Dear Readers,

Over the coming months, we’ll be sharing excerpts from the travel journal of InHabit’s Travel Studies Consultant, Jennifer Wieland. Jen, a former travel designer with Butterfield & Robinson, lives in London, UK, and her role as an international educator has allowed her to live in diverse locations such as Paris, Leysin, and Boston. Her travel journals are filled with insights, serendipitous encounters, and moments of reflection that invite us to explore the world with open hearts and curious minds.

Through the pages of her journal, Jen takes us along her experience of the Camino trek between Le Puy en Velay and St Jean Pied du Port, known as the Via Podiensis - part of the many pilgrim ways to Santiago de Compostela. Her storytelling and contemplative observations paint a beautiful picture of the landscapes, people, and spiritual essence of this ancient pilgrimage.

Here, we begin with the first leg of her Camino, where the journey unfolds in unexpected ways and the path becomes a metaphor for a deeper, inner voyage.

Happy reading,
Annie

Why the trip?

At certain times in our lives, a journey needs no clear motive or justification. At first, we know we are taking a trip, we know where we are going. Soon it is the trip that is taking us, spiriting us away.

Such is the story of my first Camino trek between Le Puy en Velay and St Jean Pied du Port, known as the Via Podiensis, part of one of the many pilgrim ways to Santiago de Compostela.

The beginning

The plan was simple: map out my daily route, book my lodgings, break in my boots, and pack light. With six kilograms of gear and two litres of water, I felt confident and prepared.  

Standing in front of the great Cathedral of Notre Dame du Puy, I was filled with an unexpected and profound sense of presence. In silence, I began to release my hold on the plan and allowed the journey to begin its gentle hold on me.

Climbing the steps carved into rock, the Cathedral loomed like a ship ready to sail. Inside, I followed the contours of the walls, passed under the nave, and surfaced before the choir. A small chapel behind the choir welcomed me with a committee of volunteers who offered my pilgrim passport—a tangible symbol of this sacred journey. After a blessing from a pilgrim priest, I stepped outside, feeling a subtle shift in the air, and a whisper of another presence.

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A serendipitous encounter

Descending from the Cathedral, I felt an openness, room for change. Not long into my walk, a stranger appeared—Who is this beautiful Scheherazade, with her multicolored silk scarf wrapped around her long neck, and thick curly black hair poking out from under her well-worn straw sunhat? We exchanged silent smiles, acknowledging our shared path. I soon learned this stranger-turned-friend was named Zade. Her laughter and stories brought a lightness to our steps.

Zade's companionship brought an unexpected joy. We walked, laughed, and flapped our metaphorical wings together, embracing the slowed pace of our new journey. Together, we moved and then lingered in places unfamiliar, seeking new questions and sharing our stories.

Reflections on the road

How many pilgrims have stepped where we tread now? What does the scallop shell symbolize for us? As we pondered these questions, Zade and I settled into a deep connection, our shared silences and laughter weaving a tapestry of companionship. Our conversations drifted from the symbolic to the practical—aches, chapels, and the histories of our mothers.

This serendipitous encounter was not planned, but it was deeply appreciated. We learned we were both walking to soften the grief of our mothers’ recent deaths. Zade’s trickster humour balanced the more somber moments, and together we danced through the days. The Camino’s twists and turns fueled our spirits, guiding our creative minds.

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Commitment to change

As we explored, our paths and ideas diverged and converged. We dreamed of changes within ourselves and our worlds. Trusting in our commitment to this journey, we knew we would reach our destination, transformed by the experiences and connections forged along the way.

Each step on the Camino was a step toward a deeper understanding of ourselves and our place in the world. We learned to trust the process, to embrace uncertainty, and to find beauty in the journey itself. Zade and I found solace in our shared purpose, and our bond grew stronger with each passing day. As we approached the end of our trek, we felt a sense of accomplishment, not just for the miles walked, but for the personal growth we had experienced.

Throughout the journey, the Camino became our sanctuary, a place where we could grieve, laugh, and find joy amidst the sorrow. Bayo Akomolafe's words echoed in my mind: We need trickster approaches, we need ways of dancing away, or dancing to, fugitive spaces; dancing to sanctuaries where we can shape-shift. Grieving, mourning, even allowing ourselves to partake in pleasurable activities in the face of the storm.

We need trickster approaches, we need ways of dancing away, or dancing to, fugitive spaces; dancing to sanctuaries where we can shape-shift. Grieving, mourning, even allowing ourselves to partake in pleasurable activities in the face of the storm.

I am reminded that life is not about reaching any destination but about how we journey, and with whom we walk. Each encounter, whether brief or lengthy, leaves a lasting impression, shaping our perspectives and enriching our lives. I carry these lessons with me, knowing they will continue to influence me long after I return home. The Camino is not just a physical journey but a profound exploration of the soul, reminding me to live fully, love deeply, and embrace the unknown with an open heart.