“It’s strange and horrible what’s happening in the world now, isn’t it?”
Gran Clavel
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 7) Arzúa
I made it to the fancy Boutique Hotel 1930 in Arzúa. It took me only about 9.5 miles of walking here from Melide. But I ended up wandering through the town for a while, which gave me a final mileage count of 12 miles. Yes, after a grueling day of walking, I decided to go... Continue Reading →
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 6) Palas de Rei-Melide
It’s official. My legs are finally in pain. I was wondering when that would happen. For a minute there I thought I was special and could not feel pain like mortals. Truth is, I never took a Tylenol last night, which has clearly been hiding the majority of muscle aches. Well, they were revealed today!... Continue Reading →
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 5) Palas de Rei
As for the few things I did bring, I question why I even bothered. Q-tips? A pocket mirror? A Swiss Army knife? Oh, naive girl.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino (Part 4) Morgade to Portomarin
The promise of food, bathrooms or rest does not exist in winter. Fellow pilgrims: plan accordingly. And by all means, get used to peeing in the great outdoors.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino Santiago (Part 3) Sarria to Morgade
There’s something mysterious about an empty, well-worn path. I actually kept looking over my shoulder thinking someone was there. Nope. Just the ghosts of hundreds of thousands who came before me.
Girl Alone Walks the Camino De Santiago (Part 2)
At this time in my life, when there was less technology and wisdom to rely on, I believed in god. And so I begged him, with tears in my eyes and the very real fear of being lost past dark, which road do I take…
Girl Alone Walks the Camino De Santiago (Part 1)
I guess some people think you're not a "true pilgrim" unless you are martyring yourself under the weight of a 50-pound bag. I actually martyred myself twice under the 50-extra pounds I gained with each pregnancy...
Tarifa
We circled around a few streets. The cafes and terraces were packed with locals and tourists. But, we could barely keep our eyes open. We hauled our tired bodies back up two flights and crashed.
The Manzanares
I wander down a street where a gypsy woman in black sings a cante jondo, tremulous and pulsating, from a terraza draped in laundry three flights up.
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