Geographically speaking, I have caved in on myself. They say life does that in fall and winter. It caves in and shrivels up and burrows underground. It slows and hunches and reflects. I don’t like winter, so I think about all the places I went when it was warm. Most of the year, I've not…
Camino de Santiago
Everything I wrote about the seven weeks I spent in Spain in 2017, walking from the French Pyrenees to the western coast of Spain as a pilgrim on the Way of St. James.
The Rabbit and the Terrier
One day on the camino, I got talking to a woman and she told me this story, this fable: “Sometimes I do some personal assistant work for this older man back in Scotland. He lives downtown, and he’s got a terrier, and the terrier gets a walk every day, on the same route on the…
Camino Plunder
There is a scallop shell on my desk. It is real. It is the size of a man’s palm. It is smooth and shiny and white, but it has a dark stripe and that is why I chose it. It has what looks like a nibble taken from its bottom edge, no doubt from me…
Expectations Revisited
Last night, someone asked me to post a blog about my expectations I had before leaving. What came true? What didn't? I'll tell you. I’ll get tired. I’ll get blisters. I’ll wish I never packed this laptop (but I’m going to and there’s no convincing me otherwise). I did get tired, but the exhaustion was worst when I stopped going. As the days wore on, my body ached…
Flamenco
I woke up in Seville, the capital of Andalusia, in the muggy south of Spain, where orange trees grow. I woke up early even though I needed to sleep late: habit. I ate lots of bread and as many corn flakes as I could fit in the bowl, and then I remembered that I didn’t…
Muxia
Finisterre struck me as a welcoming, aspiring hippie commune. Muxia struck me as bleak, lethal, and sacred. (It's pronounced "moo-SHEE-uh.") I came to the place alone, after the last 32 kilometers of walking. The walk was beautiful and it went by quickly. There was only one place to stop for coffee and I didn’t stop.…
The Second of Three Endings
On the 41st day of walking, I walked three kilometers up out of Finisterre at six in the evening. I carried a bag with a bottle of wine, a jar of vegetables, a journal, a pen, and some warm clothes. There were others walking up too: couples and kids and families and pilgrims and locals. We…
Idyll at San Roque
The 40th morning was miserably cold. I wore both my sweaters and put damp socks on my hands and strode over gravel in the dark, reminding myself that the sun would rise and a cafe would appear and it would be okay soon. It was foggy. My headlamp just lit up the vapor, so I…
To the End of the Earth and the Coast of Death
Santiago de Compostela is the end of the pilgrimage. But it can not be. On the 38th day of the trip, I woke with a smile and packed my bag again (my compostela already wrinkling in its ziploc bag) and walked to the cathedral. I stood before it, and prayed, and turned, and continued in…
Continue reading ➞ To the End of the Earth and the Coast of Death
My Travel Guide
I stumbled across a poem by Constantine Petrou Cavafy called Ithaka. As I walked, I memorized an English translation of it, and it’s served as a guide throughout the Camino, urging me on when I'm unmotivated, slowing me down when I rush, inviting me to enjoy myself when I'm afraid of spending money, reminding me…
Destination Day
On the 36th day of the journey, I left the albergue in Monte do Gozo alone, before six o’clock. I wanted to do the last 4.8 kilometers just with God. I was wearing my best clothes: my one dress and my Smartwool sweater. I was eating a yellow plum. The camino was poorly marked, and…
The Storm before the Calm
What is the difference between mist and fog? Whatever it was, it loomed around us five this morning in the eucalyptus, mint, nettles, and oak. Two Spanish friends joined us and we were seven, and there were 19 kilometers left to go. That would have been a short walk, but we planned to go only…
Chelsea the Writer 