Camino del Norte!

Camino thoughts:

I'm a few days past that end of my formal Camino De Santiago. Holy wow. I hope that I never rid my body of that memory. Some people do the Camino for religious reasons, akin to a Christian Mecca journey, tapping into ancient routes forged by willing pilgrims and some do it for the scenery. I don't think it matters what you use for motivation, because I think the whole thing is sacred. I did it to see if I could push my body and honor/listen to it at the same time, and unwrite what i learned over too many years.

The basic story that undergirds the Camino de Santiago is that after the death of Jesus and the subsequent dispersion, James went westward to preach in Fini Sterre [which is Latin for "end of the world", James took that commandment seriously] and then sought to head to Rome (or Palestine, it's not clear. But something East of where he was.) Eventually, he was killed and his followers brought him back to Spain. When they arrived at the coast, the Queen of the region said he could not be buried within a 3 day walk, so they brought him to Compostela and buried his body there. 

Since then, pilgrims have worn grooves into the land, shuffling along towards the burial site. Many people began their Caminos by walking out their own doors, navigating by way of a compass and some sparse arrows. Over time, pilgrim refugees popped up along trails (called Albergues) since pilgrims traditionally only brought a cloak, a shell (marking their pilgrimage) some wine, and maybe bread and cheese. The hallmark of the Camino was the unwarranted but ever appreciated hospitality that seemed as certain as gravity along the Way. As time wore on, more hostels showed up, pilgrims became a bit more modern, and some Camino savior painted yellow arrows to mark the journey. (Further blessings to the 'bici-fairy' because some trails were not bicycle friendly😳) Now, the Camino has several variations, sufficiently ending in Santiago de Compostela, though technically in Finisterre. The inexplicable hospitality is still present today, and anyone who has done the trail will tell you the same. 

My Camino was inspired by 'The Pilgrimage' by Paulo Coehlo, which i read a few years ago. The book captivated me so I did a bit more research and decided that one day I would take the 30 day (give or take) walk across Spain. Plans changed a bit (nursing instead of theology, gay and happily in love with my girlfriend instead of straight and single, 3 months to travel instead of 6, etc) so I decided to bike the trip instead. Initially, I'd still planned to do the Camino Frances, the traditional way. Then I talked to my good ol' dude Matt LaBorde, who suggested looking into the Northern way. That route is flanked by the sea on one side and mountains on the other. There were some warnings to say it was a bit more challenging (and expensive) than the normal way and it was less popular so there would be fewer pilgrims (hi, this sounds like Christmas, SIGN ME UP) so I switched plans to the Camino Del Norte, or the Camino de Costa. 

BEST DECISION.

I stayed with my friend Nikki's family and managed to buy a new bike in Madrid for ~140€ (including my butt-rack, as I affectionately called it). After a weekend in Ledesma (holy beautiful, more about that later) I biked to the bus station and caught the next train to Bilbao, about 150km short of the standard starting place. I met a guy from Germany named Julian who was also doing the Camino, so it was nice to start with another pilgrim. I recklessly did NOT buy a guidebook, going against the advice of almost every website, but here we are, and you're not shocked. I ambitiously reasoned that my rusty Spanish would kick back in, and that between the coast and the road, I could functionally navigate. (I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that I was right, despite what could've easily been foreshadowing that I just provided)

I decided to walk with Julian for about 12km to the next stop on the route before biking on my own. We had a really nice convo and shared some of the reasons we decided to do the camino, which felt appropriate. We had a late breakfast in Portugalete and I wished him well as I started my ride. The scenery was beautiful, and breath taking. The blazes were usually little yellow arrows that someone had painted, but occasionally you were lucky enough to see a blue tile with the scalloped shell, or a bronze plaque embedded in the sidewalk. Eventually, I learned that I would not see the blazes every 10m like I hoped, but instead, I'd see them just often enough to keep me moving in the right direction. The Way wouldn't tell you to change direction until it was time. You can guess the myriad of lessons that come out of the Camino. The rest of day 1 was brutal and yet somehow, in a mangled way equally beautiful.

 I stopped at a few different beaches and enjoyed the sandwiches I packed in the morning. I thought I'd spend my time listening to music but that never happened, which surprised me. Most of rides were either spent absorbing my view as best I could or mustering enough motivation to push my bike up the paths that were meant for walking. I will say without shame that the latter of those two was exhausting and frustrating. But I could be frustrated and still not have a bed to sleep in, so it didn't fix my problems to huff around about it. About 10km from my goal for the day, I stopped before a mountain trail because I was out of calories and I needed a break. I sat on someone's garden wall and tried to not think about the wrestling match between brake, tire, gravity and exhaustion that I was preparing for. My water bottle had almost nothing left in it and for a brief moment, I considered "waiting to fill my water as a reward for getting up the mountain." It was 90 degrees outside. Someone was watering their plants on the opposite side of the hedge. C'mon, don't do this. Thankfully, I'm a semi-stubborn 27 year old and not a relentlessly stubborn fool in the same way I was at 20. I walked around the corned towards the woman watering her yard and before I could even ask, she said, "ah, quieres agua, espera." I handed her my bottle and she came back with it full of water and ice. AND, she brought me a frozen water bottle. I almost cried, stumbling over a round of "gracias, much as gracias!" a little better off to start up the mountain. 

It was as terrible as I expected. I was soaked from sweat, and tired, since I was going on hour 12 of my journey. And the mountain wasn't suited for a bicycle. But I'd been given a wild gift in the form of cold water, so as grumpy as I felt, I was also wildly grateful. After that mountain was another smaller one, though equally steep. At one point I stopped and rested on my bike. A man siting on his porch and offered to fill my water bottle again. His wife came downstairs and we chatted by way of patience and rusty Spanish. They assured me that Laredo was at worst 2km further, and that I might even be able to bike to the next town since it wasn't far and mostly downhill. 

By the time I reached the summit for Laredo, I was totally spent. I rolled onward, embracing the downhill and anxiously searching for my little yellow arrows. I couldn't find any, so I did some guessing and found a map. A woman read the look on my face and told me that I was going in the right direction and would be at the Albergue soon, which was kind.

This Albergue happened to be part of an actual church, which was really cool. The nuns who ran it still did singing services which pilgrims were welcomed to attend. I was collapsingly grateful that I'd found a bed for the night though. I took a slow shower and later, and inventory of which clothes needed to be washed. Dinner was probably the best thing about the whole experience though. The meal is community style, sloppily stitched together out of holy sisters and weary pilgrims. The nuns provided a main course and pilgrims were asked to share what they had to give. I offered cheese and an orange to the table of growing cured meats and wines. 10 pilgrims danced around each other, setting the table, finding serving plates, all while rotating through the collection of languages between us. The were 2 folks from Spain, 2 from Italy, 1 from Germany, 2 from France, a man from Japan and 2 of us the from the states, along with 2 of the sisters. The meal looked haphazard but in my eyes, it was the perfect scrap quilt. Dinner was the perfect piece of rest after a 70km bike day.

Germany

Germany

Lemme tell you a grand ol story. This morning, after a hearty visit to the "local" pub (and 2 stolen Guinness glasses later 😉) and its subsequent cautious celebration of the election results (we finished up around 230am) I woke at 415 to catch the bus to the airport. I had plenty of time so that wasn't a scramble situation, thankfully. But. My bag was too heavy. I'd snagged a few groceries before leaving, so I was faced with a different adventure, in which I tried to guess which items in my bag would 1) be worth it regarding weight 2) would fit on my body or 3) fit in my splitting carry-on without tearing the seams completely. Which is to say, I was ROASTING as I scampered towards my terminal. 

The flight itself wasn't bad, I drank half a nalgene & slept through most of it with gratitude. The night before had been lovely so I wasn't mad about being tired at all. I wandered through Frankfurt's airport, fully aware of the privilege of speaking a language that took over the global markets, thus was written beneath the native language on all the signs. Wowzers grateful. 

I made it onto the correct shuttle with the help of multiple information desk pals. I got onto the train, a bucket of questions and confusion because I had one ticket, but my route indicated a change of trains. I asked one of the officers who informed me that I would stay on the train all the way to Nürnberg. So I people watched and opened up the German DuoLingo to catch up on a language in which I knew a total of 5 words,  3 of them being the first 3 numbers before starting a soccer game. (Shout out to Sonja) we started the journey and pulled into the station, which was massive and beautiful. There was an announcement entirely in German (sure) and I waited for the English translation that had followed for previous announcements and kept waiting. And waiting. And then as the announcement continued in German, I watched a flurry of passengers grab their bags and mutter "shiza!" a they get off the train. So my frenzy kicked up a bit and I asked the train officer what the announcement said. 

"There are technical difficulties with this train, so you will need to board another one."

"Cool, cool. Uh. Which one? Towards Nürnberg?"

"Platform 9, under the tunnel turn right"

"Thankyoublessyou!"

So I joined the pack of scrambling patrons and saw a woman who had been sitting across me on the train initially, and asked where she was going. Also Nürnberg, so I asked if I could follow her to the right train. We were *just* trading broken language fragments and getting to know each other, when someone told her that the platform had changed again and was leaving in 5 minutes. Cool, cool. We both made it onto the train, but she had a first klasse (class 💁) ticket so she found a seat while I wandered to the next coach. LOL THE WHOLE TRAIN IS OVERBOOKED. So I stood with another woman in the small space between the "restaurant" and the next coach, laughing at how silly all of this has been. She'd been on this train properly, but in the scramble someone had taken her seat. Once everyone settled, she went back and snagged her seat and I stood for a bit near the door, but was annoyed by the motion sensor door that I set off every time I breathed. K,bye. So I joined the amiable group of older folks who committed themselves to the floor space they found in the joints between coaches. And for the next 3 hours, I too am committed to laughing in this wee little floor space. What a great adventure so far. 

Connors pass

Connors Pass

For the first time on the trip (I think) we woke up early and made it out the door on time! (It's hard to get up early when your body is so well adjusted to a late sunset, and consequently, late nights!) we started driving south, attempting to make it around the ring of Kerry. I'd read a few suggestions that said Connor's Pass was the place to be, and one of Veronica's friends said the same. She also told Veronica that there was a mysterious but short hike that was 100% worth it by a pull-off. So we climbed it and saw the most amazing view. It felt like another piece of magic that we got to share. We stayed up there for a while, trying to soak all the inches, ounce and moments of our remaining time together. We finished the winding road through Connor's Pass, and while my namesake is a successful fùtbol team, I think my brother did pretty well too. It was breath taking. 

We started for the Ring of Kerry but then decided we wanted to get closer to Cork, so we compromised and tried to get to Killarney National Park. On the way, 2 backpacking ladies were hitching for a ride in the POURING rain, so we picked them up, thinking of our friend Matthieu. One was from Switzerland and the other was from Germany. They were both working at an organic farm for a week, which sparked a later conversation about living more responsibly since mr. 45 pulled out the Paris Agreement. 

We dropped off our companions and proceeded to sit in numbing traffic, made worse by the rain. It felt appropriate that our last day was filled with rain. So we skipped the park too and tried for another leg of the Atlantic Way on the way to Cork. Eventually we made it, and I, the mopiest of zoo lions that day, was so sad. We both packed our stuff properly and redistributed weight, so we wouldn't have to think about it in the morning. We took ourselves out for the nicest dinner we could find, dressed as nicely as we could manage. Dinner was great, but sadness clouded the view, since veronica was leaving the next morning. We finished up the evening with a glass of wine and a small walk around Cork before calling it a night & figuring out our next steps.

The next morning, I cried like a crocodile and waved goodbye (for now) to the love of my life, returning my wet car keys to the guy at the rental. I waved, "adios!" to the fuchsia plane from the parking lot and went downstairs for my bus ticket to Dublin. It rained the entire drive, and felt wholly appropriate. 

Aran islands!

Aran Islands

The next morning we got up to take a ferry to the Aran Islands, per Sarah Quain's wise suggestion. Basically, it's one of hundreds of islands that pepper the Atlantic coast of Ireland. This particular island is one of 3 accessible by commercial boat. The ride to the island was sunny and rolling. Veronica and I both eyed the most perfect little golden lab (I think?) and shocking to none, I eventually asked the owners if we could pet their dog. Melted ❤️ we chatted a bit coming off the boats and said cheers while we made our separate ways.

We rented a bike to tour the island and made our way to see some seals that supposedly hung out on the rocks towards the middle of the island. Unfortunately, we didn't see any, but we did find a beautiful beach that wasn't yet filled with other tourists, so we rested from our hilly ride and ate some more biscuits. Eventually, a class field trip caught up with us, so we ditched the beach for higher ground.

From the beach, we made our way towards a castle on a cliffs ledge. Apparently you were supposed to pay to walk yourself the kilometer to the edge... We pretended to be absentminded tourists, which was successful. Didn't feel bad about it. The cliff edge wasn't quite as tall as the Cliffs of Moher, but I'm not sure that made it any less breath taking. We ate some snacks, peering over the ledge of a cliff that would make any parent nervous. How incredible. 

On the way back down, we ran into our dog friends, another gay couple (what up!) who happened to be going to the same "wormhole" that we were looking for. They both had been to the island a few times before, so they offered to show us how to get to the spot. It turns out, we all had similar interests and worked in similar fields. Robert was in school for his masters in nursing and his partner was in social work. We finally made it to the wormhole! It's a DEEP pit, theoretically made by the unending battering of the Atlantic. The hole is in the shape of a perfect rectangle, corners cut to 90 degree angles. Apparently, every year, Red Bull hosts the national diving championships there every year, about 3 weeks after we were there. The boards are an addition 2 stories from where we stood, which is plenty damn high. After the wormhole, we started back towards the start. Robert and his partner (whose name I embarrassingly cannot remember) invited us into the cottage where they were staying, for a cup of tea. I love Ireland! The cottage was BEAUTIFUL and perfectly located. We got to share stories, laughs, and puppy belly rubs. It was incredible. 

Once we decided to head back to the ferry, it started to rain quickly. Our hosts invited us back in, but veronica and I had been bitten by the adventure bug and we wanted to see what would happen. So we said thanks and sent our love, cycling through a mini downpour. It only lasted a few minutes, but it made both of us laugh to the end. We caught our ferry back and started towards Ennis for the night since all of the hostels were outrageous and we just needed a place to sleep for the night. (Limerick is not cool enough for expensive hostels!!!!!)

Galway

Galway

We meandered along towards Galway to check into our hostel before heading to We meandered along towards Galway to check into our hostel before heading to Conamarra Park, which ended up making the whole thing more beautiful. The sun sets so much later in that part of the world, so even though we didn't leave until the evening, we had time to hike. Veronica dreamed of seeing the wild ponies which sadly never came to pass. We eventually found a trail and slogged through the wind, trying to find the happy medium between body heat and a chilly breeze. Eventually we got to a split between trails to the peak. In the spirit of our week with Matthieu and chloé, veronica suggested that we do the climb, come what may. Another group who was sitting close by commented that it was too windy and that the ominous clouds down the way made the hike a poor idea. Veronica and I laughed and started our windy hike. I think if my mom had been there and I was younger, I wouldn't have been allowed to climb. And there lie the perks of being two adventurous women; we climbed! At a few points, we wondered if we'd made the right choice, because the wind was pushing the clouds faster from the Atlantic, but honestly, there is nothing that could take away from that view. The sun was starting to set, breaking through the clouds, magnifying the face of every mountain it touched. It was unreal. Veronica got misty & we stood there, proud of ourselves and so grateful and proud to share the moment together. At the very top of the peak, there was a small stack of stones, similar to the rock mass at Compostela in Spain. We both scrounged around for the right rock to add to the pile. It was perfect.

 
 
  

We started our climb down, cognizant of the looming clouds and pending darkness. On our way back down, we turned to look at our cloud friends, when I kid you not, a perfect rainbow formed. On June 1st, the first day of pride month. With my girlfriend. I was in chaos and honestly, the only thing that could've made it more gay was a carabiner and some glitter. (Only kind of joking) we laughed and kissed and great thanks for the universe that put everything together. It was unreal and unfathomable. It cemented the idea we'd stumbled upon in our Scotland trip; it seems that often, the answer to the question of life is, "sure."

 

Eventually, after much of my anxiety about gas, we made it back and went to bed.

The next morning, we started our next drive, ambling along the Wild Atlantic Way, a well tread combination of roads that Ireland decided to name. It swings around the coastline, making for a scenic trip no matter which one you take. We started towards the Burren and decided that next round, we would plan a bit more & do the hike. I was pretty fixated on going there because there is a Ben Howard song called The Burren and I think it's wild and beautiful. Luckily my girlfriend is supportive of my unyielding preoccupation with Ben Howard, so she obliged. We kept driving and wandering without a real itinerary in mind, which was for the best.

 

We'd planned to go by the Cliffs of Moher later, but they were only a few miles from where we were, so we kept driving and basked in the sun next to the cliffs. There is some terrifying, nameless trait that the Atlantic Ocean has that makes it impossible to both look away or look at it without a pang of respectful fear in your stomach. It was astounding.
 
     

After seeing the enormity of the cliffs, we drove back to get to our Staves concert! We'd seen them in nashville back in March with all of our good friends, and it was incredible. Veronica looked up some of our favorite musicians to see if they might tour while we were in Europe, and sure enough, the Staves were listed for Galway. The walk wasn't too far from our hostel, but there were no street signs so that was a fun game. Once we got there, we met a girl named Penny from England and stuck together for the rest of the show. We had a PERFECT spot, maybe 2 rows back from the stage in a tiny little tavern, tucked into a Galway alley. We reminisced about our friends and how every song made us think of them. The reality that veronica & I were about to end our joint trip also started to creep in, making the Staves show even sweeter and more meaningful. It was perfect and we both knew there was nothing that could make it better. After the concert, Penny told us she had extra tickets for the Forbidden Fruits festival, curated & headlined by Bon Iver. After veronica and I talked, we decided that is skip my Iceland flight & head to Dublin from Cork that Monday. I had new plans!

 After our first Guinness in Ireland (cheers Penny!) we walked outside & ran into the Staves! With much giddiness and through nervous/happy laughter, we talked to them for a second, which was just cool! Park, which ended up making the whole thing more beautiful. The sun sets so much later in that part of the world, so even though we didn't leave until the evening, we had time to hike. Veronica dreamed of seeing the wild ponies which sadly never came to pass. We eventually found a trail and slogged through the wind, trying to find the happy medium between body heat and a chilly breeze. Eventually we got to a split between trails to the peak. In the spirit of our week with Matthieu and chloé, veronica suggested that we do the climb, come what may. Another group who was sitting close by commented that it was too windy and that the ominous clouds down the way made the hike a poor idea. Veronica and I laughed and started our windy hike. I think if my mom had been there and I was younger, I wouldn't have been allowed to climb. And there lie the perks of being two adventurous women; we climbed! At a few points, we wondered if we'd made the right choice, because the wind was pushing the clouds faster from the Atlantic, but honestly, there is nothing that could take away from that view. The sun was starting to set, breaking through the clouds, magnifying the face of every mountain it touched. It was unreal. Veronica got misty & we stood there, proud of ourselves and so grateful and proud to share the moment together. At the very top of the peak, there was a small stack of stones, similar to the rock mass at Compostela in Spain. We both scrounged around for the right rock to add to the pile. It was perfect.

We started our climb down, cognizant of the looming clouds and pending darkness. On our way back down, we turned to look at our cloud friends, when I kid you not, a perfect rainbow formed. On June 1st, the first day of pride month. With my girlfriend. I was in chaos and honestly, the only thing that could've made it more gay was a carabiner and some glitter. (Only kind of joking) we laughed and kissed and great thanks for the universe that put everything together. It was unreal and unfathomable. It cemented the idea we'd stumbled upon in our Scotland trip; it seems that often, the answer to the question of life is, "sure."

Eventually, after much of my anxiety about gas, we made it back and went to bed.

The next morning, we started our next drive, ambling along the Wild Atlantic Way, a well tread combination of roads that Ireland decided to name. It swings around the coastline, making for a scenic trip no matter which one you take. We started towards the Burren and decided that next round, we would plan a bit more & do the hike. I was pretty fixated on going there because there is a Ben Howard song called The Burren and I think it's wild and beautiful. Luckily my girlfriend is supportive of my unyielding preoccupation with Ben Howard, so she obliged. We kept driving and wandering without a real itinerary in mind, which was for the best. 

We'd planned to go by the Cliffs of Moher later, but they were only a few miles from where we were, so we kept driving and basked in the sun next to the cliffs. There is some terrifying, nameless trait that the Atlantic Ocean has that makes it impossible to both look away or look at it without a pang of respectful fear in your stomach. It was astounding.

After seeing the enormity of the cliffs, we drove back to get to our Staves concert! We'd seen them in nashville back in March with all of our good friends, and it was incredible. Veronica looked up some of our favorite musicians to see if they might tour while we were in Europe, and sure enough, the Staves were listed for Galway. The walk wasn't too far from our hostel, but there were no street signs so that was a fun game. Once we got there, we met a girl named Penny from England and stuck together for the rest of the show. We had a PERFECT spot, maybe 2 rows back from the stage in a tiny little tavern, tucked into a Galway alley. We reminisced about our friends and how every song made us think of them. The reality that veronica & I were about to end our joint trip also started to creep in, making the Staves show even sweeter and more meaningful. It was perfect and we both knew there was nothing that could make it better. After the concert, Penny told us she had extra tickets for the Forbidden Fruits festival, curated & headlined by Bon Iver. After veronica and I talked, we decided that is skip my Iceland flight & head to Dublin from Cork that Monday. I had new plans!

 After our first Guinness in Ireland (cheers Penny!) we walked outside & ran into the Staves! With much giddiness and through nervous/happy laughter, we talked to them for a second, which was just cool! No amount of strict planning could have orchestrated how perfect everything was. And maybe that is the magic of traveling in this world.