smooth, circular rocks, stones, like ley lines, like a pilgrim’s path

(Volume II: Paris)
(Volume I: Berlin)

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May 28

Trey and I are sitting in a park overlooking Porto and its river. I just started reading “Year of the Monkey” by Patti Smith, and the combination of that and it being an early morning has me in a reflective state. I am feeling excited at the idea that we will have more early mornings like this… Yesterday, we got our first taste of external energy for us starting The Way - with Gustavo and Consuelo, my aunt and uncle who hosted us in Madrid before we started walking. I worry a little about the physical aspects of our journey, but am mostly curious to see how they will impact us. My biggest curiosity at the start is how people will receive us, and the general social energy. Trey seems very perceptive to the energies of places, which is something I hope to be able to tune into more.

Today I ate a watery peach, and I thought that was beautiful. Do I crave simplicity? Maybe just an appreciation for the mundane (walking with umbrella cane, drinking coffee mundane).

I am excited to learn and explore the significance of religion along the way. I have always appreciated spirituality and seeking meaning, but Catholicism and large organized religion are linked with hatred and colonization and unrightful feelings of superiority in my brain. Where do I fit as a “pilgrim” with those viewpoints? And how common will that be? How do I broach that topic with others? Maybe I will “find myself”, but what relation to “God” will that hold?

May 29

Journaling time! I like that Trey is motivating me to do this. At present, I feel overwhelmed by the people in this Albergue…or more accurately I feel scared to start conversations with them. I don’t think I would feel anxious if we didn’t have this expectation set. I know I can do it though! Just have to get close enough with people to ask why they are doing this walk. Okay, backing up a little bit to all of today - I am super proud of us for doing so well! We walked 15 miles and it really was gorgeous, all coastal. I am excited to learn more about the history of this trail - My brain is craving learning!!! I see good change coming from this hike.

May 30

Day 3! We just had the most lovely dinner. We sat in the window of a Portuguese diner and ate sandwiches and cheese and ice cream, and I drank orange juice and chocolate milk, and we talked for hours and watched the sun set. It feels like we have talked about everything and we have everything left to talk about. I’m starting to like that this pen is green. People come and go like waves. This world is beautiful, I got a little teary eyed when the sun went down. I am learning a lot about myself on this walk. We made a friend! A woman from Denmark who is very friendly. Interestingly, we saw a lot about religion today. There was a church procession in honor of some local religious holiday in the town square. I really respect how old religion is. What was interesting was how sad everyone looked… very solemn. I am excited to talk and learn more about the ways of the world. I also am glad to speak with more people throughout this walk, and have intellectual conversations with strangers who are no longer to be strangers.

May 31

Some significance found in small talk…exciting moments…initial connections being made. I love the moment when you first meet someone. Yesterday, Lea - the woman from Denmark. She found an interest in theology after volunteering in Tanzania, and meeting a bunch of missionaries there. Her love of hiking and study of theology led her here to do this hike with friends. She wears a cross and small silver earrings. Her demeanor is reserved, yet she lit up when talking about her love for a simple way of life. She appreciates beauty, and I felt kindness when she touched my back to say goodbye - and then again at our next hello. Today - we met Mac. They are from Denver and are very open and are studying to be a lawyer and were very enthusiastic to engage with us. Not afraid to make friends, this is their second time on the Camino, the first time on their own. They told us about old connections they were rekindling and I found that beautiful! Vanda is the third person we have spoken to, and she is older, an optician, from Prague. She did the France way in 2006 and loved it so much she had to come back. She radiates youth and made me feel safe. The woman working the Albergue today showed us stats she has collected each year.

June 1

We have done 4 days of walking and it is hot. I’m tan. I hope I don’t go mushy on the inside. Today was hard, but had many good moments…let’s elaborate. This morning was forest! I love the feeling of waking up with the sun, and strolling through streets that haven't heard the rooster yet. It is cooler in the morning, and today, we sang to Taylor Swift. TWO big interesting convos today! Trey and I walked for a while with Daniel - I will try to write some of the things he said that I found most interesting. He is studying theology to become a pastor because he wants to spread the love of God. How interesting his lens of reasoning for the world must be! The bigger thing that stuck with me is that he lived by himself in the mountains for 6 weeks. He practiced solitude and peace and simplicity, he spoke of how he didn’t find happiness, but so much else instead. I think this walk would be a beautiful place to practice simplicity. It feels strange to try and appreciate the beauty of religion in actions of kindness and impressive architecture and all that, but to still know what an evil and corrupt system/organization the catholic church is… and always has been. So much wrong has been done under the name of “God’s grace”, or his “will.” Daniel said he and Lea pray every morning before hiking solo for a while. I like that prayer is a channel through which people can practice gratitude. Religion is a channel for spirituality, and interconnectedness of the world and its meaning. Wanda just walked into the room and we chatted. She picked up two stones from the beach and has been walking with them. She carries herself and her age so beautifully… I aspire to her energy. Don’t want to forget her. AND an old man named Jack spoke to us while we were sitting on the riverbank eating peaches and cheese and crackers and he was on his bike and stopped to talk for about half an hour about his life and ours and seagulls and the Camino and school and politics and he gave us each a chocolate and I was touched by his humor and kindness.

June 3

Today marked day six of walking. We saw so much grandeur - water, mountains, fields, farms, rocks, sun, sky, etc. I’m in a good mood right now, Trey and I have been laughing for a while! There’s a Patti Smith song about a rat. I wonder if we should have talked to the boy our age, he was drinking a beer by the doorway. I ate a veggie sandwich for dinner. It smells like coffee. The sun is hitting my eye in a good way, the same eyes a man named Carlos called beautiful yesterday. I am getting very tan, I love the summer. I feel like a dog that got all riled up and is now trained to stay and relax.We had to do a bank transfer to get to Spain because we had no cash left. A girl sat across from us just now with two skinned knees. I like her pink pants, rolled up to the thigh. Maybe things will keep getting lighter as we get more and more tired - I think , I hope so. Another girl in a long flowy green dress and blue shawl is talking to her now. I wonder if I will speak with them. Eli sent me an email with a youtube link to a self-medicating orangutan. I am learning a lot more about myself on this walk than I am about other people. But I am seeing so many interesting people! I just wonder if I should be engaging more, or how. I am very friendly, it’s a lesson in not being comparative, and feeling comfortable with and by myself when not in a group. I really want to swim. Coast! Sun! Beauty! Mountains! Cows! I wonder if journaling in this style will make me feel more or less grounded… needed a break, took a break! So many words there are rosary beads on the ground going to look at the water. Metaphorically, we’ve all killed a rat.

June 4

Writing in the dark. It gets more and more beautiful. Zen beach. Comparative / competitive / stubborn people are we? Magical sunrise, horses, sheep. Let’s talk more about death. What will my main takeaways be? Where are our friends? Getting weirder.

June 5

Good morning…this is a dream. I want to remember something Daniel, the future pastor said. He went on a long solo period and found simplicity and peace. He quoted a famous person saying that happiness is only real when shared with others and agreed - but said he was seeking, and found, something else. We talked about spirituality today… I don’t really consider it while walking. I am in awe, and I think about history and science, and learn a lot about myself through reflection and analyzing with Trey. But how does that connect to spirituality? Nick is an older retired professor from Chicago. He has walked the Camino 10 times with students, and even more to prepare for leading people on it. I asked him why he loves it so much. “There’s something magic along the Camino” he didn’t know how to describe it beyond that. Very kind man, practical. More importantly is the German man whose name I have not (yet!) asked. He wears incredible pants, and has a weathered look about him. He has gray hair and a wiry figure. His English is not perfect, but this is his second time on the Camino. He is kind and by himself and carries himself with an air of respect. He responded to people in Spanish and ate alone. He carries a red flannel blanket that is frayed and he sleeps under it. There is so much I wonder about him. A girl, probably 8 years old, gave me a bracelet today and I treasure it. I noticed she was making them and complemented one, and then she handed it to me! When we left I told her thank you again and gave her a euro. It felt nice, not like I was buying her service but like I was repaying a kind act. I want to play volleyball.

June 6

We are in Montse’s home! I love life connections. It makes me think about family and love and how the world is small. Pedro and Jaime are the sons, and we had a really nice dinner out with them all. Montse is so kind and so proud of Galicia. And a clearly good mother. I ate octopus. She showed us a crab that is huge and you eat the guts.

June 7

I have so much left of this journal to fill. Nothing of note discussed on our walk - beautiful forest. Hot and muggy, so hot. It slowed us down, plus, lack of sleep. That’s okay, a quiet day is good sometimes. The church we are staying in feels heavy with secrets in a sad way. When I look at things, what do I think about? What are common themes? Do I really control it? After arriving at the Albergue, Trey and I walked to the river and sat on a boardwalk and stared at the trees and the water and I think I fell asleep because I didn’t remember what I thought about. All new people… I hope I run into German man in my dreams. Waking up on the boardwalk I felt very zen, the sun calmed me. I stared at ants for a while then. It’s raining now, there was a thunderstorm and it made me happy. We debriefed the day in a way I felt good about. My hair is soft and my t-shirt smells good.

June 8

Low pressure. Trey doesn’t want the day to be done. We were honest today. Silent morning. Mystical forest. I took my brain on a jaunt through my memories. I farted and it smells and I’m sorry for Trey. The sky is lilac periwinkle with a toenail sliver moon. I got to soak up a lot of natural beauty today. This isn’t coming easily right now. We saw frogs. Like Trey’s fleece. Aw! My nose looks like a carrot because I ate too many. We laughed. Trey will journal tomorrow. Beach!

June 9

I have moved into reflection mode already about this trip. Thinking about how I will describe it to others, how I want it to be perceived. I love when I smile at someone and they smile back with surprise. A man with bright eyes and a green shirt blew us kisses today. The woman at the bakery lit up when we complemented her shirt. We got ice cream with Mak yesterday and it was interesting to run off a bunch of assumptions about each other, and share without worry. It seemed to me that they needed a familiar face to run ideas off of. And experiences. They are walking with a man called Remik whose wife of 30 years died three months ago. I cannot even begin to fathom the grief, but I hope that he finds healing on this walk. Being near people is the only way to feel close to them. I hold them dearly tight to my heart, but that is stagnant (memory) and life is not. We talked this morning about a basic, simple, easy life of following others and their expectations. How it would be so easy to respect those people in a different way. I walked barefoot in a muddy, grassy, sandy beach water today. This reflection is not very focused on the walk…the walk is a reflection on life. And the world is transitioning away from religion. Too fast? Too much science? Do we care about anything? Too problematic? What does being spiritual really mean? A greater purpose? Full self acknowledgment and appreciation? Not journaling is easier than journaling. I have so many thoughts! Why do I see pictures in my head? Transitions are hard… approached with positivity and patience. It smells like fish!

June 10

We finished Year of the Monkey by Patti Smith. A rat tattoo… a rat and a monkey laughing together… that way they are not alone… the monkey is me. About today on the Camino. It was a beautiful day. Big Spanish lunch, sailors raisin bread while walking with the waking sun, and snacking on peanuts and ice cream in between. The woods were beautiful but lonely, and so is this town. We discussed how many people on the way are going through something significant. There is not a light and social air. The Albergues are quiet, but people are friendly. Northern Europeans we have met are austere. Yesterday, a bubbly older English woman who is on her third Camino with friends. Today, a Dutch woman our age, who initiated conversation but had an uninterested air about her. She is a youth psychologist, and just quit her job. My worn, oversized blue birks. The wheat dancing in the sunlight and the wind. I feel good about my place in the world, and this walk is kickstarting a new, profound sense of meaning and purpose and appreciation that can and will trickle to all parts of my life. It has been illuminatory of the human experience, shared, and varying.

June 11

The forest was magical green lush with glowing oozing sunshine rolling down the hills through the trees dancing on the river water dancing on the rocks on the moss the Earth was still the land waking up in such a lovely way. I danced. On the beach, the same sun warmed my face, my toes , my belly lightened, my hair darkened, my skin dried my salty wet bathing suit. Walking into the albergue today we were greeted with a chorus of familiar hellos… that felt very good and welcoming . I love smiles from strangers, sometimes all they need is to get a smile first. Next to me, a girl my age sits on the floor at the feet of an older woman. They both speak English with an accent, neither identifiable to me. They share life stories and opinions on reflections. Perfect strangers speaking in a hush about the meanings of their stories…sharing. The girl reminds me of the one in Before Sunrise. I wonder how their conversation started.

June 12

Journal on the last real day of walking!!! We finish in Santiago tomorrow, but our energy is as if we've finished already. We will have walked over 170 miles - that is something I am very proud of! I have learned how to practice my patience, how happy it makes me to smile at others, and how surprise friendliness really goes a long way. I have learned we never really run out of conversation topics, and that Patti Smith is never wrong. I have learned my habits and Trey’s, and we have both become in tune with ourselves and each other. One big takeaway is that it might not matter why people are doing this. I don’t think most people know why they are doing this. We didn’t, our answers were vague and improvised. There is nothing so tangible about it. I think you have to do it to figure out why you did it. I’m drinking tea in a cozy, big, empty, luxurious albergue. Today we walked for a while near a high school group, doing this as an end of year day trip. It was fun to watch their dynamics. A Spanish family living in Utah. Five old ladies with tan skin and silver hair on our boat this morning. Dolphins! They were so comfortable with themselves and each other. Who were they before all I perceive them as is old? Danish. I drank hot chocolate thick and not so sweet.

June 13

Went to church today. I want to practice patience, living in the moment (not trending towards the past) spreading kindness, and educating myself. We said peace to our neighbors and I prayed, then cried. Mak found us while we were sitting outside the Cathedral, which felt like a sign, and we exchanged instagrams. How odd, a relationship.

June 14

June 15

smooth,
circular
rocks,
stones,
like ley lines,
like a pilgrim’s path (2024)

Supported by the Student Opportunity Fund

Calli Frankel and I received a grant from Skidmore’s Student Opportunity Fund to walk the Portuguese Coastal route of the Camino de Santiago, “The Way,” to explore why a traditionally religious pilgrimage has turned into a tourist phenomenon. Through my photographs, I aim to convey the outright strangeness of the experience. Catholic iconography appeared next to amusement park statues; towns were empty and lifeless, liminal in their 20th-century conservative aesthetics; thick forests were contrasted with graffiti and medieval structures. Though a meaningful and profound endeavor, the Camino de Santiago can’t escape kitschy, travel-blog-saturated contemporary motifs, giving it a playful sense of humor amidst its fundamentalist Catholic ideals. Below are the journals:

Calli and I are sitting in a park in Porto overlooking the river. The city isn’t what I’d expected; no coastal, salty corners and rather a gothic, Prague-like feeling tinged with unnamed sadness. I wonder if it’s leftover from Portugal’s recent socialist regime. We’re starting the Camino tomorrow, or perhaps today. It’s a little after 9am, and soon, when we’re finished writing, we’ll head to the Porto Cathedral to get our compostelas. Then it will really begin.

I’m not really sure what I am getting myself into. I’ve wanted to do this walk since I was like 13, but not for any concrete reason. This will hurt. Physically. This semester I’ve been working on dealing with pain.

I’m not religious, but my grandparents are and I think it will be interesting to connect more with this side of my family, to see the devotion of others. I’ve thought a lot about how in Europe, art used to depict only religious iconography. Intricate, life long work all in the name of a God. I can’t imagine devoting your life to something so much bigger than yourself.

I met a guy in Fes who was studying how religious belief affects disease diagnosed patients. He’ll be walking this the same time as me and though unlikely, I hope I run into him. I keep running into people. There was the woman in Lisbon who I journaled next to and then saw again later at the bus station; another woman in Madrid I saw twice around the block; and the man Calli and I shared a hostel with who tried to help us find her stolen wallet, returned to us at a brunch spot. Similarly, I ran into the man in Fes twice. Those moments are reminders of how small the world is. It’s interconnecting, though the world is so large and we cannot fully attach to anything in life because nothing is permanent, life is also small and full of patterns when you look for them. I want to find the meaning for why I felt so compelled to do this hike, this walk.

What does it have to teach me that I don’t know I need to be taught?

Today was our first day of walking. It was both easier and harder than I expected. Easier, in terms of it went by relatively quickly and the pain was manageable. Harder, in that afterwards the exhaustion was immense. I don’t know if I could have bared to walk more. My feet became raw, the bones sore. We saw a lot of varying landscapes. We passed through a fishing village near the end and the clear blue skies very suddenly shifted to a gray windy storm. The waves thrashed and it smelled of salt. Fog covered the beach and our path was covered with rusty fishing supplies; netting and boats and scraps of metal. They were all brightly colored, but sunworn. The social aspect of this trip intimidates us both, I think. I look around at all these people and I wonder what their motivations are. Why are you doing this? I want to ask. But it feels too soon. I think we will start to recognize people. It feels timid right now. People seem shy. I think it’s many of our first days. I hope as the week continues we begin to recognize each other, seek each other. I suspect that naturally happens. People tend towards each other. I hope we don’t need to rush as much moving forward. I want to pause and see the things we pass through. I wonder how many people in the room with me right now believe in God? How many of them feel deeply reflective and spiritual, and how many are hikers and adventurers eager to experience something else big?

I shut my eyes and saw green fields littered with multicolored jewels. Thousands of them. It was just light refracting behind my eyelids, or maybe I was struck with pilgrim visions. I’ve lived many lives today. It’s beginning to really feel like the Camino. We woke and walked along the beach, which was foggy. The boardwalk was under repair in some parts so we were forced to walk across sand. We passed what seemed to be someone’s meditation place. A wooden hut of three walls with a chair facing the ocean; rainbow painted poles, a totem head with many faces with seashells for eyes, seashells forming windchimes and trees painted on rocks along with egyptian ankhs and the om symbol. It felt deeply spiritual in the way of Christiania in Copenhagen. Some European hippies’ hard individual work dedicated to spreading love and equality through multicolor and meditation. As we walked on we passed ancient Bronze Age weapon sharpeners and carvings and a contemporary church. We talked about ley lines, the pseudoscience belief that energy lines run between ancient historical sites. Calli brought up how neurons create energy pathways in the brain, and how every time you remember something, the pathway changes a little. She said, “I feel like we as people are always creating energy lines/pathways, retracing each others’ paths and changing them.” Then we talked about time, and memory. How different languages allow people to perceive time differently, like whether the future is something ahead of you or behind you, hidden, is dependent on your language. Later we walked through a town with huge multicolored poles strung with garlands in the city square. We never learned why. A very deadly bombing happened in Gaza, in Rafah, the other day. Everytime I open Instagram, I’m reminded. There seems to be an ethical battle between privileged Americans over whether to post an AI generated “Stand with Rafah” image or to repost a tweet/infographic explaining how that isn’t helpful, which also probably isn’t helpful.

This evening at the Albergue we made friends with a Danish girl who’s 24. She lives in Aarhus, studying Theology. She spent a year volunteering in Tanzania, learned Swahili, lived with missionaries, volunteered at an orphanage and climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. She said it was inspiring to see how people worshiped God there, despite not having much. How they really appreciated the simple things in life, fruits and vegetables and sunsets. She decided to go on the Camino because she lives a very busy life back home and wanted “the slow life” for a few weeks, a pause. “I liked the idea of just putting one foot in front of the other.” She arrived with two friends, but one parted because she had done the Camino before and wanted to do it again solo to challenge herself, to talk to more people.

I wonder if that is why so many people go solo on these things. A desire to be forced to come face to face with strangers and to meet them. I wonder why a stranger can be as significant as a friend. Perhaps because a stranger reflects ourselves where we are, not based on preconceived biases of a past self. Maybe a stranger is a portal to the rest of the world.

There was a religious parade in the town. The three of us walked to the square. A large crowd of villagers gathered to watch a procession of scouts drum solemnly in a loop around a stone cross. They were followed by men dressed in colored capes, green, red, white, carrying large banners with saints embroidered on them. The parade ended with a caravan of men holding some silver books and staffs, covering a priest with a red tent canopy. The priest dressed in white held a silver cross and when he reached the stone cross, stood in front of it, held his own cross up, facing the expansive ocean ahead of us all. The air smelled of catholic incense. Then he left, and dozens of church goers followed down the street, a long, seemingly endless line of multicolored flowers lined the center of the street, connecting the cross to somewhere undefined. Like ley lines. Like a pilgrim’s path. Calli and I ate dinner after at the local restaurant. We sat by the window and the sun warmed us and we talked and talked.

Today we veered from the coast a bit, walking through desolate farmlands and small towns of varying feelings, coastal to cobblestone to beach villa. We just checked into our Albergue for the night. The woman who checked us in asked our purpose for doing this walk, “religious,” “spiritual,” “cultural” or “other.” We said “cultural,” and Calli asked if we could look at the stats. The woman seemed excited that we were curious, promising to show us later. 10 minutes passed and she prompted to show us. She had lots of stats, a whole pdf from 2023. It was around 57% female and 43% male. Most people did it for “spiritual” reasons, then “other,” then “cultural,” both at similar numbers, and finally, lowest, “religious.” Most hikers were aged 21-40, with many older hikers and much fewer younger. She told us that they collect this data because this Albergue is connected to the Red Cross.

This morning we walked through overbrush and garden farms. The light was bright and clear and it reminded me of my childhood. There is a specific feeling I remember from before I was in school. Mom would walk me through the forest across the street from my house and we would emerge in a magical quiet neighborhood of West Side Saratoga. We would go to her friend's house, who had a son my age. I remember eating a big tomato there like an apple. That feeling of summer, and wonder, of hot overgrowing greenery and emergence, it felt accessible here. Thinking out loud, I told Calli how the specific feeling of childhood wonder and awe is similar to the feeling of dreaming. I often dream of place, of wandering around somewhere new. Because of this, when I really do wander, I feel almost as if I’m dreaming. But I wonder if this dream-like association is actually me tapping into childhood, embodying that feeling of mystery and wonder. When I was a child, I let my mom take me around, always intrigued by the new places I came across, unheard of, unplanned by me. It was a loss of control, but a promise of wonder. This feels similar. I don’t know where I’m going. I’ve let go of the control of travel. There is no need to plan or research. And that is comforting. I know that I am promised beauty and newness, and that alone makes me happy. And dreaming is like that. You let go of control when you dream. Yet your mind shows you new thoughts, new images, new patterns and concepts. You continue to discover through your subconscious. I brought Year of the Monkey by Patti Smith along on this trip. She writes about them. She tells her readers her dreams; she doesn’t always distinguish them from reality. She asserts dreams aren’t boring, as our culture often marks them out to be. Dreams are special. Whenever we remember our dreams it is special. They are insights and previews into another plane of consciousness.

Later in the day we met a person from Colorado named Mac who graduated in 2020 and now is about to enter law school after three years of working for an immigration attorney. They were very open and talkative, expressing interest in buddying up with us, getting dinner, leaving together, resting in Vigo. They talked about how back home they participated in university encampments for Gaza, how it feels strange being away from it now. Last night the news broke that Trump was convicted on all accounts, a felon that may still be our president. It is strange to be separate from the real world, traveling and being contemplative while reality is warstruck and illogical. I’m so privileged and so is everyone around me.

Yesterday we rested in expanse. The beach was layered, a row of sand, then smooth, circular rocks, stones, thousands of them, the size of baseballs, then more sand, then a shore of black boulders with smooth incisions from the waves, cradled with peaking tide pools, facing the infinite plane of the Atlantic. We felt high, like on mushrooms. The faded whites and grays and beiges contrasted the deep teal of the sea and the bright clearness of the sky with such precision, it felt surreal, like a Dali or a dream, perhaps risen to a new plan of being. We lay on the rocks for a while. I was suddenly struck with the impulse to go to the coastal rocks. They reminded me of the beach in Southern Maine I used to go to as a kid. I jumped out to a center rock and sat there, facing the expanse, watching waves lap at the rocks around me, and I thought. It was incredibly peaceful. The town was small and beachy. It felt not like stepping back in time, but stepping into a different kind of time, a time without movement or urgency.

We cooked saltless peppers, zucchini and white beans and heaped a melting pile of mozzarella on top. A swarm of flies buzzed in front of the kitchen’s open door, slow and communal. I thought of how flies are often associated with death, and how here, they really symbolize survival, drawn to our food, the ultimate symbol of life. After dinner we sat outside and our two Danish friends offered us some of their extra ruby port wine. I had wanted to try some all week, and here I was being handed a fresh glass to consume! We sat together and talked while the sun went down. The following morning -today- Calli and I felt full of some motivation. We walked fast and long. We ran into Daniel in a forest, and he told us he wanted to be a pastor, that all he wanted was to preach how much God loves us all, and to host spiritual retreats because after he graduated highschool he went to a cabin in Norway by himself for six weeks. He described how “the quiet” is how we meet ourselves, and makes it easier to meet God. He said he had a routine, would write every morning, fish or hike, read and write again in the evening. He told us he and his friend, Lea, pray together every morning on the Camino, then walk solo in “the quiet” before joining again in the afternoons. It was interesting to hear him speak of his life goals, his deep faith as such a young person. We relate so differently to the world. For him, he looks around at nature and he sees God, I look around and see nature. While I view him as a believer of stories, he views me as someone unable to tap into something bigger. We didn’t speak of this, of course. While we walked a pig slammed against a metal door along a gate on our path. Though we couldn’t see it, it squealed heavily, thumping against the metal loudly, unstopping.

The last two hours of our walk were hard. We had a simple evening in a small city. Laying on the grass by a river, an old man named Jack rode by us and stopped. He noticed we were foreign and asked where we were from. He went through the typical rounds of old European - “I studied in America once! Do you think Trump will win? Here’s some advice!” But he seemed genuinely interested in us as well, asking about our studies. It was sweet. He gave us chocolates before riding off. We are sharing a room with Vanda, a middle aged optometrist from the Czech Republic who we met yesterday. She covered the balance of our short cash at the Albergue. We also recognized a woman who we shared a kitchen with last night. While we ate tonight, she was drawing and using water colors, so I asked if she was an artist. She didn’t speak much English, but we had a sweet interaction. I do like the people we meet here. And I notice how easy it is to think. I’m journaling so much,, my head must be so clear.

Yesterday was hard. Today was hard. We’ve reached a new point. The scenery has shifted to a Switzerland, Lake Como-esque vision, perfect blue waters, tall dense mountains, vermillion terracotta roofed homes built into hillsides, perfect brown calves sucking their mothers’ teet. And through it, intense physical pain. Raw pads of my feet. Hips joints suddenly voicing opinions. Shoulders sore and achy. When we’d sit to rest our feet would scream. Yesterday we walked 20 miles. That’s what did it. Past our friends. All in the name of a cheap Albergue. We spent the night in Caminha. After a lunch break at a grocery store where I felt animal gnawing at skewers of hot chicken and two Bueno ice creams, we climbed over a steel railroad track. Caminha was beautiful and European. A picturesque stone town with a big old church next to a big lake surrounded by relaxed looking mountains. I keep missing my grandparents, specifically Nana, because Portugal reminds me so much of Southern Maine. Historically, by means of Pangea, they aren’t too far off. And I keep hearing myself and hearing my parents. I’ve never felt more similar to them than this week. Isolated from any external factors, really just being myself with Calli, I am just a shadow of them.

A young woman just walked past me. She had a bob with curtain bangs and wore a long linen dress that touched her feet and a light blue knit shawl with large gaps between the stitches. I want to embody that energy. I say that and realize I am my parents. I wonder if I am becoming them because I miss them, embodying them a way of pretending they are here with me. Or maybe I am finally at an age where I know who I am, what I like separate from Skidmore and my friends, and social media trends. Although it is only the end of day 6 on the Camino, I’ve been living out of a backpack for nearly a month, separate from routine. Without outside voices, I realize how agreeable I am, and also stubborn in my ways. I realize how much I crave documenting the world, and how distant I feel from Instagram. I realize I am a thinker; I can just write and write, so many thoughts come to me. Calli and I just talk and talk and I think it’s teaching me about myself. Our comparison and differences help us realize our strong stances in ourselves. It’s helped me get into a mindset of contemplation; of thinking. The sun is setting over the ocean now in a soft orange pink sherbert sweep. Tonight we are in a man from Marseille’s Albergue. This town is perfect. I feel content living this way.

I forgot to journal again yesterday. Time is harder to manage; shorter walking means more time for fun. But I’ll rewind. Yesterday we ate breakfast at the same place we ate dinner the night before, Sal de Mar. The workers were really kind. Local men were waiting with us for them to open. We ate toast and drank coffee and got croissants which we ate at the top of a mountain. It was stunning, deep greens contrasted with a bold rich blue of ocean. Rocky, the coast and the hilltops. There was a red and white lighthouse that completed the look: this was Acadia. I couldn’t stop comparing the surroundings to Maine and Lake Como. Similarly, I kept comparing Calli to other people in my life. It was so instinctual, I kept blurting it out. I reflect often on this instinct, this inability to accept a place as what it is, and instead placing it in relation to other places.

We arrived in Baiana, the first town Columbus's captain ported in after America. Mountainous islands loomed in the distance and an old fort attacked once by vikings stood firmly by a beach with seashells for sand. We lay there for a while, fighting the wind for sun. I was reading Patti Smith. She wrote something along the lines of, “I felt that gravitational pull towards home that always returns when I’m away from it for too long, and is replaced by that gravitational pull to go elsewhere when I’m home for too long.” I’ve maybe never related to something more.

Today, Calli and I reflected on our trip this far. We are on day 8, 7 behind us, 7 to go, the exact epicenter. We reflected on how we haven't noticed much inert spiritual contemplation. Rather, this experience has encouraged us to reflect on that which is more concrete: lived experiences. It’s funny how we used to be right on track with other pilgrims, all matching each other's pace. It felt communal. But we’ve slowly trickled off-time. Slowing down after our 20 mile day, now back to an isolated experience and encountering more transient faces as we get closer to Santiago. Today was gray and Calli and I woke up gloomy. We didn’t fully know why, perhaps something to do with wet laundry and a change in rhythm: ritual. Perhaps that is something learned in this that is spiritual. The comfortability of ritual.

We reflected today after a short walk to Saiana, a mountain village on a hilltop facing Pirates of the Caribbean mountain islands, on how we’ve learned a lot about ourselves because of each other. Our differences show us our more firm stances. This is the most isolated experience I’ve ever had. No outside conversation other than texts for 2 weeks. It means no performing, I realize. I’m used of switching “on” to match so many peoples’ energies throughout a week. Here, I am solely myself with one person. It is making me realize how similar I am to my parents. Similarly, without a closet of clothes or various activities, we are living so simply. I’ve never talked so much. We entertain ourselves by asking why, going in circles reflecting on ourselves and each other. We remembered Daniel today, the Danish man who wants to be a pastor. During his time in solitude in the cabin in Norway, he said he didn't feel happy, he felt neutral. And though he said happiness is only found when experienced with others, that isn’t what he was looking for. He wanted the peace of neutrality. No highs means no lows. What a different dream.

There was a thunderstorm tonight. We are currently staying in an Albergue in Redondela, clearly connected to the church because the woman running it is a nun dressed all in white with one of those headdresses they wear. We have a balcony that looks out over a beige medieval church. Calli and I sat there, our backs leaning against the outside wall, and watched birds circle the structure, proof of aliveness against the historical image. Today Calli reflected on having had fish last night for dinner, “I feels weird to have digested an animal.” That was such a curt way to put it, and made me understand her ethics against meat a bit better. The thought of a living being being sorted through my own living being’s bodily functions is eerie.

The wind keeps rushing in and washing over me. It feels so good. Wind has always been my favorite weather. I love the texture it brushes against my face. Yesterday we spent the night in Vigo with a friend of Calli’s aunt. She was so kind to us, taking us out to dinner with her sons and washing our clothes. All throughout her house were beautiful black and white photographs of children in churchly settings. She told us her father was Ricard Terré, a renowned documentary photographer, and lent us his photobooks to look at. Late last night after our dinner on the waterfront, I read through them. He made photographs in a time when no outside influence came into Spain, following no one and creating innovatively. He asserted that the documentary photographer can be an auteur. His images were high contrast film, all black and white. Many were of children in religious contexts, dressed up, holding crosses or coffins, he focused on the one child looking away. Innocence in the face of death and faith, somewhat humorously and ironically. In the book’s introduction, the editor met him for the first time in Santiago- a fitting sentence for me to read. And then she reflected on his showing at Le Rencontres d’Arles, which I will attend this year. It felt like perfect happenstance. The whole experience inspired me so much. I can’t wait to be an adult with a family and host international students. I get such a warm feeling thinking about being a mother someday. I saw a woman with her pregnant belly out and I can’t stop picturing that it’s me. I think so much about my future- it’s really all I think about. Calli told me how it stresses her out a bit because she doesn’t focus on her future very much. But it’s ‘what if’ that excites me! If I don’t think about everything that is possible in my life, what is there to think about?

Today we are in the small fishing village of Combarro. There isn’t really beach here, so we sit at a seaweed strewn port, all gray and mucky with electric pops of green overlaid over broken seashells. This is a witch town, like Salem, a shopkeeper told me when I asked about the dozens of plastic witches scattered about the store. It put me in such a good mood. But I’m not anymore. I feel less myself. I realize how much of me and my identity is wrapped up in how I present in my material belongings, my clothes, my style. I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin! Be suspended in water -darkness- cool and soft against me. Sleep in that space. Not care. Not be a body. Yesterday was a hard walk. Two mountains and a stomach ache. I couldn’t focus on the world around me. While we hiked in a beautiful forest, all I could focus on was my breath, how much it hurt.

Yesterday was good though. Pontevedra had a nice old town, medieval architecture and palm trees and urban sprawl melanged together in a way that reminded Calli of Montpellier. We got ice cream with Mac, who we hadn’t seen in a week, and who told us that their middle aged German friend had become their walking buddy, and that his wife of 30 years had died 3 months ago. They had had a vacation to Istanbul booked for this time, but he decided to do this instead, it’s something that she would never do. It echoed the sentiment that I have been sensing about the Camino. Some people are here for deeply personal reasons. It is much less social than I had been expecting. There is a sense that you shouldn’t disturb the people around you because they may be going through something unseen. This isn’t an adventurous backpacking hike, but an excuse to be alone, disconnected from reality, focused on your own thoughts and physical pain. So friendship is delicate. As young people are rare, I feel a ‘speak when spoken to’ habit emerge, not wanting to disturb the myriad elders who surround me. I don’t feel an overwhelming ‘religiousness’ sentiment, but rather a deliberateness, to wake early and feel pain, not to feel ‘close to God,’ but to feel close to something uncomfortable and deeply personal.

My face is sunburnt. It stings, but I can’t look away from the sun. Calli and I just finished Year of the Monkey by Pati Smith laying out on a dead end’s pavement. My throat is raw from reading out loud for so many hours. I love Patti. I’m not sure if I can summarize what I just read-time, love, destruction, religion, grief, loyalty, dreams, gratitude, solitude. It reminds me of Ricard’s photography, children, innocence, death. These themes that, though vast and complex, can simply be summed up as the overarching human experience. I think that, too, is the theme of this pilgrimage. We went into it expecting great contemplation over spirituality through discussions with strangers. Instead, we have been met with a quietness from those around us. Either our neighbors are retired with time to spare, eager to prove some undead strength within, or they are adults with the ability to wander jobless for a time, their cause is personal, transitional, unmasked but secret. So instead of meeting these solemn pilgrims, Calli and I meet each other.

Today we wandered around our small rural farm town of the night, Armentiera, which I adamantly declared to feel claustrophobic. We ate lunch for three hours and then laid out on a wall by the monastery. I put my scarf over my head and watched as the wind billowed its shape over my eyes, felt the sun burn my cheeks through its infinitesimal dotted openings, mesmerized by the pale blue and sparkling gold the star brought out. I lay there and picked myself apart. I picked a hangnail to bleeding and washed the red off in a stone pump. I’m cold now. The sun is setting.

This is what I want right now: Maine, the knowledge of being there, because simply knowing is enough. The evening light on the special roses that grow there, the way sand stains everything to a washed out shadow of what it once was, the smell of pine and salt and the presence of my family quietly near me while I read a mystery novel. The patio in our apartment in Manhattan that I haven’t even seen yet but I know will be my favorite place, plants everywhere cared for by the love of my sister, warm string lights brightening the faces of my parents as we all sit together a little drunk off the tequila in our palomas. Renée and I’s apartment, cooking with Cori while something pretentious and jazz inspired plays on one of our phones, giggling and aweing at how much we love our life in Berlin together. The hugs from them, and Tess and Elise, all so warm and loving. This morning on our walk I wasn’t there. Though we were surrounded by a mythic and ancient forest, shaded, dark green and made of ivy and the green thumbs of gnomes, relics of stone water mills mimicking witch huts, I was really with them all. I’ve reached a tipping point. A feeling of being trapped. I love to travel. But I don’t love to hike. These small rural towns, connected by wide stretches of nothingness, is finally getting to me, I miss the city, any city, its diversity, dynamics, spirit. I miss noise, and music, and energy. Everything here is quiet. The Albergues, the Europeans, the towns themselves. Only children raise their voices. I want to hear people laughing more. I miss having things to do. Walking feels wasteful - my time could be used elsewhere, on something exciting, like a project. I miss art. I miss my material identity. I miss my people.

This evening we went to the beach, our last night on the ocean. The sun felt too hot on my skin, so I escaped to a rock down the shore, its gray surface softened by dead barnacles, and lay against it, listening to old disco on my phone and staring off at the sea and mountains to the right of me. The music and the breeze put me in the best mood. I danced over to Calli singing Walking on Broken Glass by Annie Lennox.

Today was our last day of real walking. We woke early in our Albergue in Vilanova, which was a small segment on the second floor of a huge gymnasium sports center. It’s okay though, because despite the cold feeling there, the bright yellow and blue kitschy Camino themed coloring and squeaky polished floors encompassing our bedroom of 20 bunkbeds and wet snores, tonight's Albergue is the coziest yet. Though the city we are in now is somewhat sad feeling, a poorer suburb of Santiago with no access to a body of water, this place is so homey. It’s because of the wood. Light pine paneling everywhere. Since it’s a short hour and a half from Santiago, we are of just a few guests, though the facilities were built to host many. Right now I sit in a bed with real sheets and a soft blanket. I have a shelf with free chamomile tea. Above me is the wood paneling of the top bunk, just like my walls, and a forest green curtain encloses my little room. I have a warm light to top it all off. It feels so fucking good. Really, when was the last time I felt cozy? And private? I just want to lay here for hours and read (I just took Down and Out in Paris in London by George Orwell off their shelf). It makes me miss the Adirondacks, home.

This morning we took a motor boat to Padron. We saw dolphins, the sleek skin curving in and out of the water like braids. We passed many stone crosses built on rocks in the river, and sat across from a group of older Danish women.

So! All done with the Camino. Our last walk was a short hour and a half, but it felt longer with anticipation of ending. The courtyard of the cathedral was littered with dozens of pilgrims, sitting and staring at it. We watched people embrace, sit in silence, laugh, high five. It reminded me of the opening scene in Love Actually, in Heathrow, where you see all these strangers having tender moments. Suddenly Mac appeared. They'd arrived a few days before, but were on their way to a massage and had stopped by. It was so serendipitous. We exchanged Instagrams and wished each other well. They kept texting me little updates, clearly hoping to remain friendly. It’s sweet. Calli and I went and got our certificates, I was swindled into purchasing the 3 euro extra, then we got a meal. We realized we had accidentally booked an Albergue in Santiago, Chile, and had to sort that out.

Later, we went to the pilgrims mass in the cathedral. We sat on the fringes against a pillar. The golden ornamentary of the church was immensely detailed, with pink humanoid angels watching the crowd. The mass was held in Spanish. I let my thoughts wander for the 45 minutes.

Sitting in mass was weird. It felt glorious and full of intensity. A couple next to me embraced deeply, the wife crying a bit. So much feeling contained within an interior space. I didn’t feel changed like that from this walk, I'm not really sure even what my takeaways from it are. I had to think a lot. I learned how career focused I am, that it's what I define my life by, more than connections sometimes. I think the walk stressed me out a bit. Being done feels really good. I need the material world to feel like myself. I am shy with starting conversations with strangers. I only miss people when I have the time to. I love travel, love being in new places. But I don’t love hiking. I really don’t get bored. I get excited by new towns, new experiences. I didn't get many takeaways from the walk. It was simply a lot of time to think. People say you get out of it what you put into it. I went in open, curious to see what I would find. I think I got a lot of cultural understanding, a lot of good conversation. But nothing wholly profound, because I don’t think I knew what profoundness I could look for. It showed me I’m ready to be with my people again, that I really miss my people. I missed London and Maine, familiarity in cold places I love. I miss city, urban. I miss being around people who care about what I care about, art, beauty, culture.

I just reread my first entry in this journal, talking about how I’d kept running into people. And how funny our running into Mac! The world is so small. People come back and back and back. I think this hike taught me that. Walking so much required patience. Being with someone so different from me required patience. We didn’t listen to music. Calli called people a lot, but I called no one. It felt wrong to me. I didn’t want to interrupt the experience with outside people. I wanted the experience of missing them. Of separation from my reality.

Now I’m on my flight to Berlin. This funny in between chapter is ending. Last night we slept in a hotel that Calli’s parents kindly bought for us. We ate salads for dinner and got a drink. I like Madrid, through its hot, inferno heart. We had buffet hotel breakfast, got coffees and realized we broke nearly even with buying each other things. It was a good last day together. We went to her mother’s cousin’s apartment and I grabbed the rest of my luggage and we said goodbye. What a wonderful crazy whirlwind. I’m happy we did it together.