Category Archives: Uncategorized

Camino: Porto to Santiago, Uncategorized

Alpine trails, mountain streams, fresh coffee, and Portela Grande — could there be a better day?

IMG_6205Ponte de Lima to Rubiaes, (18.6 km — feels like 18.6, except on Alto de Portela Grande)

There is a different mood in the air this morning as the clank, and flap, and zip of early risers assembling their backpacks awakened everybody else in the dormitory.

It started at 4 a.m. with the two guys sleeping in the beds next to me. I understand starting early to beat the afternoon heat, but walking three hours on mountain trails in the dark of night with, probably, only a headlamp to guide you?

By 6 a.m. the predawn dorm was an undulating shadow-sea of pilgrims rising up, gathering their scattered clothing, running off to the loo, bundling up their backpacks, and strapping on their boots. Occasionally the door would open and the motion-activated light in the hall would stream in, trapping shadows in the glare, momentarily freezing all like it was some big jailbreak. Continue reading →

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Camino: Porto to Santiago, Uncategorized

Finished walking by noon? I think we’re getting the hang of this Camino thing

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I was so taken with this stand of trees and the way the rising sunlight played through them, that I walked right past the arrow indicating our turn.

Day 4: Lugar do Coro to Ponte de Lima (11 km, feels like 10)

I awoke this morning without a trace of a hangover. Talk about small and unexpected miracles on the Camino.

Dinner at Fernanda’s table last night was an incredibly joyous gathering, fueled in no small part by bottomless bottles of wine, generous bottles of Tawney Port, and a clear liquid we named “Death In A Bottle.”

And singing. So much singing. And camaraderie. Lots of camaraderie. Continue reading →

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Camino: Porto to Santiago, Uncategorized

Feeling like hell, ending up in heaven: Casa Fernanda

IMG_6044Day 3: Barcelinhos to Lugar do Coro (22 km, feels like 22 until the last 5 km …)

According to the Camino guidebook, the next destination is supposed to be Ponte de Lima, about 22 miles from Barcelhinos.

After two grueling days, my first thought was “No way in hell.”

There were plenty of smaller towns between Barcelos and Ponte de Lima.  “Less walking, more enjoying,” was to be our new mantra. Continue reading →

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Camino: Porto to Santiago, Uncategorized

At last, the Camino begins to move back in time, as we move forward

img_5739Day 2: Vila do Conde to Barcelinhos (30 km, feels like: 45 km)

It is hard to look at the remnants of the 999 stone arches that comprised the base of the Aqueduto de Santa Clara in Vila do Conde, Portugal,  and accept that at one time it was a colossal failure.

An aqueduct has one job, right? To convey water from one point to another with an MVP assist from gravity. I’m no engineer but it seems to me that, in building an aqueduct, slope is everything.

All about the slope, it’s all about the slope. Continue reading →

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Camino: Porto to Santiago, Memoirs -- fact and fiction, Uncategorized

Leaving Porto is so hard … twice

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The Atlantic Ocean stretches before us  at the mouth of the Rio Douro, as the moon begins its descent. We are about to make a sharp right and finally head north toward Santiago.

Day 1: Porto to Vila do Conde (35 km)

Twice on this journey, we have left Porto and twice a voice in my head is saying “Your work is not done here.”

I think it may be the voice of the good people who bottle 10-year-old Tawny Port. 

More likely, it is just the soul of this venerable old city’s siren song, calling me back to discover more of its hidden pleasures.  Continue reading →

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Camino: Porto to Santiago, Uncategorized

The Camino is never over, until it is over in your head

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It was a chilly morning in Porto when we stepped out of our flat on Rue das Flores and headed for the Rio Douro. Thirteen days later, in pouring rain, we would walk tentatively but proudly into the expansive Obradorio Square, the end-goal of thousands of Camino pilgrims each year, in Santiago de Compostela, Spain.

The batteries in my Kindle and iPhone are dead. The list of in-flight movies sucks. And this is a very long flight, from Madrid to Cancun. Dinner, such as it was, is over. Blessedly. The duty-free trolley has passed by. I gave away my only two New Yorkers to friends in Porto.

The only thing left to do is write.

And the only thing to write about is the Camino walk we just finished between Porto and Santiago de Compostela in Spain. We finished several days ago but in my dreams, I am still walking: The landscapes are more surreal and with an unlikely set of companions. Most ridiculous of all, I am involved in adventures more fit for blockbuster action movies than a pilgrimage.

I can not explain my dreams.  Continue reading →

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Memoirs -- fact and fiction, San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized

Rose’s birthday season draws to a close … whew!

 

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A piece of birthday cake from the staff at Hank’s in Centro, San Miguel de Allende.

Well, the Rose Alcantara Birthday Season has closed the books on another year.

Whew.

Since the day she was born — on Sept. 7, mumble … mumble–  the world has often felt a rather frenzied uptick in activity and happiness in the week’s preceding this event.

Long before I met Rose, her birthday season was filled with road rallies, theatrical skits and dancing, scavenger hunts, magical enterprises and most importantly, lots of friends and family.

My idea of a birthday celebration is the sound of the escaping hiss from a single can of beer in an otherwise vacant and monastically enshrouded livingroom. Or on an empty beach. It is in April and usually, that means a cold and rainy and empty beach. Continue reading →

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San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized

The fairy’s teacup

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Since finding the teacup, the cobblestones have yielded other treasures — an anchor from a small fairy boat, a tiny pawn which may have been used as a coat rack, and the remnant of a fairy’s full-length mirror. They all stay in my change purse, should their owners ever wish to reclaim them.

There is an old tradition, which I am just now making up, that says when you find a fairy’s unbroken teacup on a cobblestone street, good luck will follow you around — as long as the cup remains intact. 

For you see, anything that survives unbroken on a cobblestone street must be very, very lucky, indeed.

The fairies live in the oldest trees of San Miguel de Allende. When the trees are cut down to make way for more buildings, the fairies must flee and take with them the good luck, kind feelings, and benevolent outlook which they share with the city. 

And the few possessions they can salvage ahead of the developers.

Continue reading →

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San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized

Help! I’ve fallen into reality and I can’t get up

 

 

You step out the door in the morning and look to your right …
… then you look to your left. How can you not be grateful for the simple miracles awaiting you?

“Have I tumbled out of reality or into it?” — Robert Cooksey, on Facebook.

Great question, Bob.

I think I know where he is coming from. My friend Bob lives here in San Miguel de Allende. Like him, I can not believe our good fortune to be living in such a place.

The flip side of that expression of gratitude is that we’ve both very happy to no longer be living in the United States. (I speak for Bob — up to a point — because he is so outspoken on Facebook about his dismay over the direction the country has taken since, oh, since November 2016 at least.)

But now I’m getting off-topic.

Well, OK, I’m going to say it: This is a magical city.

Continue reading →

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Rants and raves, San Miguel de Allende, Uncategorized

The racist at the next table

The couple sat down at the next table as I dipped my second churro into a piping hot Chocolate Mexicano.

“I’ll sit right next to my darling sweetheart,” said the man brightly. And a little loudly.

“Who talks like that?” I wondered.

I was especially curious because I happened to be reading a NOVA report on the theory that the Big Bang created a mirrored universe that runs in reverse of ours. Mind you, not for one moment did I think that I’d slipped through the portal and landed in 1947.

It was just, you know, quaint. And a tad patriarchial. But then, she looked like the sort who thought a line like that might be charming, under some circumstances. Continue reading →

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