7.23.26

Notes from the Camino Portugués – Day Two ✨

Leaving Maine, we had the choice between taking the earlier training (the 1:08!) which would get us to Boston with a long wait before our 11:30pm flight or a later train that would have cut things very close. We opted for the former and yesterday spent a long evening at Logan and by the time we boarded our flight we were ready for sleep. When we woke, the sun shone brightly through the oval windows in the toasty cabin and it was just before landing. I managed a groggy switch of my contact lenses in the bathroom and re-laced my sneakers which I’d removed mid-flight.

The early morning customs line weaved hundreds of sleepy travelers through a rectangular maze that seemed to never end. We stood for more than an hour as our packs grew heavier on our shoulders creating worry about how we’d fare once we started walking. Finally, after giving over our photographs and finger prints we were on the other side of security, all of the luggage from our flight having long since been removed from the baggage claim conveyor belt. It appeared at first that in exactly the same way as last summer, the one item we’d checked had been lost — my walking sticks. They were nowhere in site.

We contemplated not bothering to ask about them given our intention of buying Jonah a new pair in Porto and knowing we could do the same for me. But those poles had significant sentimental value so while Jonah rested on a bench, I went looking for the lost luggage counter.

Things went better than expected, and soon I was directed to an isolated conveyor belt at the end of a hallway that was used to transport “oversized luggage.” There, alone, at the end of the belt were my hiking poles waiting for me.

We rushed to catch the Metro leaving for the city center of Porto in eight minutes. After fumbling with the ticket machine through multiple cycles, we ended up waiting for the next train which arrived promptly. The metro cars were like a gently rocking carriage transporting our dreamy bodies to the next destination—a quaint hotel on a narrow, cobblestone street near all the sites we hoped to see.

It felt urgent to get to the Pilgrim’s Office as early as possible, so we quickly showered and headed there where we were greeted by a French Peregrino (pilgrim) who ushered us in and instructed me to fill out my Pilgrim’s Passport so he could stamp it. Jonah inquired about the best place to pick up walking sticks and it turned out they had second-hand sticks we could purchase there. The French gentleman took an interest in showing Jonah just how to use the sticks. I restrained the impulse to tell him how many miles Jonah had walked last summer and that he was quite well-versed in the use of this equipment!

The other person who helped us was an American woman with a home still in Vermont and a large Camino tattoo covering the length of her arm. We ended up telling her, as well as the French gentleman, that we’d walked before and they lit up knowingly, “you’ll keep coming back” and I responded, “probably forever.”

After a beautiful and delicious lunch of Porto Francesinha (eggs mixed with fries, sausage and spicy sauce), gazpacho & burrata, we went back to the room and slept like absolute babies for two hours.

Somehow we found the motivation after that for a full evening walking by the river, into the markets and for a lovely dinner at our favorite European Sushi haunt, Sibuya.

In the morning we will visit the Porto Cathedral and set out for a 17 mile — 28km day.

I’ve experienced myself landing today, allowing my senses to come more fully on-board after so much life leading to this moment. Although I know tomorrow has the potential to be difficult, I am ready to move the energy swirling around in my head, down into the rest of my body. There it can fuel the challenges and allow more space to breathe and more space to be. ✨

July 22, 2026

Notes from the Camino Portugues - Day One

Yesterday I opened my jewelry box and took out a pair of silver shell earrings, putting them on. Then I went through the motions of rearranging my backpack one last time. My body remembered just how to place everything inside. The last decision at hand was whether to bring the white pants that fold up small, doubling as pjs, or the silky sweat pants that are a bit “heavier” to carry. Josh wanted to know, “how much difference could it really make?”

This morning my pack weighed-in at 12 lbs. I don’t recall precisely what it weighed last summer, but it seems a tiny bit lighter to me, which is what I was aiming for. With a new camera in tow, Jonah will be carrying nearly double the weight of my pack. We both know better now about what is essential for such a journey, and yet, this will be an entirely new Camino, and so there’s really no telling what we might wish we’d had or left behind.

Very few friends know we are embarking on such a significant adventure today. I’m not sure why I’ve kept these plans so tucked away. I suppose it’s largely because I’ve been so preoccupied with the things I’ve needed to do since my father passed away. It might also be that with so many things in play, I wasn’t entirely sure it would happen.

Our decision to return to the Camino was entirely spontaneous and when we did so I was still steeped in a haze of loss.

I thought it might be healing to return to a place and a way of life in which I felt so at home. I was also just very touched that with all the choices he had, Jonah was interested in stepping back on to the path with me. We initially discussed doing another “trek” of some sort, briefly considering routes in Italy or in the Scottish Highlands. But then our hearts kept drifting back to the Camino. I would have returned to the Camino Francés in a second, but being young, Jonah really wanted to see something new. Ultimately we decided on the Camino Portugués where we’ll be able to pick up the route in Porto and walk the Central Route up through Portugal and into Spain where we’ll finish in Santiago de Compostela (the same location we ended in last year). As much as I would love to begin at the true-beginning and walk all the way from Lisbon, we can’t manage that time away. So for the next 14 days, we’ll be traveling and walking for about 250km or 175 miles from Portugal into Spain.✨

For much of my life, my Dad was associated with a group of American Airlines pilots and crew members known as the “108’s” — all members of a team transferred from Buffalo, NY to DFW in the 1980’s. As children, we attended 108 parties and 108 picnics and like my Dad, now many of the 108’s have passed away. I share this for context about how this relates to this Camino.

As someone who had been on many of his own adventures, my Dad was so thrilled by our pilgrimage last summer. When we took him through our photos, he gave us his full attention and listened intently to our stories. I recently came across an email he’d sent to an old Navy buddy, “Can you imagine, your daughter and your oldest grandson walking across Spain!”

I’ve felt a little guilty about our plans this year and the prospect of being less available to my mom for these couple of weeks—another reason I likely didn’t broadcast our plans. So this inner-conflict has been weighing on me. But then I booked our train tickets to Boston where we’re catching our flight tonight, and in that process I received the “go ahead,” I needed.

I didn’t make the connection at first when I checked the train schedule and purchased our tickets online. But then I was talking with my sister on the phone, and I told her we were, “catching the 1:08 train to Boston.” When I said the number out-loud—108–it stopped me in my tracks and I heard Josh react from the next room. Our train to Boston is the 108 Train— a number etched in the collective memory of our family. I felt my Dad’s hand so clearly in this, as if he was weighing in and sending us off with his blessing—releasing me of the worry about being away. ✨

I am still settling in to the fact that we are actually on our way and my heart is growing stronger and more hopeful by the moment. A pouring rain drenched us as we stepped off the train in Boston—the sacrament of a summer’s rain arriving as a familiar symbol of rebirth I’ve experienced again and again.

My son is at my side, the other two safe at home, the path ahead unknown and bright with potential. It was such an immense joy to share our journey with you last summer. I hope you’ll come along with us once again.

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