#i will collect all my tree canopy photos and post them eventually

[mminu]

self reveal + collection of my fascination for tree canopies. proof i do go outside and am NOT just a freak.

[pcttrailsidereader]

The Best of the PCT Continues

The countdown continues with Rees’ Numbers 8 and 7.  See Howard’s in yesterday’s post.

By Rees Hughes

NUMBER 8.  THE MAGICAL EVENING AT DRAKESBAD, July 9, 2010

 There are certain magical days on the Pacific Crest Trail that stand tall; days that rise above that broad forest of glorious days.   These are the days that your memory immediately races to when you reflect on your life on the trail.  There was the day we guessed our way around snow-covered Mt. Adams ending on a ridge with a commanding view of Mt. Rainier and a solstice sunset; the day we swam our way down Falls Creek marveling at the granite walls above Grace Meadows only to while away an afternoon in the soft, lush grass basking in the warm sun near Wilmer Lake; or the day we walked south from Cook and Green Pass past Kangaroo Springs to Lower Devils Peak with its ringside seat to the conflagration raging across the Klamath River Valley.  Every hiker has their transcendent days.

Such days do not always represent a confluence of everything wonderful.  It is their enchanted quality, what English writer Nan Fairbrother calls “exquisite moments,” that sets them apart.  Besides, time seems to blur the difficult and brighten the best experiences of these stellar days.  Such was the case this particular day.

The day dawned with vestiges of the tumultuous evening resting on the peaks above Lower Twin Lake in Lassen Volcanic National Park.  We tried to shake off as much moisture as possible but there was no alternative but to pack the tents wet again.  Dr. Howard tended to Don and Eli’s ailing feet.  Wet boots and long days had chaffed their feet raw with blisters compounding their discomfort.  There were unspoken thoughts of an early exit from the trail as it is no fun when each step hurts.  Perhaps a short day will improve spirits.

Speed bumps of late season snow gave way to long stretches of snow sheltered by the dense tree canopy.  I always find these situations wearing if not exhausting.  Climbing up and down the steep edges of the snow banks; picking your path around downed trees; add in a couple of postholes.   We carefully crossed several creeks swollen by the melt water and preceding night’s rainfall.  About midday we reached the crest of a line of basalt cliffs that comprise Flatiron Ridge high above the Warner Valley and, more importantly, Drakesbad.

Drakesbad, initially established clear back in 1900 as a guest ranch, remains a rustic refuge accessible via a corrugated unpaved road seventeen miles in from Chester (which is pretty remote itself) or on foot.  There are only nineteen units at Drakesbad some of which still rely on kerosene lamps.  However, the price for a night rivals the cost of a month on the PCT.  Yet, during much of the summer, accommodations have been reserved for years.  It really is a Northern California Shangri-la.

As we made the long traverse down, we could see the steam rising from the hot spring pool set out in a broad meadow.  The siren song of happy voices pulled us forward.  Our own chatter focused on the possibility of reserving a space for dinner.

We set up our tents in the Park Service’s Warner Valley Campground, hung a line and did our best to give the high mountain sun a chance to dry out our saturated gear.  Howard and I were nominated to walk the half mile to Drakesbad to ask about a table for four in the well ventilated section.  We donned clean tee-shirts and tried to sponge away the most offensive trail musk.

As we stepped into the closed space of the dining room, even our deadened noses became aware of the aroma that accompanied us.  The colorful tablecloths festooned the light wood of the dining room.  The room was set for dinner.  Salad forks.  Second spoons.  Wine glasses.  The ambiance was simple but elegant.   The realization that we didn’t fit here made us yearn for the opportunity that much more.

A tall woman brusquely emerged from what appeared to be the kitchen.  She had the air of a person with a long list of urgent tasks and little time for hiker trash.  Our first efforts to turn on the charm bounced off her and fell impotently to the floor.

We continued, “Any chance, any chance at all, that there might be a way to handle four more this evening?”  We weren’t above inserting a hint of desperation in our request.

“The Ranch is full and we usually only have enough food for our paying guests,” she replied without a hint of sympathy.  There was a pause as she saw our crestfallen faces.  “I will check with the chef and see if there is likely to be extra food.”   Perhaps it was her Germanic accent that underscored the futility of our quest.   Perhaps it was that she didn’t seem to be heading off to ask anyone anything.

We turned to go, tails between our legs.  Don and Eli will be so disappointed.  We had hoped this would be an antidote for their blistered feet and bruised morale.

With one foot out the door, Howard asked if it might be possible to use the phone for a quick call home as our cell phones had not been working along this stretch of the PCT.

It was if Howard had uttered a magic incantation that had propelled us into a parallel universe.  We were Dorothy trying to get into Oz.  “Why didn’t you say you were on the Crest Trail,” Billie Fiebiger exclaimed.  “We always have enough food for PCT hikers.”  In fact, Billie gave us the key to the city.  “Use the showers (please) and the pool.  Make yourselves at home.  Come back at 7 p.m. although you may not be seated until later.”  Still shaking our heads at our good fortune and this rather mysterious turn of events, we hurried back to tell Don and Eli the news before the spell was broken.

As the four of us returned the dark clouds that had dogged us the past several days were building quickly.  But, the warm showers and the hydrothermal pool kept us occupied until the rumble of thunder became more aggressive. Within minutes the remaining blue patches of sky vanished.  Lightning forced us reluctantly to vacate the pool.  The hail drove us for cover under the eaves of the bathhouse.   The gusting winds pushed tentacles of rain toward even the most protected corners.

Valiant employees raced down the trail to the pool in an electric cart to rescue the castaways three per trip.  The meadow had been transformed into a Sargasso Sea and the pyrotechnics kept us all jumpy.  Eventually we were deposited in the Lodge where we were to wait until dinner.

The photo albums and memorabilia in the Lodge deepened our appreciation for just what a special place Drakesbad is.  For two generations the Sifford family had built and tended this Guest Ranch.  For over 60 years they reclaimed the facility after each harsh winter for its four months of annual operation.  It had to be a labor of love.  The facility was incorporated into the National Park in 1958.  For the past 19 years, Ed and Billie Fiebiger have served as the hosts, caretakers, and stewards of Drakesbad.

Ed, in his chef’s apron, called us for dinner.  We crossed to the dining hall and were promptly seated.  There were several choices of entrees.  Or, Ed suggested, “Try them all!”  Heaping plates were brought to each of us.  The folks at the adjacent table took a special interest in our story.  One of their group had come annually for nearly fifty years.  Another from their table was sent back to their cabin and instructed to return with some of their wine stash to be shared with us.  “White or red?”  “No”, she instructed her husband, “bring one of each.”  We were peppered with questions and asked quite a few of our own.  We soaked up the attention that comes with being minor celebrities.

Ed pulled up a chair.  He had a bigger than life quality and exuded a warmth that permeated the hospitality of this magical place.

My cynical side wanted to peer around to make sure that we were not being fattened up by some wicked witch.  But, Drakesbad is a place that replenishes your faith in the generosity of the human spirit.  Distrust, doubt, and skepticism have no place here.

And, there was desert too.  In fact, there were three kinds.  “Try them all!”

It was tempting to linger much longer than we did.  I confess that it was all I could to restrain myself from asking if they served breakfast too.

Eventually we said reluctant goodbyes and enthusiastic thank yous.  The rain had stopped by the time we walked back toward our campsite.  If we weren’t walking down the road with our arms around each other, singing and talking loudly, then it felt like there was that sense of conviviality. 

The storm had spread our clothes across our campsite and sent cascades of water around our tents.   But there was nothing capable of dampening our spirits on this magical day.

NUMBER 7.  Harvesting pine nuts south of Walker Pass, May 10, 2011

I wanted to include a representative small moment that happens along the trail.  These are times when you slow down, stop, and absorb the nature that surrounds you.  These are the countless quiet, gentle experiences that occur, if you let them. I like to consider these my Mary Oliver moments.

When I section-hiked the PCT from Tehachapi to Walker Pass several Mays ago, as we neared the northern end of that trip we took a lunch break one day under a grove of piñon pines.  As we reached into our pack for our usual lunch of cheese, rye crackers, and salami, we began to notice that the forest floor was littered with pine nuts.  While some had become food for rodents, squirrels, and other foraging animals since dropping to the ground the prior autumn, most were so very edible.  Soon we were each on our hands and knees collecting cones and harvesting their delectable contents. I ate my fill and packed an empty bag with more nuts that I brought home with me when I left the trail.  It helped me understand the important role that pine nuts could play in the diet of Native Peoples. One pound of these nuts can contain up to 3,000 calories.

Another one of these small moments took place on the sandy bank of the McCloud River in Northern California on a section of the trail that most thru-hikers treat as an unfortunate 83 miles necessary to get from spectacular Burney Falls to Castle Crags and the beginning of the more dramatic Trinity Alps.  I was hiking with my friend, Bruce Johnston.  We had made excellent time from Deer Creek and decided to stop in the early afternoon and enjoy easy access to the McCloud River from the Ah-Di-Na Campground, located on the site of a former Wintu village and eventually a lavish resort owned by newspaper mogul William Randolph Hearst (the family still owns an estate, Wyntoon, ten miles upstream).  By the late 1950s the Hearst family had razed the resort buildings and in 1965 the Forest Service had acquired the property.  The one constant throughout was the beautiful McCloud River.  Bruce and I set up camp and retreated to the edge of the river where we could lie flat on a sandy bar. There was just enough wind to avoid the mosquitoes that had been feasting on us in camp.  For the next two hours we watched the evolution of the evening sky, the dance of the bugs, birds, and trout, the breeze in the trees.  All of this accompanied by the soundtrack of the McCloud River.  In a trail culture where it is all about perpetually moving forward, there is much to be said for slowing down. “We are Nature,” Walt Whitman says, “long have we been absent, but now we return.”  Being more mindful has been an important life lesson for me.

[anneedmonsonus]

A Solar Passive ‘Shed-House’ in the Country

Rolling country views, a pony, dogs, a beautiful solar passive new build, a lovely family and two pet sheep who are convinced they are people – this wonderful home visit was one of my favourites and I’m so pleased to share it here today with these gorgeous photos by Heather.

Nestled in the Perth hills in picturesque Stoneville, this family home is special – it is proof that building on a budget does not need to mean you have to automatically go the project home route, but that you can have a beautiful custom-designed, completely individual and eco-friendly solar passive home.

I first published this story on the original part of my blog here, but as one of my most-read (and most-Pinned!) Home Envy stories, this one deserves a reboot.

LIVING ALFRESCO: This outdoorsy family designed their home to suit them and their love of being outside. “We live an outdoor lifestyle and the house reflects and facilitates this,” says Niall. “The living space opens out onto the elevated deck which looks across the property and the reserve to the north. This is the heart of the house. The interior spaces are functional, practical and comfortable.” Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

LIFE IN THE COUNTRY: Irene and Niall count several different things as their favourites to do at home. “We love working in the garden together, checking the progress of our baby trees and discussing plans for the house and property; taking long walks and rides down the Heritage Trail; and sharing a bottle of wine with friends on the deck at the end of the week.” Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

THE HEART OF THE HOME: Niall, Irene, Oisín, and Aoife (and dogs Cruise and Dinah) love to spend time as a family here in the open-plan living area. “We spend most of our time in the open-plan family area whether it’s in the kitchen cooking, sitting at the dining table for meals, working in the office or curled up on the sofas watching movies,” says Irene. High ceilings increase the feeling of spaciousness while glazed walls to the north and south fill the room with natural light and provide carefully considered views over the property. Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

Home owners Irene Coveney and Niall Browne are the brains behind boutique design studio Coveney Browne Design, which specialises in passive solar, energy efficient and sustainable design.

11-year-old Aoife with her pony Brego. Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

Home owners and designers Irene Coveney and Niall Browne, who hail from Ireland and run boutique design studio Coveney Browne Design, met while studying architecture in Dublin.

“I had grown up with horses in rural Ireland and when we migrated to Australia we did so with the dream of eventually designing and building our own home in a rural location where we could keep horses and raise a couple of ‘free range’ kids,” says Irene. But finding the perfect block of land was a challenge.

“We wanted a north-facing slope situated within easy commuting distance of the city with enough cleared land to provide protection from bushfires and grazing for horses, and ideally close to local shops and trails for riding and cycling,” says Niall.

Their dream finally started to come true in 2012, when they purchased a five acre property with lovely views of forest and rolling fields in the Perth Hills suburb of Stoneville. Irene says they immediately loved the location and its cultural significance. “The site is located directly opposite the Heritage Trail which runs along the path of the original Mundaring Loop rail line from Perth and now offers a wonderful public amenity for walking, riding or cycling,” Irene tells me. “Once we had found the right property everything else came together quickly as we both knew what we wanted and how to achieve it.”

Their aim was to create an energy efficient house that would be beautiful, functional, affordable and, above all else, a family home.

“We love the functional honesty of the Australian rural vernacular – older farm houses, wool sheds etc,” says Irene. “As in these traditional buildings, lightweight sheet materials are offset against the richness of natural timber with elements of rustic brickwork.” With its timber-framed windows, wraparound veranda and pretty gardens, what I love is that this home very much looks like a house but the steel exterior also brings to mind the typical Australian shed.

BUILT-IN CABINETRY: The home features beautiful modern cabinetry. “Continental Joinery in Walliston provided the cabinetwork with everything fabricated exactly as per my details,” says Irene. “I have used Markus for a number of projects in the past and the quality of his work is always excellent.” Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

Coming to Perth from Europe and with years under their belt designing houses, Irene and Niall bring two pairs of fresh eyes to the West Australian home design and building field.

“There is a cultural acceptance and local reliance on the ‘project home’ building industry for private housing in Western Australia,” says Niall. “This is an industry that relies heavily on catalogue designs and does not build to suit the challenging climate that we experience or address individual client requirements. In a harsh climate such as ours we should be looking carefully at the unique characteristics of a site and the materials and building forms we employ. We need smarter, location sensitive housing. We need to think carefully about what we want from a home; what is really important for a particular individual or family.

Niall and Irene say there is a common perception that there is a much higher cost associated with the bespoke house.

“This isn’t necessarily true,” says Irene. “With a good understanding of how to work with budget, local knowledge and a sound understanding of the industry it is feasible to deliver a custom-designed home for the same budget as an equivalent standard ‘project home’. We need a change in mindset and a rethink of how to design and build our West Australian homes.”

I visit Niall and Irene’s own custom-designed West Australian home on an early summer’s day that quickly turns unexpectedly rainy. I am introduced to their kids, Oisín, 12, and daughter Aoife, 11, as well as their pets, Brego “the best little pony in the world”, Cruise, a sweet 15-year-old whippet, Dinah, a young Catahoula leopard dog, and two sheep, Sean and his girlfriend Barbara, who were bottle fed as orphaned lambs and don’t quite grasp that they are sheep.

Irene, Niall and I sit around the kitchen table drinking coffee while rain beats on the tin roof and elderly Cruise drifts blissfully in and out of consciousness on the couch. The house is still in the finishing touches stage when Heather and I visit for these photos –the walls unpainted, the floor still concrete – and there is a nip in the air, but inside the house is a perfect temperature. And despite the storm clouds gathering, the home’s solar passive design meant no artificial lighting is needed – a big difference to my own 1970s house on a dark day. While the house was still in the finishing bits stage, I thought it was so lovely and had such a pleasant, calming feel to it. It was the kind of house where I visited and lingered annoyingly because I didn’t feel like leaving yet.

The home, which has 200sqm of living space, was carefully designed as a passive solar home and has been carefully oriented along an east-west axis. Wide canopy eaves shade the external walls in summer but allow the winter sun to reach all the principal rooms through large north-facing windows.

ENTERTAINING AT HOME: “We love having friends over,” says Irene. “The main deck opens from and extends the open plan living space and is perfect for shady summer barbecues or overlooking winter bonfires.” Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

ART WALLS: “My brother Joe is an artist and I have several of his pieces around the house,” says Irene. “My favourite is hanging in the kitchen. We also have a small collection of original PJ Redoute prints from his ‘Roses’ volumes which we love. As in our previous houses, our favourite roses will eventually be incorporated through the gardens which will give these some context.” I personally also loved all the horse photographs and drawings. Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

SAVING WATER: The downpipes are connected below ground to a 50,000 litre rain tank which feeds all plumbing fixtures and garden taps with the exception of the kitchen sink. “By using rainwater in this way we estimate that we save over 100,000 litres a year,” says Niall. “If water levels get low towards the end of summer we can switch to mains water and keep a reserve for fire fighting. The house was plumbed to allow for future connection to a grey water recycling system which will irrigate the gardens.” Photos by Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography.

While energy efficiency housing is generally something one characterises with modern houses of the past decade, interestingly Niall and Irene drew on features of the West Australian houses of yesteryear to design theirs.

“Traditional West Australian houses built prior to the 1950s and the post-war project housing boom typically had high ceilings which were vented into the roof space, combined with low level wall or floor vents that allowed cool air from the floor space below to move up through the house,” says Niall.

“As the cooler air warmed, it would rise and escape through the roof space, effectively acting as a natural air-conditioning system. The high ceilings ensured that the warm air could move quickly to the upper part of the room keeping the living spaces cool.”

Niall says on larger properties, tall roofs extended into wide verandas, providing a shade canopy to protect the house below. “We employed similar techniques in our own home with high ceilings throughout fitted with adjustable ceiling vents,” he reveals. “A central raised ridge vent runs for half the length of the house and uses prevailing breezes to create a strong chimney effect drawing hot air out in summer. Combined with high levels of insulation in walls and ceiling, low-e glazing and ceiling fans in all rooms, the result is a house which stays cool all summer.” Using a local Builder, Warden Constructions, to build the house to lock up stage, the build time was just four months!

Internally the concrete slab and brick walls provide thermal mass to stabilise temperatures all year round and the long roof extends out over the car port at the west side of the house providing additional shading from the hot afternoon sun in the summer.

“The narrow plan carefully places doors and windows opposite each other providing excellent cross ventilation and passive cooling at night,” says Irene. “We typically experience cool summer nights in the Perth Hills allowing the house to be purged of warm air at night. The modest, considered use of brick and heavily insulated frame also contribute to ensuring we do not experience the typical Perth build-up of heat as the summer progresses.” The home uses solar hot water and is wired to allow for the installation of solar photovoltaic panels in the future.

The entire family adores their new house. “We love our new home – all of it,” says Irene. “From a practical viewpoint, we’ve been very pleased with how well the house has performed environmentally. It has exceeded all our expectations. Spatially we love the high ceilings; the volume of the living area and how it integrates with the elevated deck as one large indoor-outdoor space all opening up to the northerly view.”

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Love sustainable home principles and always dreamed about building or renovating to a unique design of your own? “We would be very happy to give advice to anyone interested in designing a new home or renovating their existing home,” says Irene. “We place a particular focus on sustainable living and energy efficient homes.”

I am always getting emails asking for recommendations for builders for difficult sites – well Irene and Niall don’t shy away from them!

“We love to work on tricky sites with distinctive character; places with interesting topography or that are caught on the side of a hill, places that are exposed to wind, places that have an interesting history or have an odd aspect,” says Niall. “These are many of the qualities that from a traditional ‘home builder’ viewpoint make a site difficult to build on and this is quite true when dealing with generic catalogue designs. For us, they are the very qualities that inform how a house should work. How we respond to a place, work with the landscape, take advantage of views or catch the breeze and the sun is what makes that house unique, of its place and unrepeatable in any other location.” You can contact them through Coveney Browne Design at www.coveneybrowne.com.au. Maya x

Like this story? You can see other inspiring home renovations by following House Nerd on Facebook, Instagram @housenerd, Pinterest, Twitter @HouseNerd_ or Bloglovin.

HOME LOWDOWN

THE OWNERS

Irene Coveney and Niall Browne, their son Oisín, 12, and daughter Aoife, 11, who live with their pets Brego “the best little pony in the world”, Cruise, a 15-year-old whippet, Dinah an 18-month-old Catahoula leopard dog, Sean the sheep and his girlfriend Barbara bottle fed as orphaned lambs and several chickens.

THEIR HOME

A new-build, custom-designed solar passive country home on a five acre property

LOCATION

Stoneville, Western Australia

BUILT

2015

THE DESIGNERS

Niall and Irene both hold Honours degrees in architecture and designed their home under their own boutique design company Coveney Browne Design

FEATURES

Veranda, rolling country views, open-plan kitchen, living and dining, four bedrooms, one designed to be large enough as a second living space for the kids when they have friends over, home office, paddocks, stable, chook pen

PHOTOGRAPHY

Heather Robbins of Red Images Fine Photography

The post A Solar Passive ‘Shed-House’ in the Country appeared first on House Nerd.

from Home Improvement https://house-nerd.com/2019/05/07/solar-passive-shed-house/

[travelworldnetwork]

By Breena Kerr

4 December 2018

I was walking through a centuries-old village in northern Tuscany with not another human in sight. To my right, a few horses grazed in a large paddock. To my left, beyond an old stone house that looked as though it had stood for hundreds of years, a thick copse expanded into a forest of oak, chestnut, holly and ash trees. There was no sound except the buzzing of insects and the drumbeat of my feet hitting the path – a path that, I realised, had become harder underfoot. I stopped and bent down, my pack weighing heavily on my back. Peering through the dirt and moss, I could see bits of stone, like hundreds of disjointed puzzle pieces leading me ahead. I had stumbled upon an ancient Roman road.

I was on day two of walking the Via Francigena, a 1,000-year-old pilgrimage route that extends around 2,000km from the English city of Canterbury all the way to Rome. Its name is a nod to the fact that it travels through France, but during its history the route was also known as the Via Romea for the city where it ends.

Walking over long distances, sometimes as far as 24km a day, was new to me. Like many people I met walking the Via Francigena, I’d never backpacked or taken a multi-day hike (the route’s spiritual and cultural aspects seemed to attract those more inclined toward historical immersion and personal transformation than fitness). But the knowledge that people have trodden the same path for centuries made walking it seem somewhat plausible, like something anyone could accomplish if they had thick enough socks and a little too much self-confidence.

View image of The Via Francigena is a 1,000-year-old pilgrimage route from Canterbury, England, all the way to Rome (Credit: Credit: EmmeEffe/Alamy)

You may also be interested in: • An epic hike of biblical proportions • A 30,000km road to a lost world • A perilous walkway fit for kings

The saying ‘all roads lead to Rome’ has become a quaint and somewhat clichéd turn-of-phrase these days. But when the Roman Empire ruled over places such as England, present-day Spain, North Africa, and even modern-day Israel and Turkey, it was true. As the Romans expanded their dominion, they built roads to connect the conquered cities back to heart of the empire. And after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire in the 4th Century, Roman denizens had new, religious reasons to visit the capital city – such as seeing the resting places of the biblical apostles St Peter and St Paul, according to author Carla Mackey who is writing a guide to the Via Francigena and has walked multiple sections of it.

Pilgrimages have been undertaken by people of varying spiritual and religious traditions for thousands of years, from Tibetan Buddhists prostrating their way to Lhasa to Muslims journeying to the holy city of Mecca. The Via Francigena was a route endorsed by the Catholic Church, according to Mackey, with Pope Boniface VIII declaring that the first jubilee would be in 1300AD, when anyone who made the pilgrimage to Rome could have their sins wiped clean. If pilgrims were especially devoted, they could also continue the pilgrimage through southern Italy and onward to Jerusalem.

All roads lead to Rome

In 990AD, the Archbishop of Canterbury named Sigeric the Serious had a more practical reason to walk to Rome. Having risen into his prestigious office, he needed to visit the Vatican to be ordained and collect his official garments. At the time he made the journey, there were many different paths to Rome. But Sigeric, who’d left from Canterbury, wrote down his route home through Italy, Switzerland, France and into the UK, cataloguing the towns he stayed in on his journey. The route he took now makes up the official Via Francigena. The only part that cannot be completed on foot is the English Channel, which medieval pilgrims crossed by boat (and modern pilgrims on the Dover-to-Calais ferry).

As the Renaissance blossomed in Europe, the Via Francigena began to decline in popularity. Trading routes multiplied and shifted to pass through Florence, one of Italy’s most significant intellectual, artistic and mercantile cities at the time.

View image of As the Romans expanded their dominion, they built roads to connect the conquered cities back to heart of the empire (Credit: Credit: Breena Kerr)

The Via Francigena became, for the most part, forgotten, although sections remained in use as local roads and footpaths. Things remained that way until 1985. That year, a Tuscan anthropologist, writer and adventurer named Giovanni Caselli was looking for new topics to write travel books about. As an enthusiastic hiker who had also walked the old Silk Road through China, Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, Caselli decided to walk the Via Francigena after learning about Sigeric’s route.

“I would go into a town and ask the local people, ‘What’s the oldest route from here to there’,” he said. “And it worked, because the local memory of these paths still exists.” Caselli walked all the way from Canterbury to Rome, crossing the British countryside, the English Channel (by ferry), French Champagne country, the Swiss Alps and the rolling hills of Tuscany.

After Caselli published his book about the Via Francigena in 1990, the route started gaining attention. In 1994, the Via Francigena became one of the Council of Europe’s designated Cultural Routes. Then in 2006, the organisations that oversee the Via Francigena decided on the official route that pilgrims walk today. Many pilgrims see it as an alternative or follow-up to Spain’s better known – and much busier ­– Camino de Santiago.

View image of The official Via Francigena follows the journey taken by Archbishop of Canterbury Sigeric the Serious in 990AD (Credit: Credit: Breena Kerr)

Walking the Italian portion of the Via Francigena, it’s common to see a handful of other walkers, as well as cyclists, along the route. But the northern stretches, like those through England, France and Switzerland, are usually fairly empty. British couple Nell Sleet and Luke Smith walked the entire Via Francigena in 2017, but said they only saw six fellow pilgrims during their first month walking.

Like me, Sleet and Smith, who write a blog about the Via Francigena and other walks, experienced some serious nerves as they began their journey. At first, they said, doing a three-month walk seemed crazy. But the route exerted a kind of magnetic pull, and before they knew it, they were on the road.

We felt like it was calling us

“What ordinary person even walks that far?” they told me in an email. “But it’s funny, we felt like it was calling us.”

On the morning they set out from Canterbury, the pair was apparently so nervous that they couldn’t even finish their breakfast. “Walking all day, then having to put up a tent, then take it down, pack it up, and do it all over again [the next day] is a bit overwhelming,” they said.

I felt the same way, even though I only covered a short portion of the route, from Lucca to San Gimignano (about 75km) and stayed in pilgrim hostels and hotels along the way. I was horrified by the anticipation that had built up around this grand adventure. I was, I had hoped, a person who could fearlessly book a ticket, fly 13,000km from my Hawaii home and walk an ancient route alone, with no training. But what if I was wrong?

View image of After trading routes shifted to pass through Florence, the Via Francigena was all but forgotten (Credit: Credit: calix/Alamy)

As I trudged through the streets of Lucca on my first day, the sun shone hot on my skin and the wind brushed my face. Without the protection of a car or bus, I smelled every rubbish bin and felt the whoosh of passing cyclists. I heard the gentle thud of my feet and noticed how the texture of the ground – whether earth, grass, cobblestone or cement – changed my stride.

I stopped to get a stamp in my pilgrim passport (as I would do at regular intervals throughout the route) at Lucca Cathedral, then continued out into the suburbs, passing cats perched on fences, overgrown lots and backyard streams until the neighbourhoods became more rural. At every intersection, I looked for the tiny image of a pilgrim – whether on a lamp post, small sign or spray painted on the pavement – to guide my way.

Eventually, the lull of my footsteps slowed my thoughts. My heartbeat matched my pace for the first time in a long while. My feet started to hurt, so I told myself, “just a little further”.

Somewhere around hour five, I walked off the road and threw my backpack down under the canopy of a sprawling oak tree. I plopped onto the ground and laid back, feeling the prickle of thorns and burrs; the dry caking of sweat, dirt and sunscreen on my face; the hard rocks underneath me. The last things I saw before I closed my eyes were the leaves, dancing in the afternoon breeze, outlined by the blue sky.

View image of Today, the Via Francigena is one of the Council of Europe’s designated Cultural Routes (Credit: Credit: Realy Easy Star/Toni Spagone/Alamy)

Like many moments of my five days on the Via Francigena, it was dusty and quiet. Lucca had faded into semi-rural, semi-industrial outskirts that will likely never be on any tour itinerary. It was not particularly impressive or photo-worthy – it was a moment that would be hard to justify to someone else, to explain why, out of all the things I could have done, I had chosen to be there.

But, the truth is that beneath that tree, I was doing more than ‘seeing’ Italy, or Tuscany, or the Via Francigena. I was a part of them, the way countless pilgrims before me had been.

I think about nothing, too. It’s wonderful. Isn’t it?

On my third night, I was eating dinner with other pilgrims in a hostel outside the vertiginous hill town of Gambassi Terme (I chose the small hotel because when I arrived, my feet riddled with crippling blisters, I knew that if I stayed there I would not have to climb the steep slope before I could rest). As we dug into plates of pasta al pomodoro (pasta with tomato sauce), the man next to me – an Italian in his 60s who had completed a week of the Via Francigena so far – furrowed his brow and posed a question, as though he’d been thinking about it for a long time.

“What do you think about when you’re walking?” he asked me.

“Honestly?” I said, “When I walk I mostly think about nothing.”

He laughed softly and smiled.

“I think about nothing, too. It’s wonderful. Isn’t it?”

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BBC Travel – Adventure Experience

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Hiatus and the Cascadas Magicas

I am really behind on this blog.  Like, really really behind.  Like over a year behind.  But I haven’t felt motivated to post super frequent updates because I have actually been in the same place for awhile (Guatemala) and while I have been going on adventures in Guatemala, I’ve also spent time just....being.  I’ve split my time between Lake Atitlan, Antigua, and San Diego for the last year, returning to California twice for work, and it has been lovely.  The time I spent in Lake Atitlan and Antigua were periods of deep introspection, instead of moving from place to place on the outside, I moved from place to place within.  I had the time and the space to focus on myself, to try new things, to work on myself, to learn and to heal.  After a year, half spent in California and half in Guatemala, I’ve grown a lot.  My Spanish is vastly improved by the month of private lessons I took in Antigua.  My soul is greatly improved by searching out new ventures at Lake Atitlan, and overall, my time spent here has had a wonderful effect on my overall.  However, I am feeling the pull of the road again, which means I have to do a write up of both my last days in Mexico and my time in Guatemala before I’m off to new countries and new adventures.  So let me catch you up on the end of 2016 and how I ended up where I am today.

Last we left our intrepid adventurers (Elene, Chris, Matteo and I) we were on our way from the only naked beach in Mexico, Zipolite, Huatulco.  Zipolite was small, the surf was brutal, but I could not pass the chance to be naked on a beach, and neither could Elena.  The boys kept their shorts on, but she and I frolicked in the waves, naked as jaybirds as the old saying goes.  Honestly, I prefer to swim naked if given the chance, it reduces the possibility of sand getting trapped in....places, so I relished this rare opportunity before we moved onto the city. Huatulco is a big, tourist-y city, so not my favorite kind of place, but we figured we’d stay a few days and see what there was to offer.  We went to many of the beaches, but I found them not nearly as interesting as the reefs of Mazunte or the rock formations on the shores of Puerto Escondido.  The real beauty of Hualtulco was in it’s nature preserves and it’s waterfalls.  On the way to Huatulco, and on the road to many of the beaches, were nature preserves that were home to magnificent tropical birds of a variety of species.  They would fly overhead, some with long tail feathers fluttering behind them, perching in trees and yelling to each other in tongues we could not hope to understand.  Every day I saw bird species I had never seen or heard from before, and I found myself reaching for my phone to figure out what to call these strange creatures before me.

When we weren’t chasing beaches and birds, we went chasing waterfalls.  About an hour and a half outside Huatulco were the Cascadas Magicas (magical waterfalls for those who are not studying Spanish).  I read conflicting reports about getting there, the roads were bad, the roads were good, take a guide, don’t take a guide, but my trusty hatchback had made it over everything so far, so it was decided that we would take my car and I would drive us to these waterfalls. The four of us piled in around noon and set off to find the waterfalls.  The driving instructions we had found were pretty clear, until they weren’t.  Getting the majority of the way there was fine, and we went from paved road to dirt, then passed through what appeared to be the entrance of some sort of park, and dirt gave way to dirt road covered in small rocks and steep hills.  I even had to take my little Diablito that hung off my rearview mirror down because she was swinging so wildly I worried that she might break when she hit the windshield.  Still, after much up and down, over and around, we came to a clearing and a place to park the car.  After that, we started down a beautiful trail that ran next to a stream.

The four of us headed down the trail, stepping around the thick roots of the tall trees that formed the canopy overhead.  Everywhere there were butterflies, brightly colored, a myriad of sizes, flitting about and landing on the damp trail.  The stream next to us began to widen and as it did it took on an unearthly hue that I would eventually discover was common in bodies of water in this part of the world.  I marveled at the color, nothing back in California looked quite like it, and stopped for a few photos before we headed further upstream.

Further upstream the creek widened, and then we began to see the falls.  They rose in a series, plateuing above each other, flowing into pools, all the same opalescent turquoise color.  We also noticed we weren’t the only one’s there as a Mexican family was frolicking in the pools and taking photos as well.  Near these pools there was a little structure with benches and shelves where we could place our belongings.  After stripping down and setting our stuff down, we hit the pleasantly cool water.

The various falls and pools offered a lot to explore, there was a section of cave that the water flowed through that you could climb through with the aide of ropes to keep you from falling.  There were various falls, rocks to jump off of, pools to swim in.  There was even a rope swing suspended from a tree that we took turns jumping off of.  It felt like a naturally made water park, and the fun and welcome break from the heat was well worth the rocky drive there.

Once we were done mucking about in the pools we went to collect our belongings and head on.  The waterfalls we had played in weren’t the only ones in the park, and we were enticed away by the promise of a 100ft waterfall down another rocky road.  As we were dressing we struck up casual conversation with the family that was there, they had a guide and, I guess as part of the way he was entertaining the family, gestured to my tattoos.  The next thing I knew the family was standing around me while the woman who I took to be the matriarch, commented on my back piece (for those who don’t know, my entire back is covered with a black and grey steampunk wing design).  Some of the family members seemed like they didn’t know what to do, but the grandmother complemented the design over and over again, “Que padrissimo,” she exclaimed, (”que padre” is Mexico specific slang meaning “that’s cool,” basically the woman was saying that she thought my back piece was “very cool.”).  It was an awkward moment for me because my Spanish was very limited at that time, and so I wasn’t quite sure what the family members were saying as they stood around me, but once I heard that, and realized I had the matriarch’s approval, I didn’t care about the rest of them so much.

I want to take this moment to note that as far as tattoos go, I was not the only one in our group that had them.  In fact, I would argue that Chris probably has the same amount of ink as I do if we’re talking about just the amount of skin covered.  But one thing I have learned while travelling through Mexico is that tattooed women are not as common in that country as I might have assumed.  Many of the women who I have befriended on my travels through Mexico have said the same thing, that they would love to get tattoos, but their parents would disown them.  When I began to understand the strong cultural disapproval of tattoos on women, I began to understand why I stuck out wherever I went.  While I look like I am from Mexico, and indeed people would approach me speaking rapid-fire Spanish as if I had been born there, I was also marked in a way that most Mexican woman weren’t.  These moments, of Mexican people coming up to me to talk to me about my tattoos, happened again and again over my time in the country.  And while people were generally very respectful (it was rare that anyone tried to touch my tattoos), and usually gave me compliments I only half-understood, I still never really got used to that “under the microscope” feeling.

Still, the family was lovely, and I thanked them for their kind words, before we got on our way.  Back at the car we agreed to give a man who worked in the park a ride back down to the main road and, in turn, he said he would lead us to the largest of the cascadas magicas.  The road to the largest waterfall was no less rocky or steep, but I could feel my little engine that could struggling a bit more under the weight of one more passenger.  As the boys yammered to each other in the back seat in Spanish, I focused on getting us over he next hill without one of us having to walk.  The faithful hatchback did it’s duty, and after parking on the side of the road and a ten minute walk, I found myself staring at the grandest waterfall we had laid eyes on that day, well worth the detour.

The fall was beautiful, but this was clearly not a place to swim under threat of painful death, so after a few minutes admiring the scenery we were climbing up the many stairs to the road again.  After this it was a lot of uphill and downhill, retracing our steps until we brought our passenger to the town near the main road.  We took a moment, after seeing him off, to check out the local vendors selling delicious Oaxacan chocolate and mezcal.  There was a table set up with more types and flavors of mezcal than I had ever seen and the vendor eagerly offered us tastes of the bottles he had already opened.  I tried a few, curiously, but, unfortunately, the one I was most interested in was not open.  There was mezcal, double distilled mezcal, mezcal with a scorpion in the bottle, vanilla cream mezcal, coffee mezcal, maracuya (a type of fruit) mezcal, but the one I was curious about (but not willing to buy if I could not have a taste) was a bottle full of emerald green mezcal in which pieces of an unidentifiable herb, garlic, and scorpions sat.  To this day I regret it because, even if it had tasted terrible, how often in your life are you going to get to say “I drank garlic, herb, scorpion mezcal”?  

I ended up picking up a bottle of double distilled mezcal to take back to the states.  My companions selected a few delicious chocolate-y treats and then we were on the road back to Huatulco.  On the way back we came around a bend in the road and saw a beautiful scene of sun cutting through clouds above the jungle floor.  I paused so we could take it in. Even after a day of incredible sights it seemed that Oaxaca was not done showing us its charms.  Tired and cheery we made the rest of the way back to the hostel munching on chocolate and contemplating our next map point.