During the last semester of my Master’s program in International Commerce & Policy at George Mason University, I had the opportunity to attend a second study-abroad program on “Trade and Development.” My first had been to Mexico in May of 2007. The study abroad would take us to Singapore and Thailand for my first ever trip to Asia. I wasn’t that interested in Asia at that time, but I wanted to take every opportunity to travel, so I signed up for the course. Little did I know that this experience would lead to me working in and traveling through much of Asia in the coming years.
flying from Singapore to Phuket, Thailand – January 2008
I didn’t know much about Singapore other than its reputation for being squeaky clean and proper. I knew about Thailand from my husband’s stories of growing up in Bangkok while his father was stationed in the army there from 1958-1960. I had also seen the excellent movie, Brokedown Palace, starring Claire Danes, Kate Beckinsale, Bill Pullman and Lim Kay Tong. It deals with two American friends imprisoned in Thailand for alleged drug smuggling. I have always been a fan of Claire Danes, and have become more of one since her starring role in the T.V. series Homeland. Many years ago, I’d also seen the 1956 film of The King and I, which I didn’t much remember in 2008. The musical’s plot related the experiences of Anna, a British schoolteacher hired as part of the King’s drive to modernize his country. The relationship between the King and Anna was marked by conflict through much of the piece, as well as by a love to which neither could admit.
Singapore January 2008
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“THE CALL TO PLACE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about what enticed you to choose a particular destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. If your destination is a place you love and keep returning to, feel free to write about that. If you want to see the original post about the subject, you can check it out here: imaginings: the call to place.
Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, January 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, January 23.
If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.
This will be an ongoing invitation, on the fourth 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!
Happy holidays to all of my readers and followers and to everyone out there in the blogging world who happens to stop by. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to visit, to read, and to comment on my posts. It means the world to me. 🙂
Christmas tree at Union Market, Washington, D.C.
May you all have a blessed holiday season and a wondrous year in 2020. 🙂
Our first morning in Casablanca, Susan and I were up before 8:00, tossing on clothes to go in search of breakfast. At a cafe next door to our building, I had an espresso, yogurt with honey, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Susan wasn’t sure what she was ordering, but she ended up with a glass of warm milk with what looked like instant coffee sprinkled on top; she stirred it but it still wasn’t coffee but more like lukewarm coffee-flavored milk. Moroccan men in the cafe were having the same thing.
Back in our Airbnb room, we showered and dressed and enjoyed the views of the satellite dishes of Casablanca from our outdoor patio. Our Airbnb apartment was on the 7th floor of a building in Central Casablanca. The building was a bit derelict. It had a beautiful outdoor patio, but it was too cold to use it most days.
view of Casablanca from our Airbnb
view of Hotel Prince de Paris from our Airbnb
our patio at our Airbnb
our patio at our Airbnb
Upstairs was a nice kitchen that wasn’t stocked with anything, brass Moroccan lamps, a sofa and TV but no other chairs. Downstairs were three bedrooms. Mine had a heater but the other heater was in the hallway. The two downstairs bathrooms had been renovated and were the highlights of the apartment. The outdoor patio was lined with plants left outside year round. Tall ceilings were edged in beautiful plasterwork. My bedroom had floor-to-ceiling closets and cupboards. The bed was cozy, or maybe I was just exhausted.
inside our Airbnb apartment
inside our Airbnb apartment
inside our Airbnb apartment
We headed out to walk to Hassan II Mosque, first stopping for cappuccino, orange juice and a croissant at Café de France on Place des Nations Unies, considered the real heart of Casablanca. Here, we sat outside and watched people bustling by.
Place des Nations Unies
Café de France
We began our walk along the wall of the Ancienne Médina, past shops selling leather goods, djellabas, curvaceous wall sconces with cool patterns, paintings, shoes and lanterns. As we continued our walk along Boulevard Mohammed Ben Almonades, major construction engulfed us, with earth movers, dishevelment, and roaring and clanking noise. We had to walk on the road with cars and trucks because there were no walkways.
an official looking building
We found ourselves following a young couple, Hakima and Sufrin; Hakima was from a town near Casablanca and could speak some English. We followed them along the outer edge of the wall, or sqala, on the north side of the medina, facing the port. The sqala is a bastion, the last remains of Casablanca’s 18th century fortifications. We picked our way over dirt, trash, construction debris, and through traffic. It took forever to get to the mosque.
We stopped on the corniche east of the mosque for views of it perched atop a rocky foundation at the edge of the sea.
Hassan II Mosque
me and Hassan II Mosque
Hassan II Mosque
Ice Plant at Hassan II
the minaret of Hassan II Mosque
A couple told us to hurry across the sprawling plaza to the museum to buy tickets for the tour of the mosque. We made it there just in time for the 11:00 tour with an English-speaking tour guide. We removed our shoes and carried them in bright green cloth bags.
The mosque was built by the late King Hassan II to commemorate his 60th birthday. Built in six years from 1987-1993, it was designed by French architect Michel Pinseau. The mosque echoes the verse from the Quran that states that God’s throne was built upon the water. The 210m minaret is the tallest building in the country and the tallest minaret in the world. It’s topped by a laser beam that shines toward Mecca. It’s the third largest mosque after two in Saudi Arabia, accommodating 25,000 worshipers inside and a further 80,000 in the courtyards and squares around it. It also has a retractable roof, as well as an enormous glass floor suspended over the sea for prayer by royals only.
King Hassan II was King of Morocco from 1961 until his death in 1999. Hassan was known to be one of the most severe rulers of Morocco, widely accused of authoritarian practices and of being an autocrat and a dictator, particularly during the Years of Lead, a period of King Hassan’s rule from roughly the 1960s through the 1980s, marked by state violence and repression against political dissidents and democracy activists. I just finished reading the memoir by Malika Oufkir, Stolen Lives: Twenty Years in a Desert Jail. Here is my review of the book:
At the beginning of this memoir by Malika Oufkir, it was hard to feel much sympathy for her, adopted as she was into the household of King Muhammad V of Morocco. The king wanted her in the household as playmate to his favorite daughter, Lalla Mina, so she lived in the palace in luxury, removed from her family from 1958-1969. When King Muhammad died in 1961, and Hassan II became king, Malika continued to stay on in the palace. She finally returned to her birth home in 1969, and stayed with her family until 1972, when her father attempted a coup d’etat against King Hassan II. Malika’s father was executed and her whole family was taken away first to the Assa Oasis from 1972-1973, then to Tamattaght from 1973-1977, and finally to the horrid Bir-Jdid Prison for 10 years, from 1977-1987.
It was important to have Malika’s life in context; she was stripped slowly of all her human rights, after having lived a childhood of luxury and pampering. The family clung together, celebrated birthdays, and tried to make their lives bearable especially during their 10 year incarceration in Bir-Jdid Prison. They learned firsthand of hunger, squalor, disease and boredom. Several members of the family tried to commit suicide and went on hunger strikes.
Eventually, four of the children (who had grown into adulthood by this time) – Malika, Raouf, Abdellatif, and Maria – escaped by digging a tunnel out of the prison, only to be captured in Rabat several days later. By then, Malika, who certainly had her wits about her during the entire debacle, had contacted journalists and lawyers in France. The rest of the family, Malika’s mother and two other sisters, Myriam and Soukaina, as well as Achoura Chenna, the mother’s first cousin, and Halima, the younger sister of Abdellatif’s governess, were released from Bir-Jdid Prison and joined the four who had escaped in Marrakech. Slowly – even though they were still imprisoned under house arrest in Marrakech for three more long years – the family saw public opinion turn against the king. Eventually, Malika would leave Morocco, after her sister Maria escaped from Morocco by sea. International pressure forced the king to issue passports to the rest of the family.
This was an excellent account of the horrors endured by this family, one of many “disappeared” political prisoners.
The vast prayer hall has amazing wood carving, zellij (tilework), and ornate stucco molding. A team of 6,000 master craftsmen carved intricate patterns and designs in cedar from the Middle Atlas, marble from Agadir, and granite from Tafraoute.
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
prayer hall at Hassan II Mosque
In the basement are mushroom-shaped fountains used for ablutions in a sprawling room with a forest of pillars. Called a wudu, this is where Muslims wash their hands, forearms, face and feet before they pray.
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
ablution room (wudu)
Susan in the wudu
ablution room (wudu)
me in the wudu
When we walked out of the mosque, it had been raining and was still sprinkling a bit. My shoes and socks got soaked because the marble underfoot didn’t absorb the water.
We walked through the museum focused on the glass, zellij, calligraphy, stucco, and woodcarving that went into the mosque. Plaster or stucco is called “Al Gabs.” It has been used in Moroccan architecture since the 12th century.
interior decor in the mosque
interior decor in the mosque
interior decor in the mosque
interior decor in the mosque
interior decor in the mosque
calligraphy
calligraphy
We left the mosque and walked a bit west to see a wall mural that had a Mexican feel to it.
view of the mosque from across the plaza
wall mural
Then we caught a petit taxi to Rick’s Cafe. We were hungry for lunch!
*Saturday, April 6*
*22,132 steps, or 9.38 miles* (total)
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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. One of my intentions was to write using my five senses, which I still struggle with, but tried to incorporate here.
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, January 13 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 14, 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. 🙂
Jude, of Travel Words, wrote a fantastic and truthful portrayal of India in 1973.
On the first day in Santiago after completing my pilgrimage, I got up in the dark as I did through most of my Camino. I wanted to get to the pilgrim office, Oficina de Acollida Ao Peregrino, by the 8:00 opening. When I arrived at 8:10, there was already a line. There, I got the final sellos (stamps) for my credenciale , and I was awarded the Compostela with my Latinized name, “Catherinem” (?), and a certificate (for 3€) telling how many kilometers I’d walked (799 km!).
Me with my Compostela
my Compostela
My certificate with 799 km and the date, October 21, 2018
I returned to my room to drop the Compostela, then went to have churros and chocolate and a terrible Cafe Americano at a cafe near my hotel.
churros and chocolate
After breakfast, I headed for the Cathedral, where I walked around the various chapels. I also walked up the stairs into the High Altar, where I hugged the statue of the Apostle St. James from behind and gave him thanks for my pilgrimage.
fountain at the Santiago Cathedral
Santiago Cathedral
Santiago Cathedral
chapels at Santiago Cathedral
chapels at Santiago Cathedral
chapels at Santiago Cathedral
chapels at Santiago Cathedral
chapels at Santiago Cathedral
Out on Praza do Obradoiro, a group of protestors was making a racket by banging on metal pans and playing instruments in a cacophony of obnoxious sound. It seemed to go on forever. I never found out what they were protesting.
I ran into Greg and Sean going with Darina into the Cathedral rooftop tour, but I didn’t have a chance to talk much to them.
around Praza do Obradoiro
Cathedral of Santiago
Cathedral of Santiago
Cathedral of Santiago
Hostal dos Reis Católicos (parador)
At 11:00, I went to the Cathedral to get a seat for the noon pilgrim mass. Darina arrived much later, after her rooftop tour, and sat in the back. I hadn’t had a seat for the German mass the day before, and I wanted to enjoy the experience from a different angle. This time I sat in the nave of the cathedral, looking directly at the altar. In the apse, the statue of St. James presided over the nave from on high. All through the mass, I could see heads popping through the opening as pilgrims and visitors hugged the Saint from behind. It was strangely disconcerting.
Looking at the altar from the nave
This time there was a youth choir and the priest mentioned peregrinos and where they were from, naming countries all over the world. They swung the Botafumeiro again at this mass, but we had a different view than we’d had the day before; we’d sat in the transept during the German mass. We only saw the huge incense burner as it went back and forth in front of the altar; it disappeared into the transept!
After the mass, I went to have some lunch at a cozy restaurant. I had a tinto verrano and asparagus omelet and bread. I browsed through a couple of shops and then went through the 14th century Casa Gótica, with its pilgrimage museum (museo das Peregrinaciónes).
The museum pointed out the dimensions of pilgrimage in both the real and imaginary worlds. The pilgrim embarks on a ritual journey in search of purification, perfection or salvation. Pilgrim, way, and shrine are all essential elements. There is a relationship between the earthly and the holy, the individual and the group, causing a transformation in the pilgrim. In essence, the pilgrimage is a request or a plea, a way of giving thanks for a gift received, a desire to improve position in the social and emotional realms, or to draw closer to God.
Displays showcased the three great Christian pilgrimages: to Jerusalem, to Rome, and to Santiago de Compostela. The latter became a center for pilgrimage after the discovery of the body of St. James the Great in the 9th century.
The places related to the life of Christ, his disciples and the first martyrs became centers of devotion and destinations for pilgrimage.
The term “pilgrimage” is also used allegorically to express the similarity between a journey to a holy place and human life itself. The physical effort necessary to reach the pilgrim’s goal is a metaphor for the human spiritual journey, full of sacrifices, renunciation and heartache. The objective is to reach the highest level of knowledge, spiritual renewal, glory, paradise or eternal salvation.
the pilgrim museum
Vida de San Menas (Life of St. Menas)
St. Catherine of Alexandria
Transfiguration
Assumption of the Virgin Mary
Ascension
the pilgrimage museum
In the westernmost tip of Europe in the 820s, a tomb was discovered and identified as containing the body of St. James the Great (Santiago in Spanish). The stories about the life of the Saint have always been shrouded in a mixture of tradition and legend. There are questions as to whether Galicia and other parts of Spain were evangelized by St. James or St. Paul. The relics of martyrs were the most sacred of all objects for Christians. Thus, the discovery of the body of one of Christ’s closest disciples, and the first apostle to be martyred, was of enormous consequence to 9th century Christian communities.
pilgrimage
Early pilgrims wore typical walking clothes. A cape that wasn’t too long, a cloak or pellegrina, a broad rimmed hat and strong shoes protected them from inclement weather and allowed them to walk comfortably. Later, the dress became standardized so pilgrims were easily identifiable. Often the outfit included a staff, a basket, a pouch, and a gourd to carry water or wine. Pilgrims often sewed to their clothes insignia from the shrines they’d visited (much like the sello in today’s credenciale), including the scallop shells typical of the Camino. Recently, colorful sportswear has revolutionized traditional walking gear and is now the preferred mode of dress.
pilgrim clothing
From the beginning, the journey on foot was the main mode of transport. Using animals or a carriage was a privilege. Pilgrims organized into groups to keep from being vulnerable to wild animals, bandits and criminals. Today, pilgrimage is still most popular on foot, although bicycles are an increasingly popular alternative.
The Pilgrim’s Guide (Book V of the Codex Calixtinus) was an exceptional 12th century guide book offering information for pilgrims. Many pilgrim guides were written over the centuries.
modern day version of a Pilgrim’s Guide
The pilgrimage is full of rituals from beginning to end. The pilgrim prepares himself before leaving home. He may receive blessings and make a will. He may carry a stone as a form of penance, which he later throws onto a heap of stones. Completion of the pilgrimage could be verified in a document. From the 15th century on, pilgrims were given certificates known as “compostelas.”
Figures of St. James the pilgrim emerged in the 12th century, the product of a widespread cult related to the Camino. He is depicted most often with a staff and pouch, a gourd for liquids, a hat to protect him from the sun and rain, and a cape as a complement to his cloak. The scallop shell is what identifies him as a pilgrim. These depictions often aim to show the Saint’s human side.
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Santiago
Saint James the Indian slayer
Santiago
After visiting the museum, I relaxed a bit in my room, then went on the rooftop tour of the Cathedral. We had a Spanish guide, so I couldn’t understand a word. Standing on the tilting rooftop was dizzying.
Cathedral of Santiago
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
rooftop tour of the Cathedral
I went back to my room at PR Libredón to reorganize my pack so I could leave some stuff at the hotel until I returned from Muxia and Finisterre on Thursday. I threw out my rain poncho and hat because no rain was forecast.
my hotel, PR Libredón
PR Libredón
Darina and I met for dinner. I had an empañada with tuna (too dry) and sauteed peppers, which were delicious. I washed my supper down with a beer and scarfed down some of Darina’s French fries. This would be the last time I would see Darina, and I felt heavyhearted about parting ways with my Camino friend. Our meal together seemed to have a sad note to it, as if we were emotionally exhausted by the whole experience, yet disappointed to have it come to an end.
On the way back to my room, I stopped to buy a Spanish-looking scarf, and then went to bed to rest and nurse my worsening cold.
The next several days, I would go by bus to Muxia and Finisterre, and then return to Santiago just in time for my 63rd birthday on Thursday.
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.
From Merzouga, we took a “camel” trek out to the pre-Saharan steppes known as Erg Chebbi in the evening just before sunset. Berber guides, Aziz in blue, Moha in white, led our animals, actually known as dromedaries, tied together in groups of 5 or 6, out and over the glowing sands. We climbed up the burnt orange dunes as the sinking sun cast shadows in the dips and waves. My thigh and belly muscles got a workout as we climbed and descended. At the ridge line of the dune, the sand blew voraciously, getting in our eyes, mouths and in the lenses of our cameras. The Berber boys helped us wrap scarves around our heads like turbans. It was a romantic and stunning landscape.
Erg Chebbi
dromedaries in Merzouga
dromedaries in Merzouga
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
Erg Chebbi
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
dunes at Erg Chebbi
footprints in the sand
dunes and shadows
“camel” trek at Erg Chebbi
dunes at sunset
dunes and shadows
dromedary
Erg Chebbi with Merzouga in the distance
Erg Chebbi
Erg Chebbi and dromedaries
me on the ridge
our guide Moha
Moha the Berber
dromedary in the desert
turban unraveling
Sadly, while we were on our trek, people roared around on quad bikes up and down the dunes, making an awful racket and disturbing the otherwise peaceful environment.
I learned that a dromedary has one hump and a camel has two humps. The dromedary is most common to the Middle East and has short hair and long legs. The camel is common to Mongolia’s Gobi Desert and has longer hair to protect it from harsh winters.
Erg Chebbi is one of Morocco’s several ergs – large seas of dunes formed by wind-blown sand. This and several other ergs are within an area of semi-arid Pre-Saharan Steppes and not part of the Sahara desert which lies some distance to the south. Merzouga, the local tourist center, is located on the western lee of the dunes, together with some 70 or more hotels and auberges running north-south along the dunes.
*Sunday, April 14, 2019*
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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!
In my case, my intention was to look for thematic possibilities during my trip to Morocco. The desert, camels and Berbers are quintessentially Moroccan and I wanted to capture the magic of the desert at sunset.
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 (I have more here!) and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, January 1 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, January 2, I’ll include your links in that post.
This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, 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!
Marrakesh to Casablanca: I had arranged a car through G Adventures to take me from Marrakech to Casablanca for my flight to Rome. My driver, Mohammad, who surprisingly spoke mainly Spanish, arrived at 7:45 a.m on Tuesday morning. My friend Susan left at the same time to go to the Marrakech airport, where she would fly to Madrid, JFK and then Dulles in Washington. My drive was expected to take three hours.
Mohammad stopped at a gas station to put air in the tires. There seemed to be a problem with one of them. I was worried we’d have a flat along the way. At 8:25, we were outside of the city at Afriquia gas station, surrounded by signs for Petromin Oils, Petrom, and Green Oil. A Shell station was nearby, as was a garden center and a pottery vendor. Small green mountains hunched to the east.
We went through endless roundabouts and alongside flowers brightening the medians. The driver drove slowly through the rural countryside of green rolling hills and some small pointed mountains. Less than an hour after leaving my hotel, the landscape had changed to flat green and rocky plains in every direction.
looking out the window on the road from Marrakech to Casablanca
At 9:05, Mohammad stopped for me to use the bathroom. I had to walk across a pedestrian bridge to get to the rest area on the other side of the highway. A boy at the bottom of the pedestrian bridge wanted some money but I didn’t know what for, so I kept walking. If I gave money to every poor person in Morocco, I’d be bankrupt.
Then we were driving over red earth hills into a valley. Close to 10:00, the driver stopped to put more air in the tires, and I figured he must have a slow leak. It was another hour to Casablanca, so I hoped we’d make it. After that, the earth was red all around us.
Mohammad dropped me at the Casablanca airport at 10:45 a.m., but I couldn’t check my suitcases for the Alitalia flight until 1:20 when they opened the check-in. I sat and read my Rick Steves Rome book and enjoyed a coffee and a chocolate croissant. It was a long 2 1/2 hours.
At 1:20, I got in the line for Alitalia. It took forever for them to open, and then forever for them to check our luggage (although luckily they took my 2nd bag for free), and then forever to get through security and an even longer time to get through immigration.
Finally, I was released and enjoyed some warm shrimp sushi rolls and arrived at A8 Gate by 3:14. Check-in was supposed to be at 3:40, but at 3:47, there were no signs of life.
Casablanca to Rome: Alitalia was due to leave Casablanca at 4:25 and board at 3:40. They didn’t start boarding until nearly 4:00, but by 4:20, the passengers were in their seats and the stewardesses were demonstrating how to buckle seat belts, pull down oxygen masks, and inflate life vests, as the plane taxied for take-off. We took off nearly on time, the wheels squealing and groaning as they folded into the airplane.
A large group of people from Israel were having a grand time all around me, whopping it up, laughing and eating boxed kosher meals, and walking around in the aisles. The people sitting beside me, an Israeli couple, didn’t say a word to me, nor I to them.
Atitalia seemed like a happy-go-lucky fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of airline. They threw it all together at the last possible minute and then hurled themselves into the sky. Seat and leg room were tight but the staff and pilots were laid back and no one seemed to expect much of them.
The meal included three small sandwiches, a yogurt drink, a pudding, and some weird rice. I had an apricot juice. I skipped my regular glass of wine because I didn’t want to be out of it when I made my way to my Rome B&B at a late hour.
We made it to Rome a half hour earlier than planned, around 8:00, and I took the Rome Capitale taxi for a set price of 48€ to Atos Bed and Breakfast. The taxi driver was bald with a goatee and spoke a bit of English. He pointed out some old famous buildings in downtown Rome and said he loved to drive at night in the city because there was no traffic.
Rome
He asked if I liked Trump and I said no, I hated him. He said he didn’t mind him because he was comic. Especially that hair – fake or not? and that orange color, which we both agreed was frightful. He said he liked Melania but I said I thought she was miserable with Trump; I thought he had convinced her to stay with him until his presidency ended. Our communication seemed to break down here because I couldn’t understand him, nor me him.
When the driver pulled up to Via Milazzo, 23, it was just a door in a wall and luckily he wasn’t in a hurry to abandon me because no one answered the buzzer or his phone call. A tenant was going into the building, so he let me enter with him. The door said the B&B was on floor 5, but the elevator went only to floors 1-4. Luckily I heard Gabriella yell from the top, “Floor 4!” I had to haul my two heavy bags up two flights of stairs to get on the elevator and to get off and up to the fifth floor.
Gabriella had bright red dyed hair and didn’t speak much English, so she checked me in and showed me the multitudes of keys and the lights and how the room and breakfast worked (I was to walk across the street to a restaurant for breakfast). She told me she’d walk me to The Beehive Hostel in the morning, only a three minute walk (I was unable to book The Beehive on my first night because they didn’t accept late arrivals). I paid her 70€ in cash and showed her my passport.
I stayed up late trying to sync the time on my FitBit and it finally worked (after endless unsuccessful attempts in Morocco). I also chatted by text with Mike and went to sleep very late!
I was so happy to have a room to myself after sharing accommodations with Susan over the last 2 1/2 weeks. 🙂
Arch of Constantine in Rome
*7,030 steps, or 2.98 miles*
*Tuesday, April 23, 2019*
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“ON JOURNEY” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about the journey itself for a recently visited specific destination. You could write about the journey you hope to take in the year ahead. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.
Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, January 14 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, January 15, I’ll include your links in that post.
This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday 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. 🙂
Jude, of Travel Words, takes us along on her challenging overland journey through Asia.
I started off at 7:45 from Pedrouzo through eucalyptus forests in the dark, but unlike yesterday, many pilgrims accompanied me on the trail. The sunrise was beautiful. Pilgrims were posing by a roadside scallop shell sculpture, and we took turns taking pictures.
I continued walking through San Antón down into the Amenal valley over the rio Xeimar and under the N-547 túnel. I then walked through a woodland path and then on a wide forest track around the perimeter of the Santiago airport, leading eventually into the ancient hamlet of San Paio.
There, I stopped for coffee with Stephanie and Joann from Connecticut at Casa Porta de Santiago, which marked the last 12 km of the path. Stephanie told me she had been praying for my loved one; I felt so blessed that she had remembered and kept him in her thoughts. I saw a church there but it was closed. Anyway, I was anxious to move on.
Pedrouzo (Centro) to Amenal (túnel) (3.5 km) to San Paio (3.9 km)
Pedrouzo to Amenal
me at the marker stone at Lavacolla pass
Casa Porta de Santiago in San Paio
Church in San Paio
Church in San Paio
At Lavacolla, where medieval pilgrims came to wash (lavar) and purify themselves in the stream before entering the sacred city of Santiago, there was a big Neoclassical-style parish church, Iglesia y Cruz de Benaval, but it was situated such that it was difficult to get photos.
San Paio to Lavacolla (Igrexa) (2.2 km)
San Paio to Lavacolla
Iglesia y Cruz de Benaval in Lavacolla
I crossed over the access road to the airport, then over the small famous stream, then steeply uphill and then down and over another stream. I walked through endless suburbs and industrial plants, including Radio TV Galicia. I stopped at Camping San Marcos & Café to eat Galician soup.
Lavacollato Camping (San Marcos) (3.6 km)
Industrial area near San Marcos
Industrial area near San Marcos
Galician soup at Camping San Marcos
At Monte de Gozo there was an enormous monument erected to commemorate Francis of Assisi and the visit of Pope John Paul II in 1992. Gozo means “joy;” the name was given to this high point because euphoric medieval pilgrims wept with joy when they spotted the spires of Santiago Cathedral from here. Nowadays, because of the woods, urban sprawl, and apartment and commercial complexes around the city, the Cathedral is not easily sighted.
I popped briefly into a small chapel: San Marcos. This was 5 km from Santiago. Then I walked by an unsightly sprawling dormitory and recreational buildings — a Xunta (municipal albergue) with 400 beds — but it seemed to be closed.
Camping (San Marcos)to Monte del Gozo (2.1 km)
Camping to Monte del Gozo
Camping to Monte del Gozo
Monument at Monte del Gozo
chapel of San Marcos at Monte del Gozo
I entered Santiago over the A-9 autopista and through Santiago’s suburbs and endless businesses. There was a huge monument to notable historic figures connected with the Camino. All of this area was quite ugly.
Monte del Gozoto San Lázaro (2.0 km)
Monte del Gozo to San Lázaro
Santiago de Compostela
Monument to prominent people on the Camino
outskirts of Santiago
As I approached the medieval part of the town, I fell into step with Helen from Ireland. We followed the scallop shells embedded in the pavement, which seemed to disappear from time to time, to Praza do Obradoiro, the “golden” square of Santiago, filled with tourists, pilgrims, street artists musicians, and dancers. Once we finally arrived at 2:00, we took pictures of each other in front of the dramatic west facing Baroque façade of the cathedral. St. James looked down at us from his niche in the central tower.
I had made it! I didn’t feel those tears of joy that so many pilgrims experience upon reaching Santiago. That would come later. I was exhausted and coming down with a sore throat, so I was happy that I hadn’t been waylaid by what would later become a vicious cold.
San Lázaroto Praza Obradoiro (Catedral) (2.5 km)
I arrive in Santiago! 🙂
I checked into my hotel, PR Libredón. It was a perfect location near the cathedral, and it had a bathtub! After soaking in the tub, I met Darina in the square where she took some pictures of me in front of the Cathedral. Darina had arrived the day before, and she had already figured out the lay of the land.
Cathedral of Santiago
me at the Santiago Cathedral
me at the Cathedral
Cathedral of Santiago
We went right away to the mass presided over by the German bishop. It was supposed to be at 4:00, but at 3:45, it was already in progress and there were no seats. We stood for the whole long service in the side aisle. The normal pilgrim mass is at noon each day; as I was too late for that one, I would attend the noon mass the following day.
at the German mass at the Cathedral
As the mass was so long, I sneaked off into the crypt to see the relics of St. James. I knelt down before the casket and said prayers of thanksgiving for my safe journey.
Because I had arrived late, bathed, rested, and then attended this unusual afternoon mass, I didn’t do the other normal pilgrim rituals, so I would have to finish them up my next day in Santiago.
It was a long sermon, all in German, followed by communion, and then at the end, all the pomp and celebration of the Botafumeiro! Eight men (tiraboleiros) in heavy red robes solemnly put the incense into the giant burner and lit it. As the incense swirled into the air, they pulled in tandem until the Botafumeiro was swinging through the aisles, almost to the ceiling. I took a short video but I stopped because I wanted to experience the emotion of it all. I watched in awe as the Botafumiero arced enthusiastically toward the vault of the cathedral, and to the heavens.
It was an emotional and breathtaking experience after walking 800 km over 44 days (with three days stopping in cities). I wept; Darina and I hugged. Stephanie from Connecticut looked at me lovingly and said assuredly, “All your prayers will be answered.” We hugged each other, as I did other pilgrims — her friend Joanna, and even Ellen from Germany.
The swinging of the Botafumeiro was originally used to fumigate the sweaty and sometimes diseased pilgrims.
After the memorable service – so much pomp and ceremony – and beautiful music by the German choir, Darina accompanied me to buy a ticket from the Cathedral Museum for the rooftop tour, tomorrow at 4:00. She had already booked her ticket for the next morning.
We then took pictures of the German bishop, priests, lay people, and congregation. Of course, we had to jump into the photos.
the German bishop and other officials and the German group
Darina – always smiling 🙂
Cathedral of Santiago
Cathedral of Santiago
We met Darina’s friend Dana, who I’d never met before. They had started the same day in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port. We took a selfie together. I also met Lisa, who was originally traveling with her brother, but after he went home, she continued on alone. I ran into Steffie, who I had met with the Japanese lady Keiko one evening on the Meseta.
I was so blessed to have Darina there at the end. We had started around the same time, but she walked faster and further than I did each day. I was lucky that she had stopped for a week in Navarette for a meeting with her colleagues, so that we could end up finishing around the same time. So many other pilgrims I’d started with or met along the way had finished well ahead of me.
Dana, Darina and me in Santiago
me with the dispersing German group
Darina and I went to dinner at Restaurante Camilo. The service was excruciatingly slow. I ordered prawns but they were tiny ones and took forever to peel and eat. I also scarfed down some French fries. In the restaurant, I ran into Janice from San Antonio, who had fallen out with her married couple friends somewhere along the Meseta; she had reunited with them and they seemed to be enjoying their dinner.
Darina and I went back out to Praza do Obradoiro and took some selfies together, then asked a bystander to take a photo. I will cherish these photos forever.
Darina and me at Santiago Cathedral
Me with Darina
I couldn’t believe I’d finally made it. It was strange to think that I didn’t have to walk anymore, unless I felt like it.
By evening, the irritating tickle in my throat was suddenly accompanied by a nagging cough and general exhaustion. After dinner, I went back to my room and took another hot bath. I was exhausted from the emotion and the physical stress of it all, but it had been an incredible journey.
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*Day 47: Saturday, October 20, 2018*
*32,239 steps, or 13.66 miles: Pedrouzo (Arca) to Santiago (20.1 km)*
You can find everything I’ve written so far on the Camino de Santiago here:
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.
Moroccan architecture is an exotic mixture of Islamic influence and Hispano-Moorish style. Islamic motifs include elaborate geometric patterns, Quranic verses in Islamic calligraphy, and zellij, or ceramic tile mosaics. Hispano-Moorish style is reflected in white walls, stucco roofs among arches, and large domes.
Arches are common features in Morocco, especially clover-shaped horseshoe and rounded keyhole arches. These are found everywhere, in doors, entrances, windows or niches. Doors are often adorned with delicate metal work, carving or color.
Interiors are lush with luxurious textiles, rich paint colors, ornate tilework, and terra-cotta tile floors covered with a hodge-podge of colorful rugs.
The country is dotted with mosques, marked by minarets that reach for the clouds, walls and fountains covered in green and white zellij, and an adorned mihrab, a niche indicating the direction to Mecca in stucco and marble.
Riads are traditional homes focused inward with courtyards in the center. Built in the heart of the courtyard, living room or guest room, a marble or cement fountain is a conspicuous feature.
A kasbah is a a fortified home made for a ruling family. A ksar is a fortified tribal village with tan building exteriors that blend into the surrounding desert landscape. They are massive structures, often built with mud-clay from riverbanks.
The Hassan II mosque in Casablanca was built by the late King Hassan II to commemorate his 60th birthday. It was built in six years, from 1987-1993. The 210-meter minaret is the tallest building in the country and the tallest minaret in the world. In the mosque’s vast prayer hall are amazing wood carvings, zellij and stucco molding. A team of over 6,000 master craftsmen carved intricate patterns and designs in cedar from the Middle Atlas, marble from Agadir, and granite from Tafraoute.
Hassan II mosque in Casablanca
inside Hassan II mosque
inside Hassan II mosque
inside Hassan II mosque
Casablanca
post office in Casablanca
Tangier
Tangier
Tangier
Tangier
Hotel Madrid in Chefchaouen
restored kasbah in Chefchaouen
Chefchaouen
Chefchaouen
Fez
Fez
Fez
mudbrick ruins in Tinghir
The ksar is a group of earthen buildings crowded together within defensive walls, reinforced by corner towers. Aït-Ben-Haddou, in Ouarzazate province, is a striking example of the architecture of southern Morocco.
Aït Ben Haddou
Essaouira
Bahia Palace is a palace and gardens in the Marrakech medina. It was commissioned sometime between 1859-1873 and was completed in 1900.
Bahia Palace Marrakech
Bahia Palace Marrakech
Bahia Palace Marrakech
Bahia Palace Marrakech
Near the famous square Jemaa el-Fna is the largest mosque in Marrakech, Koutoubia Mosque; it is ornamented with curved windows, a band of ceramic inlay, pointed crenelated parapets, and decorative arches. The minaret tower is 77 meters, or 253 feet, and includes a spire and orbs. It was completed under the reign of the Berber Almohad Caliph Yaqub al-Mansur (1184-1199).
Koutoubia mosque in Marrakech
interior courtyard at a riad in Marrakech
Since I was on an economy-style G Adventures Tour, our accommodations sadly didn’t include any riads. I was disappointed in this regard.
*April 4-23, 2019*
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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!
In my case, my intention was to look for thematic possibilities during my trip to Morocco. As Morocco has very distinctive architecture and interiors, I tried to capture the essence of architectural and interior design in photos.
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 (I have more here!) and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, December 18 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, December 19, I’ll include your links in that post.
This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, 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!
I remember the warm scent of baked bread as we ducked into Findlay Market on that frigid Sunday in March. We stomped the snowflakes off our shoes and followed the heady scents of fudge: cherry jamboree, pistachio, caramel pecan, vanilla chocolate swirl, tiger butter. I knew the aroma from vats of chocolate at county fairs and mall fudge shops, and from the rich sticky squares, wrapped in wax paper and sealed in tins under the Christmas tree.
There was a thrill in coming in out of the dew-wet gloom into the airy fluorescent interior under red beams. The aroma of cinnamon rolls and sourdough bread mingled with pulled pork BBQ and hickory smoked ribs, while outside the smell of wind and the rain-snow of winter lingered, waiting to assault us when, inevitably, we’d have to leave.
From Aunt Flora’s wafted heady spice mixtures and BBQ sauces, as well as cherry, peach and apple cobblers and savory pies. I sniffed at the honey offerings at another stall: acacia, alfalfa, eucalyptus and orange blossom, wildflower. Fresh brewed coffee aromas swirled around in flavors of butter pecan, amaretto, butter rum and caramel, English toffee and hazelnut.
It was the breads that beckoned, insistent. We were helpless to resist the jalapeño cheese bread, but I could have bought all of their promised warmth: banana pepper cheese bread, foccacia, jala bread, olive garlic cheese, pesto feta. These were breads baked in wood fired blue stone ovens. The air swirled with their warmth, like my grandmother’s kitchen, like the huge bakery operation on a Petersburg street, like Parisian and Austrian bakeries with their croissants and apple strudels.
There was the exotic smell of olive oil and vinegar, hinting of olive groves along the Camino de Santiago and in Tuscany. Babuska Pierogies stuffed with potato sauerkraut, cabbage, and butternut squash-basil took us to Christmas Eves around the table with Nana’s homemade pierogies, her German and my father-in-law’s Ukrainian heritage served on a steaming platter.
And then the produce stands sketched in rainbow colors: salad greens, ripening fruit, melons, root vegetables, green beans, garlic, onions, stemmed herbs of sage, lemon verbena, tarragon, and crushed mint leaves.
I breathed the mixed odors of homemade soaps in lavender and rosemary, aloe and clover, crisp anjou pear, apricot freesia, chai, rose and plumeria, and dreamed of a claw foot bathtub with steaming water and raw skin rubbed with a scented and foaming loofah sponge.
I remember yet the astonishing smell of blood at the butcher’s, the fresh Amish turkey, raw chicken and red beef, and the smoky smell of cured meats. Yes, the Caribbean jerk and the Mediterranean lamb burgers, and, nearby, the papery translucence of dried flowers and grasses, fresh flowers and potpourri.
The smells took me to olive groves and dairy farms and pastures of loamy soil, to cow dung and chickens pecking at seed on the ground, to hogs wallowing in mud, to the places on earth where the richness of what fills us up is abundant and astonishing.
We bought cheesecake with waffle crusts (strawberry and key lime, cinnamon honey), and wild rice salad to accompany our jalapeño cheese bread. We packed these things into paper and plastic bags, and, loaded up with nourishment, we nudged ourselves back into the cold, the sweet and ozone-laden air, the winter smell of wet brick and wood, the drenched sidewalks and asphalt, the swirling exhaust from the cars, the neighborhood after a good soaking. Under snowflakes falling from the sky at an odd diagonal, under trees frozen in knives of ice, under street art painted on walls, we made our way back to the car, where with one turn of the key we brought in the smell of igniting heat, of promised comfort.
Findlay Market
Fudge at Findlay Market
Findlay Market
Findlay Market
Findlay Market
Findlay Market
dried flowers at the florist
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
Findlay Market surrounds
street art at Findlay Market
Back in Covington, Kentucky, we went for an early dinner at Blinkers Tavern, where we toasted our winter holiday with rich red wine, accompanied by a roasted pepper bisque, garlic lime skillet shrimp, avocado crostini, micro greens, pickled red onions and truffle fries with parmesan, garlic, salt and parsley. We basked in the lull of the wine and the remembered aromas of our wintry adventure.
*Sunday, March 3, 2019*
Findlay Market is the oldest continuously operated public market in Ohio and the Over-the-Rhine neighborhood. It is the last remaining public market of the nine that once served Cincinnati. Surrounding the market is 19th century urban architecture, with Renaissance Revival, Greek Revival, Queen Anne, and Italianate all making an appearance (Walking Cincinnatiby Danny Korman and Katie Meyer).
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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. My theme for today was smells, so I attempted to write about those in my essay.
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, December 23 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, December 24, 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. 🙂
Aditya, of THE MILE SMILE wrote a post about a favorite Hindu temple located in the village of Subramanya, Karnataka.
I left Arzúa in the dark at 7:40 and walked a good hour alone through a pitch black forest of oaks and invasive eucalyptus, planted here to be used in the manufacture of furniture and paper. At times, stone walls separated the path from pastures.
At one point, I was startled by a snort and a ghostly apparition. A white horse stood by the path looking me in the face.
the ghostly white horse just outside Arzúa
I stopped at several cafes today to break up the walk. At the first stop, I had orange juice and cafe con leche; at the second, peach juice. I crossed several small streams onto a side road, and then took a path under the N-547.
Arzúa to N-547 túnel (2.5 km)
my first stop
confusing signs!
After the tunnel, I alternated between country lanes and roadside tracks while bypassing the hamlets of Raído, Fondevila, and Cortobe. At my third cafe stop, I had apple strudel and orange juice (I’d had a tickle in my throat the last couple of days and I was trying to fend off a cold).
There were numerous shrines set up along the path, but I wasn’t always sure what they memorialized. I stopped to read some signs on the “wall of wisdom” in Taberna Velha.
I entered Calzada at 9:40. The name refers to the town’s location on the Roman and pilgrimage roads.
N-547 túnel to A Calzada (3.5 km)
shrines along the path
N-547 túnel to A Calzada
gnomes in Taberna Velha
“Wall of Wisdom” in Taberna Velha
“Wall of Wisdom” in Taberna Velha
Around a corner after my apple strudel cafe stop, I came upon a bar made of beer bottles. For a pilgrim, every bar is an invitation to stop, but if you stopped at every one, you’d never make it to your destination. Hydrangeas bloomed and colorful granaries graced the path.
A Calzada
A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
Beirgarten in A Calzada
From A Calzada, I walked to A Calle, a quaint village with traditional houses.
A Calzadato A Calle (2.0 km)
hydrangea on the path from A Calzada to A Calle
The path took me down to the N-547 at Salceda, about 300 meters above sea level. For a stretch of about 1 1/2 kilometers, I had to walk along the hard shoulder of a road.
A Calle to Salceda (3.2 km)
Bar Brea
A Calle to Salceda
I continued on a woodland path, and then crossed the N-547 into Ras, where a pedestrian tunnel brought me safely into Brea. I crossed back over the N-547 up to a crossroads into O Empalme, where I stopped in a chilly outdoor courtyard for a lunch of lentil soup and cerveza limon. I briefly chatted with three Finnish ladies walking the last 100 km from Sarria.
Salceda to Cruce (O Empalme) (4.0 km)
Salceda to Cruce (O Empalme)
Salceda to Cruce (O Empalme)
soup at O Empalme
Much of today’s walk was through forests and there weren’t many views to be found. From Salceda to A Rúa was mostly uphill. Hydrangeas were blooming in the hamlet of A Rúa, a traditional hamlet, and finally the route flattened out.
Cruce (O Empalme)to Santa Irene (1.2 km)to A Rúa (1.4 km)
A Rúa
hydrangea in A Rúa
hydrangea in A Rúa
A Rúa
After A Rúa, the path ascended again. I was getting tired of all the climbing in Galicia! Before long I was in Pedrouzo, which many people apparently call Arca (the parish name).
A Rúato Pedrouzo (Centro) (1.8 km)
I stayed in Pension Una Estrella Dorada on a main drag in Pedrouzo. I ran into Sheryl, Sharon and John sharing a room adjacent to my private room. At the gleaming and quirky gourmet restaurant, Taste the Way, I bought a t-shirt, drinks and dinner.
After relaxing a bit in my hotel room, I wandered down to the church on the fringes of town, the Igrexa de Santa Eulalia de Arca, built in the Romanesque-Gothic style in the 17th century. After a fire destroyed the church in the late 19th century, it was rebuilt in the neo-Classical style. I’d heard there was a 7:30 mass. It was quite a long walk, so I was late, arriving after 8:00, and found all the doors were locked. I was either misinformed about the time, or I was at the wrong church.
sunset in Pedrouzo
Igrexa de Santa Eulalia de Arca
I went for a short walk through town and saw Rubia and Maria, the Brazilian ladies I’d had dinner with the previous night, at a table in a restaurant window. I sat down with them to have a beer and chocolate mousse cake topped with mandarin ice cream. While I was there, Jesse came in and joined us. He seemed to be interested in Maria, who informed me that she and her husband separated about a month ago. She said her husband was a great guy, but she got married young at 18 and now she wanted to find herself. Jesse said he’d spent four hours today walking with and listening to Marie-Helene from South Africa, who had stayed with the Brazilians and me the night before in Arzúa. Jesse walked with Rubia and Maria the rest of the day.
In my room, I laid out my pilgrim credenciales (I had accumulated three by this time) on my bed and photographed them.
my pilgrim credenciale
my pilgrim credenciale
my pilgrim credenciale
my pilgrim credenciale
my pilgrim credenciale
According to the Brierley guide, I had to walk 20.1 km to Santiago the next day. It felt strange, both sad and a relief, to think that after 47 days of doing the same thing day after day, my journey would be over.
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*Day 46: Friday, October 19, 2018*
*32,495 steps, or 13.77 miles: Arzúa to O Pedrouzo (20.6 km)*
You can find everything I’ve written so far on the Camino de Santiago here:
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.
My path less traveled. Rediscovering self after surviving the abuse that almost sunk me. Goal of strengthening and thriving on my adult legs. 👣🙏🏻 #recovery #forgiveness
This blog is for those who wish to be creative, authors, people in the healing professions, business people, freelancers, journalists, poets, and teachers. You will learn about how to write well, and about getting published. Both beginning and experienced writers will profit from this blog and gain new creative perspectives. Become inspired from global writers, and find healing through the written word.
Explore, discover and experience the world through Meery's Eye. Off the beat budget traveler. Explore places, cultural and heritage. Sustainable trotter.
shareable tales of Meery is Meeryable
~ wander.essence ~ 
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