Yoga Drama

Yoga drama.  Yes, I know, it's an oxymoron. But i caused it during my yoga retreat in Hvar this past week.  I got expelled. Yep, kicked out.  Told to leave and that my money would be returned.  Of course, it worked out that I got to stay as I begged forgiveness the next morning. I pleaded and groveled. The women who runs the retreat is so sweet that she didn't have the heart to follow through with her after midnight frustration.  I knew I had done wrong.  I had promised to be home at 1030pm so that she wouldn't lose sleep waiting up for me. But the stars in Hvar were so bright that night, and the Grand Marnier at the seaside cafe was begging for another round, and I had a key to the house and thought I could silently sneak in and everything would be okay.  The real reason I couldn't leave the cafe is my new friend, Helena from Sweden,  said something that I knew meant we'd be friends for life. The conversation was intense (maybe the Grand Marnier was talking) and we were heavy into a political discussion on either American or European affairs and we both had many opinions of the topic. Helena has a calm, quiet strength about her and I like how she would not back down on an issue if she felt she was right.  Her quintessential line to me was, "Jene, if you let me finish, you'll understand what I'm trying to say."  I sat back and smiled. I can always tell a true friend when they oh, so politely tell me to shut up. They get my passion but they also get that I need a little coaching in order to listen. I got it. And she got me. And she did have a very good point once I 'was given' the opportunity to hear it.  The next morning when I was apologizing for my tardiness I made it quite clear that it wasn't really my fault that I was late. It was Helena's because she kept me out.  Not taking responsibility was not looked on with favor.  I was moved to a new bedroom at the house next door, far from the ears of our lovely leader.

How did I get here?

So how did I get here?

In a very circuitous way, actually. It began on my seventh day hiking through Hungary along the Iron Curtain Trail. I had begun the European Peace Walk in Vienna. For the next seven days i hiked 25km a day along the Hungarian boarder. On day number seven  I stopped dead in my tracks and did a 180 degree turn. Nope, I wasn't going to walk another foot (meter here) of the 28km hike of the day on the flat, blazing hot, mosquito infected path only to spend the night at another soviet era gymnasium with showers and plumbing also from the soviet era. Nope, that was it.  I backtracked and found the taxi guy who was ferrying backpacks for the ten others in my group who didn't want to carry 20lbs for 28km in 95degree heat.

I asked him to take me to the nearest train station.

I'd go anywhere.

The train in Koseg only went to Szombathely. Fine, I said.  I caught a train from there to Sopron. In Sopron I decided on Ljubljana, Slovenia (I'd heard it was beautiful). But thirty minutes later the lady from the information desk found me in the waiting area and said for a euro more i could go to Zagreb and then I wouldn't have an eight hour layover in another town I couldn't pronounce.  Okay, I said, Zagreb it is. Croatia has always felt like a second home to me. It would be my fourth visit to this lovely country. In a way I was still making up for the one of the biggest mistakes I've made in my life when I bagged out of a semester abroad on the Yugoslavian study group in college.

Two interesting women sat in the compartment I chose for my eight hour train ride.  As the ticket guy was shooing me out of first class seven minutes later the women mentioned over their split of champagne that they were on their way to a yoga retreat on the Croatian island of Hvar.  I typed the name of it into my iphone and bid farewell to first class.

There was one room left at the retreat when I emailed them the next morning from my bunk bed at the hostel in Zagreb. I'm on my way, I wrote. An eight hour bus to Split and twenty minutes to make the connection to the ferry to Hvar (I think it was meant to be) and by 8pm I arrived with the thunder and lightening that was as excited as i was to be in Hvar....one of the ten most beautiful islands in the world according to some magazine.

And so here i am. George Ezra has joined me.  I listened to his cd somewhere between one and two thousand times on the Camino in May and June.  And as i sit at my cafe by the water late into the night he is serenading me from the speakers above. It's good to be back with an old friend.

Day 32 & 33 - Camino Camaraderie

If you are on the camino you are either over 50 or under 30. The younger set has inspired me by their wanderlust and the breath of ideas they have for adventure. They also crack me up. Timo and I met days earlier when he rediscovered me in an aubergue napping after a long day’s hike.
After greeting me he got back to his conversation with Carrie…

Carrie: A bunch of us are renting a house when we get to Santiago and having a toga party.
Timo: What’s a toga party?
Carrie: It is from some movie. You dress in togas.
Timo: What’s toga?
Carrie: I’m not sure but it is like the Greeks use to wear. You wear sheets.
Timo: (scratching his head)

I was burying my head in my pillow to refrain from laughing out loud. Was I that old that Animal House had slipped by an entire generation?

I’ve loved my conversations with Drennan, a fifteen year old traveling with his mom. He had girlfriend issues, and after days of hearing the stories I came up with a mantra for him which I repeat whenever I run into him: “DTC” is my subtle way of telling him to ditch the chick.

Hernandez walked pass me in one town and laughed at something he overheard me saying. I then challenged him to cancel his planned 24 mile hike that day and hang with us and he’d laugh for 24 hours. He did and he did. We had to change his name to Hernandez because he was worried he might do something that would end up in my blog and it would ruin his opportunity to become a priest which he is contemplating on the Camino.

I could write an entire essay on Dorothy and the traveling underpants. She lost them and her Lululemon bag after racing from an aubergue that was infested with bed bugs. But they were found by Timo who kept them and the bag safely in his backpack until he tracked her down again. Oh, the things we do for others on the Camino.

There is a camaraderie throughout the Camino. I’ve learned a lot from thoughtful and impressive kids. I’ve taught them too..like how to make fish faces for pictures. But I’m still an adult… I wasn’t invited to the toga party (although I bet I could have taught them some great dance moves in those sheets.

Day 30 & 31 - Begin Again

I did something people don’t do on the Camino (a consistent pattern for me) and was rewarded in spades. It started last Sunday when I hit Sarria which is the starting point in order to walk 100km to Santiago. I don’t know if it was because it was Sunday or the first weekend of summer or the first weekend that school in Spain let out.

No less than 2000 pilgrims joined me just outside the town. After 460+ miles of solitude and contemplation on daily walks I was dodging busloads of chattering children and iphone speakers blaring and giggles galore. Was I at Disneyland? I managed three days of walking as if I was in Times Square before I finally said, “Enough” I caught the bus BACKWARDS 70 miles. I had to get back to the peace and serenity that was the Camino for me. And I began again the trek from Cebreiro to Sarria. I fell into a group at dinner who were celebrating Olga’s birthday.

After dinner this group decided we would each write what we wanted to let go of on a torn piece of the paper tablecloth. Then we went into the foggy night at the top of this mountain town and formed a circle and burned our paper. It was magical and mystical and serene and I was back on My Camino. Since I was merely following their lead  when they took turns jumping over our fire, I simply smiled to myself and jumped as well, not having a clue what the significance of this ritual meant. I just knew I wasn’t at Disneyland anymore.

Day 28 & 29 - Old Home Week

“JENE!!!!!” Oh, there is no sweeter sound when I enter a town, or a cafe, or a resting spot after a long journey up a mountain.  It means I’m reconnecting with someone whom I’ve shared time with on this long journey.  It’s as if I’m seeing long lost relatives. The ones who yell “Jene!” started the Camino around May 17 from St Jean Pied de Port and they probably stayed in Orrison that very same evening.  There were 60 of us who converged on that wonderful auberge that night and 60 of us who experienced the most glorious day on earth crossing the Pyrenees the next day. We met over vegetable soup and Basque cake and passed each other over hills too steep to ever explain. The point is we bonded over something only those who have experienced the Camino can understand. It’s as if we own a special secret.  A secret of blisters and aches and afternoon naps and early morning crinkling of plastic bags by others in the dorm rooms that get up in the dark and wake everyone else up.

This last week I’ve received multiple Facebook and Whatsapp updates from friends who have reached Santiago. These are the ones I’ve traveled with in various spurts.  They are my family.


I am just  a few days out from the final goal and I’m going at a snail’s pace because I don’t want this journey to end. I’m also finding the conversations are getting deeper with the new people I’m meeting…the ones who will be long lost relatives when we reach Santiago and they yell, “Jene!” On the Camino the joy is in the journey.  I relish what has become the perfect existence for me for the past six weeks. I. Don’t. Want. This. Experience. To. End.

The Camino is a home. Does it change you? Yes. Does it offer you the answer you are looking for? Yes. The answer is that there is no answer.

You just have to let go.  You have no control and so you can’t control the outcomes.  You’ve just got to let things BE.   And that is the answer. That, and making peace with the ones who crinkle the bags.

Day 26 & 27 - Completo

It happens to us all at some point on the Camino. That point when you hit the wall and you just don’t have any more to give. When you’ve covered more miles than you should have and your body is breaking down. I had covered two back to back 20 mile days starting at 6:30am with very short breaks (by my standards) I ditched my very fun Camino Family #3 and decided to book a room. I could barely put one foot in front of the other. The fatigue was overwhelming.

When I arrived at the auberge the lobby was maybe 8′ x 2′ with a big monster size dog taking up most of the room. A 20 something walker squeezed into the lobby with me to announced she wasn’t staying there, she just wanted to see the dog. She kept repeating to the dog in a high pitched voice, “You are so stinky” Why, I thought, are you hanging here then? I waited patiently for the manager to finish with the pilgrim sitting in the folding chair so there would be enough room to place my backpack down. Finally the manager turned to me to say that he had called me and had decided to give my room to another. They were now completo (no more space). I just stared into space. Meanwhile, the girl asked the manager to take her picture with the stinky dog while I digested the fact I had no where to stay that night. I couldn’t move and I tried to control it but two huge crocodile tears welled up over my lids and poured onto my cheeks with a flood of tears close behind. The manager panicked and moved me into the corner with my back to the door. He felt so bad that he offered to put a cot in the lobby with the stinky dog. My tears wouldn’t stop and my shoulders simply bobbed as my silent crying continued. My hands were covering my eyes but I pulled them down to turn and look at the hippie couple who were arriving and whose room he hadn’t given away. But I didn’t see the couple. I only saw the donkey they were traveling with poking his head into the lobby and taking up the entire doorway. And then it hit me. I wasn’t on the Camino after all. I was staring in a Fellini movie.

Today’s post is dedicated to Nina who is in architectural college in Kenya. She is creative and determined and a natural leader and so very much fun to spend time with.

Day 22 to 25 - My Burden is Light

There is a special place on the Camino where you leave your burdens behind.  Most people carry a rock from home with them and then leave it behind on the hill below the cross that seems to stretch towards the sky.

My friend Diane was a step ahead of me (a trait of 100% of my friends).  She gave me a heart shaped stone to take on my journey. It remained in my backpack until it was time to let go of my burdens at Cruz de Ferro. The irony was the  lightness of the porous rock that was her gift. The metaphor made an impact on me.  Over the last two years my world turned upside down and there was a lot of pain to work through. But it was the people who surrounded me that lightened those burdens for me along the way…so I didn’t have to carry them all the way to Cruz de Ferro.   My own pain was lifted along the way by so many people. My college best friends,  my tennis lunch buddies, my Port Street momma friends, my Friday night hiking picnickers, my Sunday night barbecue pals, my Atlanta bffs, my extended family, my Kenyan girls, my biking buddies, my pals who always had a meal waiting for me, my Tuesday night group who kept me grounded in faith and red wine, my new Camino family.  All these people lifted my burdens along the way. My rock at Cruz de Ferro symbolized the lightness that I carry because so many people surrounded me and absorbed my burdens. And for that I thank each and every one of you.

Today’s post is dedicated to the children supported by C2CKenya who attend Mt. Olive Academy in Kenya.  The young girls playing volleyball during recess is such a joy to watch when you consider what they could be doing if they weren’t in school.

Day 19 to 21 - The Good and the Bad

 There have been three deaths on the Camino since I began my journey. A gentleman had a heart attack crossing the Pyrenees on my third day, a young man drowned in the Atlantic after completing the walk past Santiago to Finisterre, and a woman was stuck by a car 27 kilometers from Santiago just two weeks ago. Also, no new leads are emerging about Denise, a young woman who hasn’t been seen on the Camino since April 4.

Denise disappeared from an area I’ve just walked through. The police have warned women not to walk alone through this 20-30 kilometer stretch. As I walked this section with friends always in sight I had an ominous feeling of dread. The landscape is desolate, there is a single lane road that parallels it and shrub that rises high to each side. I wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

I overheard Sherry say the Camino is a metaphor to what we will experience when we complete this journey. There are ugly sections along with the beauty. There are towns where the only sign of life is poverty and others teeming with wealth. There are desolate sections and then in a blink of the eye you feel you are being crowded out by a wave of people pushing you aside.

I think I began the Camino assuming I would see good everywhere. And I have. But I’ve also seen so much sadness. I’ve followed a man who had a teddy bear tied to the back of his backpack. Two days ago that little teddy bear had been left behind at a cross on a hill. I’ve seen a beautiful picture of a little boy going through cancer treatment at a church and then run into that same picture 100 kilometers later at another church. I can’t imagine what those carrying their mementoes are going through.

Today’s post is dedicated to my cousin, Mary Stewart Fortune. There is a beauty gene that runs through my family and Mary Stewart was awarded it in her looks and in her heart. She joined the angels two days ago and is no longer in pain from the brain tumor or the treatments she was subjected to in the hopes of saving her. Mary Stewart is happy now. My sadness is for the three children she left behind. A seven year old boy, a middle schooler and one graduating from high school are going to have to find the beauty in life at a time when the world seems surrounded by sadness.

Days 18 & 19 - The Town of the Walking Wounded

There are three cities you pass through on the Camino. In Pamplona everyone is still high over the fact she/he made it over the Pyrenees. In Burgos you are high on life because you have a big chunk behind you and your accomplishments are many.

It is an entirely different story in Leon. Days and days on the meseta may have done a number on your head, or the blisters may have become infected, or you are facing tears in your meniscus,  or a stress fracture, or the stomach bug that is going around hit you or a bronchial infection has kicked in.  I have heard every one of these stories in the last 24 hours.  My favorite was from a couple from San Diego.  They have had it with this adventure and they are taking the train to Barcelona and hanging on the beach for a week. They are young and simply want to get home to a Chipotle burrito.

The Camino is different things to different people. Some came for the challenge, many came to run from something, some are awaiting a spiritual awakening. Some for all of these things.

It was overheard the first night at Orisson in the Pyrenees that the first third of the way is about the physical, the second third is about the mind, and the final third is about the spiritual.  I believe that is true.  By now my blisters have healed and I am no longer popping Advil like candy. I have completed the meseta, and the laughter kept me sane. I now find myself going inward and wanting to seek what it is that is so special about this pathway. What draws us to it and what drew the  millions before us who traveled it over the past centuries.  It is becoming a very personal time and one more challenging to share.

It is pouring rain today.  I call this cozy time.  A day to pull the covers up over my head and sleep the morning away. But when you stay in a 5 Euro a night hostel, you are up and thrown out at 7.  Let the new day  begin!

This post is dedicated to Clinton at Fanaka Primary School who always seems to start the new day with a smile on his face. He wears his heart on his sleeve and so when he is down you share the pain with him. But when he is ready for a new day the whole world smiles with him. Thank you Randy Siegel for sponsoring him.

Days 16 & 17 - The Connections Get You Through This

The Camino is a solo journey, but the need to connect aches within you as your travel step by step.  Connections occur when you find those who share your pace and your sense of humor.

All over the Camino you are greeted with “buen camino”.  It is polite and courteous and gentle and respectful. But after six hours of hot sun Ginger, her son, and I moved towards that phase when the hum-drum is getting to us all. Today she decided to yell in her quintessential southern twang “where ya headin’?”.  Now everyone is heading to Santiago…right?  But the question can really throw you.  I almost fell out of my backpack when a Spanish bike rider paused mid-pedal, looked at her like she was crazy, threw his head back and laughed heartily.

Yea, we are all going to Santiago but this meseta portion will make mere fools of men.  She is the one who started directing traffic on the camino as if a 747 was right in front of her. She is the one who said the flower was forsythia which started a battle on a camino forum that it was broom, not forsythia…who cares, it smells like heaven.  She is the one who surreptitiously  takes a picture of the women two hundred pounds overweight walking into our mid-morning cafe wearing only a bra. And the one who doubles over with me as I tell her about the guy who fell out of the bunk bed at 4am…and again at 4:10am!

We are all going to get to Santiago. But it is the connections we make along the way that keep that hope alive and that keep us all laughing with pure abandon.

This post is dedicated to the teachers at Fanaka Primary School who keep the hopes alive for the beautiful children C2CKenya supports and who instill in the children whatever is necessary to keep them going in much tougher situations than any of us would ever encounter.

Day 15 - Hallucinating

I can talk about it because I heard Ginger and Drennan (best mother son team to travel with) confess to it as well. I’m not kidding, it happens. To put into perspective what I’m going through, pretend you are in Palm Desert in July and you wake up and decide to walk to Palm Springs in the middle of the day via the expressway. No amount of preparation can prepare you for the heat and flatness and the drab scenery as you march your way to your next destination.



I didn’t read Don Quixote but I can totally understand the fact that he fought windmills thinking they were dragons. I saw the windmills in the distance today and actually thought I saw Don in mid-flight. The drudgery of this part of the Camino is intense. And on a hot day it is next to impossible not to have every ounce drained from you.

My music kept me going and I thought of taking a selfie when Jim Morrison sat on my shoulder and personally sang “Crystal Ship” to me but I decided no one would believe it even if I had proof. This section of the Camino we are on is called Meseta and the potential for losing your mind is very real.

The good news is I passed the half way mark today! 250 miles!

Today’s post is dedicated to Rose who is graduation from university in June. She’s the quiet one with such a happy smile when she finally opens up. And a big thank you to the Gamboa family for sponsoring most of her education through university.

Day 14 - Another Fall from Prestige

Ok, here’s the deal. People have been walking the Camino for over a thousand years. And there is a hierarchy of pilgrims along the way. Those held in highest awe are the ones who begin in a village in Britain or in Paris or somewhere in Northern Germany. Lower down the hierarchy are the ones who start where I did in St. Jean but who carry their pack every step of the way and refuse to book ahead to the next hostel because that would be cheating.

Then there is me. Walking and walking and walking and walking is wonderful. But sometimes one (read me, here) needs to shake it up a bit. I fell to the lowest ring of the hierarchy today because I rented a bicycle and had my pack shipped ahead (again). Last week I was rolling my eyes at the bicyclists charging down the paths. Today I was slowing way down if I passed a pilgrim so as not to startle them but really so they wouldn’t judge me…haha

For eight hours I rode with abandon. I love being on a bicycle. For the last three hours I was totally alone with my head phones blaring. When did I learn every lyric to every song by the Animals? Their two album set of greatest hits starting with “House of the Rising Sun” lasted for over 90 minutes. Anyone with a five mile radius of me could concur that I did know every lyric (luckily for everyone no one was within a five mile radius).

I arrived in Fromista at 7:20 p.m. totally wiped out. The sun took whatever was left out of me that hadn’t already been taken out of me by a killer hill I met at 4:15 p.m.

I know I’m doing the Camino all wrong according to the rules of the real pilgrim. But the route I’m taking is my camino and it is offering me peace each stop of the way.

Today’s post is dedicated to Janet who graduated from law school this past October and from what I know of her drive, she is willing to break a few rules along the way to reach the destination best suited for her.

Day 11 to 13 - The Magic of the Camino

Once in a blue moon the stars align and magic occurs.  Maybe is happens on the Camino often. It happened for me over a four day period. You walk into hundreds of churches but you walk into one in a tiny village and the energy surrounding you transports somewhere you can’t explain. You pass thousands of trees but the one you are laying under becomes the most beautiful tree you’ve every seen.

Four of us converged on a hill by chance. The laughter began immediately. We were kindred spirits already hours behind the other pilgrims who march to the next destination with determination and grit. We would walk an hour and then stop at the cafe for two hours. We’d make it to our final destination just in time for dinner. We’d leave the next day when pilgrims from the previous town were arriving for lunch. We laughed at new words like habibi and rocknstella (don’t look that one up) We didn’t know each other’s past and we didn’t focus on the future. We were suspended in the present and it was glorious.

Maybe what helped make it magical is that it ended as quickly as it began…before it could peter out. One left for a plane back home, one hopped on a bike for the next adventure, one headed back to the camino as the pounds melted away and one continued on looking for his countess.

Tarja told us that in Finland rarely (even in marriage) do people say I love you. It is just not done.. Of course, the laughter kicked in again as we created scenarios to express your love in Finland like killing a reindeer and bringing it home with a smile.

She woke me up at 6am this morning to say goodbye as her taxi had arrived.  After two hugs she turned to leave. I said “Love you” without thinking. It is what I say when filled with emotion. She didn’t turn around, just kept walking. But I knew she held the same feeling that we all felt from our four day journey even if she would never verbalize it.

Today’s post is dedicated to Elijah and Derrick at Fanaka 1. It was a magical moment for me a year ago when I was in Kenya. They tugged at my sleeve and shyly gave me a shell with a hole in it. I felt then that it was their way of thanking me for making a difference in their little lives. Enough of a difference that they wanted to share their secret gift with me.

Day 10 - What I Won’t Do Again

Ever since the nuns of grammar  school wouldn’t let us pass the parlor of the convent I’ve always wanted to stay at a nunnery.  It seemed like such a romantic place to live. In Santa Domingo last night the huge wooden doors and stone floors of the convent were so charming that we booked a room immediately.  The charm started wearing off as we climbed to the third floor of the medieval building. My claustrophobia kicked in as we tripped through the minuscule hallways. The ceilings slanted lower with each step and I fell into a mild panic attack.

When I heard those big wooden doors slam shut and the lock and key turn, a full blown panic attack kicked in.  Mathew looked up from his bed as I jumped up from mine to see if I could escape through the one tiny window in the room. He lied and said the nuns only locked one door and we could get out of the other. I don’t know if I decided to believe his lie or adjust to the fact that jumping out of a 2 x 2 foot window three stories up was not an option.

I think I calmed down because I was busy trying to reason why  in the first place a nun would put Tarja and me in a one bedroom space stuffed with three beds and our third roommate was a gorgeous, fit, tan specimen of a man.

I couldn’t sleep all night because I’m not sure the sheets had been washed since this convent was built 1000 years ago.  When I did get some much needed shut eye,  I kept dreaming Franco was back in power and I needed to escape from the place I was jailed. Needless to say I was happy to leave at the 7:45am mandatory check out time and be on my way. Back to 21st century auberges!

Today’s post is dedicated to Evelyn who finished her first semester of law school and is full of spunk and determination.   And thank you Sue Mears for sponsoring her college education.

Day 9 - Five Euro and Three Liters

I found the ticket! Of course, I’m no longer the true pilgrim but there is a service that transfers your backpack to your next overnight stay for a mere five euro. No problem.  We had another  17 mile walk today (and add an extra mile since I inadvertently took a scenic route to a small but beautiful town)  I flew through the multiple vineyards on our route today without my 20 pound load on my back. I’ve turned from a turtle to a roadrunner skipping along the way.

Three liters of water each day is another secret to the skipping. No longer am I dehydrated. Plus my friend, Lizanne, who returned to England left me the most wonderful covers for blisters. She also introduced me to the hotel I spent two days recuperating and where I was able to come back to life.  Then the best thing happened when I was lost walking out of Logrono in the morning.  Tarja from Finland glanced up from her coffee and ran out of the cafe to greet me.  We were reunited after four days of separation and walked together all day today. Plus Peter, Balz and Tammie’s friend, tracked me down in the evening in Najera and we all had dinner together. But before that we met Michael from North Caroline in the hostel and he shared the high end wine from the winery whose vineyards we walked through today. It cost him one euro and it was packaged in a box (not a bottle) and it was delicious.

Oh! Life is good again.

Today’s post is dedicated to Stella because she has the biggest smile in the world and even though she is as shy as she can be she can still melt your heart when she shows you those pearly whites. Thank you to Tory Davidson and her family for sponsoring Stella.

Days 6 to 8 - My Kingdom for an Orange

Saturday was a bad, bad, horrible day.  Each step was more difficult than the next. With each breeze my sneezing went on uncontrollably due to my hay fever.  I had even overdosed on beautiful scenery.

I finally dropped my backpack in the middle of the path. My poles fell beside it and I sat in the dry scrub to the side. There was no shade and so I simply sat there miserably.  I dug into my backpack and found an orange from a couple of days ago.

You haven’t lived until you peel a Spanish orange and taste a slice of heaven. My troubles dissipated and I was transported into a garden of eden where fruit is all the sustenance you need. Life would be okay again as I worshiped at the altar of the orange sphere.

An hour later I rounded a curve and viewed a backpack in the middle of the Camino but there was no one around biting into an orange. I flashed back to that book “Left Behind” where the people simply disappeared and all their belongings were left on earth.  Where was this fellow hiker?  Had she given up and wandered away leaving her heavy backpack behind? If only she had carried a Spanish orange with her!

Slowly I noticed a blue sleeve amongst the tall green grass. I laughed aloud when she told me the grass was simply too soft and too comfy looking to pass up. She had to hide her exhaustion in the peaceful environment she was surrounded.

There is no description that can convey the drudgery of mile after mile of the crunch, crunch, crunch of the gravel path. I’ve heard that by the end of the first week you find a groove and the daily routine falls into place.  Now already at day #7 and onto day #8 – I’m sorry to say my stride may take a while longer.

On day #8 we walked 17.5 miles and I hit the wall.  Maybe it was the last two nights of Spanish snoring in the hostels. Or it was the dehydration I was suffering. Or it was the three new blisters. Or it was the fact that at the end of day #8 every hostel in town was full due to the weekend walkers from Spain.

I booked into a small hotel and collapsed in my private room. The only metaphor I can render up is one where you are on the way to the hospital in full labor and you stubbornly decide you don’t want to give birth right at this time after all.  It is time to take day #9 off (unlike any similar opportunity in my metaphor) and re-group.  I spent the day in my bed tending to my blisters, had a shower I didn’t have to share with 30 other people and used a real towel that wrapped all the way around me.

Tomorrow will be a bright day.

This post is dedicated to the grit and determination of the students we support in high school.  The picture was taken on one of my first trips to Kenya and our girls were playing a soccer game against a school from the area.  I didn’t notice it at first but many of our girls didn’t have soccer shoes like the opposing team who was well suited.  I was amazed at the level of play and the fierce kicks from the bare feet. I so admire what children of poverty must overcome. They don’t play on a level playing field but that doesn’t stop them from playing.

Day 5 - I Thought Spain was hot and the Camino was flat!

The excitement and newness is wearing off and the reality of what is ahead is sinking in. I glanced at the map to locate how far I’ve come only to move my finger back, back, back to where I was. The road ahead is daunting!

During the day I walk alone most of the time and am always surprised to find myself with familiar faces when I stop for my breaks at the cafes in the tiny villages we pass through.
I cannot believe I’ve worn wool leggings and a down jacket each day. I almost didn’t pack them. Tom (Dubai), Connie (Germany) and Tarja (Finland) surprised me with a scarf for my birthday and I haven’t taken that off either.

And no one told me to bring a sleeping bag. I just brought a silk liner. Three out the last five nights the hostel doesn’t provide a blanket. My down coat, wool soaks and wool leggings have provided for my warmth. I am definitely living a pilgrims existence!

My two blisters are under control with the compeed I apply each morning. I wasn’t going to pack that as well because I believed I was such an experienced hiker! Oh, the lessons I’m learning.
I left my beloved Lush soap behind in the previous town. One bar washed your clothes, your hair and your face. But as luck would have it someone left their soap in the next town and I never missed a beat.

But the days are glorious and the scenery is magnificent and as I plug along I know I’m making progress to the final goal.

Today’s walk is dedicated to Francis and to Virginia Sullivan who has been sponsoring Francis since 2006!! Francis is small for his age but has a big heart and a lovely temperament. He attends Fanaka Primary School and lives in a corrugated tin shack walking distance from school.

Day 4 - Are you a turtle?

In college, knowing the answer to that question gave you elite status in the party scene. At this stage of the #Camino2Kenya2015 it is the  question to my every day existence.  I am a turtle because I am slow but methodical as I creep along the path to Santiago, and my entire house is carried on my back.  No matter who passes me I seem to pass them back once they take a rest. I am living with a bunch of hares who are as fast as lightening but who stop many times along the way.

Last night in Pamplona I stayed at a German hostel. At 6am opera was blasted throughout the hostel to get us going and out by 7:30am. Really?  We have nothing to accomplish but walking for 7-8 hours each day and we don’t need to begin at 6am. But awake my fellow pilgrims do and they scurry off to rush to the next hostel.  Meanwhile I meander back to sleep and I’m usually the last one to leave in the morning.  Ironically, we all arrive at the end of the journey that afternoon at the same time.  At my turtle pace I just keep plugging along waving ‘ola’ or ‘bonjour’ or ‘gutten tag’ to new found friends along the way.  At 11am it is time for a sandwich and beer, and at 3pm everyday I have chocolate, cheese and an orange. This is heaven!

By 4pm my feet are shot.  The blister on my left heal is starting to notice the distance and my feet are begging to rest. I can’t believe how difficult it is to climb up on the top bunk of my bed when your body has stiffened up to what feels like a metal rod.

Am I complaining? No!! I’m loving every minute of it but my body is remarking over and over that I’m crazy.

I realized tonight I am the only American I have seen on the trail. The fact that everyone I’ve bonded with speaks English to me and to each other makes my life very easy.  The only language they don’t like is my snoring during my nap upon arriving at the hostel.  Once I lay down for the night in the dorm with 20-30 sleep mates, I have my snore guard firmly in place and everyone is happy.

I’d like to dedicate today’s journey to Pascaline and Miriam who are determined nursing students at Catholic University in Kenya.  They make me laugh all the time.  The picture below is when they introduced me to the plastic patient they practiced on during the second year of schooling. I’m sorry I can’t remember the plastic patient’s name but maybe they’ll email me with the name.




They kept a dogged determination to complete high school and then university with a degree in nursing. I so admire them and love the insights they offer.

Day 3 - My Camino Family is Forming

Tarria from Finland turned to me about 3 kilometers out of Roncesvalles and said it is interesting how a Camino family naturally forms.  By the third day familiar faces are constantly appearing and connections are being created. By days end you naturally gravitate to these same people.  Today  was my birthday. And everyone in my growing Camino family made sure it was a special one for me.  The song “Bonne Anniversaire” startled me as I crawled with sleepy  eyes to the dorm bathroom.  I sat with this French gentleman the night before and he was the first to jump into the hallway between bunks to start my day with a smile.

“I heard  a camino rumor,” Kate from Australia said as she swished by me at the 14 kilometer mark to Zubiri.  “We’ll have to celebrate tonight!”

The day began and ended in the pouring rain. It felt so cleansing! My new over the backpack poncho left me soaked. I remember hearing it is waterproof until it rains.  It is so cool looking though, that I don’t mind if it  doesn’t work so well.

Today is dedicated to the little children at Fanaka. I took the picture below many years ago but I so understand the exhaustion the young man feels! He worked as hard as he could and at the end of the day he simply didn’t have any  more to give!

Day 2 - Into the Mountains I go...

I have downloaded 1,000 songs and five books on my iphone, but I can’t bring myself to plug in. The sounds of the birds, the wind, the tiny streams and the crunch under my feet are glorious. Today I crossed the Pyrenees and during seven hours of hiking I felt I was living within the pages of “Heidi” as I passed cows, horses and sheep grazing on the screaming green pastures. Once over the pass to Spain I was cloistered under magnificent trees and damp leaves. Was I on the Appalachian Trail? Then an hour later the decent was as steep as the trail down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I only took two wrong turns today but luckily there are enough people walking that they could see my error and yell to me before it was too late.

At the top of one hill thirteen eagles were circling overhead. I ate my baguette a little more quickly as I was afraid the show above was not for my viewing but for the bread I was eating.

I am dedicating today’s walk to Winfred. Her graduation from Strathmore University is at the end of June, and she has already completed an internship in northeast Kenya. She is pictured below in a photo taken at Fanaka Primary School where she worked as a volunteer teacher as a way of giving back.

Day 1 - I didn't pack my underwear!

Didn’t pack my underwear!

I arrived quite safely but my extra underwear didn’t! It is the only thing I forgot to pack and so I will be living the slogan from the ExOfficio underwear I bought at REI: “one pair, six weeks”. It dries so fast that you only need one pair, wash it at night it is dried by morning.


Well, I washed mine last night, rolled it in my dry fast REI towel and put them right back on! Viola, they were dry.

Today was a rest day in St Jean Pied-dePort, the starting point of the Camino.

This day is dedicated to the students at Mt. Olive Academy whose only source for clean clothes is soap and elbow grease. This is the same combination I’ll be using the next six weeks to wash my clothes.

Like the students at Mt. Olive Academy, a boarding middle school funded by C2CKenya to provide a safe haven for the vulnerable children we support, I will have to line dry my clothes. I have quickly learned this is somewhat of a challenge when the rain won’t let up. Maybe C2CKenya should donate boxes of ExOfficio underwear to Mt. Olive for the rainy season that hits eastern African from January through May.

Rough Start, Day 0, Camino de Santiago, LAX to Madrid

My euphoria over the success of #Camino2Kenya2015 campaign came crashing down at the gate 46B at LAX. I fell asleep mid-text and awoke to watch my plane pulling back from the tarmac. Panicked calls to reschedule met with overbooked flights and a $4,300 change fee and a cancellation of all my connecting flights since I missed the first leg. The weight of letting down so many people because of my error was crushing. The stress and fear of what I had ahead of me didn’t matter anymore because I wasn’t going.

I did what I do when I’m utterly lost and alone. I sobbed. I sobbed right in the middle of LAX with harried travelers pushing me aside to get to their flights that they didn’t miss due to crushing fatigue.

All I wanted was to go home and crawl in bed and hide. I wanted to be back with my Australian Sheppard who always loves me no matter how I mess up.

Of course you know it worked out. I cried my way onto a sold out flight and met my connection to Madrid. I sobbed into the arms of the attendant when she handed my the boarding pass.

I’ll get to the commence the Camino de Santiago as planned, but the first step of that journey began this morning. I will not be letting down all the donors that are supporting young students in Kenya. I will not let the students down who are filling out applications for the educational grants C2CKenya can provide now that #Camino2Kenya2015 was a success.

But I came close to failing and it left me feeling raw and vulnerable. And maybe that is the way one is supposed to feel at the beginning of a 500 mile solo journey.

I’m dedicating each day of my hike to a child of C2CKenya. The first day is dedicated to Rosemary who wrote me the letter from Saudi Arabia which kick-started the idea that C2CKenya must increase the opportunities of education to the young and vulnerable children so they don’t have to find themselves as housemaids in Saudi Arabia. Rosemary now has an opportunity to complete technical college and change the trajectory of her life because of the donors who supported #Camino2Kenya2015. Thank you!