~ wander.essence ~

braga, portugal: rendezvous

wanderessence1025 February 12, 2019

The day had come for our rendezvous. I had just finished walking 799km on the Camino de Santiago, with bus trip interludes to Muxía and Finisterre, finally returning to Santiago de Compostela. It was the day after my 63rd birthday and I was due to meet my husband in Braga.

Enamored of Portugal as I was from my first visit there in 2013 (Portugal), my enthusiasm had infected my husband. I had been feeling a fierce nostalgia for the sea, craving the castles and gardens of Sintra, longing for azulejo-covered buildings, dreaming of the red rooftops of Lisbon, tasting pastel de nata and fresh seafood.

Mike flew overnight from Washington, D.C. and drove a MINI Clubman from Lisbon to Braga, while I took a taxi to the bus station in Santiago, then the 10:00 ALSA bus to Porto, stopping 20 minutes in Vigo, Spain, and arriving at 11:30 Portugal time. With the time change and the stop, it took me about two hours, while Mike’s drive was over four hours on top of his overnight flight.

The enduring light of the Spanish countryside followed the ALSA bus as we left behind hilly whitewashed villages in Spain and rode into the lush scenery of Portugal. The bus pulled in to a bus depot in Vigo, and I was relieved, never knowing when trapped on buses in foreign lands when bathroom stops would be forthcoming.

When we passengers boarded the bus again, I noticed a welcome solace settle over me. I didn’t have to walk if I didn’t want to (although I could, and would!), I would have my husband to lean on, and I could wear my regular street clothes for the first time in 55 days. Oh, how much I pined for clothes other than the hiking clothes I’d been wearing on the Camino!

Looking out the windows of the bus, I felt riveted by the changing countryside and watched through the windows with wonder – the hilltop towns, the red roofs, the green hills.

Next stop was Braga, Portugal’s third largest city, founded first by the Celts and then conquered in 136 BC by the Romans, who christened it Bracara Augusta. Later the Moors moved in (715 AD) and later still, Fernando I, king of Castilla y Leon, reconquered the city in 1040.

Braga is famous for having the first cathedral in the country; it is an elegant town with ancient narrow lanes, an upscale old center with lively cafes and trim boutiques, restaurants and low-key bars. Home to the Universidade do Minho, it was designated the European Youth Capital in 2012. Today’s conservative town has about 192,000 residents.

I was the only one on the bus to get off; everyone else was bound for Porto. I taxied to Domus 26 Guesthouse with a confused driver, where I was warmly welcomed by the owner, Conceiçao. The room wasn’t ready, and hunger had hit me hard, so she directed me to brac Restaurante, where I enjoyed an amazing buffet lunch of cold salads, hot soup, hot dishes, and dessert, all for 9€.

Feeling full, I joined tourists and residents on the cobblestone streets, whiling away the time until I could check into my room. I meandered past azulejo-tiled buildings, the Sé Cathedral, the chapel of Nossa Senhora da Torre and St. Paul’s Church. I followed a couple of lovebirds down the street.

Finally, after checking in to our spacious pink and white room, I waited for Mike to arrive with himself, the car, and the suitcase I’d packed before I left for the Camino. I relaxed on the bed, covering myself with a blanket, hoping for a nap but too excited to sleep. I hopped up numerous times to stand on the balcony, watching for his arrival. He called to say he was driving around in circles, the GPS not giving him proper directions to the guesthouse. I went out to the street and walked up and down, telling him to look for me on the street near the cathedral. He thought another church he’d found was the cathedral, and he kept driving around that. Finally, after a good long time with me pacing around on the street, he arrived, after I told him to put “brac Restaurante” into the GPS.

We showered and he relaxed a bit after his long journey. I was tickled to change into new clothes from the suitcase he’d brought. We ventured out to the town past colorful tiled buildings, hanging laundry, mannequins in mod clothes on balconies, a man with a stuffed fish hanging in front of his face, a bicycle with a basket of flowers on the handlebars at Casa Centenaria, a jacaranda tree bursting with birdsong, café tables under umbrellas, the Cathedral and the BRAGA sign, where we both posed for pictures. We met Francisco Sanches, with his round frilly collar, beside a church with his name on it. We stopped into Igreja de Santa Cruz, and then walked into the old town to find dinner.

On our way, Mike stopped to marvel over a huge tree in the courtyard of a hotel, how it must be over 100 years old. A Portuguese woman standing nearby volunteered to walk into the hotel and ask how old it was. They supposedly “told” her it was over 100. Then she looked like she was going to cry, said she hated to ask, but could we give her some money for dinner? I felt bad for Mike because he so often believes in the goodness of people and was caught up in marveling over this tree with this strange woman. In the end, she was faking it just to hit us up for money. I wasn’t shocked as I don’t trust people easily and I had felt something like that coming. We ended up giving her 10€, but I could tell Mike felt he’d been duped.

We enjoyed a very fancy multi-coursed meal at Cozinha de Sé, a Michelin Guide restaurant billed as rustic-modern style with traditional Portuguese dishes. I enjoyed Arroz de Tamboril, or rice monkfish.

*Friday, October 26, 2018*

Steps: 9,188 (3.89 miles)

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See below for photos and historical facts and figures, if you’re interested. 🙂

Taking the 10:00 ALSA bus from Santiago to Porto, we stopped 20 minutes in Vigo, Spain, and arrived in Braga at 11:30 Portugal time.

bus station in Vigo, Spain

Domus 26 Guesthouse was a lovely guesthouse with a spacious room and fabulous breakfast.

Domus 26 Guesthouse

our room at Domus 26 Guesthouse

I enjoyed an expansive and delicious buffet at brac.

salad table at buffet lunch at brac

The Sé Cathedral is the oldest in Portugal, devoted to St. Mary of Braga. Its façade is the result of a Baroque renovation in 1723.

Sé Cathedral

So many façades throughout Portugal are covered in azulejos.

azulejo-covered buildings

street in Braga

colorful Braga

St. Paul’s Square is the nave of an open air oratory. The chapel of Nossa Senhora da Torre was built in thanksgiving to the Virgin for having saved the city from the earthquake of 1755.

Nossa Senhora da Torre

St. Paul’s Church, with its austere façade, was founded in 1560 and handed over to the Jesuits by Archbishop D. Frei Bartolomeu dos Mártires (Friar Bartholomew of the martyrs).

St. Paul’s Church

Portuguese lovebirds

azulejo-covered buildings

Largo do Paço

azulejos

relief near the Sé

I love the weathered buildings in Portugal, such as the Junta de Freguesia (Parish Council).

Junta de Freguesia

We were greeted by a statue of Francisco Sanches, who was born in Galicia, Spain, but was baptized in Braga in 1551. His father was Spanish and his mother Portuguese. He studied in Braga until he was 12, when he moved with his parents to Bordeaux to escape the surveillance of the Portuguese Inquisition. After 1575, he ended up as a professor of philosophy and medicine at the University of Toulouse.

balcony characters

a man with a fish head

Francisco Sanches

We posed for pictures in the letters of the BRAGA sign in front of the Igreja do Hospital de S. Marcos. This site is dedicated to St. Mark and has traces of a late Baroque structure. It also has classical motifs in its façade.

BRAGA sign in front of the Igreja do Hospital de S. Marcos

Igreja de Santa Cruz is an example of the work of a devoted brotherhood and expresses the passion of Christ. It was build around the first quarter of the 17th century.

Igreja de Santa Cruz

inside Igreja de Santa Cruz

Cozinha da SÉ is a Michelin-starred restaurant where we enjoyed a multi-course meal at the end of our rendezvous day. 🙂

me at Cozinha da SÉ

Mike at Cozinha da SÉ

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose. In this case, one of my intentions for my trip to Portugal was to pick five random verbs each day and use them in my travel essay: 1) ~~crave~~, ~~taste~~, ~~pine~~, ~~cover~~, ~~tickle~~. √

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, February 25 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, February 26, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired. 🙂

Pauline, from Living in Paradise…, wrote about the destructive nature of the strangler vine.
- The unexpected drama in the Rainforest…
Jude, of Travel Words, shared a story of a time she was ousted from a friend’s home in South Africa and came to appreciate the kindness of strangers.
- The Kindness of Strangers

Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

{camino: day 5} a rest day in pamplona

wanderessence1025 February 10, 2019

I slept well despite having a top bunk, and I didn’t get going to explore Pamplona until 10:00. I was thrilled to toss aside my hiking boots for a day and to wear the lightweight sandals I’d worn traipsing all over Japan. I walked up along the city wall and stopped at a shady bench to write in my journal and admire the views. It would turn out I’d spend the entire day alone.

Pamplona is a university city with an expanding population of about 200,000 and long-standing ties to the Camino de Santiago.

view over Pamplona from atop the city walls

I continued my walk along the wall, and then wandered aimlessly through the colorful city streets.

Pamplona’s colorful streets

Church of San Fermín de Aldapa

Street art/graffiti

wrought iron door

streets of Pamplona

I stopped at a small tapas bar called Dom Luis and sat at the bar enjoying tapas – smoked salmon and avocado on toast with a refreshing white wine. It was so delicious, I ordered another: a phyllo bundle filled with potatoes and mushrooms and topped with a runny-yolked egg. Yum! It was quite hot today, about 85°F, so I was happy to sit inside, although the bar was open to the streets.

Immediately after I sat down, a huge parade cavorted past the bar, with oversized medieval characters dancing and turning to rousing band music. It was a wild spectacle, with whole Spanish families flowing happily along, some dressed to the hilt, some in costume, and others in lightweight summer clothes.

Apparently, this festival is the Privilege of the Union, which commemorates the unification of the three parts of the city (La Navarrería, San Cernín and San Nicolás) into one in a treaty signed in 1423 by King Carlos III. Before this unification, Camino pilgrims had been enticed to settle in Pamplona under special status, leading to hostilities between the pilgrim settlers and native inhabitants. With the Privilege of the Union, special status was extended to all parts of the disgruntled factions of the city, beginning an era of cooperation.

Each of the three boroughs at that time lost their individual walls and individual governments and opted to be governed by a single council and enclosed within the same city walls.

Dom Luis

smoked salmon and avocado tapas

characters in the parade

medieval characters

oversized medieval characters

another tapas bar

Feeling quite relaxed after the wine, I continued to wander around the town, around Plaza del Castillo, Pamplona’s main square with covered arcades and shops, and past the 12th century Iglesia de San Nicolas. I ran into several pilgrims, people I’d connected and spent time with since St. Jean, as they were exchanging numbers and making dinner plans. They seemed all caught up with one another, and I felt like an interloper. No invitation to join was forthcoming, so I continued on my way. I have never been one to linger where I don’t feel welcome, and I’ve also never been one to chase after people. I’d always rather bow out gracefully and let people have their space.

Plaza del Castillo

Continuing to wander, I came across legendary streets of cuesta de Santa Domingo and calle Estafeta where they have the running of the bulls during the San Fermín festival annually from July 6-14. This festival was made famous with the 1926 publication of Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises.

I found the Hemingway Paseo, the bull ring, Plaza de Toros, and the famous monument to bull running. Pamplona’s bull ring was rebuilt in 1923. It seats 19,529 and is the third largest in the world, after the bull rings of Mexico and Madrid.

Plaza de Toros

statue of Hemingway on Paseo Ernest Hemingway

statue of the running of the bulls

The monument to bull running is impressively evocative and vivid with its violent and frightening details.

statue of the running of the bulls

statue of the running of the bulls

After leaving the bull running area, I got caught in another parade of huge-headed figures marching and dancing in the streets, men on fake horses flogging people with sponges attached to sticks, whole Spanish families eating tapas and drinking wine and beer, bands playing lively tunes, men in matching uniforms clearing the streets. What a lively place to be, and quite by accident!

characters in the festival parade

The streets reverberated with loud music, to which the characters were dancing. Locals clapped, laughed and took pictures while having the time of their lives.

festival characters

royalty on parade

a mean-looking character

After the crowds passed, I continued wandering around the city.

streets of Pamplona

The Cathedral of Santa María

Pamplona

festive buildings

graffiti

square in Pamplona

I walked past the Iglesia de San Saturnino, named after the patron saint of Pamplona. Saturnin was the first evangelist of the city. Originally Romanesque in style, it is now more Gothic in appearance.

Iglesia de San Saturnino

The Citadel is the walled fortification built between 1571 and 1645 under the orders of King Felipe II of Spain, with a layout designed by an Italian military engineer. A sophisticated defensive system was devised, a rectangular pentagon, or star shape, with five bastions at the corners. The layout was supposed to make it impregnable. It is regarded as the finest example of military architecture from the Spanish Renaissance.

In the 20th century, it was converted to a park and is often used for shows and art displays.

Citadel

It was quite hot walking around in the sun at the Citadel, so I sat for a while on a bench to orient myself. While looking at my guidebook pages, I saw that I would be passing the Citadel tomorrow morning on my way out of Pamplona. I was always happy to figure out my route out of a town the day before I started my walk the next morning.

I continued on through the leafy Parque de la Taconera, with its beautiful flower beds and café and past a statue back toward my albergue. After relaxing a bit, I made my way up to the city walls, where I stopped at a café for a drink and some people-watching.

heading back to the city walls

the city walls

atop the city walls

walking around the perimeter of the city

I stopped into the Church of San Lorenzo, where I sat in silence for a while, offering up prayers of gratitude and supplication, asking for peace, self-fulfillment, and joy for myself and all my family and friends.

Church of San Lorenzo

inside the Church of San Lorenzo

It seemed I was walking around in circles and several times felt totally disoriented. The town was splashed everywhere with graffiti. The town hall, or Casa Consistorial, dominated a small square with its baroque façade.

graffiti

City Hall Pamplona

Since the Gothic 15th century Cathedral of Santa María la Real had been closed when I dropped by earlier, I made my way back to it. It was open, but no one was manning the desk, thus I was unable to get a stamp for my credenciale. I wandered around the Cathedral, stopping to admire the alabaster mausoleum of Carlos III El Noble and his wife Leonor of Navarre, with their idealized expressions, in the main nave. The monarchs of Spain used to be crowned here, and at one time it was the seat of the parliament of Navarre.

Cathedral of Santa María

inside the Cathedral of Santa María

I went in search of a quiet street and dipped into the adorable Café de Pablo, where I enjoyed a tinto verrano (red wine with lemonade) and tapas – goat cheese, caramelized onions and green peppers on toast – and a jambon sandwich.

a quiet side street of colorful buildings

tapas: goat cheese, caramelized onions and green peppers on toast

Pamplona streets

I didn’t really get much “rest” during my first “rest day” on the Camino, as I walked over six miles. Early in the evening, it started raining with a vengeance, and it was predicted to be pouring in the morning, when I would walk to Muruzábal.

*Day 5: Saturday, September 8, 2018*

*14,734 steps, or 6.24 miles: wandering around Pamplona*

You can find everything I’ve written so far on the Camino de Santiago here:

Camino de Santiago 2018

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On Sundays, I post about hikes or walks that I have taken in my travels; I may also post on other unrelated subjects. I will use these posts to participate in Jo’s Monday Walks or any other challenges that catch my fancy.

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Remember Culatra?

colorado towns: durango

wanderessence1025 February 7, 2019

After leaving the Four Corners Monument late in the day, I drove into Colorado, past the sign “Welcome to Colorful Colorado,” over the San Juan River and between the Ute Mountains. Dawes sang:

Most people don’t talk enough about the love in their hearts
But she doesn’t know most people feel that same way

~”Most People”

Out my window, tan grasses danced, buttes jutted into blue sky to the west and south, green mountains undulated to the north. Past Aztec Creek, a white cross by the highway spelled “Willie” in red. Flowers brightened Willie’s cross. Canyons wound through a strange rounded land. Solid tan buttes, breathtaking, loomed ahead at Navajo Springs. I sped by Tawaoc, Cross Creek, the sprawling Ute Mountain Casino. This place is home to the Ute Mountain Tribe.

Before reaching Cortez, the Thunderbird Trading Company beckoned. A sign enticed with “Stay Retro at the Retro Inn,” but I was headed to Durango. The landscape greened past the Antique Corral. Nature, in the form of aggressive weeds and vines, swallowed derelict hotels and liquor stores, but G-Whil Liquors buzzed with business.

I was beckoned to stay in Cortez by the El Capri Hotel, the Motel Tomahawk, Mi Mexico Restaurant, Fiesta Twin Cinemas, Cowboy Town, and the Retro Inn. I drove right past them all.

Retro Inn in Cortez

Later, after I’d spend two days driving the San Juan Skyway Scenic Byway — a loop that circles through the San Juan Mountains through Silverton, Ouray and Telluride — I’d be driving this route again on my way to Mesa Verde National Park. But on this day, I bypassed the sign for Mesa Verde, the Mancos Valley, Historic Mancos, the Echo Basin Resort. Lead-bottomed white clouds hovered in a scarlet ocher sky in the early evening light.

Fifteen miles before Durango, in a tree along the roadside, an upside-down yellow metal bicycle and a white skeleton dangled from a tree. The white bark of aspens and cottonwoods glowed in the evening light and a weathered barn hunkered down in the valley.

In Durango, where it suddenly grew chilly, I checked into the Adventure Inn, changed quickly into warmer clothes, and went downtown in search of The Living Tree for dinner, recommended by the receptionist. It was closed. Instead I ate momos and garlic naan, washed down with a cold beer, at Himalayan Kitchen: Nepalese, Tibetan and Indian cuisine. Walking up and down Durango’s charming Main Avenue, lined with charming shops, restaurants and bars, I noted that homes advertised in real estate windows were outrageously expensive. What a cost to live in such a beautiful place.

At breakfast the next morning, the owner of the Adventure Inn showed videos he’d taken last August in the hotel parking lot. The first one showed a deer walking around. The second showed a bear cub. The third showed a large brown bear, strutting around the parking lot as if he owned the joint, at 6:45 a.m., fifteen minutes before breakfast is regularly served at the hotel.

I left the hotel at 8:20 because I had a long drive ahead of me, and I wanted to walk around Durango in the sunlight before it got crowded. On my way downtown, I passed the Caboose Motel, the Spanish Trails Inn, Gandolf’s Smoke Shop, Your Flesh Tattoo, and the flowing Animas River.

On Main Avenue, I found a wall mural of native Jack Dempsey, who reigned as world heavyweight boxer from 1919 to 1926, on the brick wall of the El Rancho Tavern. Another mural of Main St., Durango circa 1890, showed a main street crowded with horses, buggies, teepees and a wall sign for 15¢ Star Tobacco. The brick side of the Olde Tymer’s Cafe sported an old hand-painted sign for S.G. Wall Druggists. Shops hinted at Durango’s sporting and healthy lifestyle: Spaaah Shop, Grassburger, The Living Tree. The cowboy mentality with a twist of humor was thrown in: the Lone Spur Cafe, The Diamond Belle Saloon, a cowboy sculpture, The Original Durango Dawg House, Derailed Pour House. Home decor shops were named Tippy & Canoe, l i v e l y (a boutique), and Eureka! Historic hotels lined the main street: The General Palmer Hotel, billed as Durango’s premier Victorian lodging, and the Strater Hotel, with “the world’s largest collection of Victorian antique walnut furniture,” stood proudly on street corners.

Caboose Motel

El Rancho Tavern

Olde Tymer’s Cafe

Himalayan Kitchen

Main Street in Durango

Spaaah Shop

Eureka!

Brown’s Shoe Co.

Durango

Silverton

The Strater Hotel has “the world’s largest collection of Victorian antique walnut furniture.”

Strater Hotel

Derailed Pour House

Diamond Belle Saloon

cowboy sculpture

Lone Spur Cafe

The Original Durango Dawg House

Living Tree

Grassburger

l i v e l y (a boutique)

The General Palmer Hotel

Toh-Atin

The Toh-Atin Gallery, established in 1957, is recognized as a quality dealer in Native American and Southwest Art.

Toh-Atin

Main St., Durango circa 1890

It was a beautiful morning and I was bowled over by Durango’s charm. But the road was calling, and I had to heed the call. Passing the Siesta Motel (Free Rooms: Just Kidding), I knew I wouldn’t enjoy a siesta until later that evening, when I reached Telluride.

Siesta Motel

Durango was formed in 1881 during the local gold rush when the Denver and Rio Grande Railway connected the town to Denver by rail. In July of 1882, a 45-mile track connected Durango with Silverton, which allowed ore to be hauled with greater speed and less cost. After the Silver Panic of 1893, the Great Depression of the 1930s and World War II, many railroads went bankrupt, but Durango and Silverton weathered the Depression and stayed strong. In the 1950s, Hollywood discovered the town and its western charm, and the area and the steam train became the setting for numerous movies.

Durango continues to thrive today with its craft breweries and distilleries, farms and dude ranches, and its adventure outfitters, offering horseback riding, biking, water sports, ziplining, skiiing, snowboarding, snowmobiling, dogsledding, sleigh rides, hiking, rock climbing, jeep tours and fishing. The Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad and the town’s proximity to the San Juan Skyway make it a convenient and beautiful all-around destination.

I wished I’d had more time here, and I hoped I could go back to explore one day.

*Friday — Saturday, May 18 & 19, 2018*

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“PHOTOGRAPHY” INVITATION: I invite you to create a photography intention and then create a blog post for a place you have visited. Alternately, you can post a thematic post about a place, photos of whatever you discovered that set your heart afire. You can also do a thematic post of something you have found throughout all your travels: churches, doors, people reading, people hiking, mountains, patterns, all black & white, whatever!

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20-25 photos and to write less than 500-1,000 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, February 20 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, February 21, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Sue, of WordsVisual, posted some painterly photos of fields in Provence, and elsewhere.
- Distant fields of Poppies and Broom, and some others
Jude, of Living on the Edge, posted some wonderful photos of the town and harbor of St. Ives, with some colorful boat details.
- Winter in St Ives

Thanks to all of you who shared posts on the “photography” invitation. 🙂

on returning home from france in 2003

wanderessence1025 February 4, 2019

Two weeks in the south of France and Paris. Two weeks exploring the onion-domed Russian Cathedral; Chagall, Monet and Renior paintings; and Van Gogh’s hospital room. Two weeks driving a rented Citroen past vineyards with their ancient, gnarled vines, standing like maimed soldiers in rows fading to pinpoints on the horizon. Two weeks shading our eyes from bursts of red poppies and yellow broom glowing in fields. Two weeks walking under canopies of plane trees, with their speckled but smooth bark, their amputated branches. Two weeks of palm trees, fig trees and yellow-flowering syringa trees. Two weeks mesmerized by the silhouettes of Florentine cypress trees under a full moon as we drove to Sante Affrique. Two weeks admiring the Pont du Gard and the Abbey de Fontfroide, with stairs worn smooth by centuries of monks’ feet. Two weeks baking in the ochre cliffs of Roussillon, collecting ochre dust on our shoes. Two weeks climbing a path scented in boxwood to the fortress ruins of Montsegur, where in 1244, the Cathars, a religious sect that renounced worldly goods, were burned en masse in a bonfire at the foot of the pog when they refused to renounce their faith. Two weeks emerging from an underground movie theater on the Champs Elysses, weeping after watching The Hours. Two weeks wandering through Paris: the Latin Quarter, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Museé d’Orsay, the Louvre, and the Basilique du Sacré Coeur at Montmartre.

Two weeks eating baguettes, canard confit, foie gras, olives, plump and perfectly red strawberries, croissants, pain du chocolat, galettes, glacé and dessert crêpes. Two weeks drinking pastis, the licorice-flavored drink favored by Hemingway. Two weeks stopping in shops named for the food items sold: fromagerie, boulangerie, charcuterie, boucherie.

Two weeks meandering through markets where vendors offered sun-kissed table linens, cloves of garlic tied in twine, honey (miel de lavande), jellies (confiture de framboise, confiture de rhubarbe), accordions of colorful postcards, old fun junk (brocante), chalkboards framed in whitewashed barn wood, handmade paper, and cheeses of every variety: boursin, brie, cantal, camembert, roquefort, emmental, gruyere.

Two weeks to fumble with a French phrase book and practice our pathetic French and to listen to Paris Combo’s “Living-room,” Bob Marley’s “Buffalo soldier in the heart of America,” Norah Jones singing “Come Away with Me,” and Florent Pagney’s “Ma Liberté de Pense.”

Two weeks to wear blue & cream flowered board pants, apple green capris, flowered sleeveless tops, and jaunty French scarves. Two weeks to stay in bed & breakfasts and pigeon lofts and hotels with lace-curtained windows opening onto balconies. Two weeks making buck-toothed chipmunk faces into a half mirror in the tiny triangular elevator with silver folding accordion doors in our Paris hotel, and laughing in loose silliness at ourselves.

Two weeks to possess beauty by buying postcards, brochures, a yellow glazed pottery bowl, a square apple green plate, a chintz-patterned box, bars of colorful soap, a tablecloth, scarves, honey, jellies and place mats.

Two weeks to dream of speaking perfect French, looking stylishly Parisian, drinking wine at sidewalk cafés and writing in journals that would eventually become novels.

cliffs of Rousillon

Mike in Rousillon

south of France

field of poppies & broom

vineyards in the south of France

me in France 2003

While traveling, I captured our journey in a handwritten journal, which I kept in great detail. I even made a few lousy sketches in said journal: sketches of a swimming pool, architectural elements at the Abbey de Fontfroide, and coffee pots at Domaine de Rasigous and at Aurifat. I was obviously fascinated by the many ways people make coffee or keep it warm. Though I tried to do word-paintings, I felt they fell short, as I didn’t use any psychological descriptions to embody a value or mood of importance. I felt the need to improve on my skills of observation.

I was too lazy to put care into my writing. Rather than taking time to sit and observe and reflect, I relied on my camera to capture the beauty I saw, but of course photos never capture the essence of a place. I still failed to use all my senses in descriptions. Taking so many pictures tends to make one lazy about noticing details.

Because it was 2003, just before the digital print age, I ordered two computer disks made from a few negatives, and the rest of the 18 rolls of film I took, I developed and put carefully into three photo albums. I started with such great intentions, but by the second of the three albums, I never got around to writing notes.

Cordes-sur-Ciel and my journal

South of France

Montsegur

Eiffel Tower

Bruniquel

journal & photo album

After all was said and done, I finished a second draft of my novel, including scenes from the Cistercian Abbey of Fontfroide and and Montsegur, the novel titled The Scattering Dreams of Stars that is still unpublished and sitting in a file on my computer.

And I dreamed of going to France again, this time to Paris again and to the north, which we did in 2006.

*May 8-23, 2003*

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“ON RETURNING HOME” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about returning home from one particular destination or, alternately, from a long journey encompassing many stops. How do you linger over your wanderings and create something from them? How have you changed? Did the place live up to its hype, or was it disappointing? Feel free to address any aspect of your journey and how it influences you upon your return. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

For some ideas on this, you can check out the original post about this subject: on returning home.

Include the link in the comments below by Sunday, March 3 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Monday, March 4, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation on the first Monday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Anabel, of The Glasgow Gallivanter, wrote a post about returning home from her Hebridean Hop.
- Hebridean Hop 22: returning home

Thanks to all of you who wrote “returning home” posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

great sand dunes national park

wanderessence1025 February 3, 2019

After visiting my youngest son in Crestone, Colorado, where he was WWOOFing on a small organic farm, we went to visit Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve, about an hour’s drive west, then south, then west again. It would have been much closer if we could have flown like a crow.

The park protects the tallest dunes in North America, reaching heights of over 750 feet. The dunefield alone covers overs 30 square miles. The preserve also contains ecosystems ranging from wetlands to nearly 42,000 acres of pinyon-juniper forests extending to high elevation alpine tundra.

Driving into Great Sand Dunes

Great Sand Dunes

my son at Great Sand Dunes National Park

Congress has protected nearly 90% of Great Sand Dunes National Park and National Preserve as wilderness under the 1964 Wilderness Act. This includes the Great Sand Dunes Wilderness of 33,549 acres in the national park, and 41,676 acres in the Sangre de Cristo Wilderness.

Great Sand Dunes National Park

We first stopped at the visitor center to watch a film about how the dunes were formed, and then went to explore the dunefield from the main Dunes parking area.

Most of the sand here comes from the San Juan Mountains, over 65 miles to the west. Larger, rougher grains and pebbles come from the rugged Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east. Sand and sediments from both ranges washed into a huge lake once covering the valley floor. As the lake vanished, prevailing southwesterly winds swept the sand grains in a pile beneath the Sangre de Cristos or washed them back toward the valley floor. Northeasterly storm winds blasted through mountain passes, piling dunes back on themselves and creating the tallest dunes in North America. The dunes are likely less than 400,000 years old.

driftwood in the dunes

The high, cold Sangre de Cristo Mountains collect and hold snow from October into April, releasing it in icy streams as spring brings on warmer temperatures. The creeks feed the underground aquifers for San Luis Valley residents’ wells, local agriculture and livestock.

the Sangre de Cristo Mountains

driftwood in the dunes

the Great Sand Dunes

From the parking lot, we walked 2.3 miles (3.7km) through the Piñon Flats campground to the Dunes Overlook Trail. Here, we strolled through sand sheet and grassland among gnarly juniper and small flower sand-verbena. Golden grasses and shrubs like rabbitbrush, starvation prickly pear, and narrowleaf yucca grow over old dunes, stabilizing them with their roots and reducing wind speeds with their branches and leaves.

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

juniper on the Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

From the overlook, we had a great view of the first ridge of dunes and the San Luis Valley.

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

Dunes Overlook Trail

my son

my son and me

the Sangre de Christo Mountains

Great Sand Dunes

After reaching a small hill where we saw panoramic views of the sand dunes, we headed back down to the parking lot. Sadly, I had reserved a hotel room in Pueblo, Colorado for that night, long before I knew my son would be in Crestone, and it was non-refundable.

Great Sand Dunes

My son and I had such a wonderful time together that I wished I could have spent a couple more days exploring the area with him. However, he had only one day off from the organic farm and I had reserved all my hotels for my 3-day drive back across the country.

Cloudy skies

Great Sand Dunes

After our visit to the park, my son wanted to visit an “awesome” hot spring for several hours, but I was getting worried about the time. I had to drive him back north to Crestone for an hour and then drive south again, backtracking past the Great Sand Dunes, and then east to Pueblo, Colorado for nearly three hours.

When we returned to Crestone, we had a wonderful, but very long (because of slow service) dinner at a homey restaurant called Desert Sage, where I enjoyed a huge meatloaf (much of which I gave my son to take to the farm) and mashed potatoes with gravy and vegetables. An accompanying glass of wine wouldn’t help me stay alert during my long drive to Pueblo.

I hate to drive in the dark, but by the time we finished our meal and I drove my son to the farm, it was nearly 8 pm. For what seemed like forever, I drove in circles around the dirt roads in Crestone, utterly lost. I couldn’t get my GPS to work, so I don’t know how I ever found my way out of those convoluted roads. Finally, I was on Route 17 heading south, driving on deserted county roads in the middle of nowhere.

At Mosca, my GPS took me on the “scenic route” which bypassed Alamosa, where I’d hoped to find a restroom. There was no “scenery” to see as it was pitch black outside. When I turned east onto Route 160, I thought it woudn’t be far to I-25, but the GPS told me to follow the road for 79 miles (!), crossing the North La Veta Pass of the Sangre de Cristos at 9,413 feet. There was hardly another car in sight in any direction.

Finally, I reached I-25 at 10:30 p.m. and headed north for 48 more miles. It was a drive I thought would never end. After Pueblo, I would still have three more full days of driving to get back home to Virginia.

Of course I got my National Parks sticker and cancellation stamp.

Sticker & cancellation stamp for Great Sand Dunes

*Tuesday, May 22, 2018*

*Steps: 11,980 (5.08 miles)*

**************

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Funazhinas to Odeleite Dam.

poetic journeys: refugio

wanderessence1025 February 1, 2019

Refugio

Los peregrinos shake the dust from
their zapatos de andar,
leaving los paisajes outside the door.

They deposit their bastones de caminar
into the large clay jar by la puerta,
wash off el dia in la ducha.

They launder their camisas y calzoncillos
y calcetines and hang them with
their toallas pequeñas

on the clothesline in the scant afternoon
luz de sol, retrieving fresh clothes from their mochillas.
They toast their amigos peregrinos,

raising glasses of vino tinto o vino blanco
o vino verrano, o sparkling cerveza limón.
They laugh, or chat, or

write with las plumas in sus diarios,
spilling los instantes of their day onto the pages,
their secretos, their inocencias.

Por la tarde, they might have a siesta do oro,
their pasaportes and dinero
wrapped snugly around their waists.

Later, when the temblores of sunlight have faded
and the great darkness desciende al día,
they toss and turn between sabanas of paper

or cocooned inside sacos de dormir,
their snores punctuating el silencio,
disturbing la luz de la luna.

The dreams of sus espíritus
seek voice in ríos of sleep,
on literas crowded into los dormitorios.

Por la mañana, many flow oeste on el camino
in la oscuridad, hoping their hearts will lift
with la salida del sol, on echoes of wind,

singing away through España.
Is this how they pray –
Un pie en frente del otro?

Meeting Point Albergue

*******************

Here’s the poem in English:

Refuge

The pilgrims shake the dust from
their walking shoes,
leaving the landscapes outside the door.

They deposit their walking poles
into the large clay jar by the door,
wash off the day in the shower.

They launder their shirts and underpants
and socks and hang them with
their tiny towels

on the clothesline in the scant afternoon
sunlight, retrieving fresh clothes from their backpacks.
They toast their pilgrim friends,

raising glasses of red wine or white wine or
summer wine, or sparkling lemon beer.
They laugh, or chat, or

write with pens in their diaries,
spilling the moments of their day onto the pages,
their secrets, their innocence.

In the afternoon, they might have a golden nap,
their passports and money
wrapped snugly around their waists.

Later, when the tremors of sunlight have faded
and the great darkness descends on the day,
they toss and turn between paper sheets

or cocooned inside sleeping bags,
their snores punctuating the silence,
disturbing the moonlight.

The dreams of their spirits
seek voice in rivers of sleep, on
bunk beds crowded into dorm rooms.

In the morning, many flow west on the road
in the darkness, hoping their hearts will lift
with the sunrise, on echoes of wind,

singing away through Spain.
Is this how they pray –
One foot in front of the other?

laundry on balconies at a refugio

*************************

“POETRY” Invitation: I invite you to write a poem of any poetic form on your own blog about a particular travel destination. Or you can write about travel in general. Concentrate on any intention you set for your poetry.

In this case, one of my intentions was to write a poem about some aspect of the Camino mixing Spanish and English words (p. 158 Poetry Everywhere).

You can either set your own poetic intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: poetry. (This page is a work in process). You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, February 28 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, March 1, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the first Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

aztec ruins national monument

wanderessence1025 January 31, 2019

From the late 1000s to the late 1200s, ancestral Puebloan people at Aztec Ruins National Monument in New Mexico planned and built a settlement encompassing large public buildings, smaller structures, earthworks, and ceremonial buildings. The extended community here rivaled Chaco Canyon, 55 miles south, which flourished between 850 and 1130.

The first inhabitants here were influenced by Chaco architecture, ceramics and ceremonial life. At first, it may have been a place that supported Chaco activities. When Chaco’s influence waned after 1100, it may have been a center in its own right.

Early farmers here took advantage of the Animas River’s steady flow across the plains of northwestern New Mexico. When inhabitants finished building this complex in the late 1200s, the community consisted of great houses, tri-walled kivas, small residential pueblos, earthworks, roads, and great kivas.

The ancient builders of Aztec Ruins are generally called “ancestral Puebloan people.” The site got its name because early Spanish explorers traveling north from Mexico commonly used the word “Aztec” when naming sites they encountered.

Visitor Center & Museum

The Great Kiva here served as the religious core of the Great House. These were probably public buildings used by people in the surrounding community. Common features include a large size, a central fire pit, four pillars, and floor vaults, possibly used as foot drums after planks of wood were laid across them.

This Great Kiva was excavated by Earl Morris in 1921 and reconstructed under his management in 1934. The purpose of fifteen surface rooms surrounding the central chamber is unknown. Possibly they were used for ancestor spirits, individual clans or societies, spectators, or ceremonial preparations. Supporting the 95-ton roof was a challenging feat of engineering, both when originally built, and when reconstructed.

Inside the Great Kiva

The round room shown below was another kind of kiva or ceremonial chamber. The roof in this kiva was domed with timbers resting one upon another, a common style for kiva roofs. Descendants of ancestral Puebloans describe this construction as representing a basket, associated with the sky above. People entered the kiva through a hatchway in the roof.

Kiva

Most prominent are the great houses — well-planned public buildings of many connected rooms surrounding a central plaza. By 1105, people began harvesting wood from distant sources to build the largest structure, now known as West Ruin. The West Ruin resembled the great houses built at Chaco and elsewhere in the Southwest. The three-story building had over 500 rooms and many kivas, including the Great Kiva in the plaza.

Buildings around the plaza

The thick tapering walls had a core of roughly shaped stones and mud mortar sandwiched between sandstone masonry exteriors.

construction

Aztec Ruins

The Great Kiva and another kiva

Kiva

me at Aztec Ruins

Buildings around the plaza

doorways

construction

walls

The path leads through a series of interior rooms. The rooms along the back wall were often used for storage as well as a place for burials. Mats, hides, stone slabs, or feather blankets were used to close off openings between rooms and the outdoors.

In this passageway, the ceilings are still intact after 900 years. The large beams (vigas) are made of widely spaced spruce, Douglas fir, or Ponderosa pine. The overlying smaller beams (latillas) are made of aspen or pine. Rather than using local timber, the builders chose to bring in high-quality roof beams from higher elevations 20 miles north. A layer of thin juniper splints was placed on top of the latillas. Finally, a heavy layer of tamped mud topped this layer, forming the floor of the story above.

This intact roof enabled precise dating of these ruins because of tree-ring dating, or dendrochronology.

inside nooks

interior nooks

kiva

North Wall

Aztec West

Aztec West

Aztec West

Hubbard Tri-Wall site

In the early years, the settlement was influenced strongly by Chacoan culture, and it prospered as a regional administrative, trade and ceremonial center. Later, despite periodic droughts and the decline of the Chacoan social and economic system, Aztec’s regional prominence persisted as construction and remodeling continued in the Chacoan style.

By the late 1200s, people had moved from Aztec and the Four Corners region. No one knows why they left, but archeologists guess perhaps it was drought, or social, political or religious issues. Possibly, it was simply the allure of distant places. They moved south to the less arid country near the Rio Grande and west into Arizona, where their descendants live today.

Murals

Many American Indians maintain deep spiritual ties with this ancestral place through oral tradition, prayer and ceremony.

Of course, I got my National Parks sticker and cancellation stamp.

Murals

Aztec Ruins cancellation stamp

Information above came from various brochures created by the National Park Service.

*Friday, May 18, 2018*

*********************

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20 photos and to write less than 500-800 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, February 6 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, February 7, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

February 2019
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