BoomerBlix: Travel

Travel

07/05/2015

Is the U.S. Still the Most Patriotic Country?

“True patriotism springs from a belief in the dignity of the individual, freedom and equality not only for Americans but for all people on earth, universal brotherhood and good will, and a constant and earnest striving toward the principles and ideals on which this country was founded.”
~Eleanor Roosevelt

One of the things that folks in Academia love to do is study things. All kinds of things--with interesting results. Here are some of the amazing findings our tax dollars have supported:

Rats find that listening to Miles Davis is better with cocaine
Starving hamsters choose food over sex
Lemon-fresh scent induces erections in monkeys

Before anyone rushes out to buy a CD, pizza, or a can of Pledge, let's pause to consider the findings of another survey from the University of Chicago's National Opinion Research Center (NORC) on "the most patriotic countries." They last did the survey in 2003, when the United States was still reeling from the horror of 9/11. You might think Americans were a bit biased back then, bursting with nationalism after an attack on our soil. But Pew Research Center reported similar results in 2010.

NORC's results relied on two factors:

How proud people were to live in their respective countries
Whether they considered their countries superior or inferior to other countries

People were asked to reply to statements such as "I would rather live in my country than anywhere else in the world." and "There are things about my country today that make me feel ashamed."

Guess what? The United States (GDP per Capita $46,000) tied with Venezuela (GDP per Capita $12,200). The world's leader equal to a country that became a democratic government in 1959.

Surprised? Don't be. We don't have a corner on the patriotism market. As travel guru, Rick Steves, tells us: "Our Earth is home to six and a half billion equally important people. It's humbling to go places and find that people don't envy Americans. [The world] likes us, but, with all due respect, they wouldn't trade passports."

Patriotism is more than waving the flag, although 59% of Americans display the flag at home, at their office, on their car, or on their lapel. This is down from 2002, when 72% displayed the flag. Pew Research Center found that 52% of us are "extremely" proud and 31% are "very" proud to be American. About 15% of us are somewhat disenchanted. Over half of us consider ourselves to be as patriotic as others; 33% claim to be more patriotic. Not sure what "more" means, except that it seems to have a correlation with being extremely conservative.

For different generations, patriotism means different things. According to the New York Times:

Silent Generation (70-87 years old): 81% love their country; 78% consider their American identity to be important; 94% say seeing the flag makes them feel good
Baby Boomers (51-69 years old): 70% consider their American identity to be important
Generation X (35-50 years old): 60% consider their American identity to be important
Millennials (18-34 years old): 58% love their country; 45% consider their American identity to be important; 67% feel good about seeing the flag

Does this mean American patriotism is going down the drain? Or is it morphing into another phase? One of the delightful qualities of the Millennials is that--despite growing up with a weak economy and endless war--they are optimists. And they strongly embrace the concepts of freedom and equality. They're more in tune with the concept of a "global" citizenship. Still, I suspect they will do us all proud.

How patriotism looks has always been changing. Each generation adapts according to its own history and influences. It will be the same for Venezuelans, too.

In case you're interested, here are the other eight "patriotic" countries:

3. Australia
4. South Africa
5. Austria
6. Canada
7. Chile
8. New Zealand
9. The Philippines
10. Israel

Disclaimer: No animals were tested or harmed to produce these data.

Jul 5, 2015 4:36:00 AM | Current Affairs, Religion, Travel

06/28/2015

Trips and Vacations--Why I Need Both

I’m just back from four days at Atlantic Beach. A delightful break from the unbearably brutal heat-and-humidity of inland Florida. The craziest thing I did? Too much sun. (Yes, I know we are supposed to avoid sunshine for more than a few minutes a week, enough to spark some Vitamin D production in our pasty white bodies. I am a nurse. But admit it: when you’re tan, you feel better, look better, act better. I know I’m not alone here.) Before you write me about the dangers of joyfully languishing under blue skies with puffy white clouds: I did use sunblock, so I didn’t burn. Well, not too much, anyway.

Mostly, I relaxed in that devil sunshine. Lots of walking and bike rides along the ocean. Pocketed a few shells. Enthusiastically worked on a tan, for the first time in over twenty years. Made my way through one of the zillion books that I continue to buy--and worked a little on my own. Ate a big breakfast at 8 am, enjoyed a burger or fish tacos for lunch--accompanied by beer or my new favorite cocktail, a Rickshaw. Washed all the sand off in the afternoon and went out for a glass of wine before dinner. (Hmmm, maybe I should add “too much alcohol” to my confessions.)

The time flew by, just doing very little. How can that be?! It started me thinking about Trips versus Vacations. Why each matters. And why we need both.

I’m known for my Trips. In fact, I pride myself on my annual excursions to faraway places. “Where are you going this year? Another Camino?” my friends will ask in January. Usually, if I haven’t already decided, I’ve narrowed it down to a few destinations. I thrive on Trips. Complicated itineraries, must-see sights, local foods and beverages. Cathedrals. Museums. Art. Architecture. Up early, go all day. Life is short, the world is large. Keep traveling.

As for Vacations: Before last week, I honestly can’t think of the last time I took one. Vacations are for simply getting away, recharging. Letting go and doing little more than attending to the moment at hand. They had come to feel wasteful to me. A week lazing by the pool represented a week not climbing a hundred bell towers or touring important historical sites. I couldn’t afford the time. That’s what I had come to believe.

Suddenly, I want Vacations. It seems important to develop the fine art of "doing nothing."

This year, no Trip for me. I'm up to my eyeballs with family stuff: helping Mom move, taking care of my sister-in-law after major surgery, hosting two sets of family guests, being Nana for three weeks when baby Ella arrives, nursing my 99-year old mother-in-law. Who has time to even think about a Trip? I need an escape, not a trek. I need a Vacation.

So. A cruise! A week at sea, island-hopping and being pampered. Unpack once and let the destinations come to me. Dinner according to my whim, not someone else's schedule. A beach here, a cooking class there. Someone to make the bed and leave behind cute towel animals. All I have to do is show up and bring a credit card.

The biggest challenge? Deciding what to wear. I didn’t know how to pack for relaxing. Last year--on my 500-mile pilgrimage across Spain--I walked for 38 days with everything in a backpack. Two outfits and one colorful scarf. I did just fine. This Vacation? I'm flummoxed. There will be wardrobe changes and many pairs of shoes involved. I'm certain that I will overpack. That's okay, too.

So.Vacations are back for me. I’m thinking one a year, until I win the Lottery and can afford more. And Trips? For sure, they will continue. As long as I can tolerate long flights, I will go. Last week was a lovely gift: the reminder that slowing down by the pool can be as important as racing around a city.

Maybe Mexico at New Year’s? For sure, Machu Picchu next year. It's all about balance.

BONUS: Rickshaw Cocktail

2 ounces gin
1 ounce basil simple syrup
1 ounce fresh lime juice (about 1 lime)
Cucumber slices (garnish)
Basil leaves (garnish)
Basil Simple Syrup
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup fresh basil

Make a Rickshaw today! Credit: Macheesmo

Jun 28, 2015 7:13:14 AM | Florida, Travel

04/02/2015

Three Puzzling Things About Las Vegas

Paris and northern Italy...one one shot!

A recent long weekend in Las Vegas prompted me to ask the same questions I've had from previous visits. No matter how I try, I can't wrap my head around some of the stuff that goes on. No, not the baudy behavior of the Millennials who now flock here. Nor the continuing growth of the Strip. It seems there can never be enough accommodations or Cirque de Soleil shows.

I'm stumped over things that seem simple, yet aren't...

1. Why people bring their children. Help me out here. Besides an irresistible all-paid trip to a conference, why would you even want to bring children to Las Vegas? There is NOTHING here for kids, beyond the pool. A decade or so ago, Las Vegas tried--unsuccessfully--to rebrand itself as a "family friendly" distinction. Big mistake. Las Vegas has always been an Adult Destination. When children are not even remotely allowed in casinos, there's precious little to amuse the kiddos. You can only visit the M & M Store so many times. Heaven help you if the weather's not water-worthy. Yet parents continue to haul their children to a city that is made for adults. Only. Adults. They go there to be, well, adult. Why would anyone want to expose their kids to the stuff that goes on? How much fun can it be for the parents not to be able to enjoy those adult pleasures themselves? And what to you say in the face of the the antics that go on...because many people tend to believe the "What happens in Vegas..." tagline?

2. Why folks stand in line to pay $50 for a breakfast buffet. Gone are the days of the $1.99 breakfast and $.99 shrimp cocktail. The idea was to draw in visitors to gamble. Now, people spend 1.5 times as much on food and clubs than slots or craps. Hotels have recruited big-name chefs to set up restaurants--and the prices reflect it. From morning to night, everything is expensive. One morning's none-buffet breakfast: $91! ($5 coffee and $8 juice--times two--jacked the price up faster than you could say "Royal Flush.") Maybe people figure that $50 (before tip) for a breakfast buffet that includes shrimp and tiny crab legs is part of the experience. Dropping a "benjamin" for a few trips to get eggs, bacon, pad thai, cold cuts, and sweet rolls might make one feel like a high roller. It makes me feel like I've been bamboozled. At least the coffee is included! Let me continue: food is outrageous. One meal featured $21 for a glass of chianti to go with the $32 spaghetti and meatballs. Salad? Only $15 more. I could go on and on, but you're smart people. Interestingly, there's a snappy new White Castle on the Strip--so popular, that it has had to close twice. Ran out of burgers.

3. Why critics predict the demise of Vegas. Aside from the serious water shortage that doesn't seem to slow down the growing number of fountains, gardens, and pools of the hotels, someone is always moaning that Las Vegas has changed and is going under. I have noticed that the grumps tend to be Boomers, who aren't happy with the changes that city planners have made. But with 40 million visitors a year--spending $27.4 billion--it's hard to see signs of crumble. What is happening? Make way for the Millennials! More bars, more chains such as Señor Frogs, more trips with friends instead of spouses. Beach clubs and night clubs abound. For a $50+ entry, you can dance and mingle, from noon into the early morning. Grand driveways have given way to sidewalk beer stands. Real estate is too valuable for free stuff, such as the former Pirate Ship Battle in front of Treasure Island. Las Vegas has always evolved to entice people to visit. I'm pretty sure it wasn't founded as a major conference destination, but now who doesn't get excited when Las Vegas is announced as the site for a meeting? If you loved the Vegas of the past, you likely won't be thrilled with the changes. A smart "brand" adapts to target demographics...and Las Vegas is definitely a brand. It's not going anywhere.

Apr 2, 2015 10:39:59 AM | Thursday Three, Travel

03/11/2015

Single Supplement: Punishment for Solo Travelers

Traveling alone? Only 200% more to see a pretty sunset!

There you are, the confident solo traveler. Note: I didn't write "tourist," but "traveler," a topic for another Blix. At any rate, you've researched your destination; planned to make the most of your time; and saved faithfully, so you can explore without pinching pennies. Your wardrobe is strategically planned--every item matches two others. You're ready for anything!

Except having to pay the "unmarried travel tax," otherwise, creatively called the Single Supplement.

Wikipedia's definition of the Single Supplement: "The single supplement is a premium charged to solo travelers when they take a room alone. The amount involves ranges from 10 to 100 percent of the standard accommodation rate." That's right, folks..."a premium." And it's weighted much more towards the 100 percent mark. Unfortunately, it seems solo travelers must pay a penalty, since they can't seem to find anyone who cares enough to journey with their wretched souls.

The folks who impose this tax don't bat an eye as they explain that their tour/cruise budget is based on "double occupancy" and one person can't possibly spend as much as two. “To sell that stateroom to only one person,” said H.J. Harrison Liu, a spokesman for Royal Caribbean, “that wouldn’t necessarily make business sense for us.” (Doesn't he just ooze compassion??)

Because Mr. H.J. Harrison Liu irritated me so much, I went to the Royal Caribbean Line website and priced out a 7-day Alaska cruise. For me? A Deluxe cabin: $5,218-$10,183. Balcony cabin: $3,665-3,883. Even a dull Interior cabin: $1,660-1,750. My partnered friends? Here's what they each pay...Same Deluxe cabin: $2,609-5,011. Balcony cabin: $1,780-1,941. And a measly $845-875 for an Interior cabin. So, I can have my privacy--at twice the price.

Or, I have the option of finding my own roommate. Apparently, I can visit CruiseMates.com and post a request for a buddy. This is about as appealing as...well, I can't even think of anything so awful. What a poor solution, as if singles are interchangeable, and can just share a room because, well, they're single and who really cares? A few companies, such as Rick Steves, offer the half-ass solution of telling singles that if they're not able to provide a roommate (again, randomly chosen--and with Rick Steves tours, singles are rotated throughout the trip) then bingo! you've scored a single room. Meant to be fair, it still feels second-class. (And to be fair again, RS also offers single supplements. I know--I've paid for them six times.)

There has been progress with some cruise lines and tours companies. Not universally offered on every itinerary--and, as they say in the ads, "certain conditions may apply"--a savvy single can book without wondering who will show up to claim the other bed. Sadly, these are high-end companies, so you may end up paying as much as you would have with the mainstream cheats. Check out Avalon Waterways, International Expeditions, Abercrombie & Kent, and Tauck. And newer ships by Norwegian Cruise Lines have started to include 100 sq. ft. interior cabins designated for singles...after all, we don't deserve much room, and certainly not a window. The Norwegian Epic offers 126 "studio" cabins, meaning 126 of the 4,100 passengers are singletons. Still, it's a start, so I should be grateful.

What makes this all so outdated is the fact that the number of singles is at an all-time high, and not expected to stop climbing. The most recent data released by the U.S. Census Bureau showed that there were 102 million unmarried people, 18 and over, in 2011. That's more than 44 percent of all adults! Only five years earlier, the number was 92 million. It won't be long before half the county is single. Add to this another fact: more and more people--partnered or not--enjoy traveling alone. American Express reports that 12 percent of American adults intended to take a solo trip in 2013, up five percent from 2012!

Times are changing, for sure. Smart companies will look at demographics and quickly adapt to be ahead of the curve and sweep up singles. We're ready and we have money. Most, however, will continue to charge me and my imaginary friend double, for as long as possible.

Mar 11, 2015 3:29:00 AM | Solo Series, Travel

11/30/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Learn from Fellow Travelers

Gabriel, the handsome young man, told me about the Parochial Albergue in Viana that was a former parish. For "donativo"--whatever you wanted to pay--there was a group meal and a mattress on the floor. AND a pilgrim blessing after the evening Mass! The couple in the foreground were from the Netherlands. Later, when asked why he was on the Camino, the husband gave a touching tribute to his wife: "She asked me to come, and I love her more than anything."

A journey is many things: an adventure, a new experience, a lesson, a passage. Certainly it is always unique to the traveler, even if you’re part of a couple or a group. If you go alone, maybe more so.

What makes it even more rich? Finding the people who are on the same path, walking the same direction, sharing the moment. People who point things out, make you think, or make you laugh. These are the folks who you remember years later and are so very thankful for.

Even before the Camino de Santiago, I have been blessed to meet like-minded companions. Ginna and David in Nice. John and Rhana in Florence. Ed and Carol in Turkey. Each one a treasure, all these years later. I’ve learned something from each of you. Thank you, dear friends.

Now let me introduce you to two people I met during my 500-mile pilgrimage. When you walk the Camino, people appear--and disappear--during the experience. Sometimes someone will pop into your day and tell you where the best albergue is; you’ll have a glass of wine or dinner with fascinating people who share a story that is exactly what you needed to hear; you may walk together until the next bar, and never see him again. Or you will meet several times over, weeks apart, in complete surprise.

Lesson One: You never know when it will be the last time you see someone

First came Kathy. I came to call her “Kathy the Hippie” in my head...because she was a total granola-organic-natural woman from Eugene, Oregon. She even dressed like a hippie! I saw her on the first day, the day of the climb over the Pyrenees. In fact, she stepped into a photo as I was trying to capture the sheep that were everywhere. I thought I was taking a picture of a pilgrim from behind, surrounded by the sheep. As I clicked, the pilgrim turned, and I got her face...pure excitement.

We both continued on, and I didn’t see her again. Until the next morning, when I couldn’t sleep and decided to start out early. I carried my belongings into the bathroom to get ready. She was already there, doing the same thing. We didn’t say anything to each other until we stepped out of the albergue at the same time. “Do you know which way to go?” she asked me. I pointed to the famous sign: Santiago de Compostela, 790 Km. and off we went. I took her photo by the sign. We walked the day together and got acquainted, stopping frequently so she could get fresh fruit. She was a bottomless pit when it came to fruit. Me, I wanted coffee, but Kathy didn’t drink caffeine.

Suzy and Kathy stopping for breakfast in Arcos.

Truthfully, mid-morning of the third day, I needed to part ways. For one thing, I walked a little bit faster than Kathy, and that wouldn’t do over the next five weeks. Second, she had taken a leave of absence as a kindergarten teacher...and she talked like one. Off I went, after my morning cafe con leche, thinking we wouldn’t see each other again. Not so. Over and over, I would turn a corner, enter the random cafe, take a new street--and there she’d be. After three or four times, I began to believe there was a reason we kept catching up. And...I began to be glad to see her.

I walked more with Kathy than anyone else. On the last day--the day that takes you into Santiago de Compostela--we planned to get up early and start. But she lagged and I went ahead. Of course, we met at a bar, but she couldn’t go on. Emotions and tears had overcome her and she wanted to stay back, alone. By this time, I was disappointed. She hadn’t brought a camera, and I was worried about who would take her picture when she got to the Cathedral square. But clearly she needed privacy, so I left. I would see her once again in Santiago. I had a book to give her, but didn’t have it with me. Since we had always managed to meet, I was sure I’d see her again. I carried that book for three more days...but she was gone. I would get an email in a couple of weeks, but our time together had ended.

Lesson Two: Gratitude for health and every day on earth

Leif and I met in a crowded tapas bar. We didn’t really “meet”...it was more like he helped me out by calling to the bartender to notice me. It was busy, and like most bars in Spain, with one person doing everything: pouring wine and beer; heating the tapas; making espresso; serving as cashier. I wanted a glass of wine and was standing patiently, as others were getting served. Finally, a tall man waved to the bartender and pointed to me. The bartender nodded and I got my wine. I thanked the man and went to the patio.

Later, it was time for the Menu del Dia. The man came over and asked if he could join me, since it was crowded and we were both alone. We introduced ourselves and decided on our dinner choices, and started to talk. Turns out that Leif--who was from Copenhagen, now living in Bayonne--had been a war journalist. He witnessed terrible things in Bosnia, brutal atrocities that he still dreamt about. Leif had just been diagnosed with Stage IV liver cancer. He was certain that the toxins of war, combined with the smoking and drinking to cope, had caused the cancer.

He was walking the Camino during the three weeks between chemo treatments. No real destination. “I just want to be in a positive place, and there is none better than this,” he told me. We talked about books, then got on the topic of Rumi. He had just finished a book about Rumi. Another pilgrim had left it behind a couple of days ago, and Leif picked it up. Did I want it? Truthfully, the last thing I was looking for was an extra pound to carry. But it seemed important that I accept the offer.

He dashed to his albergue and returned with the book. (“The Forty Rules of Love: A Novel of Rumi” if you’re interested) We had a great dinner and said good night. I would see him again the next day, when it started to rain and he ducked into the bar where I was trying to deal with a sudden hamburger craving. He sat again and we chatted. He’s a man in his early 60’s who looks robust, but was having a hard time with the fatigue of chemotherapy. He wasn’t sure how much further he could walk, but he was grateful that he had come. “I’ve had a good life,” he told me. “I’ve wasted days, but now I know how precious they are.”

Sadly, I don't have a picture of Leif. But this is Casa de Comidas, the bar in Navarette where we met and where he left me with a heavy book that I didn't really want to carry. But I did...

We finished our ho-hum burgers, and parted at the door. A quick good-bye as we pulled up our hoods and went into the rain. I don't have a photo of him, but I do have one of the bar in Navarette where we met. I think of Leif often, hoping he received a Camino miracle.

The book I carried for Kathy? It was the one from Leif. The lesson? We are all connected.

Nov 30, 2014 3:30:00 AM | Camino Series, Travel

11/23/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: Attitude of Gratitude

Full Moon in Puente La Reina: Inspires an attitude of gratitude!

When you walk for 500 miles, your life is temporarily housed in a backpack; you don't need much money; and your only job is to cover a reasonable distance that day and find a bed.

You end up with lots of time to think.

During my 38 days on the Camino de Santiago, I mostly walked alone, by preference. I loved starting out early so I could have the night sky to myself; it was completely dark and I could see stars all the way to the horizon. The Milky Way was straight overhead. There were two glorious full moons during my pilgrimage. Because the route is always westward, the moon pulled me towards her each day. She gave enough light to leave shadows. It was peaceful before sunrise, the perfect way to start a fresh morning. And give thanks.

Spectacular sunrise…pilgrims must turn around to see it each morning. We were always walking westward towards Santiago de Compostela.

I'm not going to get into the details of how anyone should give thanks or to whom or what the thanks should be directed. You all have your individual beliefs and methods, which I totally respect. I'll just tell you what worked for me. I started out with a review of the previous day and, sure enough, there was plenty to be grateful for: the delivery man who chased after me at 6 a.m. to return the wet sock that had become untied and fallen off my backpack; the time I thought I'd left my iPhone charger behind, and was rescued by Mary, who lent me hers; then finding the charger; getting the last lower bunk; the two fishermen who turned me around the day I had taken a wrong turn.

There is always something to be grateful for. Every. Single. Day. As I walked, I remembered my Gratitude Journals. I hadn't thought of them in years...about twenty years, to be exact.

On the Meseta, with just-harvested wheat fields on both sides. Grateful for a flat path…and the chance to be alone so I could reflect.

In my early 40's, everything went wrong, all at once. I became divorced, got a mortgage, bought a house with a killer yard, seriously teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, changed jobs, took a second job, worked 80 hours a week because I refused to let my credit rating drop, fed the kids, and struggled to hold everything together. I don't recall how I learned about Gratitude Journals. Maybe even from Oprah, because I was still an Oprah fan back then. It doesn't really matter. The universe delivers what we need, when we need it.

It's simple enough. Everyday, you write a page on something you're thankful for. The idea is to remind us that no matter what, there is always, always a reason to be grateful. So, I went out and bought my first journal. I picked a small size, thinking I wouldn't have to write so much. I wrote in the mornings (still do) before the day got busy. And I made one rule for myself: No repeats. Ever. Each day had to be something different.

In the beginning, I did the usual: grateful for my children, my health, my job, a car that started. Food, heat, water, a lawn mower that started. You get the idea. That lasts for about a month. I ran out of the obvious, so I had to start to pay attention to the subtle. Then came the good stuff. Forced to find something new, I'd go through the day, noticing. I'd choose one thing that had made an impression, and save it to record the next morning.

I did it for a thousand days.

Here's the miracle: At some point, I became authentically Grateful. All day, I would register what was good. And there is so much good! After three years, I stopped the Journal, because I didn't need to write it all down anymore. I could recognize something, acknowledge it, and be glad to have witnessed one more reason to be thankful.

I tell you all of this because travel takes us to a different place, with a different ability to see our lives. It can be surprising to spend time alone and rediscover ourselves. It may sound corny, but I really did return with an attitude of gratitude.

Grateful for the cairns that helped guide us. In the absence of yellow arrows, someone would make a cairn to point the way. Pilgrims who went before me took time to build these little works of art for those who followed.
I added a few stones along the way, too.

Nov 23, 2014 6:13:27 AM | Camino Series, Life Events, Travel

11/09/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: It's All About the People, People!

Would you let this guy recommend wine for you? I did--got the best of the entire Camino. It cost a whopping 3 Euros a glass. If you can ever find it, get a case!

Perhaps the most exciting thing about travel is the chance to meet people. Fellow travelers, sure--that's another Blix. But it's the local people who take a moment to reach out that create the best memories. While walking, we savored those moments when a little old man, wearing a Mr. Rogers cardigan and walking his dog, said, "Buen Camino." Suddenly, you feel as if you matter. You stand a little taller and pick up your pace.

Spending time--even a few minutes--with a local citizen was the highlight of my day. There was no language barrier because I simply couldn't understand most of people who were speaking with such excitement and sincerity. They didn't seem to notice; I smiled and nodded, tossing in the occasional, "Si, si." The fact that I was the zillionth pilgrim they had encountered didn't seem to matter; they made me feel like the first.

With their permission, I have photos to share. Come meet the delightful people of Spain:

Chef at Casa Magica, Villatuerta

Let's start with food, shall we? Meet the man who prepared an amazing Pilgrim Menu early in my walk. A Pigrim Menu is a three-course meal, costing 8-12 Euros. Includes bread, wine, and water. Sometimes there is a choice for all courses, sometimes just the second (main) course. Sometimes you can ask for coffee instead of postre, or dessert.

As you may know, the Spanish eat very late dinners, not before 9 pm. Because pilgrims simply can't stay awake that long, the Pilgrim Menu is offered at 7-7:30 pm. That doesn't mean the noise of the happy diners outside your albergue window won't keep you awake, but at least you won't be hungry.

"My" chef must have known I was coming, because he arranged to have this dinner waiting:
Lobster potato salad
Broccoli/Spinach cream soup
Braised beef and mushrooms
Warm pastry filled with custard
Red wine...as much as I wanted
Bread, the crusty country kind

I had to thank him with my firm grasp of Spanish: "Delicioso! Gracias!" He agreed to let me take his photo. His food remains among the most memorable of the entire Camino.

Driver at the Elvis Ba

Bar Elvis

You don't have to know a language to joke around. One morning I came upon the Bar Elvis. I knew it was on the Camino, but had no idea when it would crop up. Answer: Religios. The morning light was perfect for a photo. A car approached and I stepped out of the way to let it pass before taking the shot. The car stopped. I waited. The car remained still. I waited. Finally, I waved the driver on, pointing to the building. The car approached and the driver rolled down his window. He laughed and asked--I'm pretty sure--if I didn't want to include a handsome Spanish man in the shot! Why not?...so he posed while I took his photo. He wished me a "Buen Camino" and drove away.

The Orange Juice Entrepreneur

Imagine walking through the hills on a warm, sunny day. There's not going to be a bar for many more kilometers. Then, you come over a ridge, make the bend, and wow! You meet this beaming woman offering fresh zumo de naranja for one Euro. The young man in front of me passed her up, but I came to a screeching halt! Who could resist her smile?

As I drank my delicious juice from a real glass, rinsed out in a cement trough across the way (that's what Hepatitis A shots are for) we chatted. She also had a tiny stand with bottled water, fruit, and the ever-present Kit-Kat bars. Since she had clearly set up business in the middle of nowhere, I wondered how she transported everything. "In my wheelbarrow!" she said. "Everyday I fill it up and come here." When I asked if I could take her picture, she smiled. "I used to be very shy, but now I am happy to talk."

Another day, while trying to determine if I was going the right way (I hadn't seen a yellow arrow in awhile) I met another woman, Luz Maria, who was checking her Michelin guidebook for the same reason. We convinced each other that we were probably okay (we were) and started to walk together. Luz Maria was born in Mexico, but has lived in Canada for thirty years, working for the Mexican government. The morning passed quickly as we walked and shared our experiences.

Walking through the small village of San Nicolas de Flue, we saw an old woman hauling two big buckets of something very heavy. She put them down and Luz Maria asked her about them. They were full of walnuts and hazelnuts, the woman explained. Did we want to see how to open them? Of course! They chatted away in Spanish as I tagged along. The woman's name was Alicia, and the nuts were from her grove. She cracks them open and sells them to get money for her son, who is a ski instructor. She gestured for us to follow her into her yard and to an open shed. She gave us each a huge bag of nuts and demonstrated how to crack the shells with a rock. Such enthusiasm! She was beautiful, and I asked Liz Maria to tell her so. I also asked for a photo of this vibrant woman. "Oh, she wants a picture of Alicia from Spain!" laughed Alicia as she stood next to Luz Maria. With many, many thanks--and heavier backpacks--we moved back to the road. What a day!

Alicia and Luz Maria

With nut harvest in full swing, it was only another day before I encountered an elderly man selling his shelled walnuts. I probably wouldn't have noticed him, because he was standing quietly on the side of the road with a big plastic bag at his feet. Another pilgrim was talking to him, and called, "Hey! This man is selling fresh walnuts!" Since I'd left the bag of nuts that Alicia gave me at the albergue in Ponferrada (too heavy to carry, too tired to shell), I was keen to buy some.

This man was adorable. Sparkling eyes, baseball cap, wearing the standard plaid shirt and cardigan sweater that all Spanish gentlemen seem to love. He could have sold me anything. He's holding a sawed-off can; for one Euro, you get a scoop of walnuts. He was so cute, I bought two scoops, and told the upcoming pilgrims about him.

Man Selling Walnuts

I could go on. Every day was full of friendly people who were happy to talk, even if I didn't understand a thing they were saying. They were polite and helpful. Once, two men in a coffee shop banged on the window and pointed me in the correct direction. Another time, a woman with a baby in a stroller gestured me to follow her, as she turned the stroller around and got me to the next yellow arrow. A young man with a pretty girl on his lap yelled "Buen Camino!"

These magnificent Spaniards are part of my Camino memories. They made every day special. Some even asked to have a photo with me! I guess it goes both ways.

Wine Guy and Me

Nov 9, 2014 7:18:25 AM | Camino Series, Travel

11/02/2014

Obvious Life Lessons: It's Not A Race

Day 1: Climbing the Pyrenees. The white spots are sheep. It would take me almost nine hours to get up and down the mountain pass.

Walk the Camino de Santiago and you will come away with lessons. In fact, the Camino refuses to let you be a slackass about learning. It actually gets to be interesting. Okay, what will you teach me today, Camino?

Consider the experience to be a life-in-miniature, start to finish. The conception and birth of your Camino plan. The childhood of learning to take care of oneself; the sweet freedom of adolescence; the importance of discipline in adulthood; the wisdom and satisfaction of perseverance that come with maturity. The bittersweet ending. The memories of what was.

Today I write about two obvious lessons, delivered by a slow awakening...the “aha” moments.

Day 1: Already making progress! It was a hot, hair-plastering day. What I notice about this photo: how bright my shirt is! By the end--38 days later--it would be a paler "pilgrim" orange. And my water would not be in such an inaccessible place. Another lesson!

Lesson One: Step by step.

Google a map of the Camino Frances, all 500 miles. A pilgrim’s only job is to manage a dozen or so miles each day. Even knowing that, I had a hard time believing that all those small segments would actually add up and move me across a country. But they did. And about the time you feel like you’re really getting the hang of this pilgrim thing, it’s over.

Out the door of the albergue in the morning, with nothing more planned than the day’s proposed itinerary. Sometimes it was easy: A good night’s sleep, an anticipated landmark, or a cool breeze was enough to set the day in motion. Sometimes it was tougher: A touch of tendonitis, a weather forecast of over 90 degrees, another day of climbing...which always meant another day of wicked downhills. I never wanted to quit, but there was a serious string of days in the first couple of weeks when I honestly wondered why I ever thought the Camino was a good idea. It was harder than I expected, my knees hurt from the descents, and walking in the rain was not romantic.

But just like real life, there isn’t a choice. No opting out. The only direction is forward, and we must make the best of it. Great days. Days to simply endure. Horrendous days. The sweat from heat or from wearing a poncho. Fatigue and boredom. Then...sunshine again. A rainbow. Pure contentment. Always, the question of purpose. Always.

The surprise and beauty of rainbows after a storm. If we look, sometimes a double rainbow is our reward for walking in the rain.

It's the same for all of us--only without the backpack. A week flies by, then a month. Another round of holidays, and it’s time for New Year’s resolutions. School, job, family. We finally start to get the rhythm of being a productive adult. Then, wham! We’re facing retirement and a new identity. How did that happen?? Day by day, steadfast readers. Step by step.

An "easy" descent. Lots of rocks and furrows, which always require attention and put stress on the knees. But the view ahead? Pure motivation!

Lesson Two: Someone is always ahead of you and someone else is always coming up from behind.

At first, I would be discouraged by the tiny figures of pilgrims who were ahead of me. Sure, the younger folks could move like gazelles, but how did that couple from France get way up there? They were still sleeping when I left. For awhile, I wouldn’t look ahead; some people were so far in front of me. It was going to take me forever to make it to the top of that hill. It felt a bit like failure. I was a bad pilgrim.

Then, slowly--aha!--it didn’t matter. I would get there, too. And those who were following me would see me at the top of the hill...and know that their turn was coming. We were just moving at our own pace. Some like to dash ahead, some like to stop often for breaks or to take photos. Some like to just sit, eyes closed. Each of us was different, spending our day as we should, and as we wished. Most of us would end up in the same town that night, and nearly all of us would arrive at Santiago de Compostela within a few days of each other.

So. The lesson? There will ALWAYS be someone who seems to be sailing ahead, while another plods along behind the pack. A thousand reasons why, but none really matter. It's organic, always changing. We will all end up in the same place. And hopefully, we are pleased with our journey.

Day 38…Step by step

That's how humanity moves. In a line. Generations, always some ahead, and some still starting out. We will travel the same path called life, but in different ways. Different tempos. Different timeframes. Same twenty-fours hours, differently spent.

It's your life. Your pilrimage. It's not a race.

The line of pilgrims at the Peregrino Office, waiting to register for their official Compostela. Some walked, some rode bikes. Each has a unique reason for the pilgrimage, time spent, as well as experience.

Nov 2, 2014 8:26:44 AM | Camino Series, Life Events, Travel

10/26/2014

Aftermath of an Adventure...

Another day, another spectacular mountain…every few minutes, I had to stop, gape, and take a picture. I have almost 2,000 photos!

I was warned.

Re-entry into daily life after walking the entire 500-mile Camino de Santiago would not be easy. The last two pages of my guidebook by John Brierly attempted to prepare me: "When, after a prolonged absence, friends and family remark, 'You haven't changed at all,' I am hopeful that they are either blind or following some meaningless social convention."

Pretty blunt. And spot on.

Even as my pilgrimage was winding down--with some help and a reality check during the last 100 kilometers (62 miles) from the "turigrinos" who jump in for a few days, sometimes using tour vans that carry luggage and provide snacks--I wondered how to explain the experience. It is soooooo much more than just a long walk.

"Turigrinos"-- A combination of "tourists" and "peregrinos"-- indicated by the shopping bag, tiny daypacks, conditioned (!!) hair, non-sturdy shoes, and puffy jackets that would never fit in an authentic backpack. These folks did NOT walk 430 miles prior to this photo.

First--and easiest to describe--is the physical element. It was much harder than I expected, start to finish. Just as realtors have code descriptions ("Needs TLC." "Cozy." "Owners eager to sell.") so does the Camino. "Natural path" means rocks--big, slippery ones--and no chance of a level terrain. It means up and down hills, all day long. "Quiet isolated stretch" means walking for miles and miles without a place to eat/drink/pee...or poop. It can also mean no shade or shelter. One day I walked over twelve miles before hitting any kind of man-made building or business. A pilgrim has no choice but to walk on. Over time, my fitness level soared. I lost almost fifteen pounds--eating whatever, whenever I wanted. And even with sunblock, I tanned.

Bunks: Up to 100 in a room, although most were broken down into cubicles or nooks of 6-20 beds. Spread out your sleeping bag to claim your space!

Next come the logistics. Harder for a non-Camino person to understand. From Day One, I was part of the Pilgrim Community. Co-ed bunk beds, first come, first served. Shared showers and toilets, sometimes on other floors. Showers often shut off after 15-30 seconds, to conserve hot water. Three or four rounds, and you're done. We were compelled to save water for those who'd had a hard day and arrived later. I learned to say "cama baja" to ask for a lower bunk. I also learned to add a pleading expression to support my request. What was crazy is how simple it all was...and how nice to have it be so simple.

The scenery changed each day, but not my walking outfit. Washed in whatever soap I had--shampoo or laundry--it was (hopefully) dry by the next morning. In my left pocket, a Coke bottle for water at the next public fountain. In my right pocket, my iPhone for quick photos. In my backpack? A piece of fruit and some nuts for snacking-on-the-go. Makeup? Zero. Socks? By the end, three pairs...

Forget the men in their briefs. Everyone was modest and matter-of-fact at the same time. Besides, we were too exhausted to care about private parts. We all had to be packed up and out of the albergue by 8 am. Doors locked and lights out at 10 pm...if you had enough stamina to still be awake at 10 pm. My latest night was 9:30. Snoring? Oh, yes! But also, it was kind of comforting to listen to all the "night sounds" that people make. Made for a camaraderie of sorts. I knew I would miss it. And I do.

It was much more important to score a sunny place to dry your daily hand-washing. We jockeyed for clothesline space, oblivious of what was being hung out. Panties, lacy bras, tiny whitey-tighties. All we wanted was to have tomorrow's outfit dry before we put it on. Please, Saint James--Santiago--let our clothes dry. Please. Amen.

Washing clothes at the end of the day. Photo from Rabanal, the last town before the BIG climb to O'Cebreiro. the final ascent--but not the steepest, which would come later. It was also the last sunny, warm day before going into Galicia. Misty, rainy, and cool--like Ireland or the Pacific Northwest. I much preferred that over the heat (90 degrees+) of the first few days!

The next level is the emotional aspect. Here is where pilgrims start to have a difficult time. The Camino defies you NOT to think about your life and decisions. The Meseta--Spain's farmland--offers a five day opportunity to contemplate. Your choices. Your successes and failures. A memory. Five memories. Relationships. Families. Careers. Things that did not come to fruition. Things that never will. What is still possible. On the Meseta, you are truly alone. You can sing out loud. Twirl your trekking poles. Laugh and cry. How to tell someone, "Yeah, I bawled for three days...and I'm not exactly sure why." You want to keep it for yourself, protect it, at least until you figure out what the heck happened out there.

The Meseta: Spain's farmland, the closest to flat that a pilgrim experiences. And it's still not all that flat.

Last comes the internal. They say it takes months to process the events of the Camino. To understand the changes that occurred...and they do occur. Some changes were always there, hibernating, waiting a long time to be recognized. Some are new. There are realizations and revelations. How does a pilgrim even begin to say, "Whoa! I need to make some serious decisions about how to live my life!" Not easy, and not forthcoming. Especially during the walk and right after returning. I had those moments, too. Some were natural outcomes of what I'd already been thinking. Others were brand-spanking new. It's all private and personal. And extremely difficult to talk about. After all, people thought you just went on this really long, cool walk. Got to eat some great food and drink wine, at bargain prices. You got a certificate suitable for framing. And lost some weight. What more could you want?!?

Pilgrim graffiti--it can be meaningful.

You will recall that I spent the months prior to leaving writing the Camino Countdown series. It was my attempt to explain why I was willing to live out of a backpack for more than five weeks, and what I was expecting. Even the hazards, such as blisters, bed bugs, and outdoor toileting. (I know you're curious: No to the blisters, Yes to the bed bugs and outdoor toileting. Details in the future--be patient.)

Oct 26, 2014 4:53:00 AM | Camino Series, Travel

07/13/2014

What We Can Learn from Europeans--Part 2

Photos: Wax Museum, St. Augustine, Florida..oldest city in the United States. Suzy helps St. Augustine figure out what he's looking for. A magical moment for both of us...

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page." Sage advice from St. Augustine, who was born in 354. I don't know where he visited, to cause him to make this timeless statement, but I'm pretty sure Disneyworld wasn't around then.

No doubt about it, travel expands our view. It may be something simple, such as how milk is sold boxed and unrefrigerated in many countries. Or it may be something complex, such as how Muslims have the same values as Christians. You know, do good works, take care of the poor, honor your elders, don't kill each other. When we go away, we should come back feeling a little changed, a little wiser for our experience. I know that's true for me.

With this in mind, here are several things we can learn from Europeans

Slow down. One of the striking sights in Europe is the number of cafes. Acres of them, with tiny tables and chairs facing outward. Just pick one and settle in. Order a drink: coffee, wine, beer, soda, or a bottle of water. With that order, you have ownership of the space for as long as you like. No need to order anything else. For Americans, accustomed to grab-and-go, just sitting and watching the world go by can feel awkward. But watch the Europeans: they sip their espresso, read the newspaper, meet a friend, get lost in a book. Sometimes they actually just sit! You don't see people clutching commuter cups as they dash about. It's practically impossible to get a coffee to go, a la Starbucks.

It's not hard to be a little envious of their ability to slip into leisure-mode. It's a skill that we Americans sometimes have to work at, or think happens only on vacation. The Puritan work ethic has been hardwired into our brains; we look at these relaxed Europeans with a mixture of awe that they can slow down at will, and a smidgen of judgment that they aren't being productive. Whatever "productive" means.

Invest in people, not weapons. One of the reasons the European Union was formed was to prevent war; two devastating wars in less than forty years made Europeans realize there had to be a better way. Social programs instead of military operations. With this in mind, Europeans pay huge taxes, in exchange for cradle-to-grave "welfare," a term we hate and they love.

Would you be willing to contribute in order to:

Be hired to stay home and be the "nanny" for your own baby? European governments pay new parents to take full leave for a year, with a guarantee that their job will be safe. Moms and dads can each take a year to give their child a good start. After two years, child care is provided at state-run Kindergartens.
Have excellent, free--or cheap--education, all the way through college? The universities are public, so on admission, a student can attend a school such as Cambridge or Oxford at no cost. Not bad credentials to have on a resume, eh?
Know that your country's children are taken care of? Until age 18, parents receive a monthly benefit check for their children, along with free health care and prescriptions.

For sure, all this costs money, lots of it. By NOT investing in bombs, fighter jets, or military labor, funds can be channeled into what Europeans consider their most important resource: people.

Bigger isn't better. Whether food portions or autos, things are smaller in Europe. You won't find Big Gulps or Costcos. A "regular" American car looks like a tank next to the compacts that maneuver their way through the cities. Order a Coke at a cafe, and you'll be amused by the tiny bottle that's served; then you'll remember when Coke originally came in those tiny bottles.

All major European cities have a greater population density than American cities, even New York City or Los Angeles. There simply isn't room for big things. Homes and apartments are smaller, kitchens are smaller, closets are smaller, parking spots are smaller. Heck--countries are smaller! So, what people can keep on hand is radically different from what we are accustomed to. And they are fine with that. Since space of all types is at a premium, it's expensive to live in cities. They're fine with that, too. Instead of keeping two cars, families may have a Smart Car, then rely on the excellent public transportation, or use a bicycle.

If you're interested in learning more, I'll refer you to "The United States of Europe: The New Superpower and the End of American Supremacy" by T. R. Reid.

At this point, some of you will surely be asking, if I love the European life so much, why I don't just pack up and move there. Simple. Because, I do love my country, warts and all-- the energy, diversity, and bold nature. The potential and possibilities, the beauty, as well the doctrines on which it was founded.

All I'm saying is that it's not perfect here; we don't have all the answers. And travel exposes us to other ideas, which ought to be considered. There are things we can learn, just as we have things to offer. Complacency is a dangerous thing. We Americans should never think we have the only, best way. Never.

Jul 13, 2014 3:02:00 AM | Current Affairs, Travel

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