To Walk 500 Miles

Well you did it. You walked from the mountains, across all of Spain, to the sea. You went east to west, like the sun, and now? Ideally you could start each day with as much purpose and direction as every day from the past 36. But life isn't like that.
There are no yellow arrows guiding you in a direction. Even though you knew where the arrows were pointing, you were unsure of anything that would happen between you and that end. The end. That wild place where reality tries to slip back in for attention. Even though you're sure that reality is more like the Camino and less like what you're taught is normal, you manage to set all thoughts of future aside to keep being where you are right now.
A human spinning around on a giant ball called earth.
And everything is moving faster and slower than you are. Yet, your soles are the ones that hit the ground 35,000 times today. Your soul got lifted up by the clouds that tried to bring you down, and it felt so real that it has to be spiritual. So you get the special spiritual certificate from the front desk person who writes your name in Latin to confirm that you did it.
After all is said and done and the rush of doing it, 500 miles, wears off, you sit there.
What next?
What do days without yellow arrows mean? The heart yearns for that sense of direction and knowing. The body thanks you for giving it a rest. The mind wanders where it will proud and satisfied.
The past month was simple. The way it should be.
And I did it.
You did too.
You can too.

Human Conditions

The ability of humans to adapt is unbelievable. To move away from everything one knows into a place of the complete unknown is a unique opportunity available to us by way of planes trains and automobiles. Humans can survive. And here, surrounded by new sights smells people and language, I find myself accepting it all and working my way through. It has instilled a sense of being a child again. There are so many things that need to be explained for me to understand, and curiosity is rampant. 

After arriving last night we spent some time with introductory games and then were let loose to roam the city. The town is quaint, and falls gracefully over the sloping and folding hills. This is the Lake District and across the local lake loom two distinct volcanoes. Their white caps seem to be floating in the sky. I am enchanted by this place. The buildings seem to be giggling and gossiping about us Americans as we stumble over the rolling r's and language gap. There is no uniformity to their architecture, and they are as colorful as the environment around them. It all feels alive.

Last night we cooked a family dinner with wine that I purchased! Though sleep sung strongly through our bodies, the wine sung sweetly through our conversations and we began to get to know each other. Although we are all new friends, something about the isolation facilitates a necessary bond. We are here on this journey together and can find comfort in the familiarity of people from our own place. 

Sleep was long and deep. I arose before the others, as usual, and began to cook an American breakfast on my Chilean hostel stove. After a hearty combination of eggs, potatoes, and bacon, we set off on a hike to learn the local botany and see a city park. The canopy was dense and felt somewhat Mediterranean. The highlights of the walk were hearing a mysterious hummingbird sing a beautiful and loud song, and a plant called Nulca or "poor mans umbrella" that has a design that funnels water to its roots. I have yet to find the hummingbird and perhaps with get a chance to use the plant when it rains.

Currently I am sitting in our hostel with my fellow amateur-biologists drinking Pisco sours, gathering together the food we bought today and playing Tetris with our packs. As the day slips on to 9 PM with the sun still in the sky, it is time for dinner and I must sign off for now.

Thank you for spending time reading this and I hope to hug you again soon.

Con Amor,

Hannah