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 →