Day 5

Woke at the now usual 5:00am to gather Holland Lydia by the ice cream shop leaving
Belgium Jeremy, Seattle Isabel, Quebec Alice, Quebec Lawrence sleeping and maybe drunk in Pamplona after
An afternoon of picnics, piercings, peeing on plaza walls, and coffee gelato.
Now walking with 2 Lydias, 1 Eric is quieter, slower, sadder? Better?
Tonight we're sleeping in Mona's apartment because she found us on the street, knew English, and needed the money.
The apartment smells like clean laundry, dinner we cooked, 2 twin beds we're planning to push together because we feel like friends and not quite lovers.
Tomorrow is 20 miles, 1 new mop handle walking stick, and several prayers for downhill knees.

Day 3

Mary kicked us out at 7:15. French breakfast is bread and coffee.
We climbed the Napoleon way. Which is French hills and country
and hills. We stormed past other "pelegrinos" at a pit-stained pace
but didn't meet any until we slowed. Lawrence, Isabel, Alice, Jeremy, Lydia, Pipi.
Quebec, Seattle, Holland, Belgium, Tulsa, Denmark. All today.
Downhill trekking is hard on the knees. We're hoping twelve hours
of sleep will be our reprieve.

We love you all, but can't say we miss you (yet).

Day 2

Slept 18:20 PM - 9:51 AM. €30 breakfast mistake.

Failed bus stop to next bus stop to Bayonne Gane to St. Jean Pied de Port we can't pronounce.

Chased Indiana backpack friends to find a place to sleep. Found a Manchurian elder as a bunk mate.

French sunset but feisty Mary will have our hides in three languages if we don't "lights out" in 14 minutes. Tonight we sleep separate, with the elder we've code-named "Kim."

Tomorrow we climb. 

detroit -> amsterdam -> lyon -> biarritz

economy seats, hours, over-priced
airport parfaits before our first
foreign sleep.

london times

the morning is different. it’s quiet. and still.

roosters aren’t waking the villagers. women aren’t sweeping the dirt.

the air is sharp and cold.  

the thin, foggy blanket hovering above the frozen ground is disturbed only by the horses’ running feet as they traverse the waking hillside.

the green is dull.  and even the air is frozen.

my morning run is different.  it’s cold. 

i’m not dodging potholes and motorcycles.

i’m passing cathedrals.  and old men in galoshes.  and the royal mailman on foot. quaint cottages and stone gates. and stone age burial sites.

cattle grids begin every driveway.  and every cottage is named. 

stone houses with thatched roofs.  public footpaths with iron gates.

i should like to live here.

i should like to live anywhere. and everywhere.

i could, you know.

i could.

but i feel the discomfort of discontent creeping in.
and my thoughts are elsewhere.

dreaming.

of a life that’s not here.

but i’m missing out.

missing out on the wonder that is here.

the wonder that’s in my body when it moves with grace across the floor of an old dance studio.  

the wonder that’s in my hair when the glistening snow falls quietly on my head.

i’m missing out. 

missing out because i’m not opening my eyes.

so try it.

open your eyes.

the wonder is here.

you only have to see it.

never leaving

trekking through the African jungle.

the air is sweet. wet. rainy season is finally on its way.

sucking on a handful of coffee beans i just picked from the tree.  

mangy goats cross the path ahead. the red dirt tints their remaining fur.

the green is thick. and vibrant.

a canopy of towering trees shield the glittering sun.  

i'm getting comfortable here.  and God knows that's the one thing i fear most.  

comfort. 

but i feel it.  

i'm getting used to sleeping with lizards.  rinsing the ants from my toothbrush.
eating fufu, koliko, aguti, and ablo.  wearing floor length skirts and t-shirts with necklines up to my chin.  bananas, coconuts, mangos, and pineapple on the roadside. 

strange smells.  

bustling markets.  

colorful people.  

this place has changed me. but not much, i don't think.

except maybe my 

eyes.

they're wider. and wiser. 

more open.

to the world. to its people. 

to the will of God.

the presence may not be physical.

but Africa will remain.

i've learned. and laughed. and loved.

and lived here.

it will never leave 

me.

market

you can tell a lot about a 

person.

from where she buys her 

things.