Jen & I turned 40 this year. To celebrate, we booked cheap airline tickets for a long weekend in Montreal, where we planned to walk around a lot and eat an exorbitant amount of delicious food.
Mission accomplished.
I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of greenspace in Montreal and really grateful the autumn foliage came late this year so we could enjoy it.
…
On the tarmac, delayed on the way to Newark - hope we don’t miss our connection to Porto. Keep taking deep breaths and reminding myself: look down at your feet darlin, here you are.
…
After a satisfying breakfast at the hotel this morning, we followed the little yellow arrows out of Vigo and completed our first 16km before making a stop for lunch at a cafe near Plaza de Ponteareas in Redondela. Due to the casualness of European table service and because we were already quite pooped, we took our time dining, realizing later as we hiked the last 8km in full sun and 96 degrees, that our relaxation was probably a mistake. Our one half day of experience told us there would be plenty of resources on the trail and we opted to carry less water than we needed. We spent the last two hours very VERY thirsty. We didn’t see any towns, no one was selling goods and, at one natural water fountain, the minute we stepped up to it, the water stopped flowing ha. We considered backtracking, likely doubling our last leg to the finish. Instead, we kept going forward, stopping every couple minutes to hide out on a rock in the shade and really talking each other up. We can do this! We have no water, but we can do this! Boy, were we excited to see the sign for Arcade!
Chris admitted later to wanting to quit today. I’m feeling proud of my body and my mind - there was calm resolve and patience. I really surprised myself. Jet lag last night didn’t allow more than three hours sleep, and I texted Jason at 3am panicking, “do I ask to stay in bed longer today in favor of improved stamina and subsequently risk the later day heat, or is it best to get up early and see what happens?” Chris was patient and we ultimately chose the former, I think it helped. I will be nursing some hot spots on my feet tonight and mentally preparing for another 14km uphill tomorrow, but mostly we’re good.
We met a delightful Aussie today, Penny, who asked us, “how do you stay busy in the States?” Chris and I both giggled and replied, “you mean work?” REMINDER: We are more than what we do for work. It evoked a memory for me of the Heath Ledger quote about conversations resembling a laundry list of accomplishments. Married? Check. Working? Check. Asking someone how they stay busy seems a more benign way of asking the more emotional, are you happy, but elicits the same feeling to me. I’ll remember Penny and start asking people how they stay busy when I feel too bashful to ask if they’re happy.
The stops for stamps today were a combination of large churches and small roadside stands. In order to get the certificate, you have to get two stamps per day. I like the roadside stands the best, there’s snacks and music sometimes and little trinkets sold. We’re especially enjoying the nectarines, nectarines in Spain in August are a delight!
…
Questions so far:
Do Spanish meat pies served as appetizers have a Spanish name? My favorite so far.
What are the tomb-like structures around peoples’ homes?
How many of these people are on a spiritual quest?
Observations:
Spanish men and women unapologetically show their bods and they’re so beautiful. Americans are a prude embarrassed group.
…
We got in late yesterday after a challenging travel day (delayed flights & long immigration lines) and I slept in our $380 transport from Porto to Vigo, my excitement to see the landscape dwarfed by my exhaustion. Chris and I had a good laugh and wondered at the ladies who checked us into Hotel Junquera. One was older, stern but chic with bold statement glasses. I suspect she spoke some English but chose instead to talk thru her younger, meek, sweet but very un-chic, counterpart. We showered, walked to a nearby local church and paid for our Camino passports and got our first stamp, and ventured out for a bottle of red, landing at a great spot called A Garula where we could sit outside and smoke. Chris introduced me to my first Spanish wine: Mencia.
We watched a cute European girl crying under her sunglasses with her girlfriends. People get their hearts broken everywhere, I thought. Or, I commented later today after watching another woman weep in greeting, maybe the Spanish are an emotional bunch. Ha, are Americans prude, embarrassed, private AND repressed?
After our wine and a walk along the oceanfront, we moved on to El Capitain for some grub. El Capitain was recommended by Manuel, the cab driver from the airport, but was only ok-ish. We considered that he likely recommended it because he’s a fisherman and supplies the restaurant, not because it’s the best. We vowed to choose for ourselves from here on out, and I quietly reminded myself to try one new thing every day.
Old Town was beautiful - hilly, ancient, the roads very narrow.
People in masses were walking around with candles on long sticks and we wondered what they were observing. Were they sad or celebrating?
We ordered octopus - it was, again, ok-ish. It was my first octopus. Day one: new thing. CHECK!
I hope I sleep tonight.
We’re working on our Spanish - Spain Spanish and Latin American Spanish are more similar than I realized, BUT … is it buenos dias or buen dia? Who knows.
Chris and I leaned on one another today - I’m nervous to go without her, but I long for it too. How will I find the extraordinary if I’m busy and not looking? Maybe today’s extraordinary is - I hiked 23km today with little sleep, and Chris pushed thru the heat and finished 23km alongside me. We took care of each other.
Onward to Pontevedra!
…
We completed our 14km by noon today, which was our goal, and hobbled into Pontevedra, which I keep wanting to call Ponteverde.
My dogs are barking, I said over and over.
The small town coastal views from Arcade gave way this morning to rolling vineyards, and finally a forest walk that was less majestic than I imagined. We had a choice to do the forest or stick with the coast and, despite the less aesthetically pleasing visuals, were grateful at our choice because of the shade.
I was so impressed by our first Camino breakfast provided yesterday at Hotel Junquera in Vigo, that I was thoroughly disappointed this morning with the stale bread and sweaty cheese option at Hotel Duarte in Arcade. The OJ was good tho, and Hotel Duarte more than made up for the breakky with the best hotel bar service ever, where last night they gave us free tuna meat pies and we could (and did!) purchase two glasses of wine and two (overflowing) G&Ts for only 10E total. I’ve never been a hotel bar person, but these little outdoor patios attached to our accommodation are really hitting the spot for me this trip.
AND even after a moderately late night, we were still up and hitting the pavement by 7am so basically, we’re the best.
Before drinks last night, we went to Restaurante Arcadia for ensalada mixta (lettuce, tomato, tuna, onions, and soft white asparagus), and our first order of oysters.
The World Wide Web told me that Arcade is known as Spain’s “oyster capital,” where oysters are cultivated from the muddy waters where the Verdugo River meets the Ria de Vigo estuary. The town is known for the flat oyster, or Ostrea Edulis, and is often paired with the local Albarino (white grape) wine.
Between dinner and drinks, I opted for a solo stroll down to the harbor on the Vigo River, which flows out to the Atlantic. I took in the boats as the sun went down, said a quick thanks for the delicious oysters, and then made calls home to check in.
Today’s hike was beautiful, one of the best I’ve ever seen. The morning was cool and lovely and the sun was perfect for photos. But the heat came on earlier than yesterday, and despite finally feeling rested, we both struggled and commented we’d need to be strategic for the tomorrow’s long hike from Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis.
I have a strong desire to go slow, to stop and smell the roses, to soak up this place we won’t likely come back to. But I may have to pivot. Spain and Portugal are experiencing one of the most intense and prolonged heatwaves on record. Chris seems to feel more in danger here than I do, but with 23km and 100 degrees in the forecast by noon, I’m happy to treat the situation as threatening and be as safe as possible. We’re planning to leave by 7am again.
Chris and I are having a fun time together. I broke away from her in the woods later in the day and immediately missed her and the way she talks me thru the plants and produce. “Oh, it’s a fig tree!” “Ohhh! Eucalyptus!” Or the way we laughed and laughed at the guy who belched loudly and Chris whispered, “Ooooh he must have indigestiooooon.” And then he belched again and we fell into another fit of laughter. The companionship is pleasant. Plus, forcing yourself to be alone so you have an authentic spiritual experience feels, well, a little inauthentic. Chris seems to be experiencing some disappointment in the lack of enlightenment so far in our journey and when she mentioned it, I smiled and imagined the Holy Spirit stepping out from behind a tree. We’re idiots.
Or maybe I’m the biggest idiot of them all. Later morning today, we stopped at a tiny stone church called Capela de Santa Marta. It’s a sacred spot along the Portuguese Camino known for peace, reflection, and gratitude. When I struggled to get my Camino passport out of my pack, I kept saying Jesus! out loud (and rather loudly), then hanging my head in shame for using God’s name as a swear word. It reminded me of receiving the rosary from Kyle: Oh my god! THANK YOU! Oh my god. Then too, I could hear myself doing it and the more embarrassed I got, the less able I was to JUST SHUT UP.
Maybe if you want to experience something holy Molly, you should stop being such an asshole.
Anyway, the church has one door and no windows and is real small and it dates back to the 1600s.
Speaking of structures, the tomb-like small buildings we considered yesterday are completely unrelated to death or God. They’re called horreos and they store grains. Traditionally, they’re lifted to keep the grains away from moisture and pests. Today, they’re used for storage or as an unconventional living space or even a tourist attraction. I originally guessed chicken coops. I was close, but wrong.
Pontevedra feels overwhelming to me. Is it bigger or smaller than Vigo? If it’s smaller, maybe it’s that it feels more modern - more similar to an American big city. I’m open to it and will soak it in all day today, but if my feelings remain - it’s a place I wouldn’t care to come back to.
We just had lunch here - a heaping portion of padron peppers, caprese salads, and calamari. And we’re back sitting outside making our notes, which seems to be our new way.
…
NOTE: Empanada Gallega - a version of an empanada with a crispy flaky crust and a mix of meat or fish, fish on the coast (all kinds - tuna, octopus, etc) and pork, chorizo, bacon when you head inland. The base is onions and I don’t mind. It’s obviously a dish the Spanish are proud of, as it’s typically served to you as a starter or a small snack (at no cost). The web says sometimes it’s a centerpiece at celebrations.
…
I hope tomorrow goes alright. My feet are sore and my hips are tight. We should rest more today but are instead seizing the day and touristing our way around the city in search of the ruins of Santo Domingo & the Bascillica of Santa Maria.
I’ll report back.
…
I read on a camino blog tonight that today’s segment is a particularly thoughtful one - from the bustling modern city of Pontevedra thru the fields and vineyards to the healing paradise of Caldas de Reis.
It was thoughtful for me - it was so grueling I couldn’t even look around. One foot in front of the other, lots of deep breaths and sitting inside my head, and the day was done. All 23km. And even tho it was massively challenging, somehow it went quickly.
I was wrong about Pontevedra. It may have felt large and modern on the outskirts, but the old town in the middle of the city is incredibly charming, and an important stopover on the Portuguese Way because of monumental religious buildings, including by not limited to the circular Church of the Pilgrim Virgin, which has a floorplan in the shape of scallop shell. Pontevedra has also won numerous awards for urban planning and urban safety. It was unexpectedly magical to walk around there - Chris and I wished we’d booked a walking tour to learn more, but hope to go back. Never judge a book by it’s cover! And always do the walking tour.
Pontevedra left me with the feeling that I wished I’d done more research before the trip so we’d understand more thoroughly what we’re looking at. I remember reading some blogs before we left and finding them exceedingly boring - maybe too many things to remember about something so far in the distance. But now it’s our reality and everything is beautiful and I’m experiencing it on a visceral level. All emotion, little context. Tonight we’re taking advantage of the internet to make sense of our experience - maybe that will be the key for us - to read up the night before about the road we’ll be walking the following day. Maybe I need to give myself grace for being a fuck-around-and-find-out sort of person - certainly that approach has served me well at times. I mean, hey, I’m here! In my head, my most idealized self is someone who is more prepared. But preparation takes more time than I feel like I have. This internal conflict is the single thing in the world that makes me feel the most human: I don’t have unlimited amounts of time to do everything I want.
…
Here goes then, fun fact: today we crossed a bridge dating back vaguely to 977 that was made famous in actual recorded history as a place of great war between Spain & France, the beginning of Napolean’s downfall.
…
In Pontevedra this morning, Chris and I woke up at 6am. The alarm went off and I begrudgingly got up, went to the bathroom to wash the foot salve off my feet in the tiny toilet. Tiny tiny toilet. I came back out to Chris and said, “welp, I hope that tiny toilet wasn’t a urinal.” Sabina confirmed that it is in fact, a European bidet.
We’ve got company, be back later.
…
Yesterday’s journaling was pleasantly interrupted by Sabina, who joined our table in the Caldas de Reis plaza near the Iglesia de Santo Thomas Becket, where Chris and I had ventured to after checking into our hostel, and where we sat drinking two glasses of white wine each to Sabina’s one Coca Cola. Caldas de Reis is a renowned spa town in Galicia. The thermal waters date back to the Romans. Its lush Carballeira, meaning oak forest, River Umia setting, and distinct palm trees around the plaza give the place a uniquely relaxed, resort-like feel. I was soaking it up!
Sabina is pronounced Zabine, and she gave us a quick German lesson this afternoon and we took a photo together and wished each other well. She walks the full length to Santiago tomorrow after a full 12ish days from Porto. Chris and I have opted to split the last distance over two days, which I am eternally grateful for - I’m not ready to be done. I hope to see Sabina again so we can exchange information and follow her along. She was a 12-year old daughter in Hamburg, loves to travel and listens to electronic music.
Chris commented that Sabina seems “very pure.” She is sweet definitely, but I imagine (maybe wrongly) that her purity is more a language barrier than a personality trait.
Anyway, Caldas de Reis was a relief. Yesterday was grueling and I don’t remember a lick of the landscape - farms mostly - I took few photos.
I thought about how, in an effort to avoid the holidays with my family, I’d been considering a seven day silent meditation retreat in Southern India, where I’d spend full days sitting in a cross legged position calming my mind thru the hip pain and extreme boredom.
Yesterday was like that. I didn’t stop walking - and I couldn’t not think of how badly my feet and legs hurt - so I made the pain something else.
I chastised myself for considering early on in the trip that if God does exist, he’d give me an experience that is free from discomfort and then quietly celebrated a couple days in that I had been spared blisters. God does exist! Ha.
When the 23km yesterday gave me a massive blister on each of my pinky toes, it really rained on my delusion parade. So I had to reconsider - maybe God was in the healing thermal waters of Caldas de Reis instead, which we happened on as soon as we got to town. Maybe the sulfur truly did have anti-inflammatory and antiseptic effects. That, combined with blister band-aids last night and a lot of hope and will this morning, and we did another 20km today. And how incredible that we thought we’d have to book a spa stay to experience the baths, and then we literally walked right into some on the side of the road, just off the trail and on the way to the hostel. Lastly, maybe the most miraculous of all - was Chris’s patience with me despite being anxious to figure out where we were sleeping - I mean, extra large public bathtub, the dream! It felt so restful and indulgent, and it improved my mood and eased some anxiety about the impending walk from Caldas de Reis to Padron.
Chris commented that I worry about things too much. She’s not wrong and I accept her observation as uncritical. But it is funny to watch the kinds of things that people get worried about. Chris is currently experiencing extreme stress about whether or not our bags are going to make it to our next hostel, while I’m confident they’ll arrive and I refuse to devote any time to concern. She worries too, just differently.
I digress.
Yesterday’s walk from Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis was as difficult for me as the thermal baths at the end were restorative and the day left me feeling wide open - vulnerable and confessional. Chris and I shared deep conversation over dinner at a spot called La Real Taperia (things got real at La Real Taperia ha). LRT is a little hole in the wall spot that didn’t look very promising but really delivered! We ordered zamburinas and zorza. The first dish is tiny scallops, which I don’t typically like, but were tough and covered in butter and absolutely my favorite thing so far. Zorza is pork marinated in spices with french fries, also amazing. I’ll eat both again before we leave.
…
Two things that have been really joyful this trip:
Journaling: After each of the days hikes, Chris and I sit and eat a snack and write about our experience. It’s easily become my favorite ritual and I’m surprised at how easy and authentic it feels, when in my day-to-day life, it can be hard to start because I’m not sure who my audience is. On the Camino, it hasn’t been hard to be audienceless. Everything pours out.
Porter service & Camino Ways:
Very few pilgrims seem to be carrying all their things but instead have opted to travel the way we are. When we booked, I thought we were wimping out a bit, but even if people don’t use a travel company to book the full trip, they’re still using a porter service for $5 a day so they don’t have to backpack. This surprises and encourages me.
As a result of using the travel company, our accommodation each day is a complete surprise since we didn’t book it. It really tickles me. I love walking into town and finding our hotels, not know what we’ll walk into. So far, they’ve been pleasing.
…
We’re in Padron. Today’s hotel is very far outside the city center, near a rail station. Once again, it has a nice restaurant with an outdoor patio which is perfect for our journaling sesh & late night nightcap, but it will be a long walk back to town to see the Iglesia de Santiago de Padron - the church that was built along the river where Saint James’ body was transported from boat to land & ultimately, taken to Santiago to be buried at the Compostela. The Iglesia is the thing to do here, and we’ll do the thing you’re supposed to do.
I’m feeling agitated. Chris is, perhaps, being a little bossy today. You know, the way mothers always mother. I would likely find it exceedingly endearing if it wasn’t combined with a massive emotional hangover from being sentimentally slutty yesterday. Today I need distance to match yesterday’s closeness. Maybe she does, too. Humans are complicated.
My favorite moment of the day was waking to Chris’s long sigh and quiet prayer in the dark. “Am I a pilgrim or a prisoner?” she asked. It was perfect.
Sabina is back, xx.
…
Day five is complete and we have one day to go. I’m going to miss it. The days-are-long-but-the-years-are-short sort of thing. I understand why people keep coming back. I can feel my endurance increasing - it’s like my bones, muscles - everything is expanding to accommodate the challenge. Things that hurt earlier in the week feel OK now. Nothing hurts, but you have to pay attention to your feet. That’s what Chris would say.
I finally started reading The Pilgrimage, Paulo Coelho's semi-autobiographical memoir detailing his journey along the Camino. In the book, the guide instructs the pilgrim to do a “seed growing exercise” in order to be reborn each day. I attempted it this morning, feeling silly and like my same old self. Duh, of course, Molly.
Maybe if I do it a couple days in a row tho…:)
When I was in Varanasi in 2023 and thoughtful about cremation along the Ganges River, someone in my group commented, “when people we love die, we look at them in boxes, what’s weirder than that?”
When we were in the chapel last night where the Pedron Stone is held, the stone they moored San Tiago’s body to when they brought him ashore, I told Chris that all the Catholic imagery is so violent and hard for me to understand, but I appreciate Catholics. The church was beautiful and ornate, serious and punishing. The Catholics, man, they go for it. There's something psychologically persuasive about confessing your sins beneath soaring vaulted ceilings and stained glass. A Midwest USA Lutheran church basement with fluorescent lights and a coffee urn doesn't inspire quite the same confidence in redemption.
A couple of times the last few days, I’ve been wondering if this walk for me is less a quest for Christ or faith, but more an exploration about how people die and how we mourn them, and ultimately, a celebration of HOW WE LIVE. I’m happy out here, as I always am on the road.
Did we do the right thing cremating Dan? I want to be cremated and I don’t know what he wanted, so I chose for him what I want. If our American cemeteries and altars were as beautiful as the Spanish ones tho, I may have chosen differently.
Today on the trail, I saw a sticker that said, J’existe. It reminded me of memorializing Dan this summer, urgently considering what it means to bear witness to the people we love. In the face of loss, there is something profoundly human about insisting on the simple fact of a life: he was here. I wanted to yell it at everyone.
Today, I offer myself that same grace inward. There is a quiet peace in a sentence that asks nothing more of you than just to be there. It’s a moment and it’s a miracle to occupy it. This is where I’m at right now - everything feels like an invitation to inhabit the life I’m living.
If Costa Rica is trust, whyyyyy you no trust? then Spain is J’existe. I am here.
…
Our rituals on this trip continue to nourish me. Chris & I sit often in silence writing, and then she’ll pause and interrupt - what did you think about today?
And then I blush and explain that, embarrassingly, I spent a large portion of my time today thinking that maybe I’d like to write a novel. And the bashfulness washes away because instead of laughing, Chris smiles wide and asks what my parents do and their parents, and where does my creativity come from? And I tell her that it came from nowhere and then five minutes later we’re talking about how my mom wrote books and my grandfather was a romantic, a reader, and an activist. And I tell her of longwinded poetic emails from my mom across the country during times of heartbreak that said things like, it’s the world’s cruelest joke that in loving him, the earth moved for you but he did not feel it himself when she could have only said, I’m sorry, honey. And then, suddenly, I’m appreciating my mother for her gifts and the gifts she gave to me that I am sometimes too dismissive of.
This curiosity is how two people fall into easy conversation with one another, and I tell you, it’s a good thing to have a friend in the world who is curious about you, someone who helps you connect all your dots. I’m blessed to have several.
…
Last night, after visiting Iglesia de Santiago, we had dinner in Padron. Chris picked a restaurant with good reviews. When we showed up, it appeared closed but the owner beckoned us in and gave us a seat. The menu featured extravagant items more expensive than we were accustomed to and we ordered one drink each and one tapa, to start. The owner was immediately angry. He had already told me to keep my bag off the table and not to spill water and now, “dinner is at least three dishes” and he asked us to leave. We paid our bill and slowly finished our cocktails until he tapped his watch and told us he wasn’t asking us to leave anymore, it was time to go. Chris suspected it was because we were American but I think he was just an asshole - washed up but fancied himself very serious. The only other person in the restaurant was a young Italian who ate quietly and then met us outside to dissuade other Italians from eating there because his “tuna tomato salad tasted the same as the squid noodles and also, us Americans had a weird experience.” I loved it - people are weird and it’s a fun story. We regrouped at a different unremarkable place with excellent service, more zamburinas, and polpo. I made myself a kalimotxo for fun. Chris wasn’t sold on it. We daydreamed about our 18th century farmhouse stay the following night in Brion and took some selfies together to post to socials - we’re alive and well!
…
Observations:
Our research suggests that shipping container housing is a nation-wide trend, not something specifically concentrated in Padron, but it is something we’ve noticed the most in Padron. Maybe in Padron, the shipping containers are disguised less with stucco or wood facades.
We found Chesterfield Oranges and they are very smokeable. We had a moment at the mercado where I thought Chris paid 20E for a pack, but was happily mistaken.
…
Today, we hiked alone. I was slow moving this morning and Chris was ready to light out into the world, so it seemed an appropriate time to separate. Plus, we needed some space after so many days on the road together. It was refreshing - and now I’m glad we’ll do the rest of the journey together.
It’s fun on your own, markedly more stressful looking for the signs. Almost like playing a game. I got lost at the end, didn’t have any cell service and overshot our pick up. This is our first pick up from the trail, which we need because the farmhouse is a couple miles from the Camino. It has a swimming pool out back, which is good because it’s hot hot HOT. I also need a little relaxation after almost missing my second passport stamp today and really melting down. Reminder: get those passport stamps early and often!
After pool time this afternoon, we’re planning to have a fancy dinner at the hostel, Casa Rosalie. Then we’ll get a good night sleep and walk into Santiago tomorrow to see the Compostela and sign up for evening mass. I’m soaking everything up.
…
Today, Chris and I are taking the bus from Santiago back to Vigo and then catching a flight to Porto. We land in the Porto airport at noon to meet the guys at 1pm. I’m keeping this short because I want my excitement to fall on Jason’s ears, probably over a Super Bock. Marty says they’re the best.
I can’t wait to see him and I’m excited to be traveling the next week with friends.
The hungry ghosts are back after a poignant day yesterday. It was exciting, bittersweet, and deeply moving to walk into Santiago and complete our first Camino. We, of course, stopped for one last nectarine:)
If the Buddhists find my insatiable desire problematic, Paul Coehlo offers a different perspective. You cannot lose the dream and get comfortable, that is how one dies. I feel a bit relieved by that. Maybe I am not the cause of my suffering, maybe I am on a grand adventure. Here’s the thing - if I’m being completely honest with myself, I want it all and I want to do it well.
At the little patio at a fancy place in Santiago that Chris and I settled on for one final meal, I explained to Chris, and I’m not sure if I articulated it the way I wanted to, but I tried to say - that if I do anything at all while I’m here in the world, I hope that what I do is always in the pursuit of the creation of beauty. I don’t mean a universal aesthetic, but an authentic expression of what I value and love.
How my house feels and how I welcome others to it. How I dress and how I move my body. How I celebrate, how I fight. How I vote. How I chase fun. The pace at which I move thru the kitchen, the supermarket, and the world at large. The way I laugh at myself about the pace I move thru anything. The stewardship I show at my job. The books I read, the photographs I make.
The intimate way I connect with others, the way I harness my own gifts, how I make people feel.
In Chris’s case specifically, in addition to her knack for cozy and loving conversation, it’s also the delicious and nourishing meals she prepares for others.
A beautiful life isn't assembled from grand gestures but from the accumulated practice of noticing, tending, and offering ourselves to one another. In that sense, we are all walking works of art - each of us shaped individually, and all of us made more beautiful in communion with each other.
At times on this walk, that question - What does a beautiful life look like? - seemed in direct conflict with J’existe. If my existence itself has inherent worth, then do I need to do anything to have a beautiful life? I’m OK admitting there’s tension between the two ideas.
But maybe it can be both. That the actual beauty emerges when I inhabit my own existence honestly enough that my participation with the world begins to reflect my deepest convictions. When that happens, is beauty simply what the generosity of my attention leaves behind?
Anyway.
Did I find God this week? Probably not. Tho I think it’s important to recognize that an unconscious and significant portion of my travels over the years have taken me to some of the most historically holy places in the world. Maybe it’s not a coincidence, maybe my extraordinary gift this trip is recognizing that I’m searching for anything at all. Leaving an experience with more questions than answers is a language I’m well-versed in.
What I did remember this week tho, for certain, is that no matter what comes next, we’re here now.
J’existe! I EXIST!
Buen camino xx.
WELP! IT’S OFFICIAL, I’m in love. With Costa Rica’s stunning Caribe Sur (South Caribbean) region and with SURFING!!!
I’m finally surfing (and learning to trust, whyyyy you no trust?) - life is wild.
stay in karol bagh
jama masjid visit
walk thru chandni chowk
agrasen ki baoli adventure + india gate
lunch and shopping in connaught place
chand mol gate to the pink city
bollywood film at art deco raj mandir cinema
balloon ride in the countryside
amber fort visit
cycle tour to the city palace & govind devji temple
lots of rest and relaxation
chand baori visit
harshshad mata temple
baby taj visit
taj mahal visit
agra fort visit
evening puja ceremony at the ram raja temple
orchha palace visit + stroll thru town
yoga and an ayurvedic full bod massage
personal cooking class
more rest and relaxation
halloween celebration at the alipura palace
lots of hang time in town with the locals
khajuraho temples visit, kama sutra statues
panna tiger reserve adventure
overnight train to varanasi
walk thru one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world
evening boat trip on the ganges
ganga aarti prayer ceremony
morning boat trip on the ganges
No one cares about your heartache or which lonely town you’re from.
You’ve got to take your salvation, boy, however it may come.
..
Jackie Greene, Traveling Song
For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel
like home.
..
Simon Van Booy, Everything Beautiful Began After
