Marrakech and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad case of food poisoning.

October 7, 2014October 29, 2017 | Theresa

The next morning we boarded a train heading down the coast to Marrakech. I immediately woke up not feeling well. Bridget asked me if I was okay and I stated “I’m fine. Just not feeling great. I’m sure it’s nothing.” Why is that phrase such a sneaky fox? “I’m sure it’s nothing.” It’s obviously something and yet denial can be such a powerful tool. While continue to think “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I popped a couple of Advils and got on the train. Well, let’s just say it WAS something. 4 hours later we arrived in Marakech and it hit us both like the freight train we were just riding on.

We went to the hotel (a beautiful Raid in the center of the medina) and were treated to mint tea served with an adorable pet bird. After checking in we tried to rouse ourselves to go out. “We’re fine! Let’s go!” we kept saying to ourselves and one another. We were on a mission to walk to the center of town where there is a vibrant center square with street performers, vendors and restaurants. There we were: two sick, tired, weary girls trying to decipher a confusing street map. Needless to say the city is not laid out in grid form. We made it about three blocks, looked at each other and came to the conclusion it wasn’t going to happen.

mint tea bird — The adorable pet bird who would have been much cuter sans our food poisoning.

The next morning we woke up and tried the city tour again. We went to the Bahia Palace and then for lunch at rooftop café. For some reason during lunch I became very overwhelmed (Oh wait I know the reason! Maybe it was due to being sick, and not having digested food in the previous 24 hours.) B and I were sitting outside waiting for our lunch and I went to the bathroom. On the way there I just started to cry. (Note: I am always envious of people who say “I was about to cry and I just told myself “‘No don’t do it. So I didn’t.” This is absolutely not me. If I feel like I am about to cry, it’s already too late. And on another note: I was talking to a friend about this once and she stated “Good. You should cry. Why would you want that negative energy inside your body.” I love the California mentality!)

Anyway, I come back from the bathroom and was still upset. B looked at me with a concerned face and said “Oh my gosh! What did you see on the way to bathroom?!” Honestly I didn’t see anything out of the usual. Everything just hit me all at once while I was in this somewhat vulnerable state. Our time in Morocco up to that point was filled with gorgeous sights, smells and sounds but there were also extremely sad parts. During our tour with Hassan we saw many elderly people sitting on the streets with their heads down and their hands out (to receive money.) I asked Hassan if these people were homeless. “No madam,” he stated “but they are old and their families think they are useless so they put them out here all day to beg for money.” Wow. That was just about the worst thing to hear. We also saw mothers holding young babies doing the same thing. In addition to people begging on the streets, there were so many stray animals running around. The amount of baby kittens on the streets was unbelievable. Hassan assured us that these animals are fed by the community but it was still heartbreaking to witness.

I’ve been to many countries where I’ve seen similar sights. B has traveled a ton and so she’s seen it too. We have both seen “worse” but that doesn’t mean what we were exposed to right then wasn’t sad. Comparing is probably the worst thing we can do in life. When we put on the filter of “I’ve seen it worst,” or “This was better when I was there,” it takes us out of the moment of NOW. Bridget was so sweet while I was upset. She just said things like “Yeah it is overwhelming to see this,” or “I know that’s sad.” We talked a lot about how traveling isn’t always for just for “pleasure.” If it was I would probably be spending this whole year on a island somewhere in the Caribbean. Traveling is more than just having fun. (Don’t get me wrong I am having TONS of fun!!) But for me, traveling is also about trying to understand a different place and time. It’s about seeing things that may take me out of my comfort zone, then processing that information and learning from the experience. It’s about attempting to love our neighbor like we love ourselves even when our neighbor doesn’t look, sound, or think like we do.

That night I would love to say we went out to the square and lived it up. But we didn’t. We stayed in our lovely Riad and ordered a pizza (I know I know! But desperate times call for desperate measures.) We could barely eat the food. To our credit, we kept saying things like “If we are going to be sick anywhere this is a good place to be. People stay in their riads all day just to soak up the ambiance!”)

riad pool — The view from our riad’s balcony.

The next day we packed up our things. As we were driving to the airport we realized, without a doubt, that everyone in Morocco is a tour guide. They are a proud nation and the people want to talk about and explain their customs. The taxi driver kept calling us Jamila and Rashida (after Moroccan goddesses. Hey, I’ll take it!) He told us about the informal capitals of the country. Rabat: Political, Fes: Cultural, Casablanca: Economic, Algadir: Agricultural, Marrakech: Tourism.

We said “au revoir” to Morocco and a boarded a plane to Madrid. We thanked the country for everything it had given us, except the food poisoning. That gift would continue to stay with us long after we left north Africa.

The Roman City of Morocco

October 4, 2014October 29, 2017 | Theresa

On Saturday, the day after our great tour with Hassan, we decided to roll the dice with hiring anther tour guide. This time we wanted to go outside the city to Volublis (Roman ruins between Fes and Rabat,) Moulay Idriss (a holy town at the base of Mount Zerhoun,) and Meknes (a town in Northern Morocco.)

We took a car ride about 45 minutes to the ruins. This place was pretty impressive. The Romans know how to do it. It is comprised of a multitude of “houses” with the location and the size of rooms depending on the person social class. Lower class at the bottom of the hill with small rooms, upper class up the hill with expansive rooms. Water was supplied by an aqueduct that ran through the city providing water to the houses and bath houses. These guys were a gluttonous group. There were places for massages, eating, drinking, and even troughs to vomit so they could continue their partying without interruption. I guess this is where a comparison between the Romans and college fraternities could happen, but I wouldn’t want to offend any of my Greek life friends out there!

Our guide at the ruins. He was no Hassan but honestly who is?!

Next up we drove to Moulary Idriss. This is a beautiful city a great view from the top of the hill.

Last we went to Meknes. We stumbled upon this expansive structure that Bridget and I assumed was a castle of some sort. We started the tour and the guide mentioned something about horses. We asked for clarification and he stated “Yes, 25,000 horses were kept here.” Wow, even the horses lived in style. Next we walked through the markets and visited a mosque. The mosque was constructed for the visitor to move through different levels to improve meditation. We were able to go to some levels but only a Muslim person may go to them all.

Walking in and out of the mosque. The bar across the entrance forces a person to bow their head upon entry.

Fes Morocco. Please Madame ask me anything.

October 1, 2014October 29, 2017 | Theresa

The next morning we woke up and went for a quick walk along the coast. Back at the hotel we asked Siyad if he would call us a taxi to go to the train station. “Oh no need. Just walk outside and you can flag one.” We asked him if we should go up the hill or down from where our hotel was located. “It doesn’t matter. Either is fine.” Bridget and I decided to go up the hill. We proceed to walk to an “intersection” of sorts. A better way to think of it would be to imagine the game Frogger and now picture cars coming toward you in every direction while standing in the middle. Siyad was correct. There were taxis. But every one was filled and/or weren’t stopping for us. We had about 1 hour before our train left. After wasting a good 15-20 minutes trying to win the game of Frogger and flag an available taxi we gave up and returned to the hotel. Siyad: “Girls, you are back!” We asked him if he could please call a taxi because we are running out of time and we couldn’t seem to find one. “Yes I can do this for you but instead of 30 dirham the price will be more like 60.” That is $3.50 compared to $6.50. Ahh sweet, sweet Siyad. Thank you so much for helping us adhere to our budget but please CALL US A CAB! Siyad called the taxi and we waited. We were down to 30 minutes. Siyad brought us two plastic chairs to sit in on the front patio. 25 minutes. I worriedly paced around the sidewalk still trying to flag a taxi from on street. Suddenly a calmness came over me. It is what it is. If we miss our train, we miss our train. We’ll take the next one. I didn’t let the thought enter my brain that the “next one” was 6 hours later. Whatever we will figure it out. 20 minutes. Finally the taxi arrived with 15 minutes to spare. Siyad told us “5 minutes to the station. 7 minutes at the most.” The taxi raced to the station, we jumped out, sprinted (Home Alone style) to the ticket office, bought tickets and then dashed onboard. It could not have been any closer.

image (33) — Goodbye Siyad! Thanks for everything. Most especially the cab. Photo: Bridget Gleeson

We arrived to Fes and an employee from our hotel was waiting outside of the medina gates for us. The medina is a walled section on the city where the streets are very narrow and crowded. It is densely populated and inaccessible to automobiles. That night we were staying inside the medina walls at a traditional riad. A riad is a Moroccan home with 5-8 rooms centered around a courtyard, garden or small pool. In order to get to the riad we put our luggage in a rickshaw/wheelbarrow contraption and followed our host through the streets of the medina. When we got to our riad we were given customary mint tea and asked to sit in the courtyard while our room was being prepared. Upon entering the room we were delighted to see a canopy bed (B kindly gave it to me because “you’ll be traveling for a year so you should be comfortable!” What a sweetie!) a day bed, and a beautiful tiled bathroom. All of this for the budget price of about $25 a person. Welcome to Africa, my friends!

Hassan took us through the medina showing us private homes, riads and souks (the marketplace). We saw booths filled with spices, clothing, carpets, food, jewelry, soaps, perfumes etc. It was overwhelming to the senses! At one point we were taken into a shop that sold all types of leather goods. Before shopping we went to the roof of the building and looked down into the leather tannery. The place truly smelled awful. It was really amazing to me that the men were able to work in these pits of dye.

morcoco shoes — Shoes! Shoes! All the shoes!

image (28) — Olives. My least favorite food.

Attempting to sell us carpets. I had to explain that I was homeless at least for a year and didn’t have a need for a handmade carpet. “But we ship anywhere!”

After walking around and shopping Hassan dropped us off at a local restaurant. He more or less decided for us that we would eat here while he went to pray. We didn’t mind because the food was delicious. Speaking of prayer, we would hear the “call to prayer” 5 times a day belting out from a loudspeaker atop the mosques. Hassan told us the times for prayer were typically 6am, midday (around 11), middle of the afternoon about 3, just after sunset close to 7 and two hours after sunset about 9. When I first arrived I noticed the call every time it sounded, but then, like anything else, I hardly heard it after a couple days.

morocan lunch — A delicious Moroccan “salad.”

Back to all the questions we asked Hassan! Of course, we first had to understand the language spoken in the country. Being a speech language pathologist and writer respectively, this was important to us! Morocco has two official languages: Standard Arabic and Berber. Moroccan Arabic (known as Darija) is the dialect. French is the country’s unofficial third language. For this reason, Hassan would often to refer to us as “madame” or “madams.” Being the polite Americans that we are, we would often start with “Hassan, may I ask you a question?” and Hassan’s response would be “Please, madame ask me anything. Anything you want I can answer.” Perfect. Of course, we were respectful in our line of questions but we certainly asked away. “Hassan why do some men wear the long cloaks and other men don’t?” Madams, men wear these hijabs on different days of the week. Today I wear this hijab, tomorrow you may see me not wearing it. Usually on Fridays I wear the hijabs because it is our holy day. Our tour was on a Friday. We also asked why some women wear full burkas with only their eyes showing and others were in just a headscarf. Hassan told us this was based on their level of religious conservatism. He also told us his wife wears only a head scarf and typically women start to wear these when they get married. Because madams I need to see a woman’s beauty before I marry her. This made sense! Naturally it is important to see your future spouse’s beauty before you marry him or her! He told us clothing is only an outward expression of their religion and it doesn’t necessarily prevent or encourage a way of acting. I noted “It’s about a person’s heart not his/her clothing.” Yes madam. Thank you. Exactly. I told him he could use that line in future tours but to be sure to credit it to me.

image (34) - Copy — The infamous Hassan. Photo: Bridget Gleeson

The last thing that we really talked about while walking through the streets (Hassan refers to his job as a “walkie talkie” job for obvious reasons,) was religious practices. He told us about how children are baptized, the rituals of his religion, the five pillars of Islam (declaring one god, praying 5 times per day, giving to the poor, fasting during Ramadan, making a pilgrimage,) and important figures (“Her name is Fatima and she is the most important female in Islam. She is like your Mary.”) Throughout the whole tour I was struck at how Islam paralleled other religions. He would tell us a story or practice and we were usually able to link the idea to something from another religion. It was a very fascinating and interesting tour to experience. Currently there is much controversy in the news with the Islamic religion and this is too big a topic to try to tackle here. However, seeing this kind, respectful, devout man talk about his religion in a caring and peaceful way really opened my eyes and made me think about all the complexities that go in to our “religions.”

At the end of the tour, Hassan showed us the way back to the riad. I can say with utmost certainty, we would have NEVER found our way back. As he was leaving Hassan thank us for being interested and inquisitive. He said he learned things from us during our time together. He wished us a long life and for Bridget and I to remain lifelong friends.

mirror pic — Photo: Bridget Gleeson. Follow her adventures at http://www.bridgetgleeson.com

Tarifa Spain to Tangier Morrocco in 30 minutes flat.

September 27, 2014November 2, 2017 | Theresa

How the heck did I get to Morocco? Not actually, physically get there but how did it end up on my itinerary. I’m not sure where the idea of going to Morocco first entered into my mind. It may have been because a dear friend of mine in SD is visiting in November (note to self: remind her to ONLY drink bottled water and eat NOTHING that is not cooked. . but more on that later.) Maybe because this friend was going I decided to look into it a few months ago. I knew it was doable being only a short distance from southern Spain but I also knew I did not want to travel there solo. It was one thing to be in Europe by myself but it was a whole other issue traveling to Africa alone. Yes, it is the very northern part of Africa but it’s still AFRICA. I looked in to a few budget tour groups but all were in the $1000 plus range for a week. I just decided to table it. I would be in Europe. Spain! I didn’t need to tack Morocco on as well.

Fast forward three weeks from that point. I was still in San Diego; packing, trying to sell the car, having garage sales to sell my unwanted stuff, when I get an email from my friend Bridget. Now Bridget is a true gem of a person who I have known since elementary school. We played softball together and carpooled to CCD. For those of you not raised Catholic, CCD is the weekly religious education class many public school kids attend. Nothing cements a friendship like carpooling to CCD! Anyway, B is a travel writer who splits her time between Buenos Aires and the States. Traveling is in her blood. The email from B said something like “Hi! I’m traveling to the states in October for a wedding and I thought I could do a “stopover” to visit you in Spain. Think it could work?” Um yes! That would be amazing. I would love a travel partner. She continues “What if we met in Seville and crossed over to Morocco by ferry. I’ve never been there and would love to go. I’m probably blowing your mind right now.” Nope not blowing my mind but definitely reading my mind a bit. This was August 23rd. I was leaving for Europe September 9th. Being flexible with travel plans has it’s pros and cons. We essentially decided to go to Morocco one month before we arrived there. This is when being flexible worked in my favor and that is how my Morocco trip came to fruition.

After two nights in Seville, B and I took a 3 hour bus ride to Tarifa Spain the very most southern point. We were expecting the ferry ride to be under an hour but we booked a “high speed” boat that was 30 minutes flat. We bought the tickets from a ticket office and as we were walking out the door the man called to us, “Girls. Be careful in Morocco. The men there can be a bit. . . aggressive.” 30 minute ferry ride and aggressive men. Got it. Thank you kind sir.

All kidding aside, I knew things would be a bit different in Morocco Bridget and I planned for it. From our style of dress to our ability to navigate the cities. I had read that most women are expected to be back in their homes by sunset (8ish). In Spain you couldn’t get served dinner until 8:30 at the earliest; typically 9/9:30. So yes I knew things were going to be a change from Spain.

After 30 minutes on a windy but quite large and comfortable boat, we docked in Tangier and there was an immediate sense of “We’re not in Europe anymore Toto.” Things weren’t better or worse but there was change of energy. Things seemed busier and more chaotic.

Our hotel was just a short drive from the dock. We arrived and were greeted by a sweet young guy named Siyad who was more than happy to give us the “run down” on what to see in Tangier. Another contrast from Europe was our money could go much further. We stayed in a gorgeous room. That night we went and explored the town included the medina. A medina is a secion of the city with high walls, and narrow, maze like streets. It is super easy to get lots so B and I stayed mostly on the periphery.

Afterward we went to a delicious restaurant that Siyad had told us was his favorite place. We returned to the hotel and were heading back to the room when all of sudden we heard Siyad calling for us “Girls, girls!” We stopped climbing the stairs, and looked back at him with anticipation. “I must ask you a question.” Okay, this is probably important since he left the desk and followed us to the stairs to ask us. ” I must ask you. . .what did you order for dinner tonight?” We told him everything we ate and how much we enjoyed it. Siyad nodded knowingly. “Ah yes yes. Very good. Goodnight girls.”

Seville! Sevilla!

September 24, 2014October 24, 2017 | Theresa

Spain. Man oh man Spain is SO BEAUTIFUL! I am going into my 3rd week of being on the road and I am so happy I made the decision to start in Spain. It is just such a gorgeous country. I ended my Camino walk in Ponferrada. I thought about taking a train/bus to Santiago de Compostela but reconsidered. Instead I would like to come back to Spain and finish the walk Ponferrada to Santiago. I think it would take me another 7-10 days. I will keep my pilgrims passport and hopefully pick up where I left off. Next on the agenda was to meet a friend in Seville for a couple of nights before we left for Morocco. My route essentially backtracked: Ponferrada- Leon-Madrid-Seville.

Many people fly directly into Morocco but we thought it may be more fun to cross over land but more on that later. We had 2 days to explore Seville and oh how I wish I had more time there. This appears to possibly be a trend for me in my travels thus far. Wanting more time in one place. It is probably a good lesson to remember for this upcoming year. Quality over quantity. Traveling to places isn’t a bucket list of destinations to be crossed off the list.

On the first night, my friend Bridget and I went to the Seville Catherdral, and when I say “went to” I actually just mean walked around the outside. It is the largest Gothic Catherdral and third largest church in THE WORLD. Yikes. Let that sink in for a minute. This place was massive. The cathedral is also said to be the burial site of Christopher Columbus. However, this fact is disputed. His remains were originally sent to the Dominic Republic, then Cuba and finally Seville. Some DNA evidence suggests his remains never left Cuba so there is an air of mystery surrounding the whole situation. As Bridget said “That seems appropriate for a world explorer. This guy sure get around for being dead.” Regardless if he’s buried there or not, the cathedral was beautiful and impressive.

sevilla — In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Is he buried behind this door? We’ll never truly know for sure.

The next day we headed to a royal palace called Alcazar of Seville. It is the oldest royal palace still in use in Europe. The best way to described the place is decadent. Room after room of beautiful tile work and carvings. It was originally constructed as a Moorish fort but it has been renovated numerous times over it’s long history. The Christian and Muslim architecture in it’s roots is so apparent throughout the entire palace. It’s really interesting to see how the two cultures and religions came together to create the place.

That night we went to the river front for a meal of traditional Spanish paella and red wine. My first couple days in Spain I would order red wine as “vino rojo.” That makes sense right? Vino=wine, rojo=red. I would get varied looks and then something different was brought out to me every time; pink wine with ice, sangria, etc. I have since been informed that red wine is actually “vino tinto.” This tidbit of information has been essential in optimizing my travel experience. Now I can order my delicious red wine with no confusion!

Buen Camino!

September 20, 2014January 26, 2020 | Theresa

Buen Camino! How do I sum up a week on the Camino de Santiago? There isn’t enough time! There aren’t enough words! To begin with, I was a rarity on the Camino. As I previously mentioned, many people are on it for 2-4 weeks. There are quite a number of different routes you can walk (all ending in Santiago.) The one I was on (The Way of St. James) typically takes 30+ days from start to finish. When I told people I was only walking for a week their first response was “A week? Why only a week?” I then had to explain that I hadn’t planned as well as I could have (*note: I was a bit tentative walking by myself.) The conversation typically ended with everyone agreeing that it didn’t matter for how long or far one walked. It wasn’t about completing the journey, but more starting the journey. The journey is the way.

Most parts of the Camino require not only trust but a bit of blind faith. Pilgrims walk all day (typically 8am-3pm) until they stumble upon a town and hope for a bed in an “alburgue” or hostel. Alburgues have varying accommodations from single rooms to dorm style rooms with 20+ beds. Your spot for the night depends on what time you get to an alburgue and how much you are willing to pay. 20-50 euros for a private room 5-10 euros for a bed in a dorm.

On day one the A-Team walked mostly alone. We arrived to our first town after walking nearly 15 miles. It was a teeny tiny town with not much going on other than pilgrims sitting outside in the plaza and sharing stories. While having a glass vino tinto (red wine) at the local “bar,” a group of pilgrims came up to us saying they had just visited an old man’s house where he had museum. I know it sounds random and it was! My friend told me about this before I left. “Make sure you go to the museum at the first stop. This guy has all this stuff in his house like old typewriters and telephones!” I was intent on going to see it. We quickly found the place and started exploring. Throughout the tour I unintentionally became the group’s interpreter. I spoke the most Spanish of any member in the group. And that is not saying much! There was definitely some “creative liberty” taken when interpreting the old man’s historical accounts. “Um, I think he is saying these books are from the 1700s and that they have been passed down throughout his family but I could be totally wrong!” It was a bit like the scene from Goonies when the character “Mouth” is interpreting cleaning instructions between the mom and housekeeper.

At the end of the tour it began to torrentially rain. We were walking outside of the man’s house and saw an adorably small car. Think of a smart car. Now downsize it by 25%. I thought I said to the man “Is that your car?” but apparently what I said was more along the lines of “Pardon me old sir. Is that your car and, if it is, can we please squeeze three grown adults into it and be transported back to our alburgue which is roughly a mile down the road.” “Si si si,” he kept saying frantically while gesturing for us to get into the car. What do you do when it’s raining and an adorable, elderly Spanish man insists you get in to his car? You look at your new friends, shrug your shoulders and get into the car. After arriving safely back to our hostel, we had a big “pilgrim’s dinner.” For roughly 7-10 euros most alburgues will serve soup/salad, meat/potatoes/vegetable, dessert, bread and wine. After hiking all day with a heavy pack, this simple dinner is like manna from the heavens.

stop sign — Don’t stop believing or walking.

The next few days all fell in the same order. Awake around 7, start walking by 8, arrive at an alburgue by 4, wine and stories at 5, dinner by 7, in bed by 10. It may sound like a bit of Groundhogs Day but it wasn’t. Each day was a unique experience shared with new people, sights and sounds. The Camino allowed for me to connect with people in an entirely different way than merely traveling. Talking, singing, reflecting, praying. Everyone doing something for a common cause and watching after each other. Open and willing to talk but equally supportive in giving a person space for alone time and reflection. THE CAMINO PROVIDES . It is a statement heard over and over. It doesn’t truly make sense until you are out there.

After a couple of days together, the A-Team started slowly picking up new members. There was John from Wales, Louise from Australia, Geraldine from London, Andy and Anne from Scotland, and our favorite Italians Francesca and Cinzia. We had a little entourage of sorts. Walking together, walking alone. Staying with the pack, going off for a bit of solitude. Many would spilt off during the day and reconvene at night over wine and a pilgrim’s meal. One day I was walking with the Italians Francesca and Cinzia. They were asking me all sorts of questions about myself. After that they starting asking me about the Australian and Austrian. I was racking my brain trying to think of the information. Why couldn’t I come up with answers to their questions about my friends. “Gosh I don’t know,” I said. Then it dawned on me. It was Tuesday afternoon. I had met the members of the A-Team Monday morning. “I only just met them yesterday,” I told the Italians. “You did? We thought you came with this group!” “No, no but I feel like I’ve known them for years. Why is that?” Cinzia thought about it for a moment then said, “Because every minute on the Camino counts.” That resonated with me. No internet or TV to distract me and dull the senses. Only fresh air, wide open spaces, and time to think. Every minute stretched on for days and days. Sometimes a minute was tough like when walking up a steep hill, other minutes were silly such as when everyone in the group sang their national anthem at the top of their lungs in the morning rain and then there were the reflective minutes thinking about life’s blessings and how much there is to be grateful for.

People bring rocks from their hometown to place along this cross on the Camino.

My only complaint was not spending more time on the trail. I was nervous to go alone. I didn’t commit to giving myself more days. I will go back and finish the Camino de Santiago. I may go with friends. I may go by myself again. Either way the Camino is opening it’s arms to me saying “Come back. We hardly saw you. There is no reason to be worried. You are welcome here.”

After one long day on a piece of land that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles in every directions, a woman came up beside me and began quietly walking in step with me “Are you here by yourself?” I asked her. “Yes I am,” she answered. “But on the Camino you are never truly alone.”

The A-Team

September 17, 2014January 26, 2020 | Theresa

The next morning TRUST was out the window. I woke up at the crack of dawn (those of you who know me will know that is anytime before 7am in my book) and was a ball of nerves. I woke up around 6am and thought Do I really need to do this today? I really could just start tomorrow. I could spend one more day here in Leon gathering my bearings and planning. Immediately after this thought entered my mind, I heard How is tomorrow going to be any different? You’ll feel the same way-scared, unsure, lost. Get up and try.

I quickly got dressed, walked downstairs, and ask the front desk to point me in the direction of the Camino. “Well, the Camino is really all around us.” Not helpful, I thought. “But head toward the square and you should see the path.”

With that I walked out of my hotel. My temporary safe haven for the past three days. As I walked out the door, tears streamed down my face Seriously, what in the world am I doing? I don’t even know how to start.

I tried to pacify myself with a negotiation. We are going to just play this thing by ear. First we are going to go get a café con leche. Then we are going to sit in the center plaza and look for other people who seem like pilgrims. Then we (sometimes when I get overwhelmed I refer to myself as “we” because things are always better when you’re in a group) are going to try to walk to the first stop in the guidebook. If we can’t figure it out, we will take a cab back to Leon and return to the hotel.

I offered up a little prayer to God. Please let me find someone who I can walk with on this first day. I went to the plaza to get some coffee. First step completed.

Second step: I went to the tourist information booth to get one more map of the city so I could find my way out onto the camino. Walking in I noticed a couple at the desk asking for directions. The guy left to go outside. Hmm should I ask the girl if she’s starting today? Sure. Why not. “Hey there, are you starting the camino walk today?” “Yeah I am,” she answered. “I just met this guy and we are going together. Do you want to come with us?” WHACK! That was the universe slapping me in the face saying “I told you so.” We proceeded to walk outside and introduce ourselves. Dave from Australia, Eva from Austria, Theresa from America. I dubbed us the A-Team and we were off.

Leon es muy tranquilo

September 15, 2014January 26, 2020 | Theresa

Last weekend I spent a few nights in Leon getting prepared for my Camino de Santiago trek. Leon is a beautiful city about 4 hours northeast of Madrid. On the way from the bus station in Leon to the hotel my taxi driver stated “Leon es muy tranquilo. Madrid es muy rapido pero Leon tranquilo.” Good, I thought, I like tranquility!

Many people start the Camino de Santiago in Saint Jean Pied de Port and walk the nearly 500 miles to Santiago de Compostella. I knew I only had a week to walk. I decided to start in Leon which is nearly 200 miles from Santiago. This is a popular starting point for many pilgrims. I knew I wouldn’t make it all the way to Santiago in a week but I reminded myself this experience was for the journey not the destination.

I first learned about the Camino de Santiago last summer from a friend. She walked the camino for nearly 2 weeks and I saw all the beautiful pictures on facebook. I hadn’t talked to her in quite a while so I sent her an email to get more information. If she got back to me great, if not no big deal. I didn’t have a strong feeling either way. I figured when I got to Madrid it would be good for me to have something to do. A mission of sorts. Two minutes after sending the email she wrote back- “CAMINO!!! The Camino is amazing! Life changing! Let’s talk about it more!!” Wow. That was encouraging.

The first day in Leon was spent running around the city trying to get things ready for the trek. All “pilgrims” need a Pilgrims Passport. This document gets stamped throughout the journey and allows a person to stay at Alburgues (or “hostels” along the way.) Something about the Camino de Santiago seemed mysterious in a sense. No one could give me a clear answer on certain questions I had. Where do I get my pilgrims passport? Where exactly do I start the trek? How will I know where to stop? A thousand questions were running through my head.

For a moment of silence I decided to go into the beautiful Leon cathedral. I kneeled down to say a quick prayer. Why are you so upset? I heard in my mind. Because nothing is working out and I don’t know how to do this alone that’s why I am so upset! Don’t you know everything is going to work out? You just need to trust. Trust I thought. Why is trust so hard? Why do I have a constant need to control the things around me when it is completely obviously that I have no control? With trust in my mind I stood up and walked to the back of the church. I asked an attendant if she knew where I could get a passport. She directed me to an alburgue a couple of blocks away. I walked there and was able to get most details figured out.

On my way out an older guy asked me where I was from. He had heard me tell someone I was from the states. I told him California. Where? He asked. Southern California, I told him. What part? Um, Encinitas. Cool he said, I’m from Escondido. What!? Small world! Of course I had to ask him if he knew one of my very best friends who was born and raised in Escondido (as well as her husband.) Nope he didn’t know them but it was a little sign. Trust I thought again. One step at a time.

That night I went to a Pilgrims mass. It was a beautiful mass ending with a prayer for all the Pilgrims. We were asked to come to the front of the church to be given a blessing for a safe and healthy journey. On the way out all the little old ladies smiled at us and said “Buen Camino!” the typical greeting from one pilgrim to another while walking on the way. I smiled to myself and thought “Trust.”

A few nights in Madrid!

September 12, 2014October 24, 2017 | Theresa

I finally made it to Madrid! As I walked out of the airport I hear someone calling my name. “Theresa over here!” My friend Stacey’s sister lives in Madrid and she met me at the airport which was utterly amazing. How lucky am I? After traveling for 15 hours the last thing I wanted to do was try to figure out how to get from the airport to my hotel. It was so nice to have someone guiding me through the metro and busy streets. I dropped my luggage off at the hotel and we went for a quick bite to eat. I have met Lena (Stacey’s sister) one time before and she is a true gem just like her sister. She moved to Madrid from CA nearly 35 years ago and never looked back. She is an incredibly interesting and intuitive person. She treated me like family while I was in Madrid- emailing me suggestions of what to do, explaining the metro in detail, and having me over to dinner one night. I can’t possibly repay her and just had to say “thank you!!” over and over.

I spent the next day in Madrid wandering the city and taking it all in. I love doing that on the first day in any city. No place to go, no place to be. I saw a sign while walking around: Celebrate little things. Collect beautiful moments. I’ll be sure to remember it this year.

The Weather From Here

The Weather From Here explores one woman's year long global journey across over thirty countries and six continents. Traveling by the motto "life is a daring adventure or nothing at all" she seeks to collect experiences rather than things, and find beauty, humor and self discovery along the way.