~ wander.essence ~

{camino day 45} melide to arzúa

wanderessence1025 December 1, 2019

Today was a short hiking day. I left Melide in the dark at 8:04 a.m. and though it had rained all night, it had cleared by morning. I soon left the busyness of the city behind and made my way into a woodland of tall eucalyptus and broad oaks. I crossed the arroyo San Lázaro on a small stone causeway, then stopped briefly at El Pequeño Oasis, where I admired a cute pink Fiat. The walk was beautiful; the wind was gusting like espíritu santo urgently whispering mysterious secrets.

Today was a day of palleiros (haylofts for cattle), pallotes (straw-covered huts), brona (outdoor ovens for cooking cornbread), and ruined oxcarts.

Melide (Centro) to Puente río San Lázaro (2.5 km)

El Pequeño Oasis

a cute pink Fiat

The path snaked through shaded oak and chestnut forests, eventually giving way to pine and eucalyptus. I continued through Parabispo over the río Raído, passing Peroxa down to the N-547 into Boente.

In town, I met Fatima again; she mentioned she is from Corsier-sur-Vevey in Switzerland, where Charlie Chaplain was from. We were still passing each other frequently. She only spoke French with a few words of English, and I only spoke and understood a few words of French. Somehow she told me that she started walking August 3, first from Mont St. Michel to Bordeaux in France, then by train to St-Jean-Pied-de-Port, where she started the Camino Frances. Because we saw each other so often, she continued to holler out, “Hasta Luego!” and we both laughed. She was always smiling. Today we took photos of each other in Boente. In the same town, I stopped into Igrexa Santiago de Boente, with its image of the seated Saint above the altar. Documented from the 8th-century, the current building is from the 20th-century.

Puente río San Lázaro to Boente (Cruce) (3.3 km)

Peroxa

Puente to Boente

Puente to Boente

Puente to Boente

Puente to Boente

hórreo from Puente to Boente

Fatima in Boente

Me in Boente

Igrexa Santiago

Igrexa Santiago

Boente

Boente

I left the town and dipped into the Boente valley, with a shaded rest area alongside a river. It was sure nice to know I only had to walk 14 km, so I could take my time and linger. The light was beautiful and the temperature perfect. The walk was very hilly though. I was so tired of climbing. I loved the cute Spanish houses and the hórreos, typical granaries from the northwest of the Iberian peninsula, mainly in Galicia, built in wood or stone, raised from the ground by pillars ending in flat staddle stones to prevent access by rodents. Ventilation was allowed by slits in the walls.

It was in Castañeda that pilgrims dropped limestone rocks they had brought from Triacastela to be fired for the lime used in building the Cathedral at Santiago.

Boente (Cruce) to Castañeda (2.2 km)

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

Boente to Castañeda

The path took us around a wooded hill, across a raised pass over the N-547, through a woodland, and into the idyllic village of Ribadiso de Baixo, sitting on the river Iso adjoining the medieval bridge. Here, I stopped for lentil soup, bread and Coke Zero.

Castañeda to Ribadiso da Baixo (3.1 km)

Castañeda to Ribadiso da Baixo

Castañeda to Ribadiso da Baixo

Castañeda to Ribadiso da Baixo

Castañeda to Ribadiso da Baixo

Ribadiso da Baixo

lentil soup in Ribadiso da Baixo

I climbed steeply uphill on tarmac to the city of Arzúa (population 6,300), the last major population center before Santiago. The medieval core of the town is overshadowed by its modern side, making it not especially delightful. The town is known for its local cheese.

Ribadiso da Baixo to Arzúa (3.2 km)

Ribadiso da Baixo to Arzúa

Ribadiso da Baixo to Arzúa

Ribadiso da Baixo to Arzúa

Arzúa

My albergue, The Way Hostel Arzúa, was modern and clean. I was in a room with seven single beds. As this would be my last night in an albergue, it was a nice way to end. The only thing that wasn’t good was that my backpack had not yet arrived and all other packs seemed to have been delivered. When I asked the receptionist to call the delivery service, they said they hadn’t picked it up. We called my albergue from last night, O Candil in Melide, and found the pack was still sitting in the lobby where I’d left it. Luckily, they arranged to have it delivered to me as soon as possible.

In my room were two Brazilian young ladies, Maria (38 years old with 2 children, a boy of 19 and a girl of 11) and Rubia (no children). Both left their husbands behind in Brazil. It came out later that Maria was separated from her husband. They were doing a portion of the Camino Primitivo route, which joins the Frances in Melide; they had also been in my Melide albergue last night.

A South-African lady, Marie-Helene, 77, was also in our room. She came in complaining about the receptionist (“unhelpful and rude”) and that she needed to see a pharmacist about her feet. She had been doing whatever parts of the route pleased her, and doing the rest by bus. She had met a Korean lady at a bus station who had been walking with her and looking out for her. She was very emotional about it and about people who had taken care of her here and there.

The Way Hostel Arzúa

Earlier today, I once again met Janet from Chicago (retired from law enforcement for the Federal Government) who was staying in a bunk bed at my hostel. After my regular routine of doing laundry and showering, Maria and Rubia and I went to a pizza place near our hostel for beers. A guy named Jesse from New York joined in our conversation and then Janet came along and we all had a fun dinner together – beer, margarita pizza and vegetable pizza. It was fun company and a surprise how it all came together.

vegetable pizza

Maria, me, Jesse, Janet and Rubia

Off the central square in Arzúa is the modern parish church dedicated to Saint James with an image of Santiago as both Moorslayer and pilgrim. Just behind it is the original 14th century Augustinian Capilla de La Magdalena.

After dinner, Janet and I walked by the (closed) Capilla de La Magdalena and then to the parish church of Santiago, but we had just missed the pilgrim mass.

colorful truck in Arzúa

Capela da Madalena

parish church of Santiago

parish church of Santiago

parish church of Santiago

Janet in Arzúa

Arzúa

I had two long days ahead to reach Santiago: 20.6 km Friday to O Pedrouzo and another 20km into Santiago on Saturday. We had all been wondering if we would have the Botafumeiro swinging at our pilgrim mass. Many rumors were flying around about it. The Cathedral only swings it on feast days (November 1 was the next one) or if a pilgrim group pays for it. We were hopeful but not certain.

One rumor I’d heard from two different people was that they knew of a bishop who had informed them the Botafumeiro would be swung at a 4:00 mass on Saturday. However, there was no mass regularly scheduled for Saturday at 4:00. Maybe it would be a special mass for the school groups we had seen or for the German group I’d heard about from the Connecticut ladies. It supposedly cost 450€ to swing it. We would see what would happen, but I knew I’d be mighty disappointed if we didn’t have it.

My Camino so far

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*Day 45: Thursday, October 18, 2018*

*23,262 steps, or 9.86 miles: Melide to Arzúa (14.2 km)*

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: Back to Serenity (Monte Velho).

call to place: india in 2011

wanderessence1025 November 28, 2019

I wish I could remember the beginning of my fascination with India. Was it reading the inspiring autobiography of Gandhi and his non-violent resistance to British colonialism? Was it seeing the movie Mr. and Mrs. Iyer, the story of a Muslim man and a Hindu woman traveling together during a tense period of Hindu violence against Muslims? Was it watching the intense and inspiring Slumdog Millionaire, about an impoverished boy in Mumbai? Was it going one day a week for months to my friend Jennifer’s house when our boys were in kindergarten, watching bit-by-bit the marathon British mini-series The Jewel in the Crown?

Varanasi 2011

I envisioned India as a Pandora’s box full of treasures and rubbish. Whenever I thought India, I imagined a mélange of jewel-colored saris, a mad rush of all layers of society coming head to head in a jumbled mess. I imagined prim British ladies in floppy hats, chiffon dresses and white gloves drinking tea in colonial mansions with Indian servants calling them memsahibs. I imagined the tiny proud Gandhi with his huge ideas, ideas of peaceful resistance to bring about change. I imagined Indian men and women dancing wildly in clothes the color of pomegranates and sapphires in Bollywood movies. I imagined curries and garlic naan and tandoori and curried cauliflower and mango lassis. I imagined crowds bathing in the polluted Ganges. I imagined corpses being burned on burning ghats.

In early 2011, I went on a trip to Vietnam where I met two couples who had just been to India. The young American couple said it was the most amazing experience of their lives, except for Delhi where the poverty was too much “in your face.” They adored floating on a houseboat in Kerala in the south of India and going on a tiger safari. When I asked the other couple, an older British couple who work for the postal service, what was their favorite part about India, they said, “The flight out!” The man said, “India is a place to be endured, not enjoyed.” They spent a month there and could find nothing to like about it. This I found fascinating. What kind of country is it that can repulse and inspire at the same time? It intrigued me, this dual nature of India.

flower seller in Varanasi 2011

I had read so many books and seen so many movies about India that I couldn’t even begin to remember them all. I remember reading the 2002 Gandhi’s Passion: The Life and Legacy of Mahatma Gandhi by Stanley Wolpert. This book explores India’s independence movement after World War I and the violence that ultimately led to the partition of India and Pakistan in 1947. It delves into Gandhi’s beliefs and his personal relationships and his strong will that led him to protest by starving himself. One of the things I remember from this book is that Gandhi, who fought passionately against partition, said that if India and Pakistan split into two nations along religious lines, it would be one of the world’s greatest disasters. I think possibly he will be proven right, if he hasn’t already.

I read the amazing Pulitzer prize-winning book of nine short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri in 2000, The Interpreter of Maladies. Some of the stories take place in India and some in America, but most of the characters are of Indian descent. In the title story, the main character works as an interpreter for a doctor who doesn’t speak his patients’ language. He also takes tourists to special sites for visits and in one instance falls for one of his women customers, the wife in a first-generation American couple of Indian descent. Another story, “A Temporary Matter” explores the unraveling of a marriage after a couple gives birth to a stillborn child.

snake charmer in Rishikesh

In February of 2011, just before traveling to India, I finished reading another of Lahiri’s books of short stories, Unaccustomed Earth, most of which involve Indians who live in America and their immigrant experience. They are people who straddle two continents, wanting to preserve tradition but also wanting the American dream for their children. The stories could be those of any immigrant, not only Indians, but the details are rich with Indian customs and foods and the clash between traditional Indian and contemporary American culture. In one group of three loosely linked stories in particular, the first told from Hema’s point of view, the second from Kaushik’s, and the third in the third person, their relationship is first revealed through Hema’s child-eyes, when Kaushik’s family returns to America from India and lives for a while with Hema’s family. The second part is told from Kaushik’s point of view as he sees his father remarry after his mother’s death; in the third story Hema and Kaushik have a random encounter in Rome in their late 30s. I love a story told this way, from different points of view, revealing the multiple layers of characters’ lives and relationships, and the different perspectives each person brings to any story.

You can tell I love Jhumpa Lahiri, because I also saw the movie The Namesake, about Gogol, a second-generation immigrant in America of Indian descent. He too struggles with cultural identity. He meets another Bengali woman who has dealt with her awkwardness in America by delving into all things French, finding a third and unrelated culture to lose herself in.

Jodhpur

The list goes on. Another Indian author I adore, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, wrote the mesmerizing Sister of My Heart, the story of two cousins born on the same day, their premature births brought on by a mysterious occurrence that claims the lives of both their fathers. Sudha is beautiful, but Anju is not. Despite this, the girls love each other as sisters. When both are pushed into arranged marriages, however, each discovers a devastating secret that changes their relationship forever. This is one of my favorite books of all time. The writing is gorgeous!

There are multitudes of other books I’ve read about India. I have also been inspired by movies about India. When our sons were in kindergarten, my friend Jennifer and I spent months watching the amazing mega-mini-series The Jewel in the Crown. We would gather at her house one morning a week and watch an hour or so at a time, drinking coffee and eating muffins or coffee cake and enjoying rare moments of freedom from our children. This was a 1984 British mini-series set during the final days of the British Raj during World War II. The hero, Hari Kumar was educated in a British school and considers himself British rather than Indian. He gets involved with an English woman, Daphne Manners. One night, Daphne and Hari are attacked in the Bibighar Gardens by a group of unknown men and Daphne is raped. A lower-middle class British police officer, Ronald Merrick, holds Hari responsible for the rape and puts him in prison where he tortures him, even though he knows him to be innocent. The story is intense and becomes much more convoluted, all tied up as it is in the Indian independence movement and all the different forces at work. Watching this mini-series with Jennifer was one of the highlights of my life as a mother of young children.

Taj Mahal in Agra

One of my other three favorite Indian movies is Slumdog Millionaire, about Jamal, a poor Indian boy in Mumbai who gets the opportunity to compete in the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? No one can believe he can possibly know the answers to the questions. Desperate to prove his innocence to the authorities who question and torture him, Jamal tells the story of his life in the slum where he and his brother grew up, of their adventures together on the road, of vicious encounters with local gangs, and of Latika, the girl he loved and lost. Each chapter of Jamal’s increasingly layered story reveals where he learned the answers to the show’s seemingly impossible quizzes. I’ve seen this movie about 5 times, I loved it so much! This movie shows the hardscrabble life of the poor youth in a growing and changing India.

Mr. and Mrs. Iyer is an amazing movie from 2002 about two characters, Meenakshi and Raja, and their harrowing bus trip. Meenakshi is Hindu and has her baby with her. Raja is a Muslim wildlife photographer who is asked by a mutual friend to watch over Meenakshi and her baby on the trip. A curfew is imposed because Hindu mobs are rampaging against Muslims after a Hindu village was burned down in sectarian violence. During this time, the bus is held up and Hindus come on board looking for Muslims to kill. Raja reveals his Muslim identity to Meenakshi and they pretend to be a married couple, Mr. and Mrs. Iyer, to save Raja’s life. I loved this movie.

Finally, I highly recommend the Bollywood movie, Jab We Met, a 2007 Hindu romantic comedy that’s an adorable love story. The film tells the story of a feisty Punjabi girl who is sent off track when she bumps into a depressed Mumbai businessman on an overnight sleeper to Delhi. While attempting to get him back on board when he alights at a station stop, both are left stranded in the middle of nowhere. Having walked out of his high-pressure corporate job, the man has no destination in mind, until the girl forces him to accompany her back home and then on to elope with her secret boyfriend. This movie is full of high-jinx and fun and great Indian music.

I was so excited to finally be embarking on this trip, and especially to be going with my dear friend Jayne. I hoped we would have the adventure of a lifetime!!

*February 2011*

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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, December 25 at 1:00 p.m. EST. My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, December 26.

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!

delaware: new castle & old swedes church

wanderessence1025 November 26, 2019

New Castle, Delaware arose from the conflict between three great powers – Netherlands, Sweden, and England. For 30 years, from 1651 to 1681, these nations vied for control of the Delaware Valley and the profitable trade in natural resources — beaver pelts, timber and tobacco — with the region’s American Indian inhabitants, the Lenni Lenape. It was a kind of cultural imperialism, a struggle to create and maintain unequal relationships between civilizations, favoring the more powerful civilization.

items of trade in the Delaware Valley

In 1638, the Swedes seized upon the lack of a Dutch presence in the Delaware Valley (most Dutch posts were further north) by constructing Fort Christina at present-day Wilmington, Delaware.

The three main characters in these ongoing campaigns were Peter Stuyvesant (Dutch), Captain Sven Skute (Swedish), and Sir Robert Carr (English).

Peter Stuyvesant (Dutch)

Captain Sven Skute (Swedish)

Sir Robert Carr (English)

The Dutch responded to this Swedish encroachment in 1651 by dispatching Peter Stuyvesant, the director-general of New Netherland, and his military force to build a new fortification, the timber and earthen Fort Casimir (1651-1654). A short five-mile distance downriver in today’s New Castle, it served as a military stronghold, courthouse and jail. Here, the Dutch sought to control shipping to the Swedish settlements upriver.

diorama of Fort Casimir > Fort Trinity > Fort Amstel

Fort Casimir was taken by the Swedes on Trinity Sunday, 1654, when the Swedish warship, The Eagle, fired four canon shots at Fort Casimir. Poorly manned and outgunned, the Dutch surrendered the fort to a landing party of 20 Swedish musketeers under the command of Captain Sven Skute. The victorious Swedes changed the name of the stronghold to Fort Trinity.

The Swedish occupation of Fort Trinity and Skute’s command were short-lived. The following year, in 1655, the Dutch retook their former fort and settlement. That same year, the Dutch force then moved upriver and took Fort Christina, thus ending Swedish rule in the Delaware Valley.

Stuyvesant, despite his orders, exhibited a benevolent attitude; he treated the Swedish and Finnish settlers well and wouldn’t imprison or exile them if they gave their allegiance to the Dutch government – which many did. Back under Dutch control, the settlement prospered and was renamed Fort Amstel.

Stuyvesant laid out The Strand (riverfront), the first streets and lot arrangements, and The Green (market green), a public square that has since served as a place for public forums, fairs, weekly markets, and other town activities. On this green stood the old jail and gallows. By 1659, New Amstel’s population had increased to 150 individuals and contained 110 structures including a brewery, bake house, forge and brick kiln.

New Castle Visitor Center at the Arsenal

In the end, the English prevailed in the struggle for dominance. In August of 1664, Peter Stuyvesant surrendered, dooming the Dutch settlements in the Delaware Valley. By October, two English warships with a force of 100 soldiers under the command of Sir Robert Carr approached New Amstel.

The English brought about a selection of changes and expanded the town, which they renamed New Castle. During this period, the town’s population increased. Its many historic houses are brick or frame and 2-3 stories; some have been in the same family for 3-4 generations.

New Castle

The Duke of York’s Laws for the Government of the New York Colony were drafted in 1665 by the colonial governor, Richard Nicholls. This legal code aimed to bring a more uniform system of law to the territory, covering nearly every aspect of colonial life. It included things as diverse as the bounty to be paid on wolves, standards for weights and measures, restrictions on American Indians, social and domestic regulations, rules for the militia, and most lasting, the establishment of a court system including trial by jury.

The first recorded criminal jury trial under English law in Delaware took place in New Castle in December 1669. On trial was Marcus Jacobs, called “Long Finn” because he was unusually tall and spoke Finnish. He was charged for rebellion after he made a speech, making numerous false claims, calling for the overthrow of the English. He was arrested, tried and found guilty of rebellion by the jury. For his punishment, he was branded on the face with the letter “R” for rebellion and whipped in public. Ultimately, he was expelled from the colony and sold into slavery.

New Castle Common is part of a tract of one thousand acres set apart by William Penn in 1701 for the inhabitants of the town of New Castle. It was in 1682 that William Penn traveled to the New World landing in New Castle, exerting his Quaker influence on the town.

New Castle Common

William Penn

Immanuel Episcopal Church on the Green was established in 1689, and built in 1703.

Immanuel Episcopal Church on the Green

Immanuel Episcopal Church on the Green

gravestone at Immanuel Episcopal Church

Immanuel Episcopal Church on the Green

The military installments would eventually be lost to time. New Castle became a melting pot of people from many nations and ethnic groups, including Africans and American Indians. This multi-cultural influence endures today.

The New Castle Courthouse

The New Castle Courthouse was built in 1732 and served as the meeting place for the state’s colonial assembly from 1732-1777. It is here where the Delaware Assembly voted on June 15, 1776 to separate from England and from Pennsylvania, creating the “State of Delaware.”

New Castle Courthouse

New Castle Courthouse

New Castle Courthouse

The town was home to four signers of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776 – George Read, Thomas McKean, George Ross, and Francis Hopkinson.

The Declaration of Independence

One of the building’s most famous federal proceedings was a series of trials in 1848. Prominent abolitionists and Underground Railroad conductors Thomas Garrett, a close friend and ally of Harriet Tubman, and John Hunn were found guilty of violating the Fugitive Slave Act and were issued hefty fines.

The Courthouse continued to hold regular state and federal proceedings until 1888.

In 1857, New Castle County constructed a new prison complex on this site. The Sheriff’s House provided a roomy residence for the County Sheriff and his family. The prison (to its right) could house as many as 40 inmates. The whipping post and pillory in the New Castle Prison Yard were adjacent; the last whipping was in 1952, but the state didn’t outlaw the practice until 1972.

The county seat moved to Wilmington in 1881, but the Sheriff’s House and County Jail remained in service until 1902. The jail was torn down in 1912. The Sheriff’s House continued to be used, most notably as the home of New Castle Club, and finally, as the city police headquarters until 1997. The National Park Service now manages the Sheriff’s House as part of First State National Historical Park.

Sheriff’s House

The Old Library Museum is a hexagonal, Victorian-style brick building built in 1892 that features historical society collections.

The Old Library

Packet boats from Philadelphia met stagecoaches at Packet Alley bound for Frenchtown, Maryland, the chief line of communication from the North to Baltimore and the South. Andrew Jackson, David Crockett, Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, Louis Napoleon, Stonewall Jackson, and Indians (led by Osceola and Black Hawk) en route to visit “Great Father” in Washington – all passed this way.

Packet Alley

George Read (1733-1798) was a Member of the Congress of the Revolution, the convention that framed the Constitution of the United States and of the first Senate under it; Judge of Admiralty, President and Chief Justice of Delaware, and a signer of the Declaration of Independence. His Federal Period house was destroyed by fire in April 1824.

Site of Home of George Read

The townspeople rebuilt the home and the second owner, William Cooper and his family added a formal garden that stretched back to Second Street. In the early 1900s, third owners, Philip and Lydia Laird, laid brick sidewalks throughout the garden and erected brick walls.

It was a pleasure to wander around these gardens on a warm summer day.

Site of Home of George Read

Site of Home of George Read

Old Swedes Church

After leaving New Castle, I made my way to Wilmington, where I stopped at Old Swedes Church, known as “the nation’s oldest church building still used for worship as originally built.” Upon arrival from Sweden in 1697, Paster Eric Björk began his quest to build a stone church to replace the decaying log structure on the south bank of the Christina River that had served the Swedish Lutheran congregation. Helga Trefaldigher Kyrcka (Holy Trinity Church) was consecrated on Trinity Sunday, 1699. Over the years, it has become affectionately known as Old Swedes.

It is located in what was the New Sweden Colony before Delaware fell to the English in 1664. The Swedish Government supported the building of the church for the love and community of its people, despite the fact that it was no longer a Swedish Colony. The Church is made from local blue granite and precedes the burial ground that surrounds it; the cemetery holds remains of over 8,000 individuals, a number of whom were significant to the history of Delaware, including the humblest Swedish settler, a Secretary of State of the United States, and military personnel.

Old Swedes Church

Old Swedes Church

Old Swedes Church

Old Swedes Church

The “M.B.” Stone is probably one of the oldest still visible in the churchyard. It is not known who M.B. was or when he or she died. The stone is typical of the simple rough markers of the late 1600s and early 1700s.

The “M.B.” stone

The Stidham Family was a prominent family in the early days of the New Sweden Colony and Old Swedes. Dr. Tymen Stidham arrived on the fourth voyage of the Kalmar Nyckel. The first physician in this area, he strictly enforced sanitary measures, leading to a healthy New Sweden colony.

Rev. Joseph Stidham fought in the Revolutionary War. There are four Stidham Revolutionary War veterans buried at Old Swedes.

The Stidham Family

Old Swedes Church

Reparations to celebrate the 300^th anniversary of the consecration of Old Swedes in 1998 produced some surprising results.

Painters removed dozens of coats of paint from the south doors in preparation for painting. They found carved graffiti dating back almost 300 years. It was decided to leave the graffiti rather than paint over it as had been done in the past. Much of the graffiti dates from the twelve year period the church was closed, 1830-1842. The earliest date found is 1711. In addition to the doors, some initials and dates have been carved into the portico stones.

Graffiti door

Though the English were the apparent victors in the struggles for cultural imperialism in the Delaware Valley, the Swedes still managed to hang on to their community and cultural identity.

After leaving Old Swedes Church, I headed for the expansive and glamorous Nemours Estate, owned and developed by Alfred I. duPont (1864-1935).

*Thursday, June 6, 2019*

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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 use five random nouns in my travel essay each day: 1) ~~attitude~~, 2) ~~campaign~~, 3) ~~pleasure~~, 4) ~~selection~~, and 5) ~~distance~~. √ I also chose a theme for today: cultural imperialism.

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 9 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, December 10, 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!

{camino day 44} lestedo to melide

wanderessence1025 November 24, 2019

I hated to leave my comfortable hotel on this cold and dark morning, but I had nearly 20km to walk. After eating a hearty breakfast, I was on my way at 8:09. Clouds were nestled into the folds of the mountains as I walked alone past the village cemetery and then through Os Valos Mamurria and on to A Brea.

A short woodland path at the back of Meson A Brea led uphill to Alto Rosairo. In this spot, medieval pilgrims would begin to recite the rosary, thus the name. Before trees were planted here, views could be had to the peaks behind Santiago de Compostela.

I entered the suburbs of Palas de Rei. This town straddles the camino and was a “compulsory” stop in the Codex Calixtinus, an anthology of background detail and advice for pilgrims, likely compiled from 1138-1145, following the Way of St. James to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela.

It is said that the Visigothic king Witiza (701-9) constructed a palace here that gave the town its name. He was the last of the militant Arian heretics who held that Jesus was not human or divine, but supernatural, according to The Pilgrimage Road to Santiago.

Lestedo to A Brea (1.8 km) to Palas de Rei Pavillón (4.3 km) to Palas de Rei Centro (1.2 km)

Lestedo to A Brea

Meson A Brea

A Brea to Palas de Rei Pavillón

A Brea to Palas de Rei Pavillón

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

Palas de Rei

I got misplaced in that town and ended up in a cute little shop with Laurel from Boise, with whom I’d talked while walking into Sarria. We went on a bit of a shopping spree for over an hour. I got a couple of necklaces, a bracelet, another buff, and a shirt. Laurel did more damage than I did.

In the shop, I also met two lovely ladies, Stephanie and Joann from Connecticut, who struck up a conversation. They asked if I was Catholic and I said I was a fallen-away Catholic. They said they were practicing Catholics. As was so often the case with fellow pilgrims, we shared why we were walking the Camino. When I told them about my search for peace of mind over the struggles of my loved one, Stephanie promised to pray for him.

Someone high up in their Connecticut church knew of a Bishop in Germany who would be conducting a special mass for German pilgrims at 4:00 on Saturday; it would be a big mass and the group had paid 450€ for the Botafumeiro to be swung. The Botafumeiro is a famous thurible, a metal censer suspended from chains, in which incense is burned during worship services in the Santiago de Compostela Cathedral.

I sent this information on to Darina by WhatsApp; we were confused because nothing on the Cathedral website said there would be a mass at 4:00 on Saturday. I told Darina that I’d try to make it to Santiago before 4:00, that I’d try to leave O Pedrouzo by 6 a.m.! I knew that the Cathedral didn’t swing the Botafumeiro at every mass, and being witness to that was one of my top desires for my Camino.

After leaving town, I crossed the N-547, and then the river Ruxián, and up into Carballal with its many raised granaries (horreos) back down to cross the N-547 again onto a eucalyptus-scented woodland path. Occasional cork oaks and thickets of bamboo hinted of the more temperate climate westward toward the Galician coast.

Finally, I crossed a marshy area into San Xulián, a classical Camino village with a tiny 12th-century church dedicated to Saint Julian.

Palas de Rei Centro to San Xulián (Xiao) do Camiño (3.4 km)

Horreos on the path from Palas de Rei Centro to San Xulián do Camiño

Horreos on the path from Palas de Rei Centro to San Xulián do Camiño

Church of San Xulián

Church of San Xulián

Church of San Xulián

More granaries, more forest paths, more short ascents and descents as we dipped into a series of dry river beds. The path continued down to the Rió Pambre, with birches, willows and narrow-leafed ash trees lining the banks; we crossed it at Ponte Campaña-Mato and stopped briefly at Casa Domingo for some cafe con leche. We climbed gently along the route through an ancient oak woods to Casonova.

San Xulián (Xiao) do Camiño to Casanova (2.3 km)

Horreo

Horreo

San Xulián (Xiao) do Camiño to Casanova

San Xulián (Xiao) do Camiño to Casanova

Horreos

curious cows

Casa Domingo

Casa Domingo

Casa Domingo

ancient oak woods

San Xulián (Xiao) do Camiño to Casanova

There wasn’t much in Casanova, so we entered into the quiet rural province of A Coruña, surrounded by woodland. The Pass of the Oxen (Porto de Bois), the high point of today’s stage, was once the scene of a bloody battle between warring nobility. It was said that the stream ran red with blood all the way to the Ulla River. We crossed over the provincial border at a scrap yard in Cornixa into O Coto.

Casanova to O Coto (2.7 km)

Casanova to O Coto

O Coto

I continued through O Coto and then through an undulating track through woods, crossing a medieval bridge into the camino village of Leboreiro (field of hares), with its paved street, thatched granary, and 13th-century Romanesque Santa María Church (rebuilt in the 18th century). It has a stone tympanum of Virgin and Child over the main door. The town boomed from the 11th to the 13th centuries, offering important support for pilgrims.

We then crossed the medieval Magdalena Bridge over the río Seco into Disicabo. The path carried us upward to the main road and over a footbridge to join a stretch of senda (track) separating the N-547 from an industrial estate. After passing that endless path between factories and sheds, I crossed the elegant medieval 4-arched Ponte Velha into Furelos and stopped at another church there, Igrexa San Juan. This village once belonged to the Hospitallers of San Juan.

O Coto to Furelos (Ponte Velha) (4.6 km)

Leboreiro

Leboreiro

thatched granary in Leboreiro

Romanesque Church of Santa María in Leboreiro

Magdalena Bridge

O Coto to Furelos

O Coto to Furelos

Ponte Velha

Furelos

Furelos

Igrexa San Juan

Through Furelos I went, and then through modern suburbs and the Romanesque church of San Pedro & San Roque beside a famous 14th century stone cross reputed to be the oldest in Galicia, Crucero do Melide, Christ in majesty and Christ crucified on the reverse.

Furelos

I then made my way into Melide, with its declining population of 7,500, through a variety of pulperías and cafes. The old part follows the typical medieval layout of narrow winding streets with shops, bars and restaurants serving the regional specialty, octopus, or pulpo.

The town was once an important market and transportation hub but curiously was largely defenseless. In 1316, permission was granted to build a wall, but it was never finished. In medieval times, the Way was the town’s most important feature, with the town’s businesses and homes stretched in a long thin line along the highway. In 1575, many of the town’s 100 families were innkeepers.

Furelos (Ponte Velha) to Melide (Centro) (1.5 km)

Melide

After checking into Albergue O Candil in Melide, I went in search of the regional specialty, pulpo, and found the cavernous Pulpería Garnacha. I was hesitant to try pulpo because I imagined it would have that chewy texture that makes me gag, but the little suction cups were surprisingly not too chewy. Besides, Darina had highly recommended it, and she was always full of good advice. Still, I had to look at those things and make myself not think about what I was eating. They were good, but I doubt I’d ever seek them out again. Prawns always call my name when I’m looking for seafood.

pulpo, or octopus

After dinner, the rain had let up so I walked through Plaza del Convento where I found the austere parish church, Iglesia de Sancti Spiritus, formerly a 14th-century Augustinian monastery.

Plaza del Convento and Sancti Spiritus

inside Sancti Spiritus

I was nearing the end at this point, with only three more days to walk. 🙂

**********

*Day 44: Wednesday, October 17, 2018*

*33,190 steps, or 14.07 miles: Lestedo to Melide (19.9 km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

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

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Seville, Second Helpings.

anticipation & preparation: india in 2011

wanderessence1025 November 22, 2019

Upon leaving South Korea after a year of teaching English, at the end of February in 2011, I planned to meet my dear friend Jayne for a three week trip around the north of India beginning March 1. Another teacher in Korea had given me the name of a travel planner, Umer Ullah of Incredible India Travel Services. She had been pleased with him. Finding it all so overwhelming, we enlisted Umer to arrange our travel. I’m glad we did, because I think it would have been way too cumbersome to arrange ourselves.

Agra

I had already read a lot of books that took place in India. Below is a list of books that either take place in India or feature Indian characters. The books I have read have star ratings (1-5) and links to Goodreads. The ones in bold green are books I own but haven’t read. The others are suggestions for future reading.

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy *****
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy
Sister of My Heart by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni *****
Oleander Girl by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
The Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri *****
The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri
The Romantics by Pankaj Mishra ****
A Passage to India by E.M. Forster *****
The Color of Our Sky: A Novel by Amita Trasi ***
The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga **
Gandhi’s Passion: The Life and Legacy of Mahatma Gandhi by Stanley Wolpert ****
behind the beautiful forevers by Katherine Boo
The Caretaker by A.X. Ahmad
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai
Flash House by Aimee Liu
Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie
The Sleepwalker’s Guide to Dancing by Mira Jacob (& Seattle & New Mexico)
The Jewel in the Crown by Paul Scott
Nectar in a Sieve by Kamala Markandaya
Sharmila’s Book by Bharti Kirchner
Shiva Dancing by Bharti Kirchner
The Far Field by Madhuri Vijay
A State of Freedom by Neel Mukherjee
Girls Burn Brighter by Shobha Rao
As Sweet as Honey by Indira Ganesan
Everything was Goodbye by Gurjinder Basran
The Abundance by Amit Majmudar (also Midwest USA)
The Storyteller’s Secret by Sejal Badani
Varanasi
1. Sister India by Peggy Payne ***

For lists of books from various international destinations, see: books | international a-z |

Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

I’ve watched numerous movies and T.V. series set in India, and I was inspired by many Bollywood movies. In fact, I often imagined Bollywood films would be manifested in my travels, with Indians in colorful clothing breaking out into song and dance.

Deewaar (1975)
Gandhi (1982) *****
Octopussy (1983)
The Jewel in the Crown (TV mini-series) (1984) *****
A Passage to India (1984)
City of Joy (1992)
Bombay (1995)
Monsoon Wedding (2001) ****
Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India (2001)
Mr. and Mrs. Iyer (2002) *****
Born into Brothels: Calcutta’s Red Light Kids (2004 documentary)
The Namesake (2006)****
Outsourced (2006) ****
Rang De Basanti (2006)
Jab We Met (2007) *****
The Darjeeling Limited (2007)
Slumdog Millionaire (2008) *****
Jodhaa Akbar (2008)
The Story of India (2009 documentary)
Eat Pray Love (2010) *****
The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2011) *****
Tanu Weds Manu (2011) ***
Delhi Belly (2011)
Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (2011)
Barfi! (2012)
Midnight’s Children (2012)
Life of Pi (2012) ***
The Lunchbox (2013) ****
Learning to Drive (2014) (Sikh Indian character) ****
Monsoon (2014 documentary)
The Hundred-Foot Journey (2014) (Set in France but featuring an Indian family) *****
Gunday (2014) *
The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2015) ***
Indian Summers (TV series) (2015-2016) ****
Lion (2016) ****
Victoria & Abdul (2017) (Indian character) *****
Hotel Mumbai (2018)

For movies set in various international destinations, see: movies | international a-z |

Though the movie Gunday in the list above takes place in India, one of the songs in the movie was actually filmed in Oman. It’s quite romantic, although the movie itself was rather hokey.

Here’s one of my favorite Bollywood movies, Jab We Met.

Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, India

Our itinerary for India in March of 2011:

March 1: Cathy arrives in Delhi 1:35 a.m.
March 3: Jayne arrives in Delhi. Sightseeing tour of Delhi on March 3-4.
March 5: We fly to Varanasi.
March 7: Fly Varanasi to Delhi to Chandigarh.
March 8: Chandigarh to Rishikesh by car.
March 9: Rishikesh to Corbett National Park (Tiger safari) by car.
March 10: Corbett National Park to Agra by car.
March 11: Agra (Taj Mahal)/ Fatehpursikri/Jaipur (by car)
March 12: Jaipur (The Pink City)
March 13: Jaipur / Jaisalmer by overnight train.
March 14: Arrive Jaisalmer. Camel safari in desert. Overnight stay in hut.
March 15: Jaisalmer ~ sightseeing tour of city.
March 16: Jaisalmer/Jodphur by train (10-11 hours)
March 17: Jodphur / Udaipur by flight.
March 18: Udaipur
March 19: Udaipur/Aurangabad (by Flight)
March 20: Aurangabad (cave temples)
March 21: Aurangabad / Mumbai (by flight)
March 22: Depart for USA.

Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, India

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“ANTICIPATION & PREPARATION” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about anticipation & preparation for a particular destination (not journeys in general). If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, December 26 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, December 27, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the 4th Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂 If you’d like to read more about the topic, see: journeys: anticipation & preparation.

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 posts from our wandering community. I hope you’ll be inspired!

Jude, of Travel Words, wrote about preparing for an adventure overland to India, and then onward to Asia and Australia.
- Anticipation and Preparation: England to Australia (1973)

Thanks to all of you who wrote posts about anticipation and preparation.

seafaring portugal: lisbon & points north

wanderessence1025 November 21, 2019

The seafaring history of Portugal spanned a hundred years from 1415-1515. Known as the Age of the Discoveries, this period saw Portuguese navigators sail across uncharted seas to break out of the boundaries of Europe and discover the New World.

In my latest travels to Portugal, I found boats, the sea and promenades alongside it, rivers, and symbols of Portugal’s love of the sea.

Lisbon

Torre Vasco da Gama

Rio Douro & Ribeira in Porto

barcos rabelos, flat-bottom boats, on the Rio Douro

barcos rabelos, flat-bottom boats, on the Rio Douro

barcos rabelos, flat-bottom boats, on the Rio Douro

high-prowed boats in Aveiro

high-prowed boats in Aveiro

high-prowed boats in Aveiro

high-prowed boats in Aveiro

Aveiro

Costa Nova

Costa Nova

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Peniche

Cabo da Roca

Cabo da Roca

Lisbon

Padrão dos Descobrimentos

Torre Vasco da Gama

*October 26-November 6, 2018*

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

“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 Portugal. As Portugal is a country with a long seafaring history, I thought I’d look to Portugal’s coasts, rivers and boats, as well as symbols of the country’s love affair with the sea.

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 4 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, December 5, 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!

on journey: to, around and back from cambodia in 2011

wanderessence1025 November 20, 2019

A Tuesday morning in January, and I’m on my way from Hanoi to Phnom Penh. I have to be at the airport at 6:30 a.m. for an 8:30 flight on my favorite (not) airline: China Southern. 😦

The Hotel Ngocmai calls a taxi for me, and through the dark, through the yellow haze we go. I pay the hotel in advance for this taxi; I’m told the hotel pays the taxi directly. When we get to the airport finally, the driver asks for his tip. I look in my wallet and the smallest thing I have is a $10 bill. I am all out of Vietnamese dong. It’s not a problem here in Vietnam as they take dollars just as readily as dong. I take out the $10 and ask the driver if he has change, in dollars. He looks in his wallet and has only a few dong; not enough to give me change. And no dollars. I say, I’m sorry. I can’t give you a tip unless you have change. I am not about to give him $10 for a tip, when I’ve paid the hotel $15 already for the ride. The taxi driver whines: My tip, my tip! Where’s my tip? I don’t know what to do, but I cannot afford to give him $10. It’s mean, I know, but I tell him I’m sorry. And then I walk away.

Cambodia

This bothers me the rest of the day. It still bothers me today. Should I have just given him the full $10? That didn’t feel right to me. But it didn’t feel right to leave him in the lurch either. At the time I was worried about my flight and checking in on time, etc. But later, I think, I should have gone searching in the airport for change. I feel like I committed some petty crime. If I had done this one thing right, I probably would have saved money on the rest of my trip. Because from this point on, I find myself giving bigger tips to everyone else I meet along the way as recompense to that poor taxi driver in Vietnam.

Sometimes we can embarrass ourselves by own behavior. Believe me, I have done this many times in my life. I did something not good and it haunts me later. There is no shaking it. All I can do is to try to do better next time. That’s all we, as humans, can do.

Buddha in Cambodia

The flight is uneventful until I get to my all-time favorite airport of Guangzhou in China at 10:55. I’m worried because I only have one hour between my flights and I know they put you through unreasonable rigmarole at that airport. I feel relieved when I get off the plane because a woman from the airline is holding a card with my name on it and “Phnom Penh.” I say, yes, that’s me, and she ushers me to a special desk where she issues my boarding pass. I think, it’s going to be easy! But when she’s done she sends me through immigration after all, where the serious Chinese officials spend a great deal of time inspecting my passport and then they take it away and tell me to have a seat. I say, Where are you going with my passport? Of course, no one can speak English so I am left waiting and worrying what on earth could be the problem. After what seems like a long while, they finally return with my passport, and I go back into the cold basement of the airport to wait for my 11:55 flight to Phnom Penh.

Another cramped flight with bad food, and a lot of turbulence. I don’t often worry much when I fly, but this flight is so rough, I’m doing a lot of praying. Finally, I arrive in Phnom Penh at 1:50 pm, where a driver from my hotel, the Villa Langka, is standing in the airport with a sign. I walk outside and am hit by a wave of heat. Oh, it feels so good. After being cold and getting sick in Vietnam, I’m thrilled to be warm. In the van, I strip off my layers and check out the streets of Phnom Penh from the airport to the hotel.

It’s a much more sedate and classy version of Vietnam. There are motorbikes aplenty, but not nearly the numbers as in Hanoi. It’s bright, colorful, cheery, but also poor and scattered with rubbish. Not in-your-face rubbish, but rubbish nonetheless.

Phnom Penh to Siem Reap

After exploring Phnom Penh, two mornings later, I take the 8:30 Mekong Express Bus ($11) to Siem Reap. It’s a 6-hour ride, and luckily it has a bathroom on board! I have never encountered an on-board bathroom on any bus since I’ve been in Asia, so I’m relieved I don’t have to worry about this issue. 🙂

Mekong Express Limousine Bus

My bus mate is Richard, a 69-year-old Australian who was once a medical lawyer, then a nurse, and later an English teacher in Cambodia. He’s lived here on and off for years and adores Cambodia and the people. His wife Janet died of pancreatic cancer in 2009; they had been together for 5 years but only married right before she died, at her request.

Richard teaches me hello in Cambodian: sua s’dei (I hear it pronounced as sauce-a-day). Goodbye is lia suhn haoy (He tells me it’s just lee-high) and thank you is aw-kohn. He tells me that he has an apartment in Phnom Penh where he supports several Pakistani and Cambodian boys. He has put several Cambodians through college. He says he can afford it and he likes to know he’s helping to get some of them out of poverty.

Richard is a talker, so the 6 hour bus ride passes quickly. He tells me that one of the boys in the apartment is getting married. His wife, he says, is very superstitious. She thinks if she looks over the edge of a balcony, the building will collapse. Recently, she found a lump in her breast. When Richard insisted she go right away to see a doctor, she refused, saying that particular day wasn’t an auspicious one to see a doctor.

He tells how he just got a skin cancer removed from his forehead and now he’s numb on that side of his head. He remembers that Janet used to stroke his head as he lay in her lap. Ironically, Janet went and then the feeling in his head disappeared as well.

When I mention my upcoming trip to Kyoto in February, he tells me in great detail about a Japanese film called Departures, in which an unemployed cellist takes a job preparing the dead for funerals. He says it’s funny how the film made him weep, yet he never got emotional over Janet’s death. He celebrates her life and feels they had an amazing love that ebbed and flowed between them. He says Janet was the kind of person who either loved you or hated you. There was no in-between, no neutrality with her.

As he flips through the newspaper, he reads me the local crime report which includes some burglaries and arson and destruction of property. He says the police reports in Phnom Penh very often report decapitations among the locals. He mentions that in Tunisia, protestors are demanding the ouster of the current government.

Mekong Express Limousine Bus

Later, we finally arrive in Siem Reap, where a young Cambodian guy picks me up in a van to take me to my hotel, Auberge Mont Royal. In the van I meet a Cambodian couple who left for Montreal on a study-scholarship in 1971, so they luckily missed the Khmer Rouge years. The man tells me since I’m an English teacher I should apply at the J. Prescott Academy, a school for Cambodian children in Siem Reap.

Sunday, January 23: Back to Korea 😦

I leave from the new Siem Reap airport around 7 pm, where they charge all foreigners a $25 exit fee (!). I’m supposed to have a 10-hour layover in my favorite airport, Guangzhou, but I’ve made no arrangements for sleeping overnight in China. As a matter of fact, I’m just planning to sleep in the miserable airport, in a test of my own mettle. I want to prove I can be tough. 🙂 However, when I arrive in Guangzhou, after much miscommunication with immigration, who disappears with my passport for a long time with no explanation, and with more miscommunications with the airline, I’m finally made to understand that China Southern will put us up for the night in a hotel. We drive in a bus for what seems like an eternity out into the mysterious city of Guangzhou, China, where I share a filthy, cold, miserable room with a Korean girl for about 3 hours of sleeping, only to get back on the bus again at an ungodly hour to catch the early flight to Seoul.

Cambodian temple

I adored Cambodia. Vietnam was fascinating and edgy. But never, NEVER, will I fly China Southern Airlines again!

*Tuesday-Sunday, January 18-23, 2011*

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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, December 17 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, December 18, 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 journey, sometimes hitchhiking, sometimes on ferries, lorries, and trains from London to Athens.
- On Journey: Part One LONDON TO ATHENS

Many thanks to all of you who wrote posts about the journey. I’m inspired by all of you!

{camino day 43} portomarín to lestedo

wanderessence1025 November 17, 2019

I got a late start, at 8:50 a.m., leaving Portomarín on a reddish dirt path in the fog with Darina, who I met at a cafe in town. We crossed a small bridge over the río Torres, and then up through a dense woodland lined with heather and gorse. Since we were climbing, she soon left me behind.

The Spanish school kids swarmed around me, but I slowed to let them go past. Sunshine was in the forecast, but the fog didn’t burn off until 11:00. I went through more forests, a long stretch of roadside walls past huge industrial complexes – an abandoned Fabrica and Aviporto fertilizer pant in Toxibó. Then again through pine forests with no sight or sound of traffic. There was a lot more climbing, 7.7 km to Gonzar, where enormous oaks stand sentry at the entrance to town. I had some potatoes bravas at café Descanso Peregrino, which was very busy. There was a long line to the restroom.

According to The Pilgrimage Road to Santiago by David M. Gitlitz and Linda Kay Davison, today’s stretch of the Way was “famous as an open-air brothel.”

Portomarín to Gonzar (7.8 km)

Portomarín to Gonzar

Portomarín to Gonzar

Horreo

Portomarín to Gonzar

Portomarín to Gonzar

The route out of Gonzar was easy. I stopped at Café O Castro in Castromaior for a cafe con leche and a KitKat bar, mainly so I could use the bathroom. The woman who ran the cafe had cute painted stones displayed: houses, cacti, a frog. A glossy German shepherd sprawled in front of the café. I passed by the Romanesque church of Santa María and then continued through the village.

It was a steep climb to the first cluster of eucalyptuses in Castromaior. This native Australian tree would appear without interruption from here on, as it had been planted to supply the paper industry. Here I stopped to see the ancient ruins of the 4th century B.C. Castro de Castromaior, an ancient archeological site inhabited from the 4th century B.C. to 1 A.D. Ruins consisted of vegetable houses and a strong house from the beginning of the Roman conquest.

I ran into Darina at the ruins and we explored together. I was annoyed by a young woman doing yoga on the ruins. I felt it was so selfish because she was in everyone’s photos. There were beautiful views of the surrounding countryside.

Gonzar to Castromaior (1.2 km)

Castromaior

Church of Santa María in Castromaior

Café O Castro

Castro de Castromaior

Castro de Castromaior

Castro de Castromaior

Castro de Castromaior

Castro de Castromaior

me at Castro de Castromaior (photo by Darina)

Castro de Castromaior

me at Castro de Castromaior

Castro de Castromaior

From Castromaior, I walked through Hospital de la Cruz where the N-540 cuts through the ancient village. It takes its name from an old pilgrim’s hospice, which still stands.

It was a stony and rather uncomfortable walkway leading steeply upward to Ventas de Narón. There, I stopped at the tiny Romanesque Capela da Magdalena, a former hospital of the Knights Templar built in the last third of the 13th century. Its emblematic stamp is available from a blind custodian. The area was the scene of a fierce battle in 820 between Moors and Christians. When the Knights Templar disappeared, the hospital fell in the hands of the Benedictine order.

At Ventas de Narón, I ran into Sheryl, Sharon and John who said they were staying there. Sheryl said they were walking 16 miles on average each day. I said, “You mean 16 kilometers?” She said, “No, 16 miles.” She was clueless. She had been on an even keel with me since the Meseta and I rarely walked 16 miles, walking most often 16-20 kilometers (10-12 miles), more or less. Sharon had organized everything for her and she never knew where she was going the next day, or where she’d come from, or how far she’d walked. Honestly, up until that point, I’d never seen her walking at all; I always saw her sitting in cafés in towns! Darina and I got a laugh when we discovered we’d both only seen her in towns.

I also ran into Ellen from Germany several times today, but I didn’t feel like bothering to talk to her.

Castromaior to Hospital de la Cruz (2.5 km) to Ventas de Narón (1.4 km)

Ventas de Narón

Capela da Magdalena

Capela da Magdalena

I climbed the Sierra Ligonde to the highest point of today’s route (756 m), passing dog kennels (perreras Alejo) before dropping down to the ancient hamlet of Lameiros right before Ligonde. There I found Darina at a cafe, where we enjoyed a Peregrino beer and a veggie, asparagus and queso sandwich. Darina and I walked together through Ligonde where we admired the ancient hamlet and its Cementerio de Peregrinos. Ligonde was formerly an important medieval stop on the way. Charlemagne was said to have stayed here, along with other royals. It also had a pilgrim hospice.

Ventas de Narón to Ligonde (3.7 km)

Ventas de Narón to Ligonde

Horreo on the path from Lameiro to Ligonde

Horreo on the path from Lameiro to Ligonde

roosters in Ligonde

Ligonde

Igrexa de Santiago in Ligonde

Cementerio de Peregrinos in Ligonde

Finally, we continued on through Eirexe (which means “church”), passing a 17th-century wayside cross sheltered by a gnarly oak tree in the ancient hamlet of Lameiros. The worn base bears death symbols, while the figure of the Virgin de los Dolores refers to maternity and the creation of life. Pilgrims leave painted stones and pieces of paper bearing messages, which eventually wash away.

17th century wayside cross in ancient hamlet of Lameiro

We walked on through more eucalyptus groves, mixed with oak and beech, past A Calzada to the tiny hamlet of Lestedo and to my hotel, Hosteria Calixtino, arriving at 4:30. Darina planned to stop further on, so we parted ways.

I showered and did laundry and then ate dinner at 6:30: red wine, ten giant prawns, and pineapple cake. It was delicious! There was a tour group here of fourteen people; someone named Sonia asked if I wanted to join them for dinner but I didn’t want the pilgrim menu and I was too hungry to wait until 7:30. I asked them where they’d walked from today and they didn’t know. Those were the tour group pilgrims for you.

Ligonde to Eirexe (0.6 km) to Opción (Detour) Portos A Calzada (2.1 km) to Lestedo (0.6 km)

giant prawns at LHosteria Calixtino

In my hotel room, I saw a big cockroach-like bug crawling across the floor. I tried to smash it with my sandal and thought I got it, but it rousted and scurried away. All night, I worried about it getting in my bed! Talk about bed bugs! Eek! I was also having trouble turning on the heat in my room, so I showed them the Google Translate below, and after much confusion and ineptitude, they eventually warmed up the room.

Hosteria Calixtino in Lestedo

asking for heat at Hosteria Calixtino

**********

*Day 43: Tuesday, October 16, 2018*

*34,675 steps, or 14.69 miles: Portomarín to Lestedo (19.9 km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

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

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Sáo Brás de Alportel, Then and Now.

the kitschy beach town of rehoboth, delaware

wanderessence1025 November 14, 2019

I arrived in Rehoboth on a perfect June day, not too hot or humid, with temps in the 70s. After parking the car at a meter with a three-hour time limit, I walked up and down the main shopping street, Rehoboth Avenue, stopping into several enticing shops.

Changing the beach one book at a time!

bookshop in Rehoboth

cute shop in Rehoboth

I found a restaurant called Arena’s Deli for a late lunch; there, I enjoyed pink lemonade and fried shrimp tacos topped with coleslaw.

fried shrimp tacos with coleslaw at Arena’s Deli

My hotel, Surf Club Oceanfront in Dewey Beach, called several times to inform me my room was ready. I’ve never had a hotel call me so insistently. I told them I didn’t want to check in yet, as I was strolling the 2-mile length of the Rehoboth Boardwalk, past Dolle’s Salt Water Taffy, T-shirt shops, arcades, candy and ice cream shops, beachwear and seashell shops, and establishments offering beach chairs and flotation devices.

Rehoboth boardwalk

Rehoboth boardwalk

Dolle’s Salt Water Taffy

Rehoboth Beach

Rehoboth Beach

houses along the beach

Rehoboth Beach

Rehoboth Beach

Rehoboth Beach

Rehoboth is kitschy for sure, tacky, garish and even sentimental, but a place beach goers in America appreciate in an ironic or knowing way. After all, this is the way beach towns are in coastal towns, full of vibrant color, funky souvenirs and quirky enticements.

beachy t-shirts

cut-outs for sale

kitsch in Rehoboth

Synder’s Candy

Fisher’s Popcorn

Archie’s

Penny Lane Mall

shops along the boardwalk

Shops in Penny Lane

Candy Kitchen

offerings

flourescent stuff

yard ornaments

Mariachi Restaurant

After whiling away the afternoon in Rehoboth, I drove south to Dewey Beach and checked in at my hotel. I drove to Delaware Seashore State Park, where I though I’d find some trails along the beach, but instead I found a big campground full of RVs and tents.

I drove back to Rehoboth and went to a shop called bella luna, where I browsed for a long while. The many cute earrings didn’t quite reflect my spirit, and the necklaces I liked were too expensive, so the only thing I came away with was a scarf with flowers and birds on a field of turquoise cotton. For $26, it wasn’t exactly a steal.

Returning to Dewey Beach, I changed clothes and walked to Woody’s Dewey Beach, known for making the best crab cakes around. I sat at the bar and talked to a woman who was the general manager for a local hotel. She was married some thirty years ago and had two grown kids. Her husband was in a horrible accident and, after coming out of a coma, he didn’t know who she or her kids were. He had been on Oxycontin for years and then became addicted to heroin. He had been still in touch with her and when she hadn’t heard from him in a long time, she went to his house, where she found him dead in the bathtub, where he’d fallen and broken his neck. He’d been dead six days.

She also told funny stories about working as a hotel manager. Her employees were 75, 80 and 77, and they didn’t know how to put toner in the printer or how to make photocopies.

Sometimes people tell the darndest tales about their lives. The things that are possible never fail to amaze me!

I enjoyed a delicious crab cake sandwich minus the bread, tater tots and a Blue Moon.

my room in Dewey Beach

Before returning to my room, I took a walk out on Dewey Beach as the sun was going down.

Dewey Beach

Back in my room, I discovered that there was no comforter on the bed, just a lightweight coverlet. The front desk people had left for the night and there were no blankets in the room. It was too hot to turn off the air conditioning and too cold to have it on. I tossed and turned all night, never able to get comfortable. Luckily, I would check out the next morning.

*Tuesday, June 4, 2019*

*13,377 steps, or 5.67 miles*

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

In my case, my intention was to look for thematic possibilities during my trip to Delaware. I combined this photography intention with several other intentions. One was to find a theme for each day; my theme for today was “kitsch.” Also, I tried to use five random nouns in my essay: 1) ~~spirit~~; 2) ~~field~~; 3) ~~(the) possible~~; 4) ~~steal~~; 5) ~~limit~~. √

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, November 20 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, November 21, 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!

marshlands & american art in delaware

wanderessence1025 November 12, 2019

My second day in Delaware was book-ended by grasses. I explored marshlands on bicycle and by car, in morning and late afternoon, interspersed with a dip under a flock of birds into the Biggs Museum of American Art in Dover.

Fortified by a spinach & pepper jack omelette (& biscuits!) on the porch of Sharky’s Grill, I ventured to Cape Henlopen State Park. There, I took possession of an orange bicycle, for no fee; the procedure required I turned over my driver’s license as “collateral” for the bike. The guy manning the bike shed talked my ear off about camera lenses, green flies, and which direction I should ride around the loops. He suggested I spray myself with his tea tree oil, derived from an Australian native plant, Melaleuca alternifolia, as insect repellent. The only stipulation was that the bicycle needed to be returned in two hours.

Cape Henlopen State Park

I felt like Sabine Harwood, the character in one of my favorite novels, The White Woman on the Green Bicycle, except my bicycle was orange. I rode from the Seaside Nature Center past the park office and the campground. I branched off on the Walking Dunes Trail and headed south until I came to Herring Point. Then I headed south on the Gordon’s Pond Trail, where I stopped at the lookout; I felt no shame in turning back at this point.

At the lookout, a woman was talking to two fellow tourists about how she lived in Ridgway, Colorado for the last 11 years. I told her I went through there last year on my Four Corners trip. With conviction, she insisted Rehoboth never did anything for her, Bethany Beach was “exquisite,” Dewey Beach was tacky and Lewes was the oldest city and had a beautiful historic district. She was in Delaware visiting her daughter.

my orange bicycle

along the Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

Gordon’s Pond Trail

From the overlook, I backtracked along Gordon’s Pond, then along the road past the Biden Center to the Fort Miles Historic Area, past an observation tower, and then back to the Seaside Nature Center. I didn’t spot the many birds that supposedly populate the park, such as Royal terns, Black-bellied plovers, Great Egrets, Snow gooses or Greater Yellowlegs.

A strong breeze rustled the sea grasses, carrying a warm and humid front into the area, so my cool yesterday dissipated into the air. Still, I adored bicycling around the tidal marshes and ponds. My ride was a little less than 12 miles.

I was curious to see the “beautiful Lewes historic district,” so I drove through the town. It seemed nice, but I had other destinations in mind. I’d have to return another time. I took Routes 9 and 1 to Dover, crossing the Broadkill River, passing Prime Hook National Wildlife Refuge, Broadkill Beach, and the Rookery Golf Club. I saw a sign for Knollac Farms: Miniature Horses; there was DuPont Nature Center and Barratt’s Chapel & Museum. I drove through gold wheat fields, silver silos, praying mantis-like water sprinklers, and a red barn with a tin roof. I saw signs for Kitts Hummock and Little Creek, and then Dover Air Force Base. I was welcomed to Dover by 1:45.

my Delaware route today – Rehoboth > Dover > Wilmington

I dipped into the Biggs Museum of American Art under a flock of birds. Inside, I found a special exhibit called “Spirit Revealed: New Works by Aaron Paskins.” Paskins (b. 1969) is a Dover sculptor who has been building a local and national reputation for “stylized representations of African figures and animals of the continent using unexpected materials and found objects… The artist freely borrows from pan-African languages, symbols and aesthetics to offer a modern interpretation of a more universal spirit of black empowerment.” I found his works to be bold and moving representations of the African spirit.

Biggs Museum of American Art

Spirit Revealed: New Works by Aaron Paskins

Spirit Revealed: New Works by Aaron Paskins

Spirit Revealed: New Works by Aaron Paskins

The Biggs Museum was founded in 1993 by Sewell C. Biggs (1914-2003), a University of Delaware Graduate and world traveler; he collected art from the Delaware Valley. The Biggs permanent collection includes paintings by Albert Bierstadt and Gilbert Stuart.

photograph at the Biggs

accordion style photo

Rob Tuttle: Impressionism and Modernism (2019)

Fawn (1973) by Willem De Looper

Many paintings capture the essence of Delaware and the surrounding region. I love local museums such as these that highlight a specific region. I am used to visiting museums in Washington that contain world-famous art, so I enjoyed the local focus.

The Granite Rock, Appledore, 1908 by Childe Hassam

Delaware River in Winter, c 1920 by Walter Elmer Schofield

New Hope Locks, n.d. by Edward Redfield

Untitled (still life), n.d. by Marian D. Harris

Allison Kendall, 1925 by Henryette Stadelman Whiteside

Untitled (Vanishing Point), n.d. by Edward Grant

Old Drawyers Church, 1931 by Brandt Hoffman Alexander

View of the Wissahickon, 1876-1905 by Carl Weber

Far View – Old Beach – Rehoboth Beach Delaware, before 1926 by Ethel Pennewill Brown Leach

The Pines, 1957 by Ethel Pennewill Brown Leach

Untitled (flowers in garden), 1957 by Ethel Pennewill Brown Leach

Detail: Untitled (flowers in garden), 1957 by Ethel Pennewill Brown Leach

Some paintings captured places that were further afield.

Bouquet Valley, Adirondacks, 1866 by William Trost Richards

Horseshoe Falls, Niagara, 1866 by James Hamilton

The museum also exhibited American cabinet makers’ furniture as well as a collection of regional silver.

Early American furniture & wallpaper

Sofa, 1840-60 by John Henry Belter

Considered Delaware’s first “fire proof stair,” this metal architectural feature was first installed in the 1950s. The rich brown color was discovered in an analysis of its earliest paint-decorated layers.

Staircase, c 1850 Probably Philadelphia

I was especially enamored of the paper art, one of which looks a bit like a found poem.

paper art

paper art

Biggs Museum of American Art

As I was leaving the Biggs Museum, the docent suggested I should linger and play tourist at First State Heritage Park, the area surrounding the museum, but I didn’t have time as I had to get to Wilmington. She told me there were paintings of World War I in the Welcome Center & Galleries. She also highly recommended the Old State House and the Johnson Victrola Museum. I wished I’d left things more open-ended, but time was running out; I supposed I’d have to return to Dover with Mike another weekend.

Driving north toward Wilmington, I drove through flat farmland, pirouetting sprinkler systems, bait shops, huge green tractors with one-story tall wheels, marshland and grasses, through Leipsic, and finally into Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge. At the visitor center, the ranger showed me a cool computerized system for birdwatchers; they could mark on an interactive map where they spotted different types of birds. They could also look up photos of birds commonly found in the refuge and where they had been spotted by birders. It looked like a great resource to use if I were a birdwatcher.

Apparently the refuge had wading birds such as Green Herons, Snowy Egrets, Great Egrets, Great Blue Herons, and American Bitterns. Commonly found shore birds included the Black-necked stilt and Greater Yellowlegs. Waterfowl included the Snow Goose, Bufflehead, Ruddy Duck, Green-winged Teal, and many others.

I took the Auto Tour of the 12-mile Wildlife Drive. I planned to get out for a walk at the Raymond Tower Trail and the Boardwalk Trail, but flies were swarming all over the car and I didn’t dare open the car door. At Raymond Pool, I saw some Great Egrets. At Shearness Pool, a black snake slithered across the road in front of me. I looked out over the tidal salt marsh and the tall grasses at Bear Swamp Pool.

Sparklehorse serenaded me with “Shade and Honey” 🎵 (“May your shade be sweet / And float upon the lakes / Where the sun will be / Made of honey”) 🎶 while I drove past a little baby fox by the side of the road. He seemed lost and afraid.

Past Finis Pool, at Warbler Woods, there wasn’t much to see except a number of people wandering around past the barricades. Apparently birdwatchers search here for wood warblers in spring and colorful passerines in summer. Salamanders are also common: the eastern red-backed and the marbled.

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Great Egrets at Bombay Hook

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

Bear Swamp Pool at Bombay Hook National Wildlife Refuge

baby fox at Bombay Hook

I left Bombay Hook and drove past cornfields and golden wheat fields. A mailbox was decked out with a corncob and cornstalk. White wooden fences embraced a huge farm. In Historic Smyrna was a sprawling cemetery and a water tower that said “Smyrna.” As I passed a shirtless man trudging along the road, the Eels sang “Love of the Loveless:” 🎵 “All around you people walking / Empty hearts and voices talking / Looking for and finding / Nothing.” 🎶

I checked into my hotel, Ramada by Wyndham, near Wilmington, Delaware and ate dinner at the Olive Grill on site because the hotel was in the middle of nowhere and I was too lazy to go searching for a place. I ordered a dirty martini and shrimp in a white wine sauce with a touch of cream and pepperoncinis, a plate of spaghetti with tomato sauce, warm bread (yum!) and a salad with black olives. Later, I added photos to my Instagram feed, trying to keep it all current as my daughter insists that Instagram is only for “instant,” on-the-spot photos, not photos dug up from archives.

shrimp in a white wine sauce with a touch of cream and pepperoncinis

I slept that night with dreams of Great Egrets wading in the wetlands among dancing grasses.

The next day, I would explore Historic New Castle and Nemours Estate. 🙂

*Wednesday, June 5, 2019*

*5,449 steps, or 2.31 miles*

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

“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 use five random nouns in my travel essay each day: 1) ~~voice~~, 2) ~~tourist~~, 3) ~~shame~~, 4) ~~feed~~, and 5) ~~procedure~~. √ I also chose a theme for today: grasses.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, November 25 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, November 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. 🙂

Tina, of Tina Stewart Brakebill, wrote a post about encountering Columbus Day in Saint Augustine, Florida; she takes us “through the looking glass” of a Spanish-inspired museum with Lewis Carroll’s words.
- Lightner Museum in St. Augustine: Through the Looking Glass and Into a Wonderland?

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

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