Quinton Wall's Blog

It’s no secret that I am obsessed with packing as efficiently as possible for my trips. I never check luggage. It’s not that I’m worried that it will get lost in transit. Thankfully, this only happened to me once when I was hiking in the Himalayas. I had to buy some new gear due my schedule, but the bag eventually showed up and I donated the gear I bought to the Sherpas (these guys are true super heroes! They hike to Everest in sandals!) My big obsession is about the weight. When you have to carry everything on your back for hundreds of miles, every piece of gear matters.

Over the past week or so I’ve been test packing for my return to the Camino de Santiago (this time including the Via Podensis route through France). My first weigh-in of my gear was a pretty good 17.2lbs (7.8kg). Over the next few days I played around with some extra gear, purchased some new waterproofs as I ripped my last pair during a recent hike along the Overland Trail in Tasmania. (The weather was brutal and my trusty 5 year old Marmot pants finally succumbed).

 

I weighed in again. Somehow my pack weight had grown! It was now up to 17.68lbs (8kg). It’s not surprising as this time I had added little things that I had forgotten last time: toothpaste, deod

The days are slipping by fast. I’ll be jumping a plane before I know it and heading back to complete my third Camino de Santiago. The first two times I started from St. Jean Pied de Port on the French border, roughly 780km to Santiago de Compostella. This time I am leaving from Le Puy-en-Valey, just west of Lyon, France. St. Jean will be about at the halfway mark, making my entire journey closer to 1600km. When you are hiking so far, the weight of your pack is a big deal.

Over the years I’ve got into a habit of test packing and then using that pack on my training hikes. Not only does this help you get used to the weight and give you an opportunity to prune back unnecessary items, it also gives you a sense of the bulk of your pack. Many people are ok with strapping things to the outside of their packs and letting it bounce around as the hike. I prefer to pack everything inside in a well-balanced way. When the miles start getting up there, any imbalance in your pack can really throw off your gait and alignment. Pounding hours upon hours, day after day, a small imbalance can cause all sort of issues: from blisters to tendonitis and hip misalignment.

For my first test pack, I gathered and weighed the following:

Clothing (day jacket, waterproof jacket, 1 x pants, 3 x socks, 3 x underwear, 3 x t-shirt, 1 x waterproof paints, 1 x gloves, 1 x beanie, 1x flip flops): 3.75lbs
Electrical Items in a Loctote bag (12″ MacBook, Leica M10 camera): 6.2lbs
Electrical cables (camera battery charger, MacBook cable, and charger, world adapter, various cables): 1.25lb
Sleeping bag (Marmot Nanowave): 1.8lb
Backpack (ULA circuit): 2.9lbs
Toiletries: 1.3lbs

TOTAL WEIGHT (without water): 17.2lb

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I was pretty happy with this first test loadout. A litre of water weighs about 2lbs, and I typically carry 2 litres at the start of the day. This would give me a total weight of about 21lbs, not including any food items I might need for the day. Things are looking good. Total weight would be close to 14% of my body weight. 15% is about as high as you would want to go on a hike like this. 10% would be ideal.

I’ll hike with this loadout for a few weeks and decide if I want to shed some more weight. The easiest would be to leave the laptop (2lbs) home, but when you travel for months at a time and write and edit photos on the road, that’s not always possible. My M10 is also pretty heavy (around 1.5lb body only, plus another 1lb for the 35mm lens). I may take the Leica Q instead. (around 1.4lb total, inc. lens) It performed so well on my last Camino. I also included the weight of a Loctote bag (1.25lbs with lock). That’s a hefty bag but does protect against unscrupulous people on the trail.

All in, ~22lbs for 3 months of travel, with 1600km+ of those on foot, is a good start. My goal is to get until 20lbs before I leave.

 

 

For many years I have shot with a Nikon: D800, D800e, D810, and now the D850. They are remarkable cameras with mind boggling stats that have served me well at high altitudes in the Himalayas, soaking humidity underground in the world’s largest cave in central Vietnam, and even surviving a swim in the ocean off the beaches of Krabi in Thailand. I love the Nikons, except for one major fact: they are huge. Traveling and shooting with a big DSLR is a commitment, and one I usually relish. Over the past few years though, as I’ve been doing longer and longer hikes (800km+), you need to be hyper vigilant on weight on such a trip as you are walking 6-8 hours a day for a month. Last year, when I crossed from Beijing, China to Santiago de Compostella, Spain via the Trans-Siberian Railway, I brought along a Leica Q. Put simply, it was the best camera I have ever used. Returning to the Nikon feels like stepping back 10 years. The Leica Q is not going to match the Nikon for rugged landscape photography, but what I discovered shooting with the Leica is that my photography became much more personal. I like that. I like that a lot.

My experiment with the Leica Q sold me on the Leica brand. Recently, I took the Q on another hike along the Kumano Kodo Japan. Again, it performed remarkably well. Everyone says that photos from Leica’s just have this intangible feel about them. Until you shoot with one, it’s hard to get the sense of what I mean. You just have to try it. I was so impressed by the feel of the Leica Q, I saved up my money and purchased a Leica M with a 35mm Summilux lens. It’s a beautiful kit in every way, but it’s different from anything I’ve shot in before.

 

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Leica M (shot with the Leica Q)

Perhaps the biggest difference is that unlike the Q, which is a mirrorless system with a spectacular EVF, the M10 is a rangefinder. I’ve never shot with a rangefinder previously. It has an analogue feel in a digital world. I feel like I’m shooting film again. That may sound strange, but when you get it right on the M10, the photos are magic. It’s tricky to get it right though. I have a steep learning curve to go if I am going to take the M10 on my next trip, a 1700km+ hike across France and Spain.

As I spend more time on travel and street photography, this ability to be in the action with the Leica vs carrying a large DSLR is exactly what I’ve been searching for: that way to make my journey and my photos more personal. Right now, however, getting good shots with the M10 is a bit hit or miss for me. The only way to get better at something is to do it repeatedly. So, after a week of heavy rain in San Francisco, the weather finally improved enough for me to take a walk around my neighborhood, the Mission District, here in San Francisco to take the M10 out and put it, and me, through it’s paces. The Mission is an eclectic place. There is a huge latino influence, brightly colored wall art, grungy corners, and epic coffee shops. It’s perfect for a photographer to practice their craft.

 

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The Leica M10 is a technological powerhouse, but unlike the Nikon D850 which is almost clinical in it performance, the M throws you back to yesterday with a retro feel that inspires a life of train journeys, whiskey bars, and 70's shag pile carpets

Solid Lines

It’s no secret that I love cars. To me, they are more than transportation. Cars are one of the finest examples of engineering art work and intimately reflect the owner, the neighborhood, and a lifestyle. The Mission is a transitional neighborhood. There are low income families who have lived here for generations. There are new generation techies building the next killer apps, and there is everything in between. I managed to capture a few cars which reflect this diversity. Sticking to a subject I know, cars, helped me become comfortable using the focus ring on the M10. After about an hour, I could quickly, and confidently, nail focus on objects which had solid lines.

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The timeless VW Bug - the older the better.

 

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I love this shot of a VW Bus. It just screams the '70's. And with the Leica M, you can almost touch the nostalgia.

 

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I'm a Porsche guy. This 930 911 with the whale tail spoiler just gets better with age.

 

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Beauty is certainly in the eye of the beholder here. I was drawn to this shot due to the trees and bright red garage door in the background.

 

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If only this guy could talk. What stories would it share?

 

Zone Focusing

After a quick coffee at Philz, my local coffee shop, I headed down to Precita Park at the base of Bernal Heights. I had originally planned to walk to the top of the hill, but the weather looked ominous. I didn’t want to get caught out in a storm with my M10 just yet. I’ll save that for the trails when I have my waterproof gear. Walking through the park gave me an opportunity to work with more organic lines: trees, plants, play structures etc. The rangefinder takes some practice here to perfect. I found that by zone focusing, setting the aperture to a specific setting, prior to shooting or composing a shot, I could check the distance indicators on the lens to know where my shot would be in focus. Then, when it came to take the shot, all I needed to do was shift the focus ring slightly to nail the focus, rather than spinning it left and right just to find something close. I have to admit that despite the Leica Q having focal length indicators on the 28mm Summilux lens, I never really understood their purpose until I started shooting with the M. The Leica Q’s autofocus system is so good, I just didn’t need to care. The M10 requires to you master zone focusing. It’s analogue, and so rewarding when you get it right.

 

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My first attempt at a 'landscape' shot with the M10. Definitely room to improve, but I'm pleased with it. I focused on the vertical lines of the buildings to dial in my focus in the rangefinder.

 

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A good camera captures a moment, a great camera captures emotion. Despite being empty of kids due to the weather and early hour, you can almost hear the laughter of kids swinging back and forth on the tire swing.

 

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I was beginning to feel confident and thought it was time to play with a more shallow depth of field. The M10 is far less forgiving that the Q. I love the colors of this pic, but have a way to go before I master anything lower than F4 on the Leica M10

 

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Super shallow depth of field at F1.4. I nailed what I was trying to achieve, but I think I should have stuck to f2.8 or f4.0 to capture the entire swing in focus. But, that bokeh. That's the Leica feel I love.

 

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I'm nothing if not persistent. These cones gave me the perfect subject to keep working on my shallow depth of field.

 

Organic Lines

During the last segment of my walk, I passed by some vibrant wall art and plants. The colors of Leica are subtle, almost pastel-like. I typically drop the saturation and contrast further still in Lightroom, shying away from too much vibrance in my shots. It gives the photos a yesteryear feel that I love. Further, I could tell that my practice with zone focusing was already paying off when shooting flowers and trees. Organic shapes don’t have hard straight lines. If you don’t zone focus on the M10, you are constantly hunting for focus. The double image in the metering field of the rangefinder may be so far away you can’t even tell which leaf you need to line up in order to achieve focus. After a lot of trial and error, I nailed a few shots I was happy with.

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Organic shots like this are quite technical with the M10. Zone focusing helps, but it still takes me quite a while to nail it. Oh, have I mentioned that Leica bokeh? It's magical.

 

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Even after dialing back the saturation and contrast, the wall art in the Mission District still pop.

 

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I love how this shot came out. It was one of the times I really missed the innovative macro focus on the Leica Q. With the Summilux 35mm on the Leica M10, I had to step back about 1-2 meters before I could lock in focus on the rose. I think I spent about 30 sec performing micro-adjustments before I was sure I got it. It's way too long for street photography, but you have to start somewhere I guess.

 

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I like this scene because it afforded me the opportunity to work with both organic lines on the bush, and architectural lines on the stairs. I ended up focusing on the leaves that overlapped the white vertical edge of the wall. It gave me a guide to ensure that during superimposing in the rangefinder I was removing the double images of the right leaves. When all the leaves look the same, the rangefinder can be a little tricky to know which is the real image and which is the rangefinder double image.

 

What’s Next?

The Leica M10 is a beautiful camera that fills me with nostalgia every time I pick it up. It calls me to shoot with it, to master the rangefinder, and find that oh-so-sublime juxtaposition of analogue and digital. It’s a camera designed for those of us who don’t always want the the easiest way. It’s for the sort of people who still like to drive manual cars because we feel more connected to the driving experience: the car, the road, the moment. There are plenty of cameras out there which, by the numbers, beat the M10 hands down, but there is simply nothing else that I have ever used which is more satisfying when you get it right. That desire to improve as a photographer is what what I was looking for from Leica. In this respect, the M10 delivers perhaps even more than the Leica Q. I am fortunate enough to shoot with both. The Q gives me that next-generation, this is the future of photography feel, whereas the M10 gives me the retro grit I love. Mixing between the two is pure photography bliss.

I’m currently prepping for my third Camino de Santiago. I have walked from St Jean Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostella twice before, a distance of roughly 800km. This time I am walking from Le Puy-en-Velay which adds an additional 800km. It’s a long, long way, that’s for sure. One of the biggest questions I get from friends considering hiking the Camino, or I read on forums is what type of shoe to wear.

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There are a lot of posts out there that focus on the exact shoe. Choosing a shoe is a very individual choice. Everyone’s feet and needs are different, you have to make your own choice. Many people target a brand or style first.  In my experience, you are much better looking considering a number of factors first, then finding the brand and model of the shoe. Once you have a better understanding of the specific factors that the Camino will throw at you, you can select a shoe which best fits these factors, and your individual feet and walking style.

 

Most of the Camino is Flat

Approximately 60% of the Camino is on a low grade, perhaps less than 5%. This is different to most hikes which are around 15%. The result is your Achilles can become stiff from lack of stretching, its always fully extended with each step. Most people select a hiking shoe designed for 10-15% grade which has a raised sole with a decent drop (the height difference between the heal and toe of the shoe).  Over time, a taller drop on a low-grade trail will cause more pressure on the balls of your foot. I suffered from very sore balls of my feet on my first Camino, partly because of this.

Most footwear brands list the drop in their shoes somewhere in the specifications on the website. Don’t bother asking a staffer at your local outdoor store, they rarely know what you are talking about unless they are a serious hiker. If they are a serious hiker, don’t let them leave your sight. They will help you find the best shoe for you! What I have found is that big brands like Merryl and Keen are pretty standard drops, with some of the specialty brands like Oso having a bigger drop. If you regularly suffer from sore balls (on your feet) you might want to check out Altra. They make a zero drop shoe. Try them on and you instantly feet the difference. It feels really weird to start with.

I have done many hikes in a pair of Altra Lone Peak shoes. The zero drop and wide toe box (more on that later) make them a great choice for low-grade hikes, however, I have found that perhaps due to my low arches, caused by years of running, my feet tire very quickly. For me, Altras don’t offer quite enough support for repetitive 25km+ days.

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Waterproof or Not?

This was my biggest mistake on my first Camino, and I made a LOT of them. I hiked in a pair of Merrell Moab Gore-tek ankle boots, which I have used for years without ever having a blister. The Camino is different though: you have long high kilometers on successive days with a strong possibility of heavy rain one day and scorching sun the next. I forgot to take the changing conditions when selecting my shoe. I was hiking in April and expected a lot of rain.

The biggest thing you have to remember about Gore-tek, or any waterproof boot when hiking for hours in the rain is that EVERY shoe lets water in. There is a big hole at the top where your foot goes in! Water in your shoe is unavoidable. You can limit how much water enters from the top with gaitors, but you are going to get wet. Accept that fact and move on. The real problem with waterproof shoes is, once the water is in, it stays in. And, due to the nature of the shoe, there is no breathability. When it’s hot and your feet sweat they will get no air flow. The result is blisters, lots and lots of blisters.[image error]

My advice is to find the most breathable shoe you can. On the Camino, you are hiking long days. Your feet will get hot much more often than it will rain. For my second Camino, I wore the Merrell Moab 2 Ventilator. From the very first day I could feel the difference in breathability; crossing the Pyrenees my feet never overheated. And don’t worry about getting cold feet either. My second Camino started in Beijing, where I crossed all the way to St Jean-Pied-de-Port by land via the Trans-Siberian Railway. I was in Siberia in late winter and my feet were fine. Buying a good warm pair of socks like Wright Socks, or any merino based product.

 

 

Buy a Whole Size Larger

I typically wear a size 9.5 shoe. Generally, when I hike I go half a size up to allow room for some expansion as feet often swell with heat and hiking. This half a size rule works great when I’m hiking shorter daily distances and cooler climates. On my last Camino, I hiked in a size 10 Moab 2 Ventilator. I found by the end of my Camino my small toes were getting squashed as my feet had widened from a month of long days. Plus, the last 10 days I hiked in 20c weather making it quite warm. Thankfully, due to the breathability of the Ventilators, I had no blisters whatsoever, but the toe box was a little small.

The wide toebox one of my favorite features of the Altra Lone Peaks. Unlike traditional shoes which taper inwards on the small toes, Altras have a foot-shaped toe box, which I love. I’m not planning on wearing them for my third camino though. I’m a little worried though that the Altra won’t have the stiffness I will need for a very long hike (although PCT thru-hikers love them, so maybe I should trust them too?). My goal with the extra half size in another brand is to simulate the space of an Altra style toe box. I’ve been breaking a pair of size 10.5’s in over the past month and so far so good. I tried a size 11 too, but that too big. I kept tripping over rocks.

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Bring Two Pair of Insoles

Another big reason to go up a whole size in the shoe is to make sure that your shoe has plenty of room for aftermarket insoles. The first thing I always do when I purchase a new pair of hiking shoes is to ditch the ones that come from the manufacturer and replace them with specialized insoles for the type of hiking I am planning.

I have flat arches from years of running and pronate if I wear the wrong insole. A few years back it was causing issues on my Achilles as well as throwing out my hip alignment. I made the old man decision of getting some professional insoles. The insoles have a hard plastic molding designed to fix my gait, but they just had a thin foam layer on top of it. I wore these on my last Camino, but not my first. After 10 days on my first Camino I had knocked my hip so far out of alignment I nearly packed up and went home. The second time with the insoles in place I had no alignment problems. However, I did find that I could really feel the pavement pounding after long days. When I was in Sarria, about 5 days from the end of the Camino, I bought some flat gel insoles that I slipped into my shoes when I knew I was going to hike long stretches of pavement. They really saved my feet and helped me consistently do 35km+ days with no problem. I made it a rule to save my gel insoles for when I really needed them. When I slipped them on, they felt like a little bit of luxury; a small treat on the trail.

For my next Camino, I’ve replaced the foam upper of the othotics with a gel insoles and glued them to the plastic base. I’ve tried them out on a few hikes so far and everything has been great. I’m going to bring my original orthotics too just in case they don’t work as well I am hoping they are. This means I will have two pairs of insoles: one for normal days, and one for days with hard surfaces. This will be especially important considering I am leaving from Le Puy, roughly double the distance of my last Camino.

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Stretch Daily

Although it’s not technical about choosing the best shoe, my last piece of advice for foot care on the Camino is to stretch your hips daily. Too often we forget that the way in which our feet strike the ground, regardless of the shoe, is directly related to your hip flexors. I’ve run half a dozen marathons and hike over a thousand miles a year for the past 10 years. I stretch my hips every morning when on the trail. It only takes about 5 minutes to do and became one of my favorite times on the Camino. I would leave the Albergue just before sunrise, walk about 5-10 minutes until I found a peaceful area, stretch and reflect on the day before, then begin my walk with the rising sun.

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Which Shoe Am I Wearing?

For my third Camino, I needed a shoe that would last a long time – 1600km across varied terrain. The first 10 days from Le Puy are reportedly quite rocky with a lot of elevation change, then as I move through areas like the Meseta and large towns such as Burgos and Leon I’m going to need a bit more padding. I have decided to go with the Moab 2 Ventilator from Merrell again. They served me very well last time and showed almost no wear at all.

As mentioned above, I’m going to go a full size up from my normal shoe to allow for extra toe room. I am still debating and testing the Altra Lone Peaks. I love their foot-shaped toe box and the zero drop really helps to reduce the impact on the balls of your feet. My only concern with them is that my feet seem to get more tired with these after a long day hiking. I just don’t think they have a stiff enough sole for what I need, especially over the rocky terrain. Regardless of the shoe, I am bringing two pairs of insoles: a stiffer one for 80% of the time and a softer gel for the long hard days through cities and packed surfaces. In end, we can plan as best we can. If the Camino has taught me anything it is that you just have to be open to change and not stress too much about what you can’t control.  If part way something isn’t working for you, let it go and try something new.

 

Buen Camino.

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It’s no secret that I love hiking. It’s this mix of simplicity, the outdoors, and the physical challenge that is such the antithesis of so much of our modern society that I just love it. In 2016 I hiked the Camino de Santiago from St Jean Pied-de-Port to Santiago de Compostella, an 800km hike along a 1000-year-old pilgrimage route. Along the way, I was fascinated by the history of the Camino, fell in love with Spain, and wrote a book about my experience. During my hike, I also heard of something called the Dual Pilgrimage and the Kumano Kodo.

The Kumano Kodo is a series of pilgrimage routes that cross the remote Kii peninsula of Honshu, the largest island in Japan. The Kii Peninsula is about 2 hours south of Osaka via train. It is a fascinatingly beautiful and rural area many tourists never visit. For over a thousand years, pilgrims would hike the trails of the Kumano Kodo, stopping at shrines called Oji to pray and meditate before arriving at one of the major temples. The Kumano Kodo and the Camino de Santiago are the only two UNESCO heritage listed hikes in the world. By completing both you are award a dual pilgrimage certification.

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It’s no wonder I knew I had to hike the Kumano Kodo as soon as I heard about it. The Kumano was challenging, it had a goal, and was stepped in history. I set myself a goal of completing both the Camino de Santiago and the Kumano Kodo in the same year. To me, this was the true dual pilgrimage. In November 2017, after completing my second Camino in May, I hiked the Nakahechi route and continued on an extra day to Nachi Taisha.

It’s taken me quite a while before I felt ready to write down my thoughts on the hike. Like most things in life that you build up, the Kumano Kodo wasn’t what I expected. The funny thing about expectations is that they are your interpretation of a person, place, or event. Expectations are akin to fortune-telling. If there is one thing I have learned about hiking and travel, expectations are our way of controlling something we have no control over. The sooner you let them go and begin to enjoy the moment for what it is, the sooner you truly begin to live.

Day 0: Arriving in Kii-Tanabe

I flew into Osaka airport yesterday, staying in a small ryokan for the night before catching the Kuroshiro-5 JR train to Kii-Tanabe, the jumping off point for the Nakahechi route of the Kumano. Just like the Camino de Santiago, there are many routes along the Kumano Kodo. The Nakahechi is the most popular. You could think of it as the equivalent of the Camino Frances route, but much shorter: 4-5 days vs. 25-30.

I sat on the train, head resting against the window as the landscape blurred past. The sun shone brightly and the hum of the train had me drifting in and out of sleep. I was nervous. Unlike the Camino with its dozens of guidebooks and memoirs, the Kumano has relatively few western books, none of which I found were very useful for planning at all. Eventually, after trolling online forums, I found the official Kumano tourism website. This site, despite feeling like it was designed in the 80’s contains everything you need to plan your trip. Most importantly, unlike the Camino, you need to book your accommodation in advance.

You can find package deals through travel agencies that book everything you need to hike the Kumano for you. My advice though is to skip the agencies and book directly via the tourism website. The site contains sample itineraries to suit your style, and the ability to book your accommodation. For five nights accommodation, I paid about $350 vs. $950 for package deals. I really don’t understand where the other $600 would go for a package deal. Besides the accommodation, the rest is hiking. Surely a map, which is free at the tourism center in Kii-Tanabe, can’t cost that much?

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I watched the scenery change from flat farmlands, still green from rains, to brilliant blue oceans, waves lapping gently against the rocky shores, to mountain ranges rising steeply ahead. The mountains of this area are different from the Alps or the Himalayas. The mountains here are like rumpled bedsheets endlessly folding over each other. Their unique shapes are caused by tectonic plate movements that create dense mountain folds with steep valleys.

Up until now, I hadn’t really felt like I was on a hike, or pilgrimage yet. I hadn’t seen other pilgrims with their telltale backpacks and hiking. This changed when I arrived in Tanabe. I disembarked and noticed a few other hikers. There are definitely fewer hikers than in St Jean, but the same vibe existed – we were here to challenge ourselves. Together, we found the tourist center next to the station. Inside, there were maps of the route, hiking tips, and plenty of historical information about the route. I felt at home talking with the friendly staff and receiving my pilgrim passport. Just like the Camino de Santiago, you collect stamps along the way which, when arriving at Hongu Taishi, the main temple on the Kumano where all the routes intercept, you can register your successful completion of the pilgrimage. For me, the passport would also provide evidence that I could be awarded the Dual Pilgrim certification.

After checking into my ryokan and dropping my pack next to the mat on the floor which would be my bed for the night I wandered around Tanabe beginning with a visit to the temple to reflect on my journey to come. At home, I rarely pause for reflection. On the trails, especially on pilgrim trails, I find my mind slows allowing me to relax.

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I ate at a local ramen shop, choosing the miso chile. It was sweat inducingly delicious and a perfect way to wrap a long day of travel and logistics. Tomorrow I would start my hike. I walked back to the ryokan to prepare my bag.

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My accommodation for the night was a ryokan called the Kumano Guest House. A ryokan is a traditional style of accommodation on the Kumano. If you have hiked the Camino, you can think of it as a Japanese albergue. Ryokans have small basic kitchens, often shared sleeping areas for 4-8 people, shared bathrooms, and that’s about it. There are a number of different styles of accommodation along the Kumano depending on what suits your taste and budget. Each ryokan is different too, many are attached to onsens, traditional hot baths, which are a great way to soothe sore muscles after a day’s hike.

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I sat on my mat in the corner of the room, packing my bag, snacking on local rice crackers. My mind raced with thoughts of the hike tomorrow. I had read many accounts that the morning was a straight uphill grind for the first few hours. The similarities to the Camino de Santiago kept plaguing me. Day one of the Camino was an uphill climb across the Pyranese. As much as the two hikes share a similar history, I was soon to discover that, as a hiking experience, the Camino and the Kumano are very different.

 

 

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I had to pee. In a feat of gymnastics, I twisted myself around in the back of my rental car, a silver Subaru Forrester, and climbed out the rear side door. It’s summer here in Australia right now. Even at 4:30 am, the weather is warm. I took few steps from the car – for the sake of decency – and peed.

Above me, the sky sparkled with a million stars. I could make out the southern cross, but few other constellations. It has always been on my list to learn more about them. I have so many things on my list. We all do, but mine seem to swirl around travel and the longing to explore, to simply wander and live. That’s what I’m doing right now, well aside from peeing. Actually, I’m peeing anymore, that was earlier, but I think you got that.

What I am doing right now is heading home to visit my family near Melbourne, at the southern tip of the Australian mainland. No matter how you spin it, it’s a long way from anywhere. Unlike any normal person who would fly directly to the city they are visiting, I decided to fly into Sydney and road trip roughly 1000km down the coast of New South Wales. The coastal route, which roughly follows the A1 highway before it turns inland near the border of New South Wales and Victoria, is a beautiful strip of road, meandering its way through even more beautiful seaside towns and sapphire blue beaches and bays. This is where the area gets its name, the Sapphire Coast.

My first hour in the car, after leaving Sydney airport was spent admiring the endless traffic from within one the many tunnels burrowed under the city. It gave me time to get used to driving on the left side of the road again. It also gave me time to be welcomed warmly by my fellow drivers as I changed lanes flicking the wiper blades instead of the indicator. It’s funny that all the controls in the car save for the pedals are reversed, but the middle finger is still the middle finger no matter what side of the road you are on. Hello, Australia, good to see you again. Eventually, I got the hang of it again, and before I knew it I had left the city, and the one-finger salute behind.

I headed south following the Grand Pacific Drive, before entering a region called Shoalhaven where a road, or precisely a bridge, has been constructed adjacent to a vertical cliff, and above the ocean, some 50m below. In typical Australian style, the creatively named Seacliff Bridge, It’s a short, ~700m, but beautiful drive and hard to keep your eyes on the road. I stopped for a quick snack before jumping back behind the wheel, driving on the wrong side of the road for a moment, corrected my mistake, and hurried out of town.

I stopped 30 minutes later in a tiny hamlet, barely a smudge on the map. The sky ahead was a brilliant blue with barely a wisp of a cloud. The air was filled with bird songs as hundreds of native Gallahs sat perched on the electrical wires. I listened to the melody for what seemed like an eternity letting time slow down around me, dipping like the wires under the weight of my feathered choir singers. This is the Australia of my youth. Pure, vibrant, and natural.

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I pushed on. All adventures feel that urge to keep moving. The car rumbled into life, and I continued south. A few hours later, jetlag began to set in. It was time to find somewhere to sleep. I turned off the A1 towards Jervis Bay hoping to find a quiet place to pull over. I drove through Vincentia, collected supplies at a local grocery store before heading to the bay.

Jervis Bay is a large, protected bay with golden sand beaches and a collection of small towns clustered around its edges. Huskisson, Hyams Beach, and Myola are all spectacular in the way only sleepy Australian beach towns can be. Despite it being 6 pm, the cafes all bustle with lazy energy as patrons, wrapped in towels, hair still wet from swimming in the ocean, sip strong coffee and chat with warm smiles. Life is easy here. People are friendly. And road trips endless.

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I pulled my car into a quiet turnout with a few of the bay. My dinner considered of cheesy bread roll and a bottle of water. I watched the sunset through the bug-splattered windshield. By the time I sun disappeared to the west behind me, I had strummed the last notes of Let it Be by The Beatles, upon my guitar. I let the G chord ring out fading like the light in the warm evening sky. There is something pure about the fading chord of a guitar that I love. It’s simple, understated, yet serenely beautiful. Just like now, overlooking the ocean with nothing but a car, a backpack, and my guitar. I drifted to sleep to the sound of waves gently caressing the shore.

I’d been riding across Java, the most populated island of Indonesia, for about a week now. I had survived the mad drivers of the Jakarta, skirted the northern coast along some beautiful roads, finally arriving in Semarang, in central Java. I parked my bike, locked my helmet to the frame, and found a cheap hotel. I was road weary, my feet tingled from the constant vibration of the motorcycle pegs. I quickly showered and walked downstairs into the street. It felt funny walking again, like when you first get off rollerskates and your brain still thinks it’s gliding along.

I walked down the street hunting for a coffee shop to relax. I turned left, then right. Nothing. Ahead, on the side of the road, a small table had been set up selling what appeared to popcorn. I walked closer, a small, elderly woman appearing from a doorway. Steam drifted from the doorway. She smiled broadly. “Tofu”, she said.

I never gave Tofu a second thought. In fact, the only time that I really gave it a thought at all was when I was pushing it to the side of the plate when eating Chinese food delivered from Big Lantern, my local Chinese take-out. I picked up the beans realizing they were dried and salted soybeans, the primary ingredient for making tofu. The woman motioned to her mouth, “try one”.

I ate the bean with a satisfying salty crunch. “Tofu?” I asked raising my hands hoping to make it a question. She pointed to the steamy doorway behind her. “Inside. You see,” she said taking my hand.

I walked inside the small factory. Despite a trail of steam snaking along the ceiling before it escaped out the door, the air was bone dry. Wicker baskets of soybeans sat upon shelves along the walls. From left to right, the soybeans changed color. First, the new beans, still green and moist, then as they dried, the colors changed to dark brown, yellow, and eventually a golden color. In the middle of the room, a man kneeled on the floor sifting dried beans, placing some on large pink plastic sheets, and others on another wide flat basket where he added salt, mixing them around, before dividing into bags like I had first seen on the street.

 

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We ventured deeper, following the source of the stream. Vast vats of buddling soy and boiling water filled the next room. Men and women sifted the pulpy substance, sweat dripping down their faces. The work was hard, obviously, but they never failed to offer me a smile. That’s one thing you learn about Indonesia, the people are incredibly friendly and positive.

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My impromptu tour guide pointed towards the vat, where some of the beans had reached the reached the desired consistency and the excess water was pressed out. I was enthralled. I had no idea Tofu could be so fascinating.

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I munched on another handful of dried soybeans. Once the excess water is removed, The pulp is given a rinse with clean, hot water removing grime and impurities from the boiling process, before being left to dry until the pulp becomes the consistency of dough.

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After sitting for about eight hours, the thickened pulp is sliced up into the familiar tofu squares and wrapped

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We concluded our mini tour. I purchased some of the finished tofu, knowing I would have no way of preparing it. My little jetboil stove only had one pot. Riding a motorbike forces you to consider what you carry. I thanked the woman and walked further down the street. I turned a corner, almost running into a Starbucks.

That’s the thing I love about travel. If I had found Starbucks as soon as I left my hotel I would have never experienced the daily life of the locals, and certainly would have never looked at Tofu the way I look at it now. I still don’t like it, but instead of dismissing it, I give it a second thought. It reminds me of the smiles, and the people of that tiny, sweaty factory in the middle of Indonesia.

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This morning, I posted a picture on Instagram of hikers on the Camino de Santiago walking through the ruins of the San Anton Abbey near Castrojeriz. Ahead, a full moon hung in the sky as dawn painted the sky a beautiful hue of pinks and gold. I remember the morning so well.

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I had left Hontanas at 5:45 am, earlier than I had planned. I hadn’t slept that well. My bed was thin and on a top bunk that swayed with any movement. I thought I might topple off at any moment. Like so many things about travel that I love, one experience leads to another. If I hadn’t left so early I wouldn’t have walked with the moon.

The trail out of Hontanas was beautiful. It meandered through the hills. Birds chirped in the grey pre-dawn light. Everything radiated a soft, ethereal blue, shimmering under the full moon. For an hour I had the trail all to myself. I walked in silence enjoying the delicate moments string themselves together, playing off each other like the melody of a song.

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My breath hung in the air, and my boots squelched in the mud. It had rained during the night, but today promised beautiful weather. As I walked, I heard someone approaching from behind. I turned to see Gionvanni, my Italian friend I had met way back on day 1 in Roncevalles. Gionvanni was gaining quickly, the sound of his footsteps squelch-squeching growing closer. Gionvanni had stayed in the same albergue with me and obviously had the same idea to leave early. We chatted briefly before he walked on dancing and singing. Oh, the Italians. They know how to live.

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I just reached the ten thousand word mark in the draft for A Long Way West, my travel diary about my journey from China to Spain, by land, to walk the Camino de Santiago. I was reading through and compiling my notes, whilst working on the latest chapter this morning. The scene brought back so many vivid memories, I went back to my photos from the trip (over 1300!) to find a few to go with the notes. Here is an excerpt. If you want to be notified when the book is published, make sure you subscribe!

Dawn breaks over the Mongolian tundra in a symphony of colors. Reds, like the sands of Africa, streak the sky, golds, like the treasures of the pharaohs, burst across the dry grass, and the sky shifts from an inky midnight blue to the color of oceans off a tropical island. For a landscape so devoid of physical shape, everything has form, constructing and deconstructing before my eyes.

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The sun rises over my right shoulder. I check my compass. I am now heading northwest. The sunsets will warm my back for the remainder of my journey as I continue towards Santiago de Compostella and the Camino. I have tens of thousands of miles to go.I am still so near the beginning of this journey that the end is but a speck in my thoughts, destined to blow away at any moment lost to the beauty of the present where my mind laps up the new experiences constantly unfolding outside the window of my carriage.

The end may be a speck on a map far in the distance, but the Camino is constantly on my mind. I never forget that I am on the pilgrimage now. The journey is where you grow, and learn the lessons I am yet to discover. The whole point of boarding this train and crossing half of the world is to complete my dream of leaving my house and heading west. This is an adventure. It’s  stepping into the unknown and learning to adapt, to grow, to live.

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I am beginning to understand why people fall in love with the romanticism of train travel. The scenery moves past your window embracing you constantly. It never moves fast enough that you can’t take a moment to wallow in the precious details. Your mind has time to linger and examine the details, but never long enough that it gets get bored. It’s these details that we so often miss in this hyper-connected, multi-tasking life of modern society. I’ll take my life slow with a side of adventure, please. Give me the details, as gritty and jarring as they often are. Give me them all.

[image error]The Camino De Santiago has been on my mind lately. I’ve been working on my book, The Long Way West, which covers my last camino and land crossing from Beijing to the foothills of the Pyrenees. It seems so long ago , yet the memories and emotions are still so vivid. I’m already planning my next one: from Le Puy to Saint Jean-Pied-de-Port via the Via Podensis, and then along the Camino del Norte from Irun.

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One of things I did differently this time on the camino was to capture some audio clips from The Way. It’s funny how sounds, like like photos, can transport you back to a place or time with such vivid clarity.  I’ve combined the clips into a playlist with a rough chronological order. Just this small sample really sums up so much of the feeling of walking the camino (minus the blisters, of course. Those, you have to experience yourself!) Next time, I plan to record a short clip every day, perhaps with some video too.

Birds chirping in St. Jean-Pied-de-Port
Crossing the Pyrenees
Church bells Los Arcos
Cuckoo before Burgos
Music in Granon town square
Music in Granon donativo
Walking Sticks
Singing Nuns in Carrion
Sheep in the Meseta
Voices of the Albergue
Celebrating in Santiago