ARRIVING.......

What a day!  The final day of this trek had me wandering heavily trafficked streets, cars whizzing by, for most of six hours.  Of course, had I contemplated where I was, the immense size of the grand city I was entering, there would be no surprise at hours of suberbs to be crossed before arriving at Vatican City.
Signage, which had been plentiful and correct this entire journey, disappeared for the most part. The welcomed brown and white Via Francigena signs which had guided me for weeks were nowhere in sight.  Red and white Via Francigena stickers wrapped on lampposts and traffic light posts were few and far between.  Challenge....definitely the word of the day!

I was blessed, however, with relatively dry conditions.....a Godsend, really, as the weather forecast had been for a very wet and grey Monday.  And, to top it off, the sun shone bright and beautiful as I exited the remarkable city park of Monte Mario, down into the streets of Rome itself.

St. Peter's Square, jam packed with tourists, was empty of other Pelligrini......at least none having just arrived packs and poles in tow.  I was intently aware of eyes watching this tall, tired woman standing in awe of the glory surrounding her.  With more and more pelligrini on the trail, the sight of heavily laden backpacks and walking sticks are becoming more the norm.....yet, for this brief time, I was the anomaly.

Upon checking in with the Swiss Guard, I was directed to the office in the square which would issue my final stamp and the Latin Testimonium document certifying I had completed my journey.  Watching the young woman carefully write my name, I found myself wanting to swing around and shout to the tourists behind me, "Look! I made it....."
All they really wanted was my time with the agent to end so they could buy their tour tickets.The  line was growing.....and impatient.
I decided Silence was best.
So I quietly watched her complete her task  as a rush of emotion touched my heart.  A year later and a third major walk complete.

What will come next?

ENTERING SANTIAGO.......

Sunday, two days until I fly back to the States.  Hard to imagine two months has passed -  blink and it is gone.

And here I sit, one last time, in Rovinj, Croatia wrapping up my European visit.

Rovinj, where I started this amazing spiritual sojourn. Surrounded by the incredible beauty and calm of this medieval Adriatic town, wrapped in the energies which started this 5 year Camino I have been experiencing, I am home.

Summer 2011, the knowledge I would walk my first Camino became a force directing me toward the walk of a lifetime, the Camino Frances. That it would not occur until the fall of 2014 was simply the Universe in action.  It occurred when it was meant to occur - as is the case when we let the Universe work.

As many of you are aware, this powerful soul knowledge I was to walk was unquestionable. That the first Camino would lead to a hike in Patagonia, a Camino along the Via Francigena and this last walk,the Camino Portuguese, certainly was nowhere on my agenda when those first synchronicities, those first whisperings of the Universe, began in 2011.

Yet, here I am in my final two days back where it began; back in my European home of Rovinj.

A perfect place to reflect.

The question most asked over these last few days, since the completion of my walk, is simply

“ How did it feel walking into Santiago a second time? I imagine it must have been a very different experience.”

Yes, the completion of my Camino Portuguese, my 360 kilometers (give or take a few) was indeed different.  Entry to Praca Cervantes in Santiago de Compostela in 2014 brought forth powerful emotions. Tears of joy, physical exhaustion, immense elation, were uncontrollable.  It is a moment in time forever locked in my heart, and soul.

This year, my entry to Praca Cervantes, the plaza with its signature fountain which greets pilgrims walking in from five separate Caminos to Santiago, was calm.  Peace settled on my heart as I gazed around, expecting a wellspring of emotion once again.

No, the tears were nowhere to be found. The overwhelming emotion of two years ago was replaced with quiet, peaceful, soulful calm.

A simple knowledge that I was done drew my breath as I gazed down the street which would lead me toward the Cathedral - the official end of the journey.  

In the past 10 days since walking into Santiago, I have  found myself consciously giving thought as to why the ending of this particular Camino seems so... I don’t even know the correct word to use... neutral, perhaps.  Not negative- not positive, joyful or saddened - simply, neutral.  Peaceful, calm, quiet, settled…. Neutral.  Balanced.  Balanced might be a better word.  No sense of ecstatic joy- no sense of bittersweet sadness -at the completion, but rather, balance.

Time alone on this walk has been plentiful.  The greatest lesson: recognizing that I am truly content to be on my own - my company with myself is perfect. When those ‘alone’ moments in time arise, I can now welcome them.  

Sitting solo at a sidewalk cafe, my glass of wine or morning cafe con leche in hand,watching the people come and go...now, this seems perfectly natural…. No sense of awkward… odd.

This Camino has been my lesson in finding happiness and peace within myself - wholly, fully, completely.  I am enough.

In the coming home to Rovinj, the final ribbon on the gift of this journey, I am complete.

The same salted air; breezes blowing gentle as I climb the hill to stand in the shadow of Saint Euphemia’s tower; energies of over a thousand years of history swirling - energies which gave rise to this five year journey I have traveled - wrap me snug.  They whisper that I have done well -- I have listened.  I have  learned.  My circle, for now, is complete.   

They whisper “ Go home now”

I can leave.

Holy Door of St. James in Santiago

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I knew this year had been granted significance as a Holy Year by Pope Francis- the Year of Mercy.  And with that declaration came the opening of the Holy Door at the Cathedral of Santiago --- out of sync from it's regular years ( those in which the Feast of Saint James, July 25th, happens to fall on a Sunday).

I attach a link to a brief article expaining the process by which the door is ceremoniously opened and the importance to Catholics of walking through that speciifc door.

And, I am grateful for the experience of entering the Cathedral and the Tomb of Saint James through this centuries old passage ... sacred in Catholicism.

For Catholics it is an especially sacred blessing to see this sight. For pilgrims having walked hundreds of kilometers, for whatever their reasons, it still holds deeply emotional connection...a final
blessing at the end of an extraordinary walk.

Also, some photos from my time outside the Holy Door today, watching as fellow pilgrims and visitors queue to hug the shoulders of the incredibly ornate silver and gold statue of Saint James, high above the Altar; then entering the lower quarters, where the bones of St. James are said be laid.

https://www.ultreyatours.com/blog/the-year-of-mercy-in-santiago-de-compostela/

~~ Author   Award Winning Bestseller  ' A Camino of the Soul: Learning to Listen When the Universe Whsipers'

Peregrina....a Sunday in Finisterre

….. Sleepy peregrine boys, rustling awake with a start, as I round the corner of the stone church portico, hoping to find Mass in session. No Sunday Mass, just a couple sleepy pilgrims stretched on their mats

…..Langostiere beach, over 2 km of pristine white sand, so laden with seashells the outgoing waves create the music of wind chimes softly catching a breeze….

…..Seagulls squawk, shrill screams urging me to awaken and start a new day

….Click...click...click… walking sticks tap the stone of Rui Santa Catarina just below my open windows. Pilgrims marching in the early morning through a sleepy Finisterre

... A wander on the city beach collecting sea glass for my dear artist friend Jan

….Joyous reunions as pilgrims see each from afar, rushing to embrace in welcome
“ When did you arrive? Did you walk the last four days here? Ohhhh, I am so glad to see you again!”  English, Portuguese, Italian, German, Czech, French… It doesn’t matter… The message is understood

…. Cafes buzzing with the passionate voices of Spaniards as mid- day Sunday draws them together in family and community

….Sipping a cold cerveza in the noon day sun, my legs stretched out, welcoming the rest; listening, as a myriad of nationalities chat in harmony around me

…..Bells tolling the hour...a tinny Clang..Clang .Clang….these are not the bells of a wealthy town

…. Enthusiastic futbol announcers blaring from cafe doorways -- TV’s scream the plays of the day as locals and pilgrims alike yell as they pound fists in celebration of their teams

…. 7:30 AM - Feet moving quickly along the street below as cafes prepare to open- only the early morning pilgrims will greet a Sunday at this hour

…. Children trudging up the beach from a romp in the sea, pants slipped to the ankles, a jacket warming chilly shoulders

…. The aroma of garlic and onions wafts from windows above the street front businesses  - A Sunday meal in the making

.....  Hearts!  Capturing hearts and sending prayers for loved ones


Peregrina, I soak in the moments, willing my senses to always remember this Sunday in Finisterre

Seminario Menor- Santiago

Two days...for two full days my backpack has sat hunkered in a corner of my

small, efficient semenario room at Seminario Menor in Santiago de Compostela.

A pilgrim albergue like no other I have experienced, the quiet, calm grace of this remarkable

venue has seeped into body and soul.  

Sunsets on the portico shared with pilgrims from varying countries; a multitude of different  camino treks: Portuguese, Norte, Francês, Ingles, Via de la Plata….all coming together at this  final melting pot of pilgrim community… we are here...Santiago!

Earlier in the day we stood waiting. Some glancing at watches, others settled on century old marble stairs, I found my spirit strangely at ease. Calm… present….the doors will open when the doors open.  

Anxious pilgrims  walked forward, rattling door handles as if to alert the attendants they were late -- doors open at 1:30PM-- it is now past 1:32PM!  

Bless them, the Germans are first to rally when a set time marker has not been met.  Time - the exact mark of time - so ingrained in the culture. For the community at large it keeps a people and a country precise.  It is their gift; it is their curse.  

And me, my spirit?   Peaceful. Truly, utterly, at peace with where I stood; the lack of concept in time.  Those who know me will have a giggle at this.  

“ Kate, waiting?  Kate , peaceful while waiting?”  Waiting has always been a challenge--- ask my Mom…. it is our joke.  Her daughter has lacked patience in waiting for many a year!

And yet, 1:30 Pm slid into 1:45 PM, with others rattling iron door handles, while I leaned against my trekking poles; sore tired feet my only minor annoyance.

Bolts clanged from the other side of solid wooden doors as keys, first one then the next, were wiggled  into well used locks. Double doors, opened wide immediately, framing a smiling face

As she welcomed us in with a warm, inviting  “ Buenas Dias”

Halls stretched on as we found our way past lavoratories --16 private toilet stalls, 8 per side, co-ed--;  Shower rooms - again 16, each with locking doors although a co-ed facility, and a separate room, almost comical in its rows upon rows of sinks.  This facility had been structured to house many; priests, students, nuns...all on the same time schedule day after day- it was obvious.

As a pilgrim albergue, housing well over 100-150 pilgrims, it is perfect!

For 3Euros extra per night  I have booked a private room , celebrating my two nights at the end of my pilgrimage.  

A twin bed; a small, practical desk and chair;  a sink and mirror grace my room. Barren.

 And yet, I am fully aware I have been gifted a room once slated for those with a touch of authority.

And how do I know?  3 windows!  Three windows open  to the inner courtyard and a magnificent bell tower.  And, even more evident, my room sits next door to a private bathroom for toilet facilities.  Yes, I am certainly housed in a monastic room whose inhabitants thwarted power!

But, where did I start?

Oh yes, my backpack, dropped and hunkered  in a corner.  Until today, this misty grey Santiago morning, two days later.  

Lifted and strapped to my back, boots tightened for proper support,  I am once again peregrina… ready to walk.  

It may be a short day, but I am dressed in my battle armour and entering the world anxious to see what it brings!

~~ Author Award winning Bestseller ' A Camino of the Soul: Learning to Listen When the Universe Whispers'

VIGO!

Plaza del Autobus  Tourismo- that MUST be where I am!
That HAS to be where I am as hoards of humanity scurry by my table, determined to catch their bus lest it leave them behind. Currently I see five busses waiting to gather their inhabitants and continue on down the road to the next site...wherever that may be.

As for me, I have arrived in Vigo after a simple walk of appx. 20 km. Baiona to Vigo via the old Camino route for the first 2 kilometers, until I crossed the river at Ramallosa -on a pedestrian bridge which is considered to be one of the finest Roman bridges in Galicia!
And then, because I simply didn’t want a 28km day, I opted to walk the PR 522, which actually was a grand choice.  20 km. To the same destination. That works!

Plenty of cafes along the way as I passed through Nigran and on to smaller roadside villages. Although a major thoroughfare connecting Baiona to Vigo, a pedestrian path, augmented by actual sidewalks through the towns, made for a safe and easy crossing. At the high points the sea peeked through off to my left….hazy in the foggy mist, but there, visible to this searching set of eyes.

And then….Vigo.  This is the largest port in the country of Spain ( according to my chatty cabbie...more about that later). I internally question if it really beats out Barcelona, but opted for
“ Ohhhh, si? Numero Uno en Espana? Wow!”  He was pleased.

So, why a chatty cabbie?  Well, the PR 522 was a perfect pathway to Vigo UNTIL about 2km outside of the city limits ( felt like I had been within the city for at LEAST 2k by then). At about 2km to go, according to plentiful road signs,  yellow arrows appeared pointing me to the right , off the main road. As I saw the expanse of major metropolis before me, I decided it was simply the easy way to bypass much of the port area, and I followed.  I have trusted the arrows..follow them now!

Down a side street and around a bend and soon I was walking under a major freeway viaduct...a freeway I had yet to see from my safe haven of the PR522.  For the first time in many, many days the path following the arrows did not feel ‘right’.  Yellow arrows marked the way….yet my head said  "Nope!”

  What if this is the marker that bypasses Vigo and heads straight toward Redondel-…..tomorrow’s walk? .   I promptly did an about face and trekked myself back to the safety of the PR522….. Which, of course, now showed NO yellow arrows for guidance.

Just this morning I was laughing at the situation: 59 years old, traveling solo through Portugal and Spain, on a path traversed for centuries by pilgrims.  Not once have I felt unsafe, uncertain...jumpy at the noises of nature in the brush when in the forest, or cars and people whizzing past when on a roadway….I have felt safe and secure in my pilgrimage.

Vigo, something about it had been tugging at my brain for the last couple weeks.  I have had no desire to walked through Vigo; no desire to see anything it has to offer ( although as a true pilgrim to Santiago it is on my way and deserves its due course).  And here I was on the near edge, looking toward a sprawling metropolis before me and I did it….I ducked Into a cafe and politely asked the young lady if she would call me a cab, showing her my destination in the Casco of Vigo.  Chuckles from a couple older gentlemen at the bar...not sure what that was about….but within five minutes I was ensconced in a cab with a polite, rather grungy looking, chatty cabbie who brought me right to the door of Hostal Real on Calle Real, Vigo.

I am two hours ahead of my pre determine arrival time and no one is at the Hostal….and the Hostal looks scary….one star on the sign scary.  Hummmmm, just under a number 8 rating on bookings.com…..well, it IS old town, and I know buildings in old town can look VERY scary from the outside and yet house a lovely home away from home.   Since no one is available to meet me, I place a call ( thank you young Spaniards from Vodaphone for getting me hooked up here in Spain) and reach the hostess.

I am early she politely informs me.  I had said 2 PM and my room will not be ready until then.  Can I please come back?
Fair enough..I have been in this business for a hundred years and know how it works. She is right...I need to kill a little time.

  Ergo, here I am at Plaza del  Autobus Tourismo, my cerveca   and slice of quite yummy tortilla Espanola, keeping me company while I watch the tourists wander back to their busses.
And, I am waiting to see if Hostal Real will meet its mark or , if outside scary is matched by Iinterior scary…..SO hoping to find a little slice of heaven behind these doors!



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  UPDATE    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HOSTAL REAL, FOR E18 FOR A PRIVATE ROOM W SHARED BATH IS PERFECTLY FINE!
YEA!!!!!!!

Chores in Baiona....

Ahhhh, peregrina!  Your feet and legs are aching, screaming for rest,even after several hours slee they demand a reprieve. Will you listen?  Will you heed the words of so many peregrine before you and ‘listen to your body’?

Yes!

And so, here I sit at the lavandaria, thrilled at the ease of the process.
‘ Soap, do I need soap?” I attempt to ask the handsome young Spaniard manning the spotlessly clean facility. My Spanish, I am ashamed to say, is limited at best.
He opens the door to a back room, showing me the soap containers already dispensing the needed amounts once the machines are underway. Ha! Perfect!  2euros and everything except what I am wearing will be clean….now as I type this, I realize I forgot to take off my fleece to pop it in. Damn!

“ Senor, por favor, es possible abierto la Porta y lava esta?” Not grammatically correct, but he gets my point and shakes his head. Nope. No opening the door to wash the fleece.

Baiona is brilliantly clear today...the haze has lifted and a multitude of sailing yachts gleam in the morning sun.
I have walked the entire malecon, almost twice now, and it is just noon.

A visit to the tourist kiosk in Search of The information I will need tomorrow on just how to exit this city by the bay (following the Camino arrows of course) , followed cafe con leche  and a humongous croissant.  She has the answers, Ms. tourist Kiosk lady,  and maps out two possible routes for my morning exit.
 The malecon, on which I arrived yesterday, although certainly a possibility, is not the ‘true’ Camino path. Since I have taken an unscheduled day,it is time to get back on true course north to Santiago.  Her map marks the way and I am assured the yellow arrows to Santiago  will be back in my future.

Also on my ‘to do’ list was a stop at Vodaphone for a SIM card and a Spanish cell number.
Pretty easy breezy, except I found myself a bit taken back by the extreme amount of time spent entering my passport info.
Hmmmmm, am I somehow wanted in this country I left two years ago?  Is there  a bank balance owing,  property tax awaiting payment? A little surprise waiting?
Will the Guardia Civil be arriving any minute to whisk me off for questioning?
My God he is taking a long time entering data.
What mind games we play!

Yes, passport Info was taken in Portugal as well. That efficient young lady certainly won the ‘ ‘take care of the customer and get them back on their way’ race.  Always a little slower in Spain….I am wise to remember this! And, overall, it is so much of what I love about this culture.

And, with that...laundry is ready for the dryer!  Oh my God….my clothes smell remarkable!
What a difference a lavandaria makes over bar soup in the bathroom sink!
 If only I could have sat here naked for this brief time and had them all done :-)

Camino moments....

As the days wear on and pilgrim feet fight to maneuver another stretch of cobblestone pathway….As the skies split open against the force of torrents of rain bursting to be set free…

As 6.5 more kilometres until the next stop  becomes 10.2…..bodies and emotions falter under the weight of a questioning mind:  Why am I doing this?

And then there are the brief moments of awe that remind us of our ‘why’ - hold on to these for they will bring you through fellow pilgrim.

...tinkling bells in the distance calling us to peek over a rock wall and have a chat with the cows grazing in their field

… clang….clang….clang….. Church bells strike while walking through a ghost village

… a hearty ‘Buen Camino’ rings out as a cycling pilgrim pulls ahead on the path

… evening vespers sung by nuns in candlelit churches, as they have for a thousand years

… joyous laughter as reuniting pilgrims embrace after several days apart

… a cafe con leche 1 ½ hours after beginning the day’s walk

… the farmer gifting fresh grapes from his harvest as we pass

… quiet moments when all of time and space become one with the soul

… spiderwebs of morning dew glittering across an open corn field

… children giggling as they yell “ Hello!” - practicing their English

… falling into bed alongside other weary souls with no cares other than sleep

… simple meals, prepared with love by volunteer albergue staff  here only to serve the pilgrim   on his way

…  meseta sunrises blazing tangerine streaks across vast skies

…  the Milky Way, stretched for miles, beneath  the Iberian heavens

And this, the setting of the sun as the day closes….these wonders of man and God are the ‘why’ we go on...these moments are the gifts of the Camino.

" Is it gelling?"

“ Are you enjoying this one? Is it gelling?”

Ahhhh, there is the question, asked in precisely the specific way that triggers me to write--finally.

Is it gelling?  Perhaps---at times --- not really -- at times.

Some days are blessed with incredible connections; moments when I stand with goosebumps at the profound knowledge that I am surrounded by my angels.

And then...void.  

“ Now why am I here?  What is this about?”

Questioning the purpose of this walk.  Questioning what I am to write about; to share.

Yes, there have been miraculous moments  … moments designed to let me know that

the laws of attraction are in action.  Moments orchestrated with such precision it becomes impossible to question the connection between my soul and those that have moved into the next realm.

And, touching stories from other pilgrims, magic moments in their walks which validate that, in fact, this amazing ability to draw to ourselves that which we believe to be real and true can take a physical form.  We can manifest.

If I were to categorize this Camino Portuguese experience right now- today- I would call it the Camino of Intention.

Each and every day I wake, stretch the aching pilgrim muscles and lay very still for a few moments consciously intending my day:

“ I am filled with gratitude that the walk today will be one of joy and peace.  I know I will be safe in my travels and pilgrims I meet will add a special ‘something’ to the day.  I am grateful for the time and the financial means to walk this walk, open to hearing all the Universe intends for me to learn on this day.  

I am forever grateful that Sis, Jeannie and MJ are with me and make themselves known in their unique ways. Thank you!”

Now, of course every morning is not the same...there have been extremely specific intentions set forth on some mornings. The type of detailed requests  of which many would say

“ Oh c’mon Kate.  You cannot expect to see, hear, know the answer to that.”  Yet, invariably,

Those intentions come to pass in a manner I recognize.    

What I can say, is that each and every day I have been given a clear signal that I am heard.  Each and every day, at moments in time that simply cannot be questioned, guidance has been given...signals have been shown.

And so, I walk each day wondering what magic moment will occur.  Do I catch them all? No.

Do I catch enough?  Oh Yes!  

Mary, thank you for the question, at the right moment on the precise day it was needed --

Yes- it IS gelling.  

PEREGRINA

It is in the act of walking, one foot before the other along an ancient camino path, that my heart begins to sing again!  Today was that day, even if only for the shortest of distances as I found my way from the train station at Mealhada out to the albegue where I am currently sitting, cooled by the breeze flitting the leaves of a lime tree overhead.

Tomorrow the true walk begins.

Today, I am finally with other pilgrims and feel a sense of connectedness, a belonging.
The last several days of sightseeing, wandering and capturing photos to share with friends and loved ones  has all been a gift for which I am eternally grateful.  However, I have felt incredibly alone.  An aloneness I do not not recall since the days hiking in Patagonia last year.

In my daily world I am surrounded by loving family and friends.  I am blessed to have my son and his family close - and after years of my living overseas, this is the greatest gift.  My home is with my sister, who is my  my greatest, dearest, truest friend in the world, and my nephew.  They welcomed me in two years ago and we have formed a family unit which works well for the three of us.

My life is full and never do I feel alone.  So, these last few days have come as a bit of a surprise; a realization that when planted somewhere in the world without others to share the experience,in person, it all feels rather empty...lacks meaning.

And so, although surrounded by primarily French pilgrims today, I am at home.  Backpacks rest in the corner of the dormitory room; fellow walkers whisper at mid afternoon so as not to wake each other from a mid-day rest; my washed clothing hangs alongside socks and tee shirts belonging to people I will never see again.  We take turns buying a coffee, water...a beer.  We share the olive plate
I purchased and discuss the next days' journey... in broken English accented by smiles and nods.

I am a peregrina once again.

Thoughts from Coimbra --

Here is what I know to be true-

….I can walk whatever portions of this Camino Portuguese I choose, which means if the heatwave continues I can adjust- -nothing to prove. WHAT a freeing place to be in life!

… Sis is with me --- 711 has shown up three times in 1 ½ days as I contemplate what day I will actually start the walk…. All is in order, all will be well

…  I am perfectly capable of following a map ( those of you who know me KNOW this is a camino gift!:-)    Walk a camino path and follow the markers ..no problem. Navigate a city- Trouble!  BUT, I have, I did and I will continue!  Thank you, Sis!

… this is a Camino of trust...setting intentions with gratitude each morning then letting go and knowing all is in order.  Each time I find myself even the slightest worried about something: finding my way through the city, late airplane connections, the heat….I remember that I already addressed it and surrendered KNOWING everything is working out perfectly...as intended.

… Portuguese people are warm,kind, and helpful

…  afternoons are the best time to snag the shower in a hostel ...those of you walking know this is true :-)

…  the ‘clang’ of the church bells told the wealth of a city in olden days.  Poorer city or village, clangy bells…cheaper metal....wealthy city, glorious tolling bells, musical.  I love them all.

… breakfast in Portugal is a carb load --  Bread, butter and jam, baby spiced pancakes, marble cake… yummy!

… European coffee is still my favorite!

… I walk knowing that I will learn what I am meant to learn when the time is right.  My soul knows all is in order

… I will indeed have a Bom Caminho!

Walking through the Istrian clay....

A fresh Adriatic breeze is beginning to blow away the blistering August heat as the clock reaches the 20:00 hour.  Now is the time to walk...now that the family doggie can enjoy a stretch away from the shaded yard; now that we can breathe in the aroma of the surrounding fields, without fighting for breath in the humid air.

Rich red clay dirt packs the path as we meander through olive groves…  groves which have produced Istrian olive oil for centuries.  Aromatic oil once shipped to the courts of Venice and beyond. Oil processed by the families who have worked this land for generations .

I have been here before, in these same fields with this same family doggie, Floki. He leads the way, guiding us from olive groves to a row of fig trees laden with ripe sweet fruit. Bozena reaches into the branches, plucking 4 or 5 sticky figs, handing them to me as a gift.  We have found our after dinner dessert.

A small grape vineyard, un-attended, overgrown with grasses, thick at the base of each tiny tree, still survives..green leaves fluttering in the  afternoon breeze. Owners have been near; abandoned plastic chairs mark the end of the first two rows...a tired wooden table sits cockeyed … they have been here.

Crossing over  a narrow working road, a  lavender field beckons.

“ Come, run your fingers through my tiny leaves.  I may not be in bloom, yet I am still deeply fragrant. Take the memory of me home with you”

Lavender mounds in perfectly sculpted rows offer tranquility to the senses.

We turn to the path on the right, greeting a local farmer, stringing caution tape along the edge of his field.  A deterrent to birds? Other wild animals...I am intrigued.

“ Dobro vecer...Kako ste?”  Good evening...how are you?  Bozena knows this man who smiles warmly offering us the chance to pick whatever fruit we might like from his trees.  More figs for the evening meal; tiny sweet blackberries the size of a pinky fingernail are gathered into my open palms.

“ Hvala! Dovidjenja “  Thank you- Goodbye... Bozena waves a thank you.  I tilt my head and smile warmly, hands laden with gifts.

His eyes sparkle with the love of this land.

Flocki leads us home through the red Istrian clay

Rovinj....

6:30 AM - walk early before the summer heat settles in, that is the plan.

It has been almost two full years since I wandered the alleyways of Rovinj,Croatia in the dawning hours.  The air smells of the sea. the Adriatic is to my left as I head east into the morning sun...a walk which will take me out past the roadside konobas ( outdoor barbecue restaurants) featuring roasted pig and lamb on enormous spits….sizzling over open wood fires as tourists queue for a seat.

But that will be later.  At this 6 o’clock hour the only others on the streets are those headed to work, or a few like myself, out to get some excercise before the sun soaks the town in a blanket of heat.

Past the konobas and then a circle back and north, towards the ospedale( hospital), which sits in a park on the edge of a Rovinj neighborhood.  Boats, calm and still on glassy waters, are anchored in the cove tucked at the edge of the hospital grounds. Gulls chatter in the otherwise quiet peace.

I take a turn and circle toward town...circle toward the most incredible view of this ancient Adriatic fishing village; walk into memories of a short lifetime ago when this movie set town was home.

Gong…gong… gong….the bells of Basilica Euphemia toll 7:30AM.  A new day has begun in Rovinj.  The harbor is alive with fisherman; a sardine boat offloads it’s catch as the men gather to watch and chat. Seagulls, knowing breakfast is close at hand, circle overhead waiting for a chance to swoop in and snag a morsel.

I stand to the side, the only female in this orchestrated morning dance of men and sea. The pungent aroma of the morning’s catch assaults my nose.  The smell of the sea, as always, makes my heart sing…. brings a moment of utter connection and joy.

Across the main road, now buzzing with autos rolling into town, and through a side street lined with tables of men...all men...smoking and drinking their morning espresso.  Up the hill and past the rear entry of the Fransican monestary, still active after hundreds of years.  

The grade school, graffitied walls surrounding, on my right….the apartment building  I once called home on my left. My heart skips a beat.  But that was then…..

Take a turn to the left, up a bit farther, and I am home….home to Jan’s….home for the next few days.

Rovinj...such joy!