It’s only my fourth day on the Camino de Santiago trail, but already I can feel it happening–that strange process whereby what I’m doing now becomes all I’ve ever done; as though I’ve always been walking through rural Spanish countryside.
In my mind, this trip to Åre was closing out a chapter—and to find it ending in the same country where it began nearly four years ago, with the same exact meal, was a fitting kind of symmetry to the literary geek in me.
I was recently invited to a Swedish ski resort called Åre. The region’s alpine landscape promises to be a world away from Stockholm’s cobblestoned streets—but it’s a world I can’t wait to explore.
Is it an accident these things happen so close to a big life decision? It’s almost as if the universe finds out and decides to organize a little experiment: to see if we go running at the first sign of disaster.
Slowly, almost as if my plans had taken on a life of their own, one thing began to lead to another, and now I somehow find myself preparing to spend five weeks in Spain. To say I can’t wait is putting it lightly.
It was the geometric tiles I found myself drawn to the most—for the way their patterns repeated themselves, extending graceful rows of diamonds, squares, triangles and flourishes across the city.
Tom (or Mr. Tom, as he’s often referred to) wastes no time in getting started: “Adventure involves ignoring safety advice, going somewhere you know nothing about, and getting lost.”
As fearful as I was about the unknowns awaiting us in London, I walked away from their fairytale cottage feeling ever so slightly reassured we would make it–nature has a way of doing that sometimes, doesn’t it?
His name is Predrag Petrović—Pepi for short, he tells me. A potter from the island of Iz, just off the Dalmatian coast, and I’ve traveled nearly a thousand miles to meet him.
Suddenly, we’re chasing the sun, re-tracing our steps through the old town, taking photos of the same scenes we’d captured hours earlier—only this time, it’s like someone said, “Let there be light.”