I had to buy a pair of headphones on the airplane for $3 so I could watch Gone Girl – only one side worked and I listened to everyone snoring out of my other ear for the entirety of that twisted film. That probably explains the getting to Portugal part of my trip as well as anything else.

I knew I’d miss my connecting flight from London to Portugal as soon as I got the message that my flight from Denver to London was delayed, so I was somewhat mentally prepared and had accepted there wouldn’t be anything to do about the change in plans until I arrived. What I didn’t realize was the utter hassle it would be to rearrange everything.

As it turns out, there are very few direct flights from London to Portugal. My option, after figuring out my trekking poles had been checked under another persons name and shipped to Sweden, was to book a flight out of an airport on the other side of London the following day, which required an expensive train ticket, a two hour trip across town and a hotel.

But here’s the thing: navigating new cities is one of my all time favorite things in the entire world. I took the train one hour, hopped off and walked around London by way of Googles’ recommendation for the best fish and chips in the area (it lived up to the hype). At the restaurant, a guy on vacation from Washington state spoke up and introduced himself (identifying me and my giant backpack as out of place) and we ended up walking miles around the city together before I jumped back on the train.

My hotel was incredible; I’ve done all of this hiking and traveling and backpacking solo but I’m fairly certain that was my first time alone in a hotel room (because I prefer my car or a tent to paying 1/8 of my rent for a single night, neither of which were available in Luton, England).

The following morning, I took a bus to the airport, checked in and ended up back on track, minus a few hundred dollars (insurance claims have been filed, emails have been sent and new trekking poles have been purchased).

I made it to Porto, Portugal just fine and it was a whole new stimulating navigational experience in and of itself, except this time when I finally got off the metro (only forty hours after my travels began) I was greeted by two familiar faces.

I’ll be spending the following weeks walking north from Porto, Portugal to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. I’ve been in Santiago once before at the end of a 492mi trek in 2018. This trek will “only” be 180ish miles (possibly more, if we continue on to Fisterra) and that already feels short. It’s barely enough to outgrow my blisters and develop a rhythm of what goes where inside of my pack. But it’s long enough to get a taste of this thru-hiking life I’ve fallen in love with.

I’m a big fan of standing on summits, but if I’m being honest, using my feet to chart new territory and explore new towns is what got me into the 14er world to begin with. As my Spain trip wrapped up last April and I faced returning home without a highly anticipated trip or goal on the horizon, I resolved to hike one 14er a week, if circumstances within my control allowed. And I did. And I fell in love with them, clearly. (At that time climbing all of them was not on my radar). But here I am again, with my original love of thru-hiking, reunited with two incredible people I met in Spain last year, ready and open for whatever round two will bring.

The Camino Frances was a lot of soul-searching for me. It fell in my lap at a pivotal, emotionally broken, place in my life. I currently stand a little bit stronger than I was then, on the tail end of one of my proudest accomplishments: paramedic school, with all of these giant mountains and options for new directions sprinkled in, but Aristotle says “it is solved by walking,” so here I’ll be for the next several days: solving and walking and embracing whatever is in store.

And laughing, and smiling, because the two individuals I’m here with are a hoot together and I’ve already made friends from all over this world .. and I’m only one day in.

London, England:

Porto, Portugal: