Tag Archives: Linda A Thornton

Thank Those Lemons, Then Make Limoncello 

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I spent most of my 13th year of life in our family bathroom, crying. Back then, things just never seemed to work out as I had planned. Boyfriend angst, girlfriend drama, body issues, academic concerns, shyness, lack of confidence- I had no idea how to deal with my struggles.

My mom and dad took turns talking to me out of earshot of my three young siblings, for my sake and probably for the sake of the family, since that house only had one bathroom. My mom would regale me with stories of her childhood and how she and her independent streak would band together and seem to overcome any obstacles. My Dad would remind me how the army had built him back up, giving him the determination to set goals that might have seemed out of reach to others and one by one, accomplish them. 

Hoping I had inherited the best of my parents’ personalities, it was in my 16th year that I ventured entirely out of my comfort zone and entered a modeling contest at the local upscale teen fashion shop. Excited to be able to choose my wardrobe, it turned out that my first and second choices were not in my size. When the knowledgeable saleslady steered me over to my correct size, which was a bit larger, I thought it must be a mistake; it wasn’t. 

I didn’t win, but I remember the owner telling me I had a nice smile. So, the next day when I went shopping for boots and the salesman told my mom that I had large calves (I was sitting right there!), I realized I had a big decision to make; I could see myself with large calves or a nice smile and I chose the latter. As it turned out, the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. I had succeeded in taking my first step toward Lemonade 101.

A love lost that steered me toward my true partner. A career change that sparked my creativity. A move that landed me where I belonged. Tears that made me appreciate every smile. Maladies that helped me to celebrate life. When I think back to the disappointments that have engulfed me over the years, I can reflect and see clearly how the increasingly positive attitude I was developing, encouraged me to squeeze all I could out of a situation and then mix it with what new possibilities lie ahead. 

As I’ve matured, I like to think that in the big lemonade stand of life, I have graduated to Limoncello and created a more sophisticated version of myself, drinking in experiences, sipping at an outdoor café with my pinky up, and confident in the knowledge that the end is usually just a new beginning.

Author’s Note:
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Tea for Two and Other Heartwarming Rituals

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A lamb chop, a cup of tea, and the sound of a tea kettle all have a kind of Pavlovian effect on me. 

As a little girl, I would spend time with my grandmother, enjoying my favorite lunch: a baby lamb chop, tiny baked potato, and fresh sautéed spinach. No PB&J for the first- born child! 

Then at around 3 p.m., she would take out her good China teacups and make us a cup of tea. I had a special tiny size all my own. Sometimes she would take the time to serve from a teapot. We would sit across from each other at her dining room table and chat. It always made me feel grown up and very elegant.

The ritual has continued to this day. My tea partners – you know who you are – and I enjoy a special closeness over that steaming cup. The kettle is filled, our favorite cups are chosen, the tea bag – English breakfast is my favorite – enters the cup, and we eagerly anticipate the screeching of the kettle. The brew steeps for three minutes – yes, I time it. Milk or sugar? I add just enough milk to produce a caramel color. Now, we can choose where we’ll sit and delight in each other’s company. 

So, what is the difference between a habit, a custom, a ritual, and a tradition? My grandmother began the daily routine of enjoying a cup of tea each afternoon – a habit. Soon, it became a practice- a custom. Once it was observed and repeated regularly, it graduated to a ritual. Passing it on to subsequent generations made it a tradition. 

Here are some of the family rituals that I’m hoping will someday find their way to becoming traditions:

– The secret handshake, created after watching a late-night movie. The heroine suffered amnesia, was unrecognizable after an accident, and her family was unsure if it was truly her. 

– Spanish buzz words for “chill out,” and “not now.”

– Scrabble and Rummikub games. 

– The morning shower message: a special occasion is immortalized in words, written on the shower wall with shaving cream – until the water is turned on.

– My family and I preparing our favorite Latin foods together at holiday time: 

   * Paella – shellfish and rice flavored with seafood broth and saffron.

   * Arroz con Gandules – spareribs, pigeon peas, and rice flavored with beef broth and saffron.

   * Pasteles – pork-stuffed dough made from plantains and root vegetables. The youngest helper always adds the green olive, and the least culinary-capable is relegated to cutting the string that ties up the finished product. 

There’s something very comforting about repeating an act – or series of acts – in a set, precise manner. I particularly enjoy the accuracy and the detail of the process. Looking forward to these little ceremonies of life can be so uplifting. 

Our lives are full; time flies by and family and friends may not live close, but we can delight in the fact that we took the time to create one special moment. Each time it is celebrated, we’ll know that we were the ones who gathered up a small portion of our lives, held it close and wrapped it into an extraordinary gift that can be reopened over and over again. 

Author’s Note:

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Write to Make It Right

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Which pen should I write with today? It always takes me a while to decide. I review my collection of pens carefully, rolling each in my hand and deciding which has the best fit. Thin or thick point? Blue or black ink? I’m finally happy with my choices, so I dive right in, opening my notebook and feverishly writing. 

My thoughts are spilling forth so quickly that I can just about keep up. Once finished, I proof read it over and over, agonizing over the proper grammar and just the right words to use. And, when it’s perfect, I read it out loud twice. 

Then, I rip it up into tiny little pieces and throw it away.

As a teenager, I thought of myself as quite cunning. I had devised a way to keep a diary that was 100 percent secure from ever being read. I would use this practice as an extension of positive thinking by writing a letter to a friend and telling them of my good fortune, detailing what it was that I wanted to happen. Other times, my anger, jealousy or sadness would be directed to its source with every element itemized and accounted for. Every decision I contemplated was documented on a folded sheet of paper noting pros and cons at its top. 

In ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, the need to maintain history and culture, disseminate knowledge, form legal systems and correspond were all motivations for writing. My motivation is much simpler; I use it as an emotional outlet. Pouring my heart out onto those pages is the healthiest way I have found to release me from feelings that might haunt me if I let them. 

As time went on, the subjects became more complex, but the ritual remained the same. The pen preferences make the process something special. The actual writing forces me to gather my thoughts and disciplines me to be precise and thorough. The ceremonial feel of reading the words out loud and then physically ripping up the paper always gives me a sense of power, of being in control over the situation – whether I really am or not. 

Author’s Note:
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Copycats; Imitating Nature

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The answers have been there all along. According to its definition, biomimicry is an approach to innovation that utilizes proven strategies and designs that have already been adapted by nature. In other words, we are now learning from nature, rather than about nature:          

  • The bumps on the flippers of the humpback whale help them to “grip” the water. This aerodynamic characteristic has been used in the design of wind turbines and is working to enhance the safety and performance of airplanes. 
  • Modeling the front of a European hi-speed train after the beak of a kingfisher created a quieter ride and the use of 15 percent less electricity while the train traveled 10 percent faster. 
  • Emulating a dolphin’s unique frequency capabilities, a high-performance underwater system has been developed as a tsunami warning system. 

I happen to dabble in Biomimetics on the side. It doesn’t take long to discover that the natural world is chock full of concepts that are just begging to be adapted. During my research, some stood out more than others.

Make room, $2.5 billion dating market; here’s a new concept that will revolutionize the dating world. No more wondering if you should wait three days to call or if you talked too much at dinner. IImitating the sage grouse mating rituals eliminates the stress and cuts to the chase. The male struts, fans his tail much like that of a peacock and makes a strange popping sound to attract a female mate; done! Call it the “Magic Mike” of the bird world, but I think there might be something to this. 

The next time you shoo away ants, take the time to view a colony at work. Jobs are defined and assigned. Teamwork and organization are key. Persistence overcomes obstacles, and goals are met. No fancy business consultants are required to run this operation like a well-oiled machine. Instead of those expensive employee team-building activities, I envision Ant 101: groups of employees out in a park, lying on their stomachs on the ground with iPads and laptops, documenting their tiny compadres’ remarkable achievements. 

The bad news: a female polar bear gains 400 pounds during pregnancy. The good news: during delivery, she digs a maternity den in a snowdrift, hibernates for two months, and sleeps through her pregnancy. Baby shower, dig, hibernate, baby, Slim Fast for a year or two; call me crazy, but this just might beat out the new luxury birthing experiences being touted lately. Oh, and after two years, baby polar bears have been completely acclimated to their surroundings and are sent out on their own. That would mean no college bills and the longest empty nesting in history!

I now have a newfound respect for the environment. Each time I visit a zoo, hear a bird singing, or admire a flower in bloom, I’ll remember to slow down and wonder what we’ll be mirroring someday soon. 

The Skinny on Infatuation

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Appeal leads to interest, attraction becomes fascination, and suddenly, I’m infatuated. In any case, I’m sure family and friends are grateful that, by definition, infatuation is an intense passion that is relatively short-lived. 

I remember my puff pastry phase as if it were yesterday. Pepperidge Farm provided the blank canvas and I created the masterpieces. The way I lovingly rolled out the dough, then wrapped everything that I could find in it, made some afraid to leave their small pets around me. 

I gradually moved on, but not before hosting a jovial dinner party that is still talked about in some circles, whereby every course was enveloped in crusty deliciousness. This resulted in copious amounts of wine being consumed, mostly as a defense mechanism in order to facilitate swallowing. 

Chef Ina Garten is directly responsible for my garnishing stage. She is the queen of finishing each dish with just a touch of lemon, kosher salt or parsley to bring out its hidden flavors. My rationale is that I might have fallen asleep while six back-to-back episodes of “The Barefoot Contessa” played on and into my subconscious.

I happily chopped and decorated until I stopped in my tracks one morning, realizing that my days of decorating, with this small final touch, were numbered after absentmindedly adorning my morning oatmeal with parsley. 

Grateful for no lingering food allergies, I moved on to footwear. My love of shoes presented itself in a fascination with spectators. Popular in the 1930s, the low-heeled oxford style men’s shoe is known for its contrasting colors on its toe and heel. Wallis Simpson’s spectators, thought of as quite flamboyant at the time, might very well have been the catalyst for Edward VIII to abdicate the English throne. 

To me, they signified the allure of a time past. My search finally landed me at an Allen Edmonds shoe store, where I treated myself to a pair, to the fascination of their male clientele. To this day, I worry about falling forward when I wear them, as I lean over to appreciate their sculptural lines. 

Which brings me to my two latest crushes: spray bottles and vinegar. As we all know, spray bottles were originally invented to fill with holy water, hide by the front door, and quickly mist your teenager as they head out, without them ever realizing it. 

I have no idea where using vinegar came from, other than the fact that I have been eating a lot of salad lately. My collection contains white vinegar and water as a household cleaner, white vinegar and dishwashing liquid as a weed killer and apple cider vinegar to rejuvenate my skin. Now that the bottles are properly labelled and the chaos has subsided, I can settle into a spraying frenzy. 

As I flow in and out of these infatuations, I have some lasting memories:

  •  Scrabble – playing for money finally got my family back on board with board games.
  •  Polka dots – curiosity into its history led me into an in-depth study of what I have termed “polkadotology”.
  • Flamenco dancing – was an impromptu invitation by a guitarist to dance on the street in Seville, Spain, a way of telling me to keep on dancing?

Not a movement so powerful as to become a trend and not consuming me into an obsession, an infatuation is a playful fondness that lurks inside us all, if we just take the time to grasp its pudgy, little hand and come out and play. 

Why a Stranger Isn’t That Strange to Me

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First, we acknowledge each other as we walk by. Then, we smile and wish each other a good day. Next, we share a few comments about the weather, finally introduce ourselves, and begin to make small talk. This is how my relationships began with my walking friends; strangers that I’ve met while walking the same route each day to work, back when I lived in Chicago.

It was the colorful set of keys hanging from her belt that sparked our initial conversation. The young woman had decided to leave the corporate world to become a dog walker. Her mother, who initially left the room crying when she announced her career change, now introduces her as her successful entrepreneur daughter. Because she was out in all kinds of weather, she was tuned in to the National Weather Advisory 24/7 and became my personal weather forecaster.

Then, there was the striking, older couple who would take their morning constitutional; she, always wearing a stylish hat, and he, looking like Santa Claus and sporting a carved cane, but only for effect, his wife would say.

After running into them at a couple of charity events throughout the city, I would instinctively look for a lovely hat whenever I’d enter a venue. I never knew when they would pop into my life next, surprised to see him on a local TV station interview. It turns out he was a famous Chicago-area writer.

The neighbor who would be up so early walking his dog was always so cheery that I’d find myself smiling and continuing my route with a newfound spring in my step. After a chat one day, we were surprised to find out that his daughter and my son were the same age. This led to us comparing notes and swapping Millennial one-liners. A chance meeting in our neighborhood with our spouses led to a wonderful friendship.

A stranger is just a person that you haven’t gotten to know yet; take Miss Rye Bread. Once, when my son was a little boy, we were walking back from the grocery store and decided to stop at Woolworth’s. One of the cashiers, a young Filipino woman who seemed a bit stern at first, noticed our loaded cart and cheerfully said, “Why don’t you leave your cart here? Don’t worry, I’ll watch your rye bread,” noticing the loaf balanced at the top.

For years, we would say hello to “Miss Rye Bread” on the street, visit her in whatever area store she was working in, and never failed to surprise her with our rendition of ‘Happy Birthday” on her special day.

Nowadays, it’s not that strange to interact with strangers. Thanks to the internet, we date them, room with them, vacation in their homes, stay in their spare bedrooms, sleep on their sofas, rent their cars, and pay them to host us for dinner, along with other guests, who are also strangers.

As a child, I remember being told never to get into a car with a stranger. Then, Uber and Lyft came along, and I became totally confused. Now, companies have developed new technology whereby cars drive themselves. That means that when you’re picked up, there won’t even be a stranger in the car with you. Now, that’s strange!

As a self-taught expert in “strangerology,” I have found that it’s the age of the passerby and not the size of the city that dictates the level of eye contact. The younger the passerby, the more likely they are to be tuning out the world, either by wearing earphones or by walking, head down, transfixed by some form of social media. Please note: the latter technique should not be attempted by amateurs.

Next time you’re walking down the street, try smiling at a stranger as you pass them by and see their countenance change, as if by magic. That little flash of a human connection will change their day and will make yours!

Author’s Note:
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Laugh and the Family Laughs with You

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June 2005: Celebrating the last day of the second year of high school, shower style, 

Injecting a sense of humor into everyday tasks threw my family off just enough so that before they realized it, my goals were accomplished, and happiness prevailed. 

When Big A* was too young to get a job, but old enough to become a consumer, I would say “Go check the refrigerator!.” There, he would find jobs posted, along with details and the fee paid:

  • “Go Where No Man Has Gone Before”: Vacuum under the sofa cushions
  • “Wanted: Mountain Climbing Experience”: Use a step ladder to dust the bookshelves
  • “Spa Day for Legos”: Fill up the tub with bubbles, wash Legos, dry on towels
  • “Shoe Biz”: polish his dad’s shoes

To lift spirits in the morning, I created the shower note. On special occasions, the event was spelled out in shaving cream and immortalized on the shower wall – until the water was turned on. 

Once, when houseguests were almost upon us, I had to think quickly as to how to get the ceiling repaired. Mr. Wiz* kept procrastinating. Rather than nag – also can be effective, just takes longer – I wrote this poem and left it on his dresser:    

If you want to get that feeling
That will really leave you reeling
And you know with whom you’re dealing
Come on and fix that ceiling!

Ten minutes later, I heard Mr. Wiz chuckle and then notice him brush the dust off his tool chest and get to work.

After that, I was a one-woman comedy show, introducing new material with abandon: serving hot dog-shaped hamburgers in hot dog rolls, and leaving notes on bananas. You never knew what to expect next. I was a mix of Lucille Ball and Martha Stewart, and our little family was a happy, well-oiled machine. 

It’s a busy world out there and your to-do list is not going anywhere, so loosen up, uncover your sense of humor and take your show on the road. 

*Who’s who?
Big A is my son, always tall for his age and now 6’6.”
Mr. Wiz is my husband, who seems to be well-versed on every subject.  

Author’s Note:
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Made in Manhattan

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Every Monday morning, she would greet us, walking fast and out of breath, her soft, Gucci leather carry-on swinging from her shoulder, her long, perfect hair swaying back and forth, and her designer outfits perfectly accessorized. As she gracefully glided past us and flashed her “million-dollar” smile, we would all take a deep breath in unison and inhale her expensive perfume.

We were fresh out of high school, still carrying the baby fat that once made us cute, and now awkwardly settling in as college freshmen in New York City, hanging on to the promise that one day we would be career women.

It was rumored that she would fly in on her older boyfriend’s jet each Monday. She was an ex-Ford model (are you ever really an ex-Ford model?) who was hired to mold us into confident, well-dressed women of the world. I wondered if she realized what a challenge she had in front of her.

We were given an appointment time, and one by one, we would meet with her for a private consultation. We all nervously sat in the waiting room when the door burst open and Callie, a beautiful blonde student from Texas, dramatically announced to us that it was suggested she trade in her white mink coat, knee socks, and plaid skirts for a whole new business wardrobe. In her Southern drawl, she said she had to call her Daddy immediately to tell him that an allowance increase was necessary.

It was my turn. My stomach churned as I shut the door, smiled faintly, and sat across from her. She greeted me and started right in, suggesting makeup products that were soon to be introduced (what other insider information were former Ford models privy to?) and what styles and colors to wear. She showed me how to pull my long hair back into a bun and suggested I buy a braid that matched my hair color and wrap it around the bun for a more polished look. She stifled a laugh when she tactfully suggested some exercises for me to do, and I naively replied, “Do them now?” Yes, I was her style-starved puppet and would have dropped down and “given her 50” in a heartbeat.

One by one, we were all transfixed by her and happily settled into our new existences, leaving telltale signs all around us. To the dismay of the posh deli owner down the street, we bid farewell to his famous roast beef sandwiches for lunch and instead feasted on her favorite brand of yogurt. We all ate with demitasse spoons and cocktail forks (hers were sterling silver), her secret for eating more slowly. We stayed up late to re-polish our nails, so we were perfectly color coordinated the next day. We took extra time to dress and apply our makeup. We learned how to walk and carry ourselves properly. We were invited to attend social functions to practice the art of small talk and learn how to be a good listener. We were taught the social graces and the importance of manners.

It turned out that finishing school instruction was just as important as our formal education. When do you get the opportunity to stand there and be constructively critiqued from head to toe? Just as in the military, it was a form of breaking us down and rebuilding us from the bottom up, to make us the best we could be.

I still think about her. I wonder if she knew just how important she was to the lives of the young women she helped form. She taught us that if you look the part, you are the part. She transformed us from insecure, “plain Janes” to confident, chic women. She was an important role model in my life, and all these years later, after I carefully dress and check my nail polish, I raise my cocktail fork to her and say a silent “thank you” from the bottom of my style-conscious heart.

Author’s Note:
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Oct. 30 – Nov. 3: Ribadiso to Santiago

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Oct. 30: Ribadiso – 18 miles

The wooded areas help mask the noisy highway we periodically cross. We are walking the usual mileage today, but for some reason, it seems much longer, and I am exhausted. 

The only thing that keeps me going is running into the sweet New Zealand family, joining them for a Coke, and finishing the last few miles together. The mom has such a lovely, serene way about her. She is originally from Ireland and said that even though the people are friendly in the small town her husband grew up in, it’s so remote and she feels so distant from her family. Her frown turns into a smile as she shares that they plan to meet her sister in Rome after the Camino.

We arrive in Ribadiso and walk over the medieval bridge to the sound of pilgrims laughing and splashing in the river. We ask them if the water’s cold, and they all answer in unison with a resounding “Yes!”  

With its lovely pool, Pensión Ribadiso would be even nicer on a warmer day. The room is welcoming with its wood-beamed ceiling, and it’s wonderful to have a washer and dryer on the premises. 

Luckily for us, there is a restaurant right across the street, so we don’t have to walk back up the hill. We meet a pilgrim from South America who confides in us that he’s not used to the early 8 p.m. dinners here in Spain. At home, he dines at 10 p.m.!

Oct 31: O Pedrouzo- 16 miles

It’s better to get the steep climb out of the way early! From then on, we’re in and out of eucalyptus forests, and we take in the scent of eucalyptus with every breath. We’re getting to the end of our walk, and I’m hoping I have successfully cleaned out all the cobwebs in the corners of my brain. Chatting with strangers, you may or may not ever see again, has a magical quality. Walking and talking side by side, rather than facing each other, may explain why the words seem easier. Spending time walking alone is a wonderful gift to give yourself.

The town has a worn look to it. The sidewalks are full of shops and restaurants, trying hard to look their best. The streets are one loud cacophony of cars, trucks, and pilgrims. Pensión Residential Platas is not impressive, but it’s clean, and the young woman at the front desk has a warm smile.

We remembered our first time here in 2016. After walking in a torrential downpour, we were not looking forward to heading out again to dinner. When we returned downstairs, we noticed pilgrims eating in the breakfast room. They told us we could place an order at the local pizza place that would deliver. This time, we decide to seek out that same restaurant and celebrate that, for one evening, we are in a No (French) Fry Zone and order the same meal. 

Nov. 1 – 3: Santiago – 15 miles

Walking through the forest is a lovely way to start the day. Its denseness makes us feel at peace,

As John Brierley eloquently states in his Camino guidebook “It’s a long slog up to Mount Goza.” An elevated area overlooking the city, it doesn’t have much to offer except for a few pilgrim sculptures and a view of the sprawling complex offering 400 beds in dormitory-style blockhouses.

We head downhill and down the stairs and are welcomed by asphalt. The city noise, the wide streets, and the traffic startle us. Some passersby on the street smile and give us a thumbs-up, as if to say, “Almost there, keep going!” 

We are happy to find a restaurant serving Caldo Gallego. The restaurant is empty, but a few minutes later, large groups are seated around us, ready to enjoy a long, late afternoon lunch. The sounds of conversation and laughter make for good company. 

In the distance, we can see the spires of the Cathedral, but we are not fooled into thinking we are close by. Block after block, we trudge on, gazing into non-descript store windows and focusing all our concentration on crossing the busy streets. 

Finally, we come to “Porta do Camiño, the famous gate and entrance to the wonderful, old city. Almost immediately, the streets narrow and turn to cobblestone. Every shop and restaurant window intrigues us and we are brimming with anticipation.

As we enter the dark tunnel, the familiar sound of the bagpiper welcomes us. Once again, we wonder -are musicians stationed there 24/7 to greet every pilgrim? Just a few more steps and we are in the Cathedral Plaza. While the majestic Cathedral sparkles overhead in the sunlight, pilgrims, mingled with tourists and townspeople, are crying, hugging, laughing, or too overwhelmed to do anything more than lay on the ground with their eyes closed.  

This is our fourth time experiencing Santiago, but it never gets old. We hug and shed some tears; tears of joy for a successful arrival and tears of sadness for the trip coming to an end. We look up to see our friend, the solitary pilgrim from Colorado, running towards us. 

With a tear-stained face, he tells us that, since he arrived in Santiago, he had seen everyone he had encountered along the way,, except us and now, here we were! He speaks happily and rapidly, nothing like the man we first met, and I am so happy for him and his newfound metamorphosis.

The Cathedral, a World UNESCO Heritage Site, was completed in 1211. Housing the remains of Saint James, it inspired pilgrimages, which ended at this iconic location. The highlight of the pilgrim mass is the Botafumiero. Six attendants dramatically swing it up and over the heads of the parishioners. 

We take the time to view our favorite areas

  • Stepping down into the crypt of Saint James and taking a minute to kneel and say a prayer.
  • Visiting the Praza de Quintana, near the Cathedral, at night to view the shadow of a pilgrim projected on the wall, a trick of the lights reflecting off the square. 

Unfortunately, you can now only view these areas from afar:

  • The weathered spot in the solid marble – a finger hole – created by the millions of grateful pilgrims that touched the spot after a safe arrival.  
  • Touching our foreheads to the sculpture of Maestro Mateo, one of the Cathedral’s master builders, to receive some of his artistic genius. 

The Hotel Rua Villar is an elegant townhouse, just steps from the Cathedral. Our room looks out to the main street, but there is nothing except a large terrace across from us, making it very private. I look forward to taking time each day to sit and write in their lovely library. 

We head to the pilgrim office to obtain our Compostela, the Camino certificate of completion, and enjoy walking all over Santiago. As we stroll Old Town, Alameda Park, and the Mercado de Abastos food market, I wonder if we will see our pilgrim friends again. 

Before we leave Santiago, we run into the Norwegian couple and the New Zealand family, tearfully hugging and reminiscing. I watch for the Australian couple, thinking I will see them any minute, but I never do. I wish I could’ve told them how wonderful it was to have met them. After stewing about it, I realize that time well spent was in that moment, and rather than worry about what was not, I should be grateful for what was.

As we prepare to depart Santiago, we have a big decision to make. Do we continue our Camino by walking to A Coruña, and Ferrol or travel by train and become tourists? 

Oct. 27 – 29: Barbadelo to Palas de Rei

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Oct. 27: Barbadelo – 16 miles
Today, with no mist, we can appreciate the beautiful forest. The ups and downs go on forever, as do the amazing vistas. The water crossings – never my favorite – take all my concentration. I stop halfway through, realizing the next rock is more rounded than the others and I’ll have to balance myself before making my way to the next one. There’s nothing to do but move forward. I finish the day’s walk with even more of a spring in my step, proud of myself for overcoming the challenging day. 

We’re surprised to come upon an English couple who are artists and have built their studio and home on the Camino. We were impressed to see a poster advertising a show they had at Windsor Castle, and we stopped to chat a bit. 

Some words to ponder while we relax

Out of nowhere, we see an area with a sitting area and food offered for a donation. This resting place looks to be larger and more organized than the similar stops we’ve come across before. It even has an area for sound therapy, meditation, and a labyrinth. We are greeted warmly by a young woman from California, who takes our order for café con leches. She tells us she happened to stop here on a rainy day. She said something told her to stay and she’s been here for a couple of days volunteering. 

Casa Barbadelo’s
rustic feel was very welcoming

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We first came across the cabins at Casa Barbadelo in 2016. We were sorry we didn’t stay back then and decided to reserve it this time. Set up more like a motel, with outside access to the rooms, they are rustic but quite nice. We are staying right next door to the Norwegian couple we keep crossing paths with and we finally get the chance to have dinner together. 

He is a tall man, with blond wavy hair down to his shoulders that any woman would kill for. She is blond and petite. They live near the Arctic border and have a house in Spain that they will head to after the Camino. An Australian pilgrim joins us and tells us about his adventures on the Kumano Kodo, the Japanese Camino, and hiking in Nepal. 

We invite a woman from Nevada, who’s about to dine alone, to also join us. She tells us she likes to hike all over the U.S. by herself. Her car is always packed and ready to go, in case the spirit moves her. It takes most pilgrims about a month to walk the French route, but she nonchalantly mentions she’s a slow walker and it’s already taken her two months to get to this point. 

We enjoyed the lively conversation while soft music plays in the background. We are excited to see that rice is offered on this menu. This is different from the French fries served at each meal! The entrée, a thin, delicious steak with a mushroom sauce, rounds out a perfect evening! 

Oct. 28: Portomarin – 15 miles

We could have sat here all afternoon!


It’s a beautiful day and the woodland path is gravel, a nice change of pace for our feet. We walked along forest paths and tree-lined lanes until we came to a beautiful spot. With a lovely outdoor patio, soft music playing, and outstanding views, it seemed this contemporary restaurant, Mercadoiro, was waiting for us to stop there for lunch. It’s no surprise that we vote their Caldo Gallego the best we’ve enjoyed on the Camino, to date. 

Happy and content, we continue onward. Up ahead, we see pilgrims all lined up in single file and now, we remember why. One by one, each person heads down a rocky gorge that sits deep into the earth. When it’s my turn, I take a moment to consider if I should shimmy down on my posterior or walk down on foot. It’s so steep, my hiking poles will be of no help. I stand there for what seems like minutes, wishing no one was behind me and wondering what would happen if just one person behind us lost their footing. Would they knock us all down like bowling pins?

A moment later, a young Spanish man turns around to face me. He smiles, holds out his hands, and walks me down and out of the gorge. I can’t thank him enough. I tell him he is “muy fuerte” (very strong) and hug him and his wife goodbye. 

And if this wasn’t enough for one day, we next crossed a long bridge. What made it so uncomfortable was that the barriers are unusually low on both the river and traffic side. We put our heads down and walk as fast as we can before vertigo has a chance to set in.

The last leg of today’s journey

 

 

 

 

 

We’re almost in town, except for the steep staircase that now stands before us. At this point, all we can do is laugh and head upward, taking turns announcing out loud what we might eat and drink tonight after a hot shower. 

A lovely spot at Vista Alegre

Is that the Vista Alegre Hotel or is it a mirage? The white structure has an almost Moroccan feel, with its welcoming carved wooden door and arched stone entrance. Our lovely contemporary all-white room is crisp and bright. We are sorry we don’t have the time to relax on our floor’s outdoor sitting area or visit the spa. 

We step out of our room and just at the same moment, our Australian friend is exiting the room right next to us. After a good laugh, she tells us she’s headed to join her husband. He says he’s found a lovely spot for a drink, and she invites us along. We all sit at a table by the river and chat. After a walk around town and a nice meal, we’ve forgotten all it took to get here today. 

Oct. 29: Palas de Rei – 17 miles

Sometimes walking alone can be so therapeutic


The weather is cool today, with just enough sun to warm us. We walk in and out of forests and fields, but soon realize those long, low inclines fool us and seem to go on forever. We come upon another rocky gorge. It’s smaller and, this time, we’re the only ones walking down it, so we can take our time and maneuver more comfortably. Feeling great after another delicious Caldo Gallego lunch stop, we realize we are only halfway to our destination. 

We immediately liked our room at Pensión Pardellas, with its stone wall, balcony, and artistic black-and-white area photos on the walls. The shower is great too, an added plus. 

Mr. Wiz reminds me that in 2018 we had a drink at Castro, so we decided to treat ourselves to dinner at this lovely restaurant. On the way, we pass our Norwegian and Australian friends on the street. Both have decided they’re exhausted and plan to shop for food and eat in their rooms. 

We happened to sit next to an Australian couple celebrating the husband’s birthday. After some Camino chatter, he mentioned he had lived and worked in Ferrol. We’ve considered stopping there, are delighted to receive some inside information, and thank them as they leave. 

It seems hunger has won out over exhaustion and our Australian friends are seated at the only available table, which happens to be right next to us! We toast to Camino coincidences, and I’m convinced we would be friends if we didn’t live a continent away from each other.