Travel has a way of teaching you things about your own family that you never expected to learn. I have two children. My daughter looks like me. My son looks like his mother. I’d never given this much thought until
You cross a bridge to get to Noirmoutier. On the mainland side, the marshes and the bourrines, the old, thatched cottages built from mud and reeds. On the island side, white houses with blue doors and terracotta roofs. My 10-year-old
There is a green line painted through Saintes, and this morning I stood my shoe on it and followed it out of town. 137 kilometers to Bordeaux, on the old pilgrim road. Day one. By mid-afternoon my feet had opinions.
You see them all day on the Camino. White ones mostly, sometimes orange, lifting off the path a few steps ahead of you. They never fly straight. A bird has somewhere to be. A butterfly doesn’t. It rises, drops, doubles
Six days of walking teaches you things. Most of them apply off the path too. You can’t stop. Just keep going. There is no version of the day where you don’t reach the town. Your bed is 24 kilometers away
It was 38 degrees and I was ready. Towel over the shoulder, thongs on, board shorts. The uniform of every Australian who has ever approached a body of water. My mother-in-law had driven us to the local pool, a municipal
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