~ wander.essence ~

on journey: to the adirondacks

wanderessence1025 April 17, 2019

On a Friday afternoon in early August, we drive up and down the mountains in Pennsylvania, heading to Scranton. Mist rises off the folds of land, obvious signs of rain. Trucks roar by us, our moduled group, our gypsy family, crossing the state in our blue Plymouth Voyager. Trucks pull at us, rock us, like a suction. Roads cut through dynamited throughways, open air tunnels through mountains. We cruise at 70mph into darkness, into the violet pink sky, the shredded-Kleenex-misted air, steam flying like angels from the folds of mountains. Other mountains stand like gray rock silhouettes against the pink sky and taffy clouds.

Coal strip mines are nestled in those mountain folds, scarred patches of earth, a place from which treasures are stolen. Ten-year-old Alex has earphones on and is singing “Love don’t cost a thing.” On I-81 North, yellow diamond “Falling Rock” signs warn of danger, and miniature Eiffel Towers on the mountaintops string out lines inviting fresh laundry, flower sweet. I’m in the material world and I’m going to let my imagination swing from those monkey bar towers over those rock-hard licorice candy mountains. Endless curves and grayness hang over us as if we’re underwater. Binghamton, New York is 56 miles and we’re driving, engine churning, pushing our way up another mountain. My ears are bursting under pressure. A curlicue stretch of road, says Mike, winding, hilly, and our headlights glow on the back of the aluminum foil truck ahead of us. Bright silver brandishing spirits as darkness falls. At 65mph, we’re standing still while cars speed by us at 90 or so. Lackawanna State park beckons. A “MOT L” stands along the road. A car pulls over, sparks flying from its underbelly. Hundreds of “Bridge May Be Icy” signs in yellow diamonds. It’s getting too dark.

heading north from our home through Virginia and Maryland (purple route)

route through Pennsylvania

We’re settled into Hampton Inn in Johnson City, NY near Binghamton. We had to get off 81N to 17W and the road split into two 10-foot wide passageways bordered by concrete barriers, giving us the sensation of being on a toboggan run in the Olympics. A strange way to end our drive. Poor Mike has been in the car since Staunton this morning, some 580 miles. He brought a new grown-up Alex home from Goshen, his boy scout summer camp. They got home at 12:15 and Alex said he had a great time but felt homesick especially after he got my Monday letter talking about how much I loved him and OXOXOX. He liked all his counselors, he loved shooting BB guns, archery, BBX (a stunt bike obstacle course), aquatics (fun-oeing – one man canoeing) and swimming, a hike where they went sliding down rock slide waterfalls into a creek. He liked the crafts and diving to catch fish – one hit him in the head! He loved bossing around the Webelos I – Cameron Thurman and Morgan Woolner. I was happy he wasn’t too bothered by the heat as it was the hottest week of the summer with heat advisories and warnings all summer. When we unpacked his suitcase, we found he’d only worn three outfits, two pairs of socks all week. He only took two showers and used one towel all week for both showering and swimming. The towel was filthy! Alex said they did bug inspections every night in his tent and found a cockroach, a woodroach, spiders, mosquitoes and Daddy Longlegs. He got his Geology badge, and came close on aquatics, and reported a wonderful time all around. He said the mess hall was called the Road Kill Café.

We eat at Cracker Barrel and – ugh! – wish we didn’t always pig out so. I have chicken and dumplings, green beans, fried okra and a biscuit and cornbread. Plus we had snacked in the car – Dolphin Goldfish, Kudos M&M bar. My back is killing me.

On Saturday morning, we leave the hotel at 8:15 and drive for a short while along a river, probably the Susquehanna, and then through hilly terrain like the Yorkshire Dales in England but with more trees. Lazy clouds lounge in the creases of the land, round mounds of trees and boulders, skies a cornflower blue with hazy jet-stream marks, small mountains with bald patches of green-brown, a silver barn with a silo. Dew glistens on the roadside grass and yellow flowers.

I love my family, Mike driving and massaging my neck, Alex and eight-year-old Adam drawing Pokemon in their back seats, the shadow of my hand on my journal, the taste of banana on my tongue, the sunlight lying warmly across my blue and cream flowered capris. A silver birthday balloon dances from the back of a U-haul, Mike whistles, the tires roll on asphalt. The red barns, signs of life in Richmondville. An aqua inflated backyard wading pool glimmers with water and periwinkle and yellow wildflowers adorn the roadside.

Alex describes a worship service at boy scout camp as the worst he’s ever attended. The chaplain poured gasoline on rocks and set them on fire and they exploded and he said the fire had something to do with the spirit. I’m sure it was some symbolic meaning that was totally lost on Alex.

Glinting golden tassels atop cornstalks rustle in the breeze. Last night I kept waking with thoughts of the trucks barreling past us on the downhill slopes of the Pennsylvania mountains. Where are the runaway truck ramps that are so ubiquitous out west? The whole way north, the northbound lanes sat higher than the southbound lanes, most often with no guardrails. If a northbound car lost control and flew off the hill, it would crash right into the southbound lanes.

Near the interstate, someone parachutes from the sky, a royal blue rectangle of parachute, landing in a nearby field. “Welcome to Albany, the Capital of New York.” As we merge onto 87N to Montreal, signs near the road read: “Slow Down: My Daddy Works Here” or “Slow Down: My Mommy Works Here” on square orange neon signs in a child’s handwriting, Crayola writing.

New York – from Binghamton to Albany to Saranac Lake

At the Noon Mark Diner in Keene Valley, we eat lunch and then continue on the road, surrounded by a field of boulders, mountain peaks, piles of clouds with shell-gray undersides, strips of sunlight splayed across the green-tree mountains. A white trailer sits beside the road, yard scattered with debris – what total slobs. Champlain National Bank, a church rummage sale, a convenience mart, and a taxidermy shop with a huge moose in front. Lions, bears, all sorts of creatures. More white trash houses, cabins with doors opening out to the road. Birch trees gleam in the sunlight beside sheer rocky cliff faces. A skinny serpentine lake flows beside the road.

We arrive at the Harbor Hill Inn and Cottages. The place is never what you imagine. Your vision requires an adjustment, a reconciliation: the reality of the place vs. how you imagined the place. On the outside, McKenzie looks like the picture. Inside, it’s all knotty pine paneled walls, low ceilings (Mike has to keep ducking), two brown and black striped Herculon couches, green plaid wallpaper in the living room, a wooden duck pegboard by the door to hang our jackets. Mallard duck print valances hang over the window and a sliding glass door opens from the dining room. It sits on Flower Lake, in the Adirondacks. Our holiday begins.

The McKenzie

Harbor Hill Inn & Cottages

*August 10-18, 2001*

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

“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.

In this case, I wrote about a journey I took with my family to the Adirondacks in late summer of 2001. I kept a detailed journal on this trip, and therefore am still able, nearly 18 years later, to write about it and remember it clearly.

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, May 14 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, May 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!

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

I am traveling from April 4 to May 10. If I cannot respond to or add your links due to wi-fi problems or time constraints, please feel free to add your links in both this post and my next scheduled post. If I can’t read them when you post them, I will get to them as soon as I can. Thanks for your understanding! 🙂

{camino day 12} logroño to ventosa

wanderessence1025 April 14, 2019

I left Logroño at 7:07 a.m. with hordes of other pilgrims, our hiking poles clicking on the pavement as we followed the brass scallop shells out of the city. Maybe the endless hard surface was why my knees, feet and toes were hurting so much.

Logroño to Pasarela ferrocarril (railway) (2.0 km) – the tunnel under the A-12 Ruta Mural Jacobeo (Jacobean mural route).

pilgrim mural on an underpass

Pasarela to Parque de la Grajera (3.9 km)

We came to our first Spanish reservoir at Parque Granjera. There I had an unpleasant experience. At Café Cabaña del Tio Juarvi, pilgrims converged to use the bathroom and have a “second breakfast.” In the bathroom, a cute younger lady with long blonde hair and a leather brimmed hat introduced herself as Beck from Perth, Australia. She asked where I was from and I said I was embarrassed to say I was from the U.S. She asked why. I made a face, “Because of Trump. He’s an embarrassment.” She said emphatically, “Oh I’m an ardent supporter. At least he stands up for you guys, which no one else does!” I said, “Ugh. I hate him with every fiber of my being.” And then I walked out to the café to get in line.

As we stood in line, she was being relatively friendly to me and I was friendly enough but not overly so. She was vying for her place in line with a Chinese man and being quite rude about it. Outdoors, when some other Aussies and a lady from California sat at a table, Beck swatted away, very rudely, the Chinese man who tried to join the group. I hate that kind of behavior and was determined once I left the café to keep a good distance from her. I wanted to say to her, “Luckily you’re not an American! You have no vote in our politics!” But of course, I didn’t.

I’d talked to many people, both Americans and other nationalities, who were definitely not Trump supporters and were in fact shocked and appalled by him. I’d been trying to disconnect from politics while walking, so I left the group and went on my merry way.

The good thing about that gathering was that I met Ray and Tony, two stocky older Australian men (well, they were probably my age!). Tony was doing the Camino for his third time, introducing Ray, his best friend of 40 years, to the pilgrimage. I walked for a bit with them when they caught up with me.

Pasarela to Parque de la Grajera

Pasarela to Parque de la Grajera

Parque de la Grajera

Parque de la Grajera to Alto de la Grajera (3.3 km)

Later Beck passed me by. I did what I was learning to do when I didn’t want to walk with someone, which was to stop to take pictures, or stop to rest or take a nature break, whatever I could think of. Other people did this to me too. I found this was quite common on the Camino and later heard fellow pilgrims talk about their attempts to shake other pilgrims.

Ray at Parque de la Grajera

Parque de la Grajera

I stopped at the table of Marcelino, with long flowing white hair. He manned an “ermita de peregrino pasante,” offering various snacks and trinkets for donations. Later, I climbed the path to Alto de la Grajera, where we had a good look back over Logroño. We walked on a dirt track alongside a wire fence covered in crosses made from strips of bark from an adjacent sawmill. This path, which ran above a highway, seemed to go on forever. We descended through forests of pleasant oaks and holm oaks.

Marcelino at his ermite del peregrino pasante

Parque de la Grajera to Alto de la Grajera

Parque de la Grajera to Alto de la Grajera

looking back at Parque de la Grajera

crosses by the roadway

bull silhouette

Alto de la Grajera to Navarrete (3.5 km)

We approached Navarette through acres and acres of the vineyards of Don Jacobo, which, though pretty, didn’t offer much shade. Pilgrims are allowed to sample the grapes as they have been invited to do for centuries. I sampled some but they were filled with seeds so I ended up spitting the whole mess out. Under the relentless sun, it was miserably hot.

Approaching Navarrete, I passed the ruins of the medieval monastery of the Order of San Juan de Acre founded in 1185 as a pilgrim’s hospice. In Navarrete, I stopped at Bar Deportivo for an orange Fanta. I paid a visit to the the 16th century Church of the Assumption, with its over-the-top altar. It sits atop a hill commanding a position overlooking the square. I made it a point to stop in open churches to be awed and to pray; I’m not usually a religious person so for me this was unusual. I came to love these sacred moments.

The lady at the Navarrete Tourist Information called ahead to confirm my bed with Refugio San Saturnino. I had called myself several days before, but I wasn’t sure if the person on the other end had understood my mangled Spanish. Luckily, they confirmed they already had my name. The woman told me the Spanish name for backpack: mochilla. I could now add another Spanish word to my limited vocabulary.

Navarrete is a historic town with original period homes whose doorways are topped with family crests and armorial shields. It is also known for its pottery; a statue in the main square commemorates this art.

I knew Darina would be stopping for five days in Navarette to meet with some teaching colleagues of hers, so I wondered if I would ever see her again. I hoped so, but five days was a long time for her to be off the trail.

on the way to Navarrete

on the way to Navarrete

monastery ruins

Navarrete

Church of the Assumption in Navarrete

Church of the Assumption in Navarrete

Navarrete

Church of the Assumption in Navarrete

inside Church of the Assumption in Navarrete

Navarrete & Church of the Assumption

figure in the Church of the Assumption in Navarrete

statue in Navarrete

Navarrete

streets of Navarrete

streets of Navarrete

Navarrete to Opción (detour) to Ventosa (3.6 km)

I continued on through the outskirts of the town and past the cemetery with its splendidly carved 13th century Gothic entrance gateway. I followed the detour path to Ventosa rather than continuing directly beside the roadway. After that, it was a long slog through more vineyards.

cementerio

Detour to Ventosa (2.1 km)

figure on detour to Ventosa

vineyards along the detour to Ventosa

I finally arrived in Ventosa in the early afternoon in the pounding heat. My usual routine after checking into an albergue was to: 1) shower because I was drenched in sweat; 2) hand wash my clothes and hang them to dry; 3) relax in my bed for a bit or go out to join other pilgrims for a beer or wine; 4) relax some more, and do foot care or knee care; 5) have either a pilgrim meal or dinner with newfound friends; 6) study the route for the next day; 7) get everything ready for an early start in the morning; and 8) go to sleep by 9:30-10:00. Up again at 6:00 a.m. Repeat day after day after day.

I shared a very small room, barely bigger than a closet, with a Korean couple on one bunk bed and a German couple on the other. I had a single bed up against a wall near the window. Someone had closed that window, making the room incredibly hot and stuffy. The German couple slept all afternoon. The Korean couple sat on their bunks in that stuffy room, looking at their phones. After my shower, change, and laundry, I escaped the room as soon as possible to walk around the town and get some fresh air.

church in Ventosa

church in Ventosa

Ventosa from above

Ventosa

shells in Ventosa

Ventosa

window boxes in Ventosa

albergue in Ventosa

laundry at albergue San Saturnino

I ate dinner at the local café with a large group of pilgrims, including the Aussies Ray and Tony who were from the Blue Mountains near Sydney. I especially liked Tony as he had a very gentle way about him, asking each person about his/her life and why they were doing the Camino. It was nice to get below the superficial with him. I think this happens more on the Camino than any time in real life. I met Bev from Houston who admitted to trying mushrooms once, and loving the experience. My tagliatelle with funghi was just okay; I believe it was a frozen prepared meal heated up. We encountered many of these types of meals on the Camino.

When I returned to the room after dinner, the window was still closed and it was close and sweltering. I argued with the Korean guy that it was just too miserable to keep the window closed, so I opened it up. At first I felt bad because, though the open window cooled the room, dogs outside were yapping and Spaniards walking past were talking loudly. I was afraid I was going to lose the battle if the sounds outside didn’t quiet down. Finally, hallelujah, the streets quieted, the window remained open, and I was able to sleep happily.

El Camino

the Beatitudes of the Pilgrim

tagliatelle with funghi

*Day 12: Saturday, September 15, 2018*

*30,273 steps, or 12.83 miles: Logroño to Ventosa (19.8km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

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

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.

porto, portugal: everywhere all at once

wanderessence1025 April 9, 2019

Paulo, our Airbnb host, advised us that the first thing we should do in Porto, Portugal’s second largest city, was to take the metro across the Rio Douro on the Ponte de Dom Luis I, and then walk across the bridge for views of the city. That’s exactly what we did on our first Sunday evening after enjoying a glass of wine on our sunny porch. Our Airbnb, called Secret Garden – Art & living, had a certain Zen feel to it, and we weren’t in a rush to abandon it.

Mike on the porch of our Porto Airbnb

me on our Porto Airbnb porch swing

bedroom in Porto Airbnb

Living room

porch in Porto Airbnb

After being deposited on the top deck of the bridge, shared by pedestrians and the yellow metro line, we admired views of the Rio Douro and the Ribeira district on the north shore, as well as Vila Nova de Gaia on the south. Honeyed coral light poured over bell towers, baroque churches, and beaux-arts buildings cascading down the hills. As it was getting dark, we spared no time in walking uphill through the medieval city past azulejo-covered churches and the São Bento train station. We stopped for baguettes and beer at A Fabrica da Picaria, a brewpub, as we made our way back “home.”

Ponte de Dom Luis I

Mosteiro da Serra do PIlar

view across the Rio Douro to Ribeira

Metro

Mike on the Ponte de Dom Luis I

graphic street art

São Bento train station

Baguettes & beer at Fabrica Brewpub: vegetable soup, asparagus, codfish cakes & wine for lunch at Restaurante Large San Domingo, codfish & Francesinha at Vaccarum, & homemade pasta in our Airbnb.

Baguettes & beer at Fabrica Brewery

soup, codfish cakes and grilled asparagus for lunch at Restaurant San Domingo

the bill was presented in a box covered with old computer keyboard keys

horrible codfish dinner topped with cornbread stuffing at Vaccarum

delicious Francesinha at Vaccarum

pasta cooked in our Airbnb apartment

On Monday morning, the only sunny day we’d enjoy in Porto, we walked downhill into the city from our Airbnb apartment. We passed street art, ubiquitous throughout Portugal, and the the Cámara Municipal do Porto at the head of Avenida dos Aliados, lined with beaux-arts façades. We wound our way west through convoluted streets and colorful tile-covered buildings to the azulejo-faced Igreja do Carmo, where we wandered inside and out.

the Cámara Municipal do Porto at Avenida dos Aliados

Avenida dos Aliados

colorful building on the way to Igreja do Carmo

Porto’s streets

wall mural in Porto

The magnificent 1912 azulejo panel on the side of rococo Igreja do Carmo illustrates the founding of the Carmelite order.

Igreja do Carmo

Igreja do Carmo

inside Igreja do Carmo

The crazy maze of Porto’s streets hindered our progress to the mid-1700s Torre dos Clérigos, a 76-m high tower that looms over Porto, but we found our way after numerous detours. We visited the interior of the pink-hued marbled church and museum and climbed up the tower’s 225-step staircase, built by an Italian baroque master, for views over the city.

Torre dos Clérigos

museum at Torre dos Clérigos

inside Torre dos Clérigos

relief carving inside Torre dos Clérigos

relief sculpture in Torre dos Clérigos

view from Torre dos Clérigos

We enjoyed amazing views from Torre dos Clérigos.

view from Torre dos Clérigos

We popped into the azulejo-covered Igreja de Santo Antonio dos Congregados and then into the São Bento train station, where trains were braked and awaiting passengers, and then made our way to the Ponte de Dom Luis I on foot, where we had blue-sky views of the meandering river and the hills of Porto.

Azulejo-covered church

inside church

Azulejo-covered church

Inside the São Bento train station

Views of Ribeira from the bridge

me on the Ponte de Dom Luis I

Mike on the Ponte de Dom Luis I

Rio Douro & Ribeira

Rio Douro & Ribeira

Ponte de Dom Luis I

We enjoyed more views as we took the cable car down to Vila Nova de Gaia on the south side of the Rio Douro. The cable car people gave us a ticket to a free wine tasting, so after sipping red wine at the winery, we wandered the streets and came face-to-face with huge rabbit made of trash. As we strolled along the waterfront in Vila Nova de Gaia, we admired the Cais da Ribeira, the waterfront nucleus on Porto’s north shore, as well as barcos rabelos, flat-bottom boats, on the Rio Douro.

view over Rio Douro from Vila Nova de Gaia

rabbit made of trash in Vila Nova de Gaia

Social hour with Mike

Rio Douro looking toward Ribeira

We strolled back across the bridge to Porto’s Cais da Ribeira, charmed by the adorable shops, colorful buildings, and laundry hung on lines across balconies. I was hungry and it all looked so inviting and romantic, people sitting at outdoor cafes overlooking the river. But it seems we’re always too practical to partake. We always want to avoid the touristy places, and Cais da Ribeira is nothing if not touristy. Instead, we walked past the Igreja de São Francisco uphill to a square until we found a cozy cafe, Restaurante Largo San Domingo, where we had a delicious lunch of roasted asparagus, codfish croquettes and pureed vegetable soup, along with glasses of wine.

Ribeira district

Retracing our steps to Igreja de São Francisco, we explored the most prominent Gothic monument in Porto with its dazzling Baroque interior. Signs were posted for no photography but all the visitors were snapping away and there was no one telling them not to, so I joined in. It was quite dark so the photos didn’t turn out well anyway.

Igreja de São Francisco was originally built by the Franciscans in 1245; it was greatly expanded between 1383 and 1410 and remodeled in 1425. It is estimated that over 300 kilos of gold dust were used to decorate the church’s eight altars in the 17th and 18th centuries. It has been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

Igreja de São Francisco

Museum at Igreja de São Francisco

crypt at Museum at Igreja de São Francisco

figure at Museum at Igreja de São Francisco

dining room at museum Museum at Igreja de São Francisco

Altarpiece Museum at Igreja de São Francisco

The exuberant interior of Igreja de São Francisco is stunning.

inside Igreja de São Francisco

inside Igreja de São Francisco

By this time, it was getting cooler and cloudier, so we hopped on the red line of the City Sightseeing Portugal bus which took us in circles through parts of town we’d already walked. Finally, we escaped from the congested center for a loop past the Teatro Sa da Bandeira, the Casa da Música, and the Estádio do Bessa. I had wanted to hop off at the Museu de Arte Contemporânea and Casa de Serralves, but by then we were quite comfortable on the bus, so we stayed put, passing the Forte de São Francisco Xavier (Castelo do Queijo) at the northern end of Praia dos Ingleses, the beach that fronts the Atlantic Ocean. At the southern end of the beach, we rode past the Castelo de São João da Foz, and finally along the Rio Douro back to Porto.

views from City Sightseeing Bus

Teatro Sa da Bandeira

views from City Sightseeing Bus

Torre dos Clérigos

views from City Sightseeing Bus

Casa da Música

views from City Sightseeing Bus of the Rio Douro

After hopping off the bus, we stopped at at Igreja de San Nicolau, an 18th century Baroque and classic church with Rococo carvings.

Igreja de S. Nicolau

We wound our way uphill through Porto’s web of medieval alleys and stairways, past a group of men playing cards on the steps, to the 12th century Romanesque Sé do Porto, a Roman Catholic church located in the historical center of the city. Sadly, it was going through a major renovation and much of it was inaccessible. The only part we could see was the 14th-century Gothic cloisters with their azulejo-covered walls and some adjoining museum exhibits.

Porto streets on the way to Sé

Porto streets

Porto streets from Sé

Sé do Porto

Sé do Porto

cloisters of Sé

Sé

inside Sé

cloisters of Sé

chapel in Sé

cloisters of Sé

Virgin in Sé

cloisters of Sé

Sé

Sé

dining room in museum of Sé

outside Sé

Streets of Porto

streets of Porto

church in Porto

streets of Porto

We stopped to admire the amazing Capela das Almas (Chapel of Souls), also known as the Chapel of Santa Catarina. The exterior blue and white ceramic tiles depict scenes from the lives of various saints, including the death of Saint Francis of Assisi and the Martyrdom of Santa Catarina. Though the tiles mimic the 18th century classical style, they were actually created in the first half of the 20th century.

Capela das Almas

Capela das Almas

On our way back uphill to our Airbnb, it started raining. We searched for a place to eat and finally ended up at Vaccarum, a cozy but expensive restaurant. We were happy to be out of the rain but I found my dinner of codfish topped with cornbread stuffing disappointing. It had bones throughout, and every bite was torture to eat. I wanted so badly to trade meals with Mike. He had a delicious Francesinha, a Portuguese sandwich made with bread, wet cured ham, linguiça, a fresh sausage like chipolata, and steak; it was smothered with melted cheese and a hot thick tomato and beer sauce. So decadent, but oh so delicious. Though he shared a couple of bites with me, I was left to struggle through my cod and its millions of tiny bones.

On Tuesday, rain was forecast all day, so we escaped Porto to drive to Amarante. Meanwhile, someone on Facebook asked if we’d seen the famous 1906 Livraria Lello, a Neo-Gothic bookstore that is said to have inspired J.K. Rowling when she was writing Harry Potter. It was practically next door to Igreja do Carmo, which we’d visited on Monday morning, so it was annoying to go back. Though the bookstore’s stained-glass atrium and deep-red sweeping staircase are beautiful, our visit was ultimately disappointing because of the swarms of selfie-taking tourists. We didn’t stay long as it was impossible to take any decent photos, much less to move around.

church on the way from our Airbnb to the old town

The packed Livraria Lello, inspiration for J.K. Rowling.

Livraria Lello

Final view of Porto in front of Igreja do Carmo.

Igreja do Carmo

After that wasted visit, we climbed back uphill to our Airbnb, stopping at a small wine shop for some cheese snacks, and then returned to our apartment. There we chopped broccoli and peppers, which we sauteed and served over pasta for dinner. We toasted each other with Kopke Douro wine. It was lovely to enjoy our last night in our Airbnb apartment, as we would leave Porto the next morning.

*Sunday, October 28 – Tuesday, October 30, 2018*

Steps 10/28: 18,292 (7.75 miles) ~ 10/29: 22,746 (9.46 miles) ~ 10/30: 14,940 (6.33 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. In this case, one of my intentions for my trip to Portugal was to pick five random verbs each day and use them in my travel essay: 1) ~~chop~~, 2) ~~hinder~~, 3) ~~spare~~, 4) ~~trade~~, 5) ~~brake~~. √

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, April 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, April 23, 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. 🙂

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

{camino day 11} a day in logroño

wanderessence1025 April 7, 2019

It was a day to “relax” in Logroño. I slept in till nearly 9 a.m. because my room was dark and I’d been awake in the middle of the night catching up on Instagram. Even after waking, I lingered in bed, writing in my journal and checking into social media. It was after 10:30 when I finally got myself out the door, made my way a mile into the old town and wandered around aimlessly.

Logroño is the capital of La Rioja, population 155,000. A university city, its economy is heavily reliant on wine. Residents seem to be enamored of street art, because I found a bare-chested old man covered in sellos (stamps), cathedrals etched into sidewalks, birds of a feather, an antelope ridden by a strange creature, a stretched-out Lego-looking dog and a scribbled face.

Camino stellos (stamps)

sidewalk cathedral

birds of a feather

antelope man

sidewalk art

scribble face

strange dog

I popped into the 16th century Church of Santiago El Real, one of the pilgrims’ stops. Here, the City Council met and the archives were kept. The 17th century façade, designed as a triumphal arch, is decorated with two statues of Saint James (Santiago), one wearing the pilgrim’s habit and another depicted as St. James the Moor-slayer.

inside Church of Santiago el Real

detail – Church of Santiago el Real

There are two main streets in Logroño: Portales, full of traditional or more modern shops, and the second, Laurel, crammed with bars and taverns.

Tower

cafes in Logroño

tower in Logroño

fountain on the way to my Pension

Logroño streets

Soon after, it was lunchtime. In the bigger cities, we were lucky to find food other than standard pilgrim fare. One specialty in Logrono is the “pincho.” Pinchos are small snacks eaten in bars or taverns while hanging out with friends or relatives; socializing is the goal, and often where pinchos are served, tall tables are set up on the street where people stand, chat, drink, and nibble. I was a bit confused when people talked of pinchos because I’d always called these small plates tapas. Apparently, the main difference is that pinchos are usually ‘spiked’ with a skewer or toothpick, often to a piece of bread. It seems the terms can be interchangeable.

No skewers were involved in my pinchos, however, so I was a bit baffled by the whole thing. One of mine was crostini topped with potato, jambon, and patê. Another consisted of zucchini rolls wrapped around mushrooms and topped with shrimp. Yum! I’d learned that to order the check is “Cuente, por favor,” so I said just that, paid and went out to wander again.

Pinchos: crostini topped with potato, jambon & pate. Also, zucchini rolls wrapped around mushrooms and topped with shrimp. Cerveza limon accompanying.

The pinchos scene includes wine shops, butchers and tables set up in the street for eating and socializing.

Rioja wines

La Anjana

butcher

pinchos in the streets

At this point in my Camino, I wasn’t sure whether to love or hate the big cities. Normally, I love to explore a city but while walking the Camino, the cities seemed abrasive and overwhelming. I would be happy to start walking again tomorrow, but it was good to give my legs a rest.

I wandered around the Museo de La Rioja, which had fabulous religious art, paintings, altarpieces and a special exhibit by Enrique Paternina. There was no fee to get in, making it especially enjoyable.

The museum, set in a lovely 18th-century baroque palace, traced the history and culture of Rioja in both Spanish and English. Highlights included statuary displays from the Roman period, colorful altarpieces from medieval times, as well as lush portraits and landscape paintings from the 19th century.

Museo de la Rioja

painting at Museo de la Rioja

El Chiquillo (The Little One) by José Pueyo Matanza 1901

Portrait of a Spanish Woman (1928) by Antonio Ortiz Echagüe Portas

detail Interrupted Wedding by Eugenio Oliva Rodrigo 1885

painting in the museum

altarpiece

figure

relief carving

altarpiece

painting

altarpiece

frescos

There was a special exhibit by Spanish painter Enrique Paternina (~1866-1910).

painting Enrique Paternina

The río Ebro crosses Logroño; the town has historically been a place where paths cross, such as The Way of St. James.

río Ebro

bridge over río Ebro

Drinking wine with lunch always makes me sleepy, so I traipsed the long distance to my pension to take a siesta. I walked past people eating tapas and drinking wine around their street-side tables. No wonder Spanish people need siestas.

After siesta time, I went back into town to see the 15th century Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda, with its impressive twin towers, home to nesting storks, and impressive Romanesque doorway. Before it opened at 6:00, I ate more tapas, at the same restaurant with the same patê pinchos, then went into the Cathedral. As always when I stopped in churches, I knelt in the pews and prayed.

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda was built on the site of a 12th-century oratory. Work began in the 15th century; various renovations continued until the 18th century. The main facade is sculpted like an altarpiece and closed by a large wrought-iron fence.

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

approaching Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

inside Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

After wandering around the adjoining Plaza del Mercado lined with shops and cafes, I ate dinner at the same restaurant in which I’d eaten the previous night, enjoying tinto verrano and scrambled eggs with peppers. It was awfully lonely as I didn’t see a single familiar face.

I got a lot of rest today, but I wished I hadn’t stayed two nights. I was here to walk, and I enjoyed the countryside and small villages more than the big cities. Logroño looked like it had seen better days, and I wouldn’t recommend it.

I’ve happily traveled all over the world alone, and I enjoy walking alone, but I couldn’t say I enjoyed this day. I felt invisible and that I didn’t fit in; this is quite a normal feeling for me, so I tend to give people a wide berth. I make it a point to never cling to anyone. I enjoyed making connections with fellow pilgrims, but I didn’t like walking at someone else’s pace, nor did I want to feel obliged to talk all the time.

Nevertheless, it was nice last night that Ingrid invited me to join her and some friends for tapas, although the invitation was too late, coming after I’d trudged the long distance outside of town to my pension. I enjoyed my alone time walking on the Camino, but I also enjoyed camaraderie in the evenings, socializing over a beer or glass of wine. It was a constant struggle balancing my opposing needs for solitude and companionship.

I’d hoped to run into Darina today, and I suppose I could have contacted her, but I didn’t. Of course I wouldn’t randomly run into her in such a big city, as I’d hoped to do. By the end of the day, I felt lonely and down in the dumps, and looked forward to moving along the following day.

*Day 11: Logroño. Friday, September 14, 2018*

*Steps today: 14,586, or 6.18 miles*

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: Dramatic Skies Over Querença.

poetic journeys: yearnings

wanderessence1025 April 5, 2019

YEARNINGS

In the orange ozone of blush desert
among slant-faced grasshoppers and lizards,

I’m dandelion disenchantment and
a hymn flickering to firefly heaven.

I’m a diamond girl in a salad bowl,
a page torn out of a landscape, a song

lamented. I am blurred nostalgia.
I am a chameleon, dreaming change.

In the tattered fog of morning glories,
tinkling silver bangles intoxicate

end entice me like hyacinth incense
from my faithful cornfield complacency,

from my straightjacket simplicity days
of middle-aged motherhooded marriage.

I become a table-dancing wildcat,
a nomad of our emerald green earth.

I become a river-riding cowgirl
and a Chinook wind unraveling snow.

I’m a capricious ramble of crooked
corridors – like I used to be in youth.

Then the quiet roar of the garage door
snaps me back to black and white prediction

of wrinkled burlap skin and silver-tipped
medium brown hair of oblivion.

*March 10, 2001*

Hong Kong 2015

Cambodia 2011

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

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

In this case, I was given an assignment to write a poem that evoked a “vivid dream-like landscape.”

Try to recreate the strangeness of a dream or nightmare, or create a surreal landscape with images that make “intuitive” sense rather than logical or literal sense.
Impose some order (but not logical meaning) on this landscape by using a specific syllable count pattern to arrange your poem. For example, use the standard Haiku arrangement of 3 lines of 5-7-5 syllables per stanza. OR, create your own pattern. You might write in ten couplets (two line stanzas) with 10 syllables per line, for example, or in tercets (3 line stanzas) with lines 3/6/9 syllables long.
Use assonance, alliteration, and internal rhyme to make the sound of the poem evoke a certain mood to match the landscape.

In this case I wrote 12 stanzas of non-rhyming couplets with 10 syllables per line. While couplets traditionally rhyme, not all do. Poems may use white space to mark out couplets if they do not rhyme.

I was surprised that I won second place in a poetry writing contest at Northern Virginia Community College for this poem in spring of 2001.

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

Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, May 2 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, May 3, I’ll include your links in that post.

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

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

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. 🙂

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

colorado towns: telluride

wanderessence1025 April 4, 2019

After driving the San Juan Skyway Scenic Byway from Durango through Silverton and Ouray, I stopped for the night in Telluride, Colorado. As I pulled off Route 550, the scenic byway loop road, from Ridgway onto Rt. 62, I drove through a red rock canyon awash in greenery. A couple of mockingbirds flitted past while Dawes sang “Right on Time.” Actually, it wasn’t right on time, as my 3:20 arrival was too early for my 4:00 check-in at the Victorian Inn. To kill time, I drove through Main Street to the end of the road, where it ends abruptly at trailheads for Bridal Veil Falls.

Bridal Veil Falls is a 2-pronged 365-foot (111 m) waterfall at the end of the box canyon in which Telluride nestles amidst steep forested mountains and cliffs. Hiking and off-road trails pass by the falls and a hydroelectric power plant sits at its top. Weathered ruins of old mining operations dot the hillsides. In winter the frozen falls pose an enticing challenge to intrepid ice climbers.

The town features over 30 hiking trails ranging in difficulty level. Some of the more popular routes include Ajax Peak, Bear Creek Falls, Hope Lake, and Bridal Veil Falls. Hiking season begins in May and lasts until early October. Nearly all the trails feature waterfalls, wildflowers, and high alpine lakes.

Bridal Veil Falls

A former silver mining camp on the San Miguel River, Telluride is now known for its famous ski resort during winter, as well as an extensive festival schedule during summer. The Telluride Historic District, which includes much of the town, is listed on the National Register of Historic Places and is one of Colorado’s 20 National Historic Landmarks.

aspens

Still too early to check in, I walked down Main Street to take pictures and explore the town. It was an overcast day, so not great for photos. Much of the town seemed deserted because it wasn’t high season yet.

The town features art galleries such as Lustre, outdoor outfitters such as Paragon Outdoors and ECO Adventures, and restaurants such as Tomboy Tavern, Steamie’s Burger Bar, Diggity’s Dog House, Crazy Elk, and Esperanza’s Mexican Restaurant. Pip’s Fine and Funky Consignment offers all things vintage, and BootDoctors outfits people for the outdoors with skis, snowboards, boots, clothing, and accessories. The Swanky Buckle is an upscale women’s clothing-and-accessories boutique. Spas are called Palmyra and Spa at the Peaks, and Apotheca is an “integrative pharmacy.” Between the Covers, one can find books and an espresso bar.

San Miguel County Courthouse

The New Sheridan Hotel was built in 1891.

New Sheridan

Between the Covers

downtown Telluride

First National Bank

downtown Telluride

First National Bank

ANB Bank

Last Dollar Saloon

Belmont Liquor Store

Telluride

When I stopped in Tourist Information, they recommended several restaurants, including Smuggler Brewpub, and told me I should check out the Wilkinson Public Library because, for a town so small, it was quite special. I walked through the library but was not overly impressed except for some murals in an outdoor courtyard.

murals at the Wilkinson Public LIbrary

murals at the Wilkinson Public LIbrary

I strolled to Smuggler Brewpub, where I sat at the bar and had a long conversation with a 25-year-old young lady named Laura Ann, who worked as a bartender and server at Brown Dog Pizza; she had to work that evening. She said she was from a podunk town in the Bible belt outside of Charlotte, N.C. and was the black sheep of her family, her siblings being wildly successful and accomplished. She said when her parents cut her off financially, it was the best thing that ever happened to her. She’d been in Telluride for 4 1/2 years. When I admired her earrings, she told me she got them in Madrid. We shared our love of Spain and I told her I was planning to walk the Camino in September. She loved Spain, especially Valencia, Salamanca, Barcelona and Toledo. We shared our experiences of getting lost in Toledo. She had never been to the south of Spain but wanted to go.

She told me that the following week was the Mountainfilm Festival (May 25-28) and that things in town would pick up then. She said the town of 2,500 swells to 15,000 for the Bluegrass Festival and it gets crazy; she makes good money in season because rich people come and spend a lot of money.

Telluride is well known for its many festivals: Mountainfilm Festival, Telluride Film Festival, Bluegrass Festival and Jazz Festival, Mushroom Festival and the Imogene Pass Run. Blues & Brews, scheduled the third weekend of September, is a favorite because it celebrates the start of fall colors and the coming of ski season.

After Laura Ann left, I enjoyed my pale wheat beer and a “small plate of assorted wild mushroom toast: a mix of wild mushrooms, sherry, cream, pecorino Romagnolo cheese.”

Smuggler Brewpub

After leaving the bar, I took a short walk down a trail along the San Miguel River.

San Miguel River

path along the San Miguel River

aspens

Telluride Ski Resort is definitely the main attraction of Telluride in the winter. In summer, Telluride transforms into an outdoor recreation hot spot, with tourists visiting to enjoy mountain biking, hiking, river rafting, sightseeing and more.

aspens

Soon it started raining, so I walked to my hotel and checked in. I didn’t go out again for the rest of the evening because of the rain, but in the morning, before leaving to complete my drive around the San Juan Skyway Scenic Byway to Mesa Verde National Park, I took a quick walk around the town under blue skies.

I must have picked a bad time of year to visit because the town felt a bit like a ghost town, and the dreary skies of the previous day hadn’t helped my perception of it.

Telluride

*Saturday, May 19, 2018*

*Steps: 14,191 (6.01 miles)

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

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

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

I challenge you to post no more than 20-25 photos and to write less than 500-1,000 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, April 17 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, April 18, I’ll include your links in that post.

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

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

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

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

Anabel, of the Glasgow Gallivanter, put together a series of spiky unicorns; the unicorn happens to be Scotland’s national animal.
- The Scottish Unicorn

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

on returning home from turkey

wanderessence1025 April 1, 2019

Fourteen days in Turkey for my first ever solo trip at age 54. Fourteen days being greeted at the airport and at bus stations with my name on cardboard signs, sleeping in cave hotels and bunking in my first-ever hostel.

Fourteen days wandering around in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet area, mesmerized by the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, their minarets symbolic of man’s hopeful attempts to touch the celestial, to touch God — either Allah or Christ — depending on the century. Admiring elements of the Byzantine and Ottoman empires and their religions, Orthodox Christianity and Islam, in Hagia Sophia; like Istanbul, it embraces both East and West, all tied into one. Falling in love with Turkey’s two-sided Middle Eastern and European personality.

Finding ceramic tiles inside the Blue Mosque to be white with a blue design, mostly 17th century Iznik tiles, not the brilliant blue – royal or turquoise – that I had imagined. Falling in love with non-figurative art in the mosque: geometric designs, calligraphy, painted floral patterns. Learning that Arabic calligraphy is mostly excerpts from the Quran or from the hadith, or the teachings of the Prophet Muhammad.

me at Sultanahmet

Hagia Sophia

weaver

Hagia Sophia

lanterns

Turkish baker

Sultanahmet

Hagia Sophia

Fourteen days eating white bean and olive oil salad; meatballs; cold meze; a mix of yogurt, cucumbers, and garlic with olive oil; and appetizers served in small portions: stuffed grape leaves and eggplant salad (delectable!). Drinking red wine and eating lemon chicken orzo soup and a vegetable omelet at Lale Restaurant, the famous “The Pudding Shop,” where, according to Rick Steves, “a generation of vagabond hippies started their long journey east on ‘The Freak Road’ to Kathmandu in the 1960s.” Sinking into stuffed Turkish cushions smoking water pipes in the evenings, watching whirling dervishes and listening to musicians play exotic tunes. Sitting on layered terraces overlooking the town of Ürgüp at the peaceful Dimrit Restaurant, listening to music by Canadian Loreena McKennitt. Choosing cold mushrooms with fresh dill from a tray of starters in moon-shaped bowls, cool and refreshing like the cool moon on a breezy night, like an oasis in a parched desert. Trying rakı, the official Turkish drink, a clear brandy made from grapes and raisins and flavored with anise that turns milky white when mixed with ice or water — similar to Greek ouzo. Learning that Turks often call rakı Lion’s Milk because of its color and strong alcoholic punch. Eating hot puffy bread that resembled a pillow right out of the oven, followed by doner kebabs, at Buhara 93. Eating midye tava, or deep-fried mussels, at Anadolu Kavagi during the Nostalgic Bosphorus Cruise. Smoking apple-flavored tobacco on big fluffy cushion-smothered couches and eating more doner kebabs at Doy Doy with a terrace view of Sultanahmet.

Istanbul restaurant

me at the Dimrit

Fourteen days enticed by dazzling things in shop windows: colorful lamps, handbags with Ottoman and Byzantine designs, Turkish carpets, ceramic tiles and plates, pashminas, silk scarves, and scarlet and turquoise lamps.

Fourteen days of ubiquitous royal blue evil eyes staring at me from every dark corner.

Fourteen days exploring exuberant markets full of spices, flowers and vegetables. Wondering about Turkish Viagra, a popular name for a spiced paste in the form of candy (made of nuts and dried fruits) which claims to restore health, youth and potency. Finding in the spice market a feast of sights and aromas: Turkish delight, lentils and beans, dried figs and apricots, pistachios and hazelnuts, saffron, henna, and olive oil soap.

Turkish lanterns

flower market

Turkish Viagra

market

Olives

Fourteen days going back in time to antiquity. Wandering around the lovely grounds and admiring the Divan Tower and the Council Chamber at the 15th century Topkapi Palace home to the Ottoman sultans. Finding, in the Harem, that “Harem” refers to 2 things: (1) the wives, favorites and concubines of the sultan, and (2) the place where they lived. Getting lost in dozens of rooms rich with tile-work, including the Courtyard of the Mother Sultan, the Courtyard of the Wives and Concubines, and the Courtyard of the Black Eunuchs. Dropping into the green lush grounds of the Archeological Museum with its ancient statues, and finding, inside, a huge sarcophagi collection. Encountering the 2,000-year-old Alexander Sarcophagus (Alexander the Great is portrayed in battle on the sides), though it was actually carved for King Abdalonymos of Sidon. Meandering among Greek and Roman sculptures.

Topkapi Palace

me at Topkapi Palace

Topkapi Palace

Fourteen days admiring Mustafa Kemal, whom Turks call Atatürk, literally “father of the Turks.” Learning how he defended Turkey from invaders during WWI and saved Turkey from the chopping block after the war; how he was a war hero and had a vision of what he wanted modern-day Turkey to be; how he wanted a European-style democracy and in less than 10 years, he aligned Turkey with the West, separated religion and state, adopted the Western calendar, decreed that Turks should have surnames, changed the alphabet to Roman letters from Arabic script, abolished the sultanate and caliphate and polygamy, emancipated women and outlawed the fez and the veil. Grieving over his 1938 death, which Turkey observes each year with a moment of silence at 9:05 on November 10 each year.

Fourteen days exploring corners of Istanbul, including the 205-foot-tall stone Galata Tower built by the Genoese in the mid-14th century, and seeing everything from the top: the Bosphorus, the Golden Horn, Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, Asian Istanbul, the Sea of Marmara. Learning it has been used over the years as a fire tower, a barracks, a dungeon, and a launch pad for testing human flight.

view from Galeta Tower

me at Galeta Tower

Fourteen days crisscrossing Turkey over rough, nearly-deserted roads on the dreaded overnight buses, enjoying sunrise views of central Anatolia: a large expanse of treeless plains, soft dusty-green hills with gentle folds. Peering out the bus window over a huge body of shallow water and mudflats stretching to the horizon.

Fourteen days hiking, picnicking, and ballooning in Cappadocia. Hiking 3km in Soganli Valley among rock-cut churches, first used by the Romans as necropolises and later by the Byzantines for monastic purposes. Finding frescoes of Jesus, the apostles, the Crusaders and snakes, which represent Satan, in the Snake Church. Exploring too many churches and caves and frescoes to count: Sakli Kilise (the Hidden Church), Kubbeli Kilisesi (the Domed Church), Yilanli Kilise (the Snake Church).

Cappadocia

me in Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Antik Cave Hotel

Fourteen days enjoying various people I met, especially the group of international young travelers on our small group tour led by Selim. Ordering an omelet that arrived still bubbling in a small cast iron skillet at an outdoor table at Soganli Cappadocia Restaurant with a group of fun-loving Italian travelers.

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

lunchtime

Fourteen days hiking through Devrent Imagination Valley, where the volcanic rock formations are of such unlikely and distinguished shapes, that you can imagine they are animals: a crocodile, a lizard, Snoopy the comic strip dog, a squirrel, a camel, a bulldog, a dolphin, and other reptiles. Strolling through Fairy Chimneys and the Göreme Open Air Museum, one of Turkey’s World Heritage sites, to see a nearly infinite number of churches, chapels and monasteries mainly from the 11^th century, carved in rocks: the Chapel of St. Basil, The Elmali (Apple) Church, The Chapel of St. Barbara, The Chapel of St. Catherine: cruciform shapes, frescoes in red of mythological figures, Christ, Mary, the saints.

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

me in Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Cappadocia

Fourteen days in the lunar landscape of Cappadocia, where, at sunrise, nearly 40 hot air balloons lay everywhere, bellies up, like bloated beached whales painted in rainbow colors. Watching men push the balloons outwards from within as the fires began to roar, blasting and flaming into these balloons, huffing & puffing like dragons. Lifting off in the balloons, the hot air working its magic, rising slowly while the men turned the wicker baskets from their sides to upright positions. Getting lifted into the baskets as there were no doors. Hearing the fire roar over our heads, ducking and cringing instinctively from the sound and heat of the flames. Rising, feeling the land pull away, seeing the multitudes of other balloons in the sky, all at different heights, of different colors. Being awed into breathless silence. Toasting each other and the Ürgüp guys with glasses of champagne after they awarded us balloon certificates.

me waiting for my balloon

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

Balloon ride in Cappadocia

me on the balloon

me with my certificate

Fourteen days trekking through Ihlara Canyon, where the cliffs were sheer on either side of us, partially climbing up cliff sides to check out rock-cut churches in sweltering heat, cooling our feet every so often in a meandering stream. Dropping into 13th century Selime Cathedrale, the biggest rock-cut monastery of Cappadocia. Searching out pigeon houses carved in rocks at Pigeon Valley.

Cappadocia hike

Turkish folks

Fourteen days wading in the Red Waters of Karahayit, where Muslim men and women bathed, fully clothed, slapping healing mud all over themselves, and Pamukkale’s travertines, nicknamed “Cotton Castle,” where warm water flowed down white calcium cascades solidified into stone.

Red Waters of Karahayit

me at the Red Waters of Karahayit

Fourteen days visiting ruins at Hierapolis, an ancient Greek city on top of hot springs used to heal ailments since the 2nd century B.C. and now a UNESCO World Heritage Site: the necropolis and tombs galore, including the Tomb of the Gladiators, with a slab above the entrance bearing images relating to gladiatorial combat: an amphora for oil offered as a prize to the victor, a trident for combat, and a circular shield. Marveling over the marble sarcophagus of Marcus Aurelius, carved with garlands. Seeing Tumulus, a subterranean funerary chamber, poplar trees and a silvery ground cover. Admiring Roman gates and the Basilica Bath, later converted to a church, and the main street, called Frontinius Street. Listening to our guide give us a funny demonstration of how the public latrines were used and describe how men were separated from women by a curtain.

Hierapolis

Fourteen days cruising the Aegean from Kuşadası, where I floated in a pretty cove hugged by a rocky ledge and a beach bordered with silvery bushes.

Kuşadası

Fourteen days visiting the ruins at Ephesus, wearing an XL hat I bought at an outdoor shop called “Genuine Fake Watches.” Imagining the ancient city as it was centuries ago as it swarmed with modern-day interlopers. Learning that Ephesus was an ancient Greek city, and later a major Roman city, on the west coast of Turkey. Wandering through the Odeion, Curetes Street, water and sewer systems, the Temples of the Goddess Rome and the Divine Caesar, The Pyrtaneion, The Pollio Fountain, The Temple of Domitian, The Temple of Hadrian, The Roman Library of Celsus, the Latriana, the Gate of Augustus, the agora. Being frightened by a head of Medusa warning off evil spirits at the Temple of Hadrian.

Admiring the Library of Celsus facade sitting like an impressive exclamation point at the far end of the city; this library once held 12,000 scrolls in niches around its walls and was temperature-controlled. The Latriana was the public toilets, arranged side by side with no partitions.

Library of Celsus at Ephesus

me at The Odeion at Ephesus

Fourteen days cruising the Bosphorus past the 19th century Dolmabahce Palace of the Ottoman sultan and the 19th century Ortakoy Mosque, passing under the Bosphorus Bridge and seeing a great view of the Bosphorus opening into the Black Sea. Shopping at markets and the world’s oldest shopping mall, the Grand Bazaar, or in Turkish, Kapalı çarşı, meaning Covered Bazaar. Wandering through over 58 covered streets and 1,200 shops, many of which were grouped by goods, such as jewelry, pottery, spice or carpets. Buying a Turkish carpet, which was totally above and beyond my budget, a colorful glass mosaic lamp, and copper earrings with colorful designs carved into them.

After fourteen days, returning to South Korea to finish my teaching contract, heartbroken that my first solo trip had come to an end.

Istanbul

me in Istanbul

Istanbul

*****

As this was my first solo trip at the late age of 54, it was a huge boost in confidence for me. After getting over my terror, I learned I could travel alone and truly enjoy it! I was on a quest for an adventure of any size, shape or color. Being alone invited adventure my way. Many of the things I experienced on this trip would have never happened if I had been with anyone else.

I had been married for most of my life, and had mostly traveled with my first and second husbands. Since, at the time of this trip, I’d been separated from my current husband for 3 1/2 years out of what would be a seven-year separation, I sorely lacked self-confidence. My husband and I reconciled in 2014, and we’ve been together ever since, but those years of living and teaching abroad, traveling alone, and learning to be self-sufficient and resilient were some of the best growing experiences of my life.

I was just beginning to become interested in photography and writing, and while I was in Korea, I started blogging. I’ve been doing it ever since. My photography has definitely improved since those early days. 🙂

*July 21 – August 3, 2010*

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

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

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

Include the link in the comments below by Sunday, May 5 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Monday, May 6, I’ll include your links in that post.

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

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

{camino day 10} torres del río to logroño

wanderessence1025 March 31, 2019

Ingrid, Pat and I started walking at 7:00 a.m, with me wearing my headlamp and leading the way. It was stunning to watch the sun rise and the lovely alpenglow on the rolling hills and vineyards. It wasn’t long before we came upon a man with a sprawling cairn installation and a mobile café on a hill. For a donation, I was able to get a refreshing box of pineapple juice. Though we’d just eaten breakfast, I always felt compelled to buy a drink or snack because we so appreciated the effort locals made to create pilgrim rest stops.

Soon after, we walked past the16th century Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo, situated at the high point of the road (poyo means raised platform or podium). From here we had a view west over the flat plains with Viana and Logroño in the distance.

Torres del Río to Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo (2.7 km)

leaving Torres del Río

cairn installation

ribbons at the cairn installation

Canadian flag

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo

As the sun rose, the landscape of vineyards and olive trees glowed. Anna joined us for a photo op and then hurried along. It would be the last time I’d see her. It was a beautiful morning with a cool breeze and light spun with gold. The walk was long, 10.6 km to Viana. I parted from Pat and Ingrid as their pace was faster than mine, especially with all my stops to take photos. I was enamored of the wind turbines on the ridge. Besides, I enjoyed walking alone and contemplating life. Most of the walk to Viana, except the last slow slog along a paved road after crossing the río Cornava, was the nicest part of today with its glorious light.

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana Centro (7.9 km)

the rising sun

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

Pat, Anna and Ingrid

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

wind turbines on the ridge

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

pine shrub

vineyards

the path glowing

pretty in green

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

vineyards

Ermita de Nuestra Señora del Poyo to Viana

wind turbines

approaching Viana

Viana is a lively town with a population of 4,000. In the 15th century, the town was a major pilgrim stop with at least four pilgrim hospitals. It was once a bastion on the disputed frontier between the old kingdoms of Navarre and Castille. Viana’s Baroque Town Hall has a fine carved façade with colonnades and houses the Tourist Information.

I stopped into the gorgeous 13th century Iglesia de Santa María in Viana, one of the loveliest churches I’d seen along the Camino, with its elaborate recessed doorway and its ornate gold altar and frescoes. This is where Cesare Borgia, the son of Pope Alexander VI, is buried. He died here at the beginning of the 16th century following a duel. Its Baroque altarpiece is alive with images.

I loved pausing in churches and asking for blessings for my family, my pilgrimage, and for other pilgrims. As I was kneeling for a prayer, Thomas from Germany came in and was praying as well. I wasn’t sure of his reason for doing the Camino as he couldn’t speak much English and I couldn’t speak German, but he had told me the previous night “The Camino called and here I am.” I ran into Darina as I was leaving, but I didn’t see her again for the rest of the day.

Viana

Viana

Viana’s Town Hall

Viana

Iglesia de Santa María in Viana

Iglesia de Santa María in Viana

I also stopped briefly at the Ruinas de San Pedro. Downhill, I stopped at a local cafe where I enjoyed a potato tortilla.

Iglesia de Santa María in Viana

After leaving Viana, I stopped for a rest in shade beside a babbling stream at Ermita de la Trinidad de Cuevas, site of an earlier hospice of the Trinitarian Order of nuns. From there it was 6.4 km to Logroño.

Vianna to Ermita de la Trinidad de Cuevas (3.0 km)

Leaving Viana

graffiti

fuzzy plants

Ermita de la Trinidad de Cuevas

plaque at Ermita de la Trinidad de Cuevas

The next section, heading into the outskirts of Logroño, was more unsightly, despite following a path through a fragrant pine wood. A noisy road ran alongside, and soon messy graffiti and jumbles of rocks accompanied us. The last part of each day is so painful on feet and legs and, especially when approaching a big city, it seems to take forever to get to the old city center.

Just outside of Logroño, we entered La Rioja, one of the smallest and most diverse autonomous regions of Spain. It is known for its excellent wines. As early as the 11th century, kings and noblemen promoted the Camino through La Rioja as a means of exporting wine and wares throughout Europe, and for attracting artisans and stonemasons to build cathedrals, monasteries and monuments along the Way.

The approach to the city wasn’t pretty; there was an onslaught of industry on the outskirts.

Ermita de la Trinidad de Cuevas to Cruce/Rioja (2.6 km)

on the way to Logroño

crossing into La Rioja

graffiti

Becoming a PIlgrim Zen-Masta

Cruce/Rioja to Logroño (3.8 km)

on the way to Logroño

outskirts of Logroño

outskirts of Logroño

I made a gradual climb on an earth-colored concrete track crawling with centipedes, up the Cantabrian Hill, past garden allotments (huerto urbanos) to a stone bridge. I stopped into the Puente de Piedra (Pilgrim Information Center) and found, much to my disappointment, that my pension was on the far side of the old town. I crossed the bridge over the río Ebro into Logroño. The bridge, rebuilt in 1880, replaces the earlier medieval pilgrim bridge attributed to St. John de Ortega (St. John the Hermit).

outskirts of Logroño

In Logroño, I could barely muster enough energy to make it through the town and to my pension. Logroño, a university city with a population of 155,000, is the Capital of Rioja.

I stopped briefly in the Iglesia de Santiago (St. James) el Real. The doorway of this church bears an image of Saint James the Moor-slayer. Clafijo, the site of the battle where the saint intervened, is close to Logroño.

Iglesia de Santiago el Real

Iglesia de Santiago el Real

On the far side of the old town, I trudged past an intersection with a fountain and another one with palm trees and finally found the pension. It was inside an apartment building and I was locked out. I had to call the number because I’d arrived earlier (2:30) than the 3:00-4:00 I’d estimated.

I showered and handwashed my clothes then backtracked to the old town where I had potatas bravas, limonata y cerveza and gambas (shrimp scampi). Another pilgrim named Larry (retired U.S. military with a recent B.A. and M.A. in art history and archeology) was alone at an adjacent table, so I invited him to join me.

My pension, Pension Saint Mateo, was not that much nicer than the pilgrim albergues other than the privacy. The worst part was that it was so far removed from town, making it hard to slip in and out for explorations.

pilgrim statue

Logroño

I walked past the 15th century Gothic Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda, the largest church in Logroño, but I would save going in until the following day. It has impressive twin towers (Las Gemelas, or the Twins) that were a later addition, and have long been a nesting spot for storks. A Romanesque doorway is shielded by wrought iron railings. It sits along the Plaza del Mercado, lined with shops and cafés.

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

Catedral de Santa María de la Redonda

balconies in Logroño

street art in Logroño

Iglesia de Santiago el Real

Iglesia de Santiago el Real

inside Iglesia de Santiago el Real

Logroño

I was disappointed not to run into Darina or any other pilgrims, but when I returned to my apartment at about 7:00, I got a Whatsapp message from Ingrid: “Hello! By now you must be luxuriating in your hotel. Tapas tonight? Folks from my hostel are meeting up around 7:00. Would love to meet up with you somewhere.” Sadly, by the time I had wi-fi, got her message and wrote back, she no longer was in range of wi-fi and we missed each other. I didn’t have enough energy to traipse back into town anyway, sadly.

I planned to take the following day off in Logroño, and I was looking forward to resting, exploring the city, and sampling some regional wine. At this point, I had 615.6 km (382.5 miles) to Santiago. I was only 22% done! I tried not to think of that and to focus on enjoying the experience and putting one foot in front of the other.

On the homefront, I had some good news. My loved one had moved in temporarily with his brother and his roommate, and was starting his first day at a new job. Although it was a job way beneath his intellect, I felt happy that he simply had a job. My husband gave them both money to get some new clothes, to give them a boost in their new endeavors. I felt hopeful. Maybe things would turn around.

*Day 10: Thursday, September 13, 2018*

*37,677 steps, or 15.97 miles: Torres del Rio to Logroño (21.1 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: Street art in Silves.

call to place: morocco

wanderessence1025 March 28, 2019

I am captivated by Morocco. My fascination began with the 1956 film The Man Who Knew Too Much, with Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day, where, during a family holiday in Morocco, Dr. Ben McKenna and his wife, popular singer Jo Conway McKenna, find out about an assassination plot; their son Hank is kidnapped and clues lead them to London. When I watched this film in my early twenties, I was entranced by the exotic markets of Marrakesh, the men and women walking around in jellabas, long flowing robes with hoods or headscarves, and traditional slippers. After seeing the movie, the music and language followed me around, whispering in my ear. A vision of the place lingered.

I am captivated by the varying landscapes of Morocco, from the deserts and oases dotted with palms, to Berber fishing villages, beaches and ramparts in coastal areas, to the mountains in the Rif and the Middle and High Atlas.

I am captivated by the history of Morocco, from its Berbers to the French and Spanish controllers, to other exotically-named characters in the country’s long history: Almoravids, Almohads, Saadians, Merenids, Barbary Pirates, and Alwawites.

I am captivated by books I’ve read set in Morocco: The Seamstress (also called The Time In Between) by Maria Dueñas (set in Tetouan and Madrid), The Tattooed Map by Barbara Hodgson, Tangerine by Christine Mangan, and by interior decorating books that feature Moroccan decor.

I’m captivated by the architecture of Morocco, from art deco villas, Moroccan geometric details on European façades, fondouqs (creative courtyard complexes with ground floor artisan workshops and upstairs rented rooms), hammams (public bathhouses), kasbahs (fortified quarters housing ruling families), ksour (mudbrick castles), medersas (centers of learning), mosques with their minarets and domes, and riads (mansions with arcaded courtyards and bhous, or seating nooks), and especially by souqs (covered market streets). I’m captivated by calligraphy on tiled walls, inside stucco arches, and on woodwork. By zellij (ceramic tile mosaics) on fountains, mirrors, tables, and interior courtyards of riads.

As someone who loves shopping and is easily enticed by colorful and exotic items, I am captivated by lively souqs in old medinas selling everything from woven rugs, blankets, silver, antiques, silks, pottery, carved wooden furniture, silver damascene (metalwork with intricate silver thread), leather goods, ceramics, textiles, to babouches (slippers).

market goods

I am captivated by exuberant colors and patterns on carpets. By nature-inspired embroidery and colorful silks. By leather book covers, handbags, and lampshades. By brass teapots and copper tea trays. By pierced brass lamps and tin lanterns and inlaid knives. By the scent of woodwork from orangewood, cedar, lemonwood, and pine.

market goods

I am captivated by the combination of Arab-Andalusian music, combining the flamenco-style strumming of Spanish folk music with stringed instruments and percussion of classical Arabic music, by Berber folk music, by the sounds of the Arabic language intermingled with French. I’ve studied Arabic before and lived in an Arab speaking country, and know a little of the language. For years, I’ve listened to Arabic music, its exotic notes lingering in my mind, a soundtrack that won’t stop.

I am captivated by the muezzins’ calming call to prayer five times a day, which I experienced while visiting Egypt in 2007 & 2010, Jordan in 2012, and while living in Oman from 2011-2013.

I’m captivated by Moroccan cuisine: Moroccan pancakes and doughnuts and French pastries, olives and local jiben (fresh goat’s milk cheese), khoobz (Moroccan-style pita bread), bessara (hot fava-bean puree with cumin, olive oil, and paprika), rghaif (Moroccan pastries like flattened croissants), brochettes (kebabs), merguez (spicy lamb sausage), pizza, shwarma (spiced lamb or chicken roasted on a spit), and tajines (Moroccan stews), mezze (salad course), and couscous. I’m captivated by the drinks: mint tea, coffee, and even beers (Casa & Flag) and local wines. Oh the list goes on!

I’m captivated by the multitudes of Instagram accounts I follow, with their colorful photos of medinas, Ait Ben Haddou in Ouarzazat, Volubilis, Ouzoud waterfalls, camels in the Sahara, blue boats in Essaouira, Marrakesh souqs, Hassan II Mosque, mosaic courtyards of riad guesthouses, leather tanneries of Fez, the snow-covered Atlas mountains, and the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen.

Finally, I am captivated by two videos set in Morocco, created by my favorite store, Anthropologie:

Tangier Anthropologie

I can’t wait to leave for Morocco on Thursday, April 4, 2019.

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

“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, April 24 at 1:00 p.m. EST.

My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, April 25. 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!

guimarães, portugal: occupation

wanderessence1025 March 26, 2019

A Sunday in late October, and Portugal’s military was occupying Guimarães. The power and might of the country was on full display, with its uniformed officers and camouflaged soldiers, its tanks and full regalia. The military flexed its muscles, upheld its patriotism. We parked in a neighborhood far from the center because of the occupation, yielding to an urge to see the town without staying overnight. Guimarães was our stopover town on our way to somewhere else. That somewhere else was Porto.

In Guimarães, we climbed uphill to the crenulated towers and cylindrical brick chimneys of 15th-century Paço dos Duques de Bragança, looming over the medieval town. We wandered freely through the cavernous rooms, with gargantuan banquet tables and imposing chandeliers, 17th-century period furniture, 15th- and 16th-century weapons, a chapel with stained glass windows, and rich Flemish tapestries. The tapestries, reproductions of the originals, whispered of the Portuguese attempts to conquer North Africa, including the capture of Tangiers.

Walking uphill to the Castelo, we passed soldiers demonstrating tanks and weaponry to families and small children, who climbed gleefully atop the killing machines. We dropped into the tiny Romanesque Church of St. Michael of the Castle, where the first independent King of Portugal, Afonso Henriques (born ~1106-1111 and died 1185), was probably baptized.

We wandered around the 11th-century seven-towered Castelo, thought to be Afonso Henriques’ birthplace. Apparently the king’s birth date and birthplace are strongly disputed. Sadly the ramparts were closed to the public, so we missed what might have been amazing views.

Later in his life, Afonso used Guimarães as the launching point for the main thrust of the Reconquista against the Moors, resulting in the Portuguese kingdom.

At Largo da Oliveira, we found a cozy restaurant, where we lingered over lunch. After, feeling sated, we admired the Gothic canopy of the Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira and then dipped inside. We continued walking through labyrinthine lanes and picturesque plazas to a fountain and a long rectangular garden, at the end of which stood the slender 18th-century Igreja de São Gaulter, with its 19th-century spires.

Quite by accident, we found ourselves walking into the Igreja de São Francisco, in which a Sunday service was underway. The church was packed with parishioners. We were bowled over by the beautiful azulejo tiles on the wall, but photography was forbidden during the service. As we lingered outdoors, dusting off our disappointment, the congregation poured out of the church and we were in luck! The service was over. We ducked in for a few photos, not wavering in our determination to capture the interior of this gorgeous church.

Finally, we walked nearly a mile to our distant parked car and drove up the winding road to Penha, where we dipped into the Santuario da Penha and marveled over the sweeping views of Guimarães from on high. We were on our way to Porto.

*Steps: 18,292 (7.75 miles)*

*Sunday, October 28, 2018*

******

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

Paço dos Duques de Bragança (Palace of the Dukes of Braganza) was built in 1401 by Afonso de Barcelos, the first duke of Bragança and the illegitimate son of the future king D. João I. When the residence of the Dukes of Bragança was later moved to the Alentejo, the building fell into disrepair and was transformed into a military barracks in 1807. The palace was restored from 1937-1959, and brought back to its Norman-inspired Gothic glory.

Paço dos Duques de Bragança

staircase and azulejos

statue at Paço dos Duques de Bragança

Paço dos Duques de Bragança

Interior of Paço dos Duques de Bragança

Interior of Paço dos Duques de Bragança

banquet room

cabinet

banquet room

Interior of Paço dos Duques de Bragança

stained glass window

lanterns

bedroom

ceiling of Paço dos Duques de Bragança

Interior of Paço dos Duques de Bragança

bedroom

On the ground floor is a small museum of contemporary art, which houses pieces given to the city of his birth by the painter José de Guimarães (the artist who created Portugal’s tourism symbol).

Art exhibit by José de Guimarães

Tucked between the palace and castle is the little Romanesque Church of St. Michael of the Castle (Igreja de São Miguel do Castelo).

Church of St. Michael

The seven-towered Castelo was built in the 11th century and is in fine shape.

Castelo

Castelo

Mike at the Castelo

Castelo

Military on display in town

The town square Largo da Oliveira is a beautiful square with many restaurants and outdoor cafe, although it was too cold to sit outdoors.

official building

Largo da Oliveira

Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira (Our Lady of the Olive Tree) was founded by Countess Mumadona in the 12th century and rebuilt four centuries later. Outside the church is a Gothic canopy and cross, supposedly marking the spot where Wamba the Visigoth (672–680) drove his spear into the ground beside an olive tree, refusing to reign unless a tree sprouted from the handle. Of course, as is “true” in such legends, the tree sprouted (Lonely Planet Portugal).

Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira with its Gothic canopy and cross

Interior of Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira

inside Igreja de Nossa Senhora da Oliveira

Streets of Guimarães

fountain in Guimarães

Streets of Guimarães

The 18th-century Igreja de São Gaulter, with its 19th-century twin spires, sits fetchingly at the far end of a beautifully manicured rectangular garden.

Igreja de São Gaulter

The 13th century Igreja de São Francisco (Church of St. Francis of Assisi) has a stunning interior of 18th century azulejos depicting the life of the saint.

Igreja de São Francisco

interior of Igreja de São Francisco

interior Igreja de São Francisco

detail Igreja de São Francisco

Penha is a wooded summit reached by driving 7km up a twisting, cobbled road. It offers sweeping views over Guimarães. It also boasts the modern Santuario da Penha.

Santuario da Penha

Santuario da Penha

Interior of Santuario da Penha

Views of Guimarães from Penha

Views of Guimarães from Penha

Views of Guimarães from Penha

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

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

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, April 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, April 23, 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!

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: