To make living itself an art, that is the goal. – Henry Miller
Now I know why many men have stopped and wept/ Halfway between the loves they leave and seek/ And wondered if travel leads them anywhere… -Leonard Cohen, Stranger Music
Welcome to Iceland, There is no sunlight, You are on fire, A demon takes your face… Come to Iceland, And give us your eyes.
I sang that song a lot during my week in Iceland, much to the bemusement of my two road trip companions. Iceland was everything I had hoped and dreamed it would be- which is to say slightly strange and strikingly beautiful. I had extended my layover in Iceland months before, but aside from Google-imaging ‘Iceland’ and ‘northern lights’, had done very little actual travel planning up until a few days before I was set to leave. Luckily through Couchsurfing I connected with a Norwegian gal who was about my age and a travel baby from France, and we decided to split the cost of a rental car to road trip north along the Ring Road for a week. I will try my best throughout the rest of this post to remember/ not butcher the names of places we visited, but a few months have already passed and one of the hostels we stayed at was called Grund í Grundarfirdi,Grundarfjordur, so no promises.
In keeping with tradition, I instantly had it bad for Portugal. After only a few hours of aimlessly exploring Lisbon’s narrow, hilly streets, I was head over heels. I had no real agenda during my three days in Lisbon, and so spent the first following my whims, which largely amounted to chasing whatever music I heard. This led me to dim cafes where acoustic guitars strummed soulful fado, and the sounds of a clarinet performing a bluesy version of “Mr Sandman” led me to the top of a hill with a huge castle and a view of the entire city. Around every corner I found something new to charm or surprise me, and there was a timeless quality to the city, as if nothing had changed in 500 years except for the street art, serving to bring the buildings reluctantly into the present.
After resting for a day in Santiago the rest of my pilgrim pals returned home to their normal lives, while I continued walking, wanting to officially end my pilgrimage in Finisterre. The end of the known world until the discovery of the Americas, Finisterre was also a former pagan pilgrimage destination, believed to be the site the sun went to die each night. I was unsure what these final days walking would mean, but ultimately decided to view them as a chance to reflect on what I’d learned, and as preparation to let go of my life as a pilgrim.
Continue reading “La Vie en Rose”
I was told early on that the Camino de Santiago has three stages: physical, mental and spiritual. When I last wrote I was squarely in the middle of the mental- no longer under bodily duress but tired of the routine, of Spanish food, of the nightly snoring and farting keeping me awake every night. I began walking the Primitivo route from Oviedo on the first day back to school, a chill of autumn in the morning air, and it was from there on that strange things began happening. I would cruise for hours in a state of euphoria, totally blissed out. Changing the lyrics from Enrique Iglesias’ summer jam ‘Bailando’ to ‘Santiago,’ I convinced anyone I could to sing with me, and when alone serenaded the birds at full volume. I found myself crying at the sunrises, overwhelmed by the beauty found in every direction. Sometimes the wind would blow through the eucalyptus or pines just so, making them appear to bow as I was passing by… and I would bow back.
Oh, well hello! I really did have grand plans to write about all of the wonderful things that happened in August: my friend´s magical wedding in a little town straight out of Beauty and the Beast, wine tasting in Bordeaux, climbing the Dune du Pilat in Arcachon, revisiting my old study abroad haunts in Paris, and discovering that bohemia still exists in Berlin. Hopefully at some point I still will. However, even with ample time to relax in Toulouse, the hours somehow slipped away and I now have been walking as a pilgrim on the Camino de Santiago for 21 days.
Long layover in my favorite place in the world.
Berlin! Berlinberlinberlin. While waxing poetic about my visit to my mom, she pointed out just how easily I seem to fall in love with cities or places. I can’t deny that she has a point, but guys, Berlin really is the bees knees. Instantly the hippest spot I’d ever been, I was thrilled to find a modern day bohemia still in existence, and I will try to do it justice despite writing about it so belatedly.
It may be when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey. -Wendell Berry
After saying my goodbyes in Guatemala, I gave myself three weeks to visit a bit of Honduras and Belize, before heading home to celebrate the holidays. After three weeks in California, it was onward for some cruisin’ and boozin’ in the Antarctic for another 21 days, before getting dropped off in Buenos Aires. All of that nonstop motion explains why I was feeling very travel weary and still uncertain about whether or not to return to California. In an effort to have a bit of downtime, I decided to visit the Eco Yoga Park, just outside of Buenos Aires.
I’m back! Life has been a whirlwind, within the span of a month I went from the tropical paradise that is Belize, to its polar opposite. (Get it?? Polar!) Antarctica is the first place that I have visited that is analogous to nothing, but I will struggle through this blog nonetheless.
Continue reading “Desaparecido”
Taking the Long Way 