from Chiang Mai, Thailand

Thailand welcomed us back in its usual style.

Upon arriving at our AirBNB, a locked gate greeted us. No one answered the numbers we'd been given.

Bewildered, we asked a neighbor  if she knew the caretaker. She invited us in while searching for someone to call him. We sat on the living room floor and watched The Huntsman: Winter's War --dubbed in Thai-- with her children.

She came back to cheerfully announce that Earth would arrive "in one hour." She offered to cook us dinner while we waited.

All told, we waited an hour and a half for Earth to arrive. He glanced at us to see if we were angry-- we weren't-- and then showed us around the apartment as if nothing had happened.

Oh Thailand, with its unprecedented sense of hospitality and punctuality!

Luckily, the daughter's English is far better than my Thai.

... from Xiamen, China

The one thing I know for sure about China is I will never know China. It's too big, too old, too diverse, too deep. There's simply not enough time. That's for me the joy of China, facing a learning curve that impossibly steep. The certain knowledge that even if I dedicated my life to learning about China, I die mostly ignorant.                                                                          - Anthony Bourdain

I love China. And I hate China. Four months in, here's some questions I ask daily:

• What's that smell?
• Why does everyone stare? What do they think I'm going to do?
• Why won't my apartment complex open our beautiful pool? It's 100 degrees! 
• What do the dozens of strangers who've taken pictures of me (eating, in my swimming suit, sleeping on the train, when I'm about to cry, etc.) do with those pictures?
• Where's the soap? Seriously, schools and hospitals, soap!
• Where's all the obesity/crime/divorce/homelessness? 
• Why do I feel so much freer living in a "communist" country?

Tiny fish eating the dead skin off  Andrew's feet

... from The End of the Earth (Fisterra, Spain)

We arrived in Santiago, and I decided to continue my journey by myself to Fisterra, "The End of the Earth." 

Traditionally, pilgrims burned their clothes on a rock that was once believed to be the western most point in Europe. It represents cleansing or newness.

I walked out to the rock to watch the sunset with about ten other pilgrims from around the world. We enjoyed a picnic and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and community.

I didn't burn anything, nor do I believe half my sins have been forgiven on this pilgrimage. But I do really like walking... still!

... from As Seixas, Spain

In the last thirty days, I've only slept in the same bed two nights in a row once. 

Pilgrims sleep in albergues, random buildings converted into hostels.

We've stayed in train stations, people's houses, and one night even a converted jail, usually for $6 a night. 

We've stayed in mountain towns, real cities, historic villages, beach destinations.

We've shared rooms with hundreds of strangers from dozens of countries, about half of whom sleep in their underwear and a fourth of whom snore.

I've slept on the floor and in a house that reeked of urine.

I can now sleep anywhere.

Unrelated but these are wild horses we saw on a mountain a couple of days ago.

... from Ribeseya, Spain

Miles today: 18

Miles completed: 269

Miles to go: 269 

We had our first difficult group decision to make a couple of days ago. The path split between an easier, coastal route and a more challenging inland route. 

For me, somewhat fortunately, the physical walking thus far has been relatively easy. What's surprised me is how hard it is psychologically to always maintain a good mood and prioritize each other's needs. To get to Santiago, we need everyone to be physically and emotional functional. 

Once again, we've chosen the harder path. We're going inland and I think ultimately it's the good way for everyone. More importantly, we're all still friends! 

We'll miss the ocean, of course, but we're excited about gorgeous mountain views on the inland route 

... from Güemas, Spain

Everyone says you have to stop in Güemas. The hospitalera, Ernesto, is just so nice.

It's easy for the volunteer Hospitaleras to get frustrated with the constant stream of pilgrims. We arrive stinky, exhausted and hungry. We ask dozens of questions, often in poor Spanish.

Today, we were greeted with smiles,  glasses of water, and cookies. The accommodation, massages and group meals are donation-based. Even though he's not here, Ernesto is making The Way so much easier.

It reminds me that we make choices about how to treat tired, annoying   pilgrims around us everyday.  And how much that can matter.

We saw this sign posted on the gate of a random house in a village today. While the translation is poor, the sentiment is amazing.

... from Lezama, Spain

Day: 6 (June 3)

Miles Today: 12

Total Miles Completed: 75 (roughly)

We're learning what "Camino friends" are. 

 I'm hiking with two other Americans close to my age. Although most of the pilgrims are European and older than us,  they've embraced us. We cook each other dinner. We do laundry together. We know each other's physical weaknesses and daily check-in with "How's your knee?" or "Do your feet feel any better today?" 

Maybe voluntarily putting your body through pain is a bonding experience. Maybe the kind of person who uses their vacation days to go on a spiritual pilgrimage is just super kind. And the cheap but delicious Spanish wine certainly doesn't hurt.