake, and a Carnegie).

A Long Winter’s Walk

March 5, 2016

The title of this post is a little deceiving, I thought I should say that upfront. I am going to write about a long walk I took last weekend. And it was the end of February, which still sits squarely in the winter season here in the northeastern US. But it was also a 64 degree day with strong, uninterrupted sunshine. For all intents and purposes, I felt like I had stepped straight into spring, and I loved it.

I never really stopped walking this winter, though the nature of my walks changed. I still try to get out to my local park but instead of hiking the soggy, snow-covered trails, I stick to the paved path. And I spend more time in my own neighborhood, racing to beat the setting sun as I loop through the streets. I bundle up in my long underwear and fleece headband and I rush through the hour-long walk and then hurry back inside to where it is warm.

But I’ve lucked out with a relatively mild winter, and last Sunday we were hit with that 60-degree day. I was just getting over a long and lingering cold and had been shut up inside for much of the past week, so my feet were itching to move, and I was craving fresh air and the outdoors and, more than anything, a bit of warm sunlight.

I headed to the Delaware & Raritan Canal Towpath, a place I discovered last year on one of my first outings with the Philadelphia Camino group. It is a 77-mile trail in New Jersey that runs mostly along- you guessed it- the Delaware & Raritan Canal, and passes through New Brunswick, Trenton (my place of birth!!), Lambertville and Frenchtown. There’s so much history along the trail; in the 19th century, the main section of the canal was used to transport goods to New York City, and other industrial cities. There are old mills and lockkeeper houses, as well as Washington’s Crossing (the place where George Washington crossed the Delaware River during the American Revolution… I just read that this marked a turning point in the war, so maybe this is a spot on the trail that I’ll have to walk to next).

There are also 5 bridges at various points along the trail that cross the Delaware and connect you to a somewhat parallel trail in Pennsylvania- the Delaware Canal Towpath (which is 60 miles in length). Basically, this means that there are lots of possibilities for good walking and good scenery and, if you plan it right, good coffee as well.

One thing that I really miss about my walks and hikes here in the US is the lack of villages and towns that conveniently provide coffee breaks. Multiple café con leche stops on the Camino were one of my very favorite things, and it was rare that I had a day of walking on the Camino that didn’t pass by at least one open bar.

So one of the greatest perks of walking along the D&R Canal Towpath is the chance to pass through quaint villages with their restaurants and markets and coffee shops. It’s perfect, actually: you walk along a sometimes paved, sometimes hard-packed dirt trail for a mile or two, surrounded by nothing but nature: gurgling water, tall trees, grassy fields. Then, all at once, you pass through a little town that is filled with Victorian houses and galleries and shops. This might not happen for the entire length of the trail, but it did for the section that I decided to walk on Sunday, a 12 mile out-and-back stretch from Lambertville to (nearly) Bull’s Island.

The path is totally flat, so this was an ideal late-winter hike for me. For the last few months my walks have been short, and they haven’t included many hills. So I need to ease back into my Camino-training (is there a Camino #3 in my future?? Possibly/probably, though I’m still trying to figure out my summer plans). In any case, a long walk on a flat and mostly smooth path was exactly what I was looking for, and for most of the walk I moved along quickly and easily. I was fueled, of course, by the cappuccino I bought at Stockton Market, an indoor farmer’s market in the village of Stockton, which was about three-miles into my walk. There were stands and tables filled with goods: fresh vegetables, bottles of olive oil, trays of cheese and rounds of bread, but I went straight for the coffee. I carried it with me as I walked, and it all felt kind of luxurious: warm air and bright sunlight, a cup of creamy coffee in my hand as I strolled along the canal.

All signs of luxury left, however, by the last two-miles of the walk. As I plodded along, I did some mental calculations of the last time I had walked more than 7-miles. And as I counted backwards, further and further, I realized it had been sometime in early December, nearly three months earlier. So it was no wonder that after nearly 12-miles, I could feel a small blister developing on the bottom of my right foot, and a slight ache in my left knee. But just as I was feeling rather grumpy and wishing that Lambertville- and my car- would appear quickly, I heard a small commotion off to the side of the trail.

I wandered over and it was a little oasis: three children were set up behind a tiny, make-shift stand. A white plastic table with a brightly colored cloth and a hand-drawn sign, advertising popcorn and lemonade. I could hear a fresh batch popping in the background, along with the clink of ice cubes as a little girl poured a glass for a woman in front of me. I stood in line and smiled at the woman, and we discovered that we both had the same ‘life rule’: if you pass a lemonade stand, you have to stop.

So I finished my long walk with a plastic cup in each of my hands: one filled with icy cold lemonade, the other filled with freshly popped, lightly salted popcorn. My entire body had that tired and satisfied feeling of exertion, and my spirit felt rejuvenated from the sun and the warm air.

It feels like spring is almost here. And it feels like a return to my favorite seasons of life, the ones that include long walks and vigorous hikes, fresh air and adventure and traveling. I can’t wait.

Into the Wild: Fear and the Unknown

February 14, 2016

I got a tent for Christmas. It’s a small and simple thing, maybe the smallest and simplest kind of tent out there: long and narrow and fits a single person, white nylon and a sea-foam green colored rainfly. I had to learn what a rainfly was when I was researching tents, and I had to learn how to set up a tent, too. I opened the drawstring pouch and pulled out a mess of nylon and polyester and aluminum poles that, surprisingly, snapped into place with what seemed like a mind of their own. I tugged the material down at the edges and unzipped the large, semi-circle door and crawled inside. It smelled new and my socks squeaked against the floor as I slid them down the length of the tent and then laid there, all stretched out, with enough room to flex my toes. I was in my own little kingdom.

I haven’t taken the tent outside yet; it’s the middle of February and the coldest it’s been all winter. So it’s been sitting in my living room, all folded up and sometimes I think about taking it out and setting it up, just for practice. Because my plan is to use the tent a lot this year.

tent view, shenandoah national park, virginia

This is not my tent. But it is the tent I slept in on one of my very few camping experiences.

Before I walked my first Camino, I had a lot of fears (and to be honest, I was pretty nervous before my second Camino as well, even though I had a good idea of what to expect). I wrote a post, nearly two years ago now, about bravery and fear and what it meant to me to be afraid of something, but to do it anyway. It’s something I still think about a lot, the idea of fear, and how to move through it.

A friend that I met on my first Camino told me something that has stuck with me. He was talking about his own fears, and told me the story of how he went into a forest and slept out in the open. He was so afraid of being alone and unprotected in the wilderness- afraid of wild animals, afraid of a wild man, afraid to be vulnerable.

So he decided to face the fear, and went out in the woods with only a sleeping bag and he stayed there overnight.

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” he said, laughing. “I jumped every time I heard a branch snap. I barely slept at all.”

But when it was over, he found that he didn’t have the same kind of fear about being out in the wild as he did before.

A lot of people have stories like this, how we are afraid of something and then we face it and even if some fear lingers, it’s not as bad as it was before. Because we need to have the experience to know that we can do it, to know that it is not as bad as we might imagine. And when we do something again and again, sometimes the fear goes away almost completely.

Until a few years ago, I hadn’t ever given much thought to camping or backpacking or being out in the wild, at all. Despite having been drawn to survival stories for nearly as long as I can remember (I was captivated by the book The Hatchet when I was in elementary school, and I’m one of the few people who is still watching the television series ‘Survivor’), I was never really interested in spending a significant amount of time out in the woods.

And for a very long time, I just assumed that it was something that I wasn’t into- it wasn’t me.

But it turns out that there’s a big difference between never being exposed to something, and not liking it. Just because you’ve never done something before doesn’t mean that you won’t like it, or be good at it, or couldn’t learn to love it.

Three summers ago I went to France and stayed in the mountains in the south and hiked every day. It opened up something in me- the possibility that I might love the outdoors, and climbing things, and pushing myself. I might not even mind a little dirt and a little sweat.

Then I walked the Camino and it solidified the feeling I’d had in France, the summer before: I did love being outside. I did love pushing myself and doing something physically challenging. I loved hiking and walking and trekking. I loved the mountains.

cows and mountains, camino del norte, spain

Cows and Mountains, on the Camino del Norte

So you’d think after these experiences I wouldn’t question myself so much anymore, that I would throw myself into all things outdoors, right? And people have asked me about this, time and time again: “So, when are you going to hike the Appalachian Trail?”

And every time I would laugh and say, “Oh, maybe I’d do a few days of it sometime. But I really like having a bed to sleep in at night, and coffee breaks during my hike, and a bottle of wine in the evenings, etc, etc.”

And I do like those things. But I was also assuming that I wouldn’t like camping and roughing it and not showering and sleeping on the ground and strange sounds in the night. I wasn’t thinking about the other parts, though: the challenge of carrying everything I need to survive on my back, of setting up a little home every night, of the satisfaction of cooking my own simple meals and falling asleep under the stars and waking up to a sunrise, and all of that fresh, dewy air.

sunset, shenandoah national park, virginia

Sunset in Shenandoah National Park, Virginia

Here’s the thing: I’m still not sure if I’m going to like camping, or backpacking. I have a lot of fear about it. Fear that I’m going to be too uncomfortable or cold, that I won’t be able to figure out how to use a camping stove, that I won’t set up my tent properly. That my backpack will be too heavy or that I won’t like being dirty. Bears. Or that, after all these years and after challenging so many of the assumptions I have about myself, I still don’t think I’m the kind of person who does this kind of thing. I’m not an outdoorsy person. I don’t camp. I’m not a hiker. I’m not a backpacker.

But whenever I start to think like this and the worries and the fears creep in, I tell myself to remember the Camino. Remember the Camino! The lessons come back to me in a rush. When I started out, I didn’t know a thing. I didn’t own one piece of trekking gear. I didn’t know if I could do it. I was so afraid, and then I walked 500 miles, and I came home, so confident in my ability to just figure things out. I felt capable.

So I’m facing a fear this year- I’m going to go out “into the wild” (or maybe just down a trail) with my tent and I’m going to sleep outside and I’m going to do it alone. I’ll do it with others, too, if the opportunity comes up, but I also think it’s important that I do some of this by myself.

I’ve been researching places where I can go camping, and I’ll probably start out with car camping first, then maybe I’ll look for a bigger backpack and try out a couple days on a trail somewhere. Baby steps, single steps- I’m a big fan of them as you know. Maybe it will all lead up to something bigger, or maybe it won’t.

But none of that really matters right now. Now, it only matters that I’m going to try. I hope to write about my experiences of going out into the wild, and share them here. I have a little spring break coming up in March, and some ideas brewing, so stayed tuned!

Happy Winter: Baking Cookies and Setting Goals

December 21, 2015

The first day of winter and the shortest day of the year is either today or tomorrow (every year I always get a bit confused!); in any case, the winter solstice is upon us. Christmas is upon us, New Year’s is almost here, too. I was going to come home from work today and bake some chocolate chip cookies, but as usual, I forgot to let the butter come to room temperature. Every single time! So I’m sitting in my kitchen (where I usually sit when I write), next to a little heater with two sticks of butter close at my side. Every once in awhile I press down on one gently, to see if my thumb can make a print. Not yet.

So while I wait for the butter and the baking, I’ve decided to write a post about my goals for 2016. Because it’s that time of the year, and I love setting goals and reflecting on what I want for the upcoming year.

And this year, I want a lot. I was thinking about this as I hiked the other day, and I ran through the list in my head: the places I want to travel to, the things I want to write, the adventures I want to go on, the new things I want to try. Post-Camino #2 has me in a different sort of place than Post-Camino #1 had me in. This time around, while I’m still a little anxious to figure out where the next phase of my life is going to take me (and to figure out how to get there), I don’t feel as restless as I did a year ago. Right now, it feels a lot easier to just be where I am right now, and not wish away my present hoping for something great for my future. I’m still working towards other things, but I’m also trying to pay attention to where I am now.

It’s a work in progress, and one that I hope to continue in 2016. So my mind is filled will all of the things I want to do with my life as it is, so that I can try to be living as fully as possible. Even if I’m not a published author. Even if I’m not trekking around the world. Even if I’m not tucked away in a cabin in Maine, writing and hiking and kayaking. Maybe I’ll have some of those things, some day… but right now, here are the things I want to do where I am right now (and maybe some of these things will get me to those other places? Only time will tell).

Travel: It’s always fun to have travel goals, and these are just a few places that I’d love to explore sometime soon (and just to note, there’s no way that I can do all of this in one year. But these are some ideas). My own stomping grounds are up first:

New Orleans- This city has been at the top of my US list for awhile now, and I think it can be entirely do-able over a long weekend. Especially since I have a good friend who will be at a conference down there in March…
Asheville, North Carolina- I hear the most amazing things about this city, and over the years, several people have said to me, “Nadine, you would love it there.” Artsy and outdoorsy, and there’s probably good coffee, too. Which sounds perfect. I have a couple of friends who live a few hours away, and I’m hoping I can combine a visit with one or both of them and a few days in this city.
Acadia National Park, Maine- I love love love Maine, and it’s been two years since I’ve been up there. And while I’ve explored the southern, coastal parts of the state, this is a Maine-destination that’s still on my list. I dream about renting a cabin for a week and having my own mini-writer’s retreat.

And now going out of the country…

Guatemala- To me, this sort of seems like a random choice, but I think sometimes travel destinations are a bit random. Several months ago I just happened to read two separate blog posts about Lake Atitlan, and my jaw dropped at the stunning photos. Then I started doing a bit of research and learned that there are several multi-day hikes/treks that lead to the lake and my mind starting swirling with ideas. With Central America being not too too far away, could I make this a spring break trip? Maybe.
Camino #3- I’m not sure about this one, but I bet that no one is surprised that it’s on the list. I keep saying that if I go back for another Camino, I’d like it to be in France (and maybe, somehow, with at least a few days in Spain. Because it doesn’t feel right to do a Camino and not have café con leche and tortilla breaks). I’ll have another two months off this summer, and another Camino feels like a solid option.
Tour de Mont Blanc– I’ve been reading about this a lot lately, and I’m excited. It’s a 10-12 day, 170 kilometer journey, and passes through France, Italy and Switzerland in a circuit around the 15,770-foot Mont Blanc Massif. There are huts to sleep in at night, and warm meals that I don’t have to cook myself. It sounds like an amazing challenge.
Writer’s Retreat in France- If the work on my book continues at a steady pace through the winter and spring, I have a feeling that I’m going to be thick in the writing process come summer. I could interrupt all that work and go traveling, but part of me wonders if I’d like to combine the traveling/writing, and doing that at La Muse (where I stayed in summer 2013) could be perfect.

Writing: The writing goals sort of feel like the most important ones in 2016. I’ve gotten a good start on them in the past few months, and I’m hoping that I can continue just as strong into the new year.

Write a rough draft of my book- Oh boy. Can I write an entire book in a year? It feels so daunting and impossible, and yet… in the past month, I’ve seen just what 1,000 words several times a week can do. If I’m consistent and just keep plugging away, I can have a very rough draft written, maybe even by the summer. And that is maybe the most exciting thing I can imagine right now.
Build my blog!- Well, first, I suppose that I need to start blogging again. And then, once I get back to more consistent writing, I’m curious to see if I can do more with this. I’m not exactly sure what I’m envisioning… but maybe buying a domain and getting some hosting and working on the site design. Maybe making this a site that can be a resource (and a fun read?) to more people.
Essays and travel articles- I’ve been working on these over the past few months, and I want to keep at it. I love writing personal-essays, and I’ve submitted a few and plan to submit a few more. It’s another way to flex those writing muscles, and it’s been a lot of fun and a great practice.

Adventures/Trying New Things/Social Stuff:

Visit 30 coffee shops in Philadelphia: I thought up this goal when reading an article I saw on facebook the other day. It was a list of the top Philly coffee shops, and since I LOVE coffee and always talk about how I don’t get into the city enough, I thought this would be a great goal. Especially for the winter months when it’s hard to motivate myself to get outside and do anything. I have a friend who’s willing to tackle this with me, and I think it’s going to be a great way to explore different areas of my city. (Plus, since one of my goals is to blog more, I figure that I can write about some of these visits).
Go camping (with friends, by myself): I’ve gone camping the same number of times that I’ve walked 500-miles across Spain (that would be twice). I’m still not sure how I feel about it. The Camino wasn’t exactly luxurious (not at all when staying in some of those albergues!), but with a roof over my head and a mattress to sleep on, there was some degree of comfort. I get a little freaked out when I’m in a tent- I hear one branch snap and I think a bear is about to attack. But at the same time, I love the idea of camping- being out there under the stars, your body flush with the ground, waking up to fresh air and birds chirping and a rising sun. So I think I want to get myself a small tent and try this thing out (who knows, if I love it, maybe next year I’ll be adding ‘Hike the Appalachian Trail’ to my list…)
Run a 5k in under 30-minutes: I ran a 5k in October, and it was the first race I’ve run in my life. I did a lot of preparation for this, and I was beyond nervous. I’ve never liked running, it’s this big, daunting thing. But I did better than expected, and it was fun to push myself and to try something new. My time was just under 31 minutes and there was part of me that wondered what it would be like to train more, push a little harder, and run another race and get a better time. I think this is how most people get hooked on running! There are two races in the spring that I have my eye on, and at the very least I want to do both of them. Finishing in a better time will be a bonus.
Do more with the local Camino group!: The Philadelphia Chapter of America Pilgrims on the Camino just formed a little over a year ago, but it’s growing quickly. I’ve gone to a couple meetings and recently led a hike, and it’s fun to start to see some familiar faces and to make some new friends. The fact that we’re all connected in some way to the Camino is just icing on the cake. There are a lot more things planned in the coming months, and I’d love to keep attending these events and making more connections.

Okay, that’s more than enough for now. The butter is soft and if I don’t make the cookies now, it’s never going to happen. So, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year and happy goal-setting if that’s the sort of thing you like to do at this time of year. Share some of your own goals with me, I’d love to hear them!

Next Post: Loving and Letting Go