For the last two weeks, I’ve been journaling my walk along St Cuthbert’s Way and now it’s complete. Here are all the links in one place for your reading enjoyment. And there’s even a recipe!

St Cuthbert’s Way Journal

Beginnings

Day 1: Melrose to Harestanes

Day 2: Harestanes to Morebattle

Day 3: Morebattle to Kirk Yetholm

Day 4: Kirk Yetholm to Wooler

Day 5: Wooler to Lindisfarne

Spicy Roasted Eggplant Soup

A Story about My Sister

Snapshots of Yellow

Walking Through Britain (Huff Po Piece)

As a bonus, here’s a little wrap up of our time along St Cuthbert’s Way. Bullet list style.

What we loved.

• Well marked path (except for that bit at the beginning where we couldn’t find the start)
• Gateways and crossings were exceptionally well- maintained
• No fear of wild animals (or snakes) + we never felt unsafe on any part of the trail
• Sheep + Baby spring lambs
• Yellow fields
• No crowds
• Gorgeous scenery
• Quiet
• Simplicity of the long days of walking together

What we’d do differently next time.

• Split the first day in half, giving plenty of time for visiting all three abbeys: Melrose, Dryburgh and Jedburgh. Also, St Boswell’s was precious and we would have loved to spend more time there. Related: Plan around the abbeys’ super limited opening hours. We arrived to town too late and left town too early to see the inside of two of the abbeys.
• Skip Morebattle and go on to Kirk Yetholm.  While this would make for a BRUTAL second day, I think it would be worth it to not have extra time in the two smallest towns on the trail.
• Related: Get an earlier start from Harestanes.
• Pay attention to the end day at Lindisfarne. There is a bus from Lindisfarne on Wednesday, so if you arrive on Tuesday, you can get the bus off the island instead of having to call a cab. But check the bus schedules because they change. Also, the island can be a bit overrun with visitors on weekends and bank holidays.
• Related: Very little is open in Wooler on Sunday, so try to arrive in Wooler on another day if you want to visit the shops.
• Bring/wear gators! Better on sunny days for mud. Saves your pants.
• Bring along more food. We bought bread and peanut butter about halfway through, but we wished we had more lunch food since we had room in our luggage. You can buy a lunch from any of the hotels, but I’m not super partial to cheese and pickle sandwiches on white bread, so I’d rather make my own. Also, I would bring a couple of things I could add boiling water to and eat since every room has a kettle. Like cup-a-soup packets and oatmeal packets. On one of the long days I would have rather eaten something easy like that and then gone to bed early instead of having to go out to dinner.
• Focus less on the arrival at the day’s destination and more on the journey. This is always true with travel, but since I am new to longer walks I was always concerned about “making it” to the next town, and I would get discouraged if we were still walking late in the afternoon even though the sun did not go down until after 8pm. I am determined to worry less about how slow I take the walk because I enjoy everything I’m seeing along the way.

A HUGE thanks to Macs Adventure for making this whole adventure possible! I’ll be walking with Macs Adventure again this September along Wainwright’s Coast to Coast with my friend Diane and I can hardly wait! This is my favourite way to see the English countryside: Slowly, on foot and alongside a precious friend.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way 20/48 {Scotland + England} appeared first on Alison Chino.

Day 5 of St Cuthbert’s Way: Wooler to Lindisfarne

From the moment we received our itinerary, the last day of our journey along St Cuthbert’s Way loomed large with its big number 18 in the mileage chart.

Before we ever left home, I was harboring doubt about whether I could actually walk 18 miles in one day. The grace of our detours on the first day (both accidental and on purpose) was that we confirmed that we actually could cover a distance of 18 miles in one day. However, the problem remained that on the last day a tide would roll in and cover the final three miles of our walk by about 6pm. And we were slow. The first day we had finished our walk at nearly 7pm.

We figured that in order to reach the causeway by the recommended time (3pm), we had better get off to an early start, which is how we found ourselves already high above Wooler just after 6am munching granola bars for breakfast.

For the morning hours of our walk, it was just us and the animals. We crossed field after field full of green grass and grazing sheep.

I find that in the early hours of a long walk, if you think too much about how many miles are ahead of you, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Even defeated.

So one of the best parts of starting to walk while barely awake is that you can just put one foot in front of the other in your hazy dreamlike state, without giving much thought to the rest of the day.

The air was cool, but the sky was blessedly clear. My mind was lingering on the previous day’s events, while I moved slowly but steadily forward without worry or concern for counting miles.

By the time I was fully awake we had put many miles behind us in our quiet stupor. The sun had grown a bit warmer and we began to keep a sharp eye out for St Cuthbert’s Cave.

St Cuthbert’s Cave is a rock overhang where a group of saints brought St Cuthbert’s remains when they had to flee Holy Island because of a Viking attack in 875AD. St Cuthbert had died in 687AD, but his body, which according to legend had not deteriorated, became sacred and people traveled to Holy Island to receive the same healing and blessing from St Cuthbert in death as they had while he was living.

For eight years a group of saints carried around St Cuthbert’s remains, hiding from Viking raids, until they enshrined them in Chester-le-Street. St Cuthbert’s body stayed there for more than 100 years. Then it was moved to its current home, Durham Cathedral, which was actually built to house a large shrine to the saint. People still visit Durham today to pay their respects to St Cuthbert.

When I visited the awe-inspiring Durham Cathedral, it struck me as a tiny bit strange that a saint who wanted to live his days out quietly in caves and on islands resides in death in such a grand building.

These woods are where I imagine him. Walking and praying and speaking softly to farmers and sheep.

Reaching the wood that houses his cave was a blessing to us in that it helped us mark the way, and even better, the fact that we reached it by mid-morning also indicated that we were well on our way to making the causeway in plenty of time to cross over to Holy Island.

If we kept up our pace and managed not to get lost, we would finish this thing, these 63 miles we had set out to walk five days ago. Even more exciting was that after we left the cave and the woods, we crested our last hill and far off in the distance, there it was…

The North Sea.

We celebrated by having our lunch soon after spotting it. Yes it was still before 11am, but we were plenty hungry already.

We ate our sandwiches and Pringles. Apples and granola bars.

We thanked the Lord that it was not raining, and that we were only six miles from the end.

After lunch we reached the railroad tracks and followed the careful instructions to call the station master for permission to cross.

And then we called him again to let him know we were safely over on the other side.

You have to love the British regard for safety that inspired someone to put these extra measures in place. The only way that railroad crossing could have been any more British was if there had been a queue to use the telephone. (Anna got tickled while making this call.)

]

After the railroads, we passed the last of the yellow fields. Then we reached the sea. We were almost there.

Well, sort of.

It was a Monday and a bank holiday in England, so every family in the area looking to spend a day out by the sea seemed to be making their way over the causeway road to Holy Island. The road doesn’t really have a shoulder, and it felt a bit discouraging to have so many cars flying by us on the last stretch of our walk, so we opted to get off the road and walk the Pilgrim’s Path across the sand to reach Lindisfarne.

It was a beautiful sight, all the poles in the water guiding you across the sand and the sky reflected in puddles of sea.

But the sand is more a combination of sand and mud. It is recommended that you walk across the sand barefoot, but it was still a bit chilly for that. (Especially for Arkansans!) Also there was not really a place to sit down and put your shoes back on if you decided that you’d rather not be barefoot.

We tried to pick out the driest possible route across, but there were many mis-steps where our boots sunk deep down into the boggy mess.

I kept asking Anna if she thought the island was getting any closer. We were on the sand for what felt like hours and it seemed like we were not really gaining any ground.

Anna said that she definitely felt like the land behind us was getting further away. This was encouraging and stopped me whining that I was going to have to crawl up into one of the emergency shelters to rest for a bit.

Towards the end, I was sort of falling forward more than walking. Each time I got a boot stuck in the mud again, I would yell up at Anna and she would start laughing. She was getting stuck as well, but her boots had been bothering her, so she had opted for her running shoes which were easier to pull out of the bog.

Finally we made it and (literally) collapsed on the other side in the grass. I could not wait to get my boots off. We were resting and letting our feet air off a bit while we watched a party of four senior citizens come across. They were using our footprints to make their way, which helped them to see the sinky bits.

They marched right past us like they were not at all tired, which I thought was rather smug, but then when we got up twenty minutes later to make our way into the village, we realized that they too had collapsed on the beach, but just a bit further down from us.

We couldn’t find an official ending point in town, so we took our picture in front of a map we found.

Later we searched out and found the statue of St Cuthbert in Lindisfarne Abbey, but that was after we spent a while recovering at our hotel.

With it’s gorgeous views and lovely rooms, the Manor House Hotel was probably our favorite place we stayed.

We both about cried when we opened the bathroom door and discovered a TUB! Our first one all week. A soak in the tub and tea in our room was a perfect end to our long day.

We were completely taken with Holy Island. We walked (hobbled) about the island after dinner, and then went and explored with fresh legs the next morning, after which we declared that we would love to bring our families back and let the kids run and play on Lindisfarne.

We were ecstatic to have made it and both so grateful for all the time on the trail to talk and just be together. We agreed that the week had been a delight, and that we would do it again if we had the chance.

It was a wonderful way to see a bit of Scotland and England and to share part of my new home country with my sister.  I’m so thankful that she took the time to come and have this adventure with me. Anna said she loved the simplicity of walking from place to place and that it was comparatively less stressful than many other forms of travel.

I even loved that we were following someone else’s story in walking St Cuthbert’s Way, and my journey with this saint has continued even since I’ve returned home. I might share a bit more in the future about tracing his steps, but for now I’ll leave you with these two photos of Holy Island. Above is the view of Lindisfarne Castle from our hotel room window and below is another shot of Lindisfarne Abbey. Both sights are well worth a pilgrimage of your own, even if you decide not to go on foot.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Day 5} appeared first on Alison Chino.

Day 4 of St Cuthbert’s Way: Kirk Yetholm to Wooler

Anna and I knew we would be walking some in the rain along St Cuthbert’s Way, mainly because over the half the walk is in Scotland. And if there’s one thing I have learned about Scotland in the last year, it’s that you can count on some rain.

But getting rained on a bit here and there is a different story from suiting up and heading out into the downpour. It’s a bit disheartening to be thoroughly wet when you’re only twenty minutes into a thirteen mile day, but we tightened up our hoods, put smiles on our faces and marched on into the cloudy hills. Pretty soon, I could no longer see out of my glasses. The wind was blowing the rain under my hat and all over my face, so visibility was nonexistent behind my frames.

We sloshed through the muddy fields and up to the border of England and Scotland. In an effort to record the fairly anti-climatic moment, I took a wet picture of the sign and continued on up the hill.

We could not see very far into the distance so we were grateful for every little St Cuthbert’s Way circle marker we passed, as a confirmation that we were still on the right track.

We knew we were looking to pass a small settlement called Hethpool, a cluster of cottages which would be our sign that we had gone five of our thirteen miles. Before we reached the settlement we passed through dark forest, and we were delighted to discover that the trees kept the rain from hitting us for a while. Even the pine needle floor of the forest seemed dry. We took of our hoods and enjoyed being able to hear one another again as we walked in the woods. It was almost dark inside of the trees, bringing to mind childhood stories of haunted forests or movies someone falls through a hole in the forest floor.

When we emerged on the other side of the wood, the rain was no longer falling. Or rather, it was still falling behind us. We could see the hills in the distance still covered in clouds, but ahead of us the sky was a brighter shade of gray.  It turns out that bright gray can sometimes be my favorite color.

Or actually, now that we’ve moved to the UK, bright grey can sometimes be my favourite colour.

Thankful for the break in the rain, we slowed our pace as we walked through Hethpool. Automobile traffic is limited to twelve cars per day, and even less during lambing season. It’s a little haven of another time. A small world all unto itself. I noted that there’s even a little YHA you can stay in if you wanted to hike in and spend some more time in Hethpool one day.

We pressed on towards Wooler. Past ancient stone settlements and more sheep than you can imagine.

At the end of our walk on the train ride home, Anna and I tried to estimate how many sheep we’d seen.

“I think we’ve seen at least 10000 sheep,” I said.

“No way,” she said. “More like 1000.”

“Are you kidding me? We saw at least 1000 every day.”

I can’t say for sure, but we walked by a LOT of sheep.

Soon the rolling green hills turned into moorlands. This part of the walk can be treacherous in bad weather, because even on a clear day, it’s hard to see your path through the dark boggy land. This part of Northern England is straight out of Charlotte Bronte novel.

When we stopped for lunch, I imagined that Heathcliff was going to happen upon us at any moment. But instead we saw one lone biker.

We were constantly amazed by how few people were walking the beautiful St Cuthbert’s Way.

After we finished what were probably the best tasting peanut butter sandwiches of all time, we dragged ourselves up and walked the rest of the monotonous moor. When we reached green hills again, we spotted the town of Wooler, which we wandered into in time to have tea at the only shop still open on Sunday afternoon.

Then we checked into our bed and breakfast, showered and headed off to dinner at a divine little Italian restaurant that Anna found. While I would forever be happy to grab a can of soup and eat it straight out of the tin, Anna, naturally, lives for the next yummy meal. It’s always a good idea to just let her order because she has a knack for choosing the best dishes on the menu. This night was no exception.

We had lovely homemade pasta and split an entire bottle of wine between us. We were already turning giggly at the table when one of the waiters came over to inquire if we wanted dessert.

“Howdy!” he said, “You ALL want some dessert?” Emphasis on all.

Anna and I looked at each other. “Is he making fun of us?“ we said with our eyes.

Anna snapped back, “Well, howdy yourself.”

“Oh-my-gah-are-you-American?” he said in all one breath.

“Yes.” we both said.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

George went on to explain that he is a huge fan of American country music, hence his affinity for “Howdy” and “You all.” Also, his life dream is to meet Reba McIntyre. We found this so incredibly fascinating that we bombarded our seventeen-year-old waiter with twenty questions about his relationship with country music. He is headed to Canada this summer for the Stampede. Reba will be there, and I really hope he gets to meet her, because I’m sure she will find him as adorable as we did.

Plus we laughed so hard on the way home about how horrified he was when he realized he had “Howdy y’all-ed” two American girls.

It was good to giggle a little because it helped us not too badly dread what was coming.

A 5am wake up call to get our final and longest day started early enough to beat the tide on Holy Island.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Day 4} appeared first on Alison Chino.

Day 3 of St Cuthbert’s Way: Morebattle to Kirk Yetholm

On our third day of walking we confirmed one thing for certain.

When it came to estimating how long it would take us to finish a day’s walking, we were absolute rubbish.

On our first day, we’d predicted 5:30pm and were two hours off. The second day we’d predicted 1:30pm and we were two hours off again.

On our third day we got up and left extra early to try and make it to Kirk Yetholm by noon and we were once again, two hours off. Only this time we were off in the other direction.

To be fair, our guidebook described this part of the trail as the most difficult because it was the highest elevation day. On leaving Morebattle, we began to climb steadily for a couple of hours to what is both the highest and the halfway point on the trail.

Our early start meant we were alone but for the horses and sheep on the rolling green hills. It was overcast but not raining, which was pleasant. I did huff and puff on the ascent, and puzzled at how no matter how much I walk, I always feel desperately out of shape when walking uphill.

We worried a bit that our friends from Yorkshire would catch us if we went too slowly, but the way down from the hills into the village was easy. Practically running down the soft grassy fields, we landed in town far earlier than we ever imagined.

It was 10am when we wandered into Kirk Yetholm. We were just in time to see our bag being delivered by the baggage transfer service to our bed and breakfast. We knocked on the door thinking we might get a change of shoes and a book to read out of our bag, but no dice. Even though we had just seen her open the door and receive our bag, our hostess did not answer the door.

I could hardly blame her as it was so early that she might have thought we’d want breakfast.

Across the river from Kirk Yetholm is Town Yetholm. The two villages which are in the Cheviot Hills about one mile from the border of Scotland and England boast several bed and breakfasts, two hotels (each one with a restaurant), a hostel, some self-catering homes, a plot of garden allotments and one small shop. Exploring the whole of both villages can take an hour if you walk slowly enough, and that’s including stopping for photos and for visits with the shopkeeper and a gardener.

We made a dinner reservation at The Border Hotel (near our bed and breakfast) and found a bench to sit on until the other hotel opened for lunch. We figured we’d spread our love around the two restaurants. This was a mistake.

The Border Hotel marks the end of the Pennine Way, which is a much longer and more strenuous walk in Britain. 267 miles.

And maybe because The Border Hotel is the only welcoming point after one has completed this crazy long walk, the proprietor is making an effort at being a end destination worth the journey. After we had our dinner there, Anna and I were both sorry that we had not eaten lunch there as well.

In fact, we wished that we were staying there. The feel of the hotel was chic without being pretentious or fussy. And the food was both gorgeous and delicious. It was the only meal we had along the way that rivaled our glorious lunch in St Boswell’s.

(In fact, if you happen to be taking notes for a drive through the Borders area of Scotland, write this down. Eat lunch at Main Street Books in St. Boswell’s. Eat dinner at The Border Hotel in Kirk Yetholm. Then drive back to Melrose and sleep at Sheila’s house. If you can find it.)

Leaving the superior food at The Border Hotel aside, here’s how I would describe the difference between the two restaurants in Yetholm.

In Town Yetholm, your dog is welcome to come in and have dinner with you and in Kirk Yetholm, if you want to dine with your dog, then you’ll have to do it out front.

Side note to all the dogs in Yetholm: Just because your owner adores you and wants you to sit at their feet in a restaurant does not mean that every other diner in the establishment shares in the sentiment. Some people don’t care for strange animals brushing around their legs and begging for bits of sandwich while they go for a meal out. I’m not talking about myself necessarily, I’m just saying some people.

While we were lingering over our lunch with the dogs, our Yorkshire friends appeared, looking none the worse from the climb over the hill.

“Lovely walk today, wasn’t it?” I swear they would have said that if they’d come through a hailstorm. Mrs. Yorkshire did not have a single hair out of place. I would have envied their unwavering energy more if they had not been so dang adorable.

They echoed our lament that this shorter day meant we still had practically half the walk ahead of us.

We left our friends to enjoy their mediocre lunch with the dogs and went to try our luck again at the house. We walked the long way around so that it was 2pm when we knocked on the door.

“Dear goodness, you’re awfully early!” remarked our hostess.

“Oh well, we’d be happy to go have a cup of tea across the street at the hotel, but can we just pop in and get our books from our bag?”

“Oh no, I guess it’s alright. There’s tea in your room, but I don’t know what you’re going to do with yourselves all afternoon. I imagine you’ll be bored.”

“Oh we’ll be fine. We’re tired (lying) and we’ll just rest until dinner. I promise we’ll be quiet.”

I felt a bit like we were in trouble, but once we settled into our cozy room with our books and our tea, we were happy little bees. Anna tried not to fall asleep and I finished one book and started another. Uninterrupted afternoon reading is one of the most lavish luxuries of a mother’s life, so I did not take it for granted.

Soon enough the church bell rang six o’clock for dinner, which as I’ve mentioned, we thoroughly enjoyed. We said a final farewell to our Yorkshire friends who were also having dinner at The Border Hotel. (Of course.)

We told our hostess we would be happy with toast and cereal left out in the morning because we needed to get an early start on our 15 mile day. We were still trying to make up for being so awfully early.

To which she replied, “I’ll be up early in the morning anyhow, so you’ll have your breakfast.”

We did not argue. Off to bed with us and not a peep.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Day 3} appeared first on Alison Chino.

“Our guidebook says we only have to go 10 miles today.”

“The printout from Macs says it’s only 9.”

“Well, that’ll be a cake walk after yesterday!”

“Easy peasy!”

Anna had figured out with her FitBit that the previous day we had managed to turn what was supposed to be 15 miles into 19.

And friends, this is what hiking 19 miles will do to you. It will make you think that hiking 9 miles is no big deal. Which is another way of saying that it makes you delusional.

Breakfast was at 8am at the Allerton House.

Anna was already over the Full Scottish Breakfast, but I went ahead and ordered it just so she could try haggis. Because YOLO.

She did not care for it. SHOCKER.

She had yogurt and fruit and eggs.

We chatted it up with the older couples at breakfast who were doing the walk and were very relieved to discover that they had taken two days to cover what we had done in one, which made us feel a little better about the fact that we could barely move.

One of the couples was from Yorkshire and when we compared notes, we found that we would be at the same hotel again the next night. They left the Allerton House before us but we were certain we could catch them before the day was out. (Ha!)

Jedburgh is one of four abbeys in the Four Abbeys Walk, a circular route that intersects with St. Cuthbert’s Way in a few places. Since the Allerton House is near both routes, it is often full of walkers. Chris had many runs to make dropping us all at our various take off points, and he said he would fill the inn up again the same way that evening.

By the time we had breakfast, suited up and waited for our turn to be dropped off, it was 10:45. We both felt like we were getting a bit of a late start but since we only had a mere 9 miles to cover, we would be fine.

And the sun was shining.

And straight out of the gate, we were hiking next to a yellow field.

Anna might say that the yellow fields were the beginning of all our troubles, because as the keeper of the FitBit and the map, she was hopeful that we were going to make a little bit better time than the whopping 2 miles an hour we were averaging. Stopping to take pictures of yellow fields is not that much of a time sink.

Unless they are everywhere. Around every corner.

But they are just mesmerizing. I have since learned that rapeseed also grows in the US and is the same thing as canola. I can’t believe that I have never seen a canola field but I think that the bulk of them are in North Dakota, which I apparently have never driven through in May. But these fields are everywhere in Europe in May and they are insanely beautiful.

And they demand to be photographed.

And if the skies are blue, they demand to be photographed a lot.

But no big deal, we only had 9 miles to cover.

We had not even bothered to bring any lunch. We had JUST eaten breakfast, and besides, my breakfast was HUGE!

We had some fruit and some granola bars if we got hungry.

At 1pm we were past hungry. Anna pulled out the granola bars and I asked if we could pleeeeease sit down. It was funny how all along the walk you would see lots of perfectly placed benches, but somehow when it was time to sit down, like when you just HAD to rest, you were never near one of these benches. So we sat down on the ground, which was still wet from the day before. We had opted to wear our waterproof pants even though it was sunny, because of the mud. We knew it would still be super muddy on the trail and we didn’t want to get our hiking pants all muddy. But the waterproof material sort of traps in all the moisture and sweat. After our snack, the slow swish swish swish of our waterproof pants was the only noise you could hear for miles around while we crossed field after field after field of yellow flowers and other newly planted crops.

Each day on the trail was sort of characterized by a certain landscape for us. The first day was river side paths. We weren’t always next to the River Tweed on the first day, but our day began by crossing the river and after going over the Eildon Hills, we were never far from the Tweed. The second day was farmland.

I appreciate so much how farmers have allowed public access to and walkways along their lands and it remains one of the reasons that walking in Britain is so common. We climbed over many stiles, the steps that take you over fences and stone walls from one field into another.

Around 2pm we left the fields for a country road. We were still walking through farmland, but we could see what we thought was our destination in the distance. The green and yellow fields rolled along the horizon in front of us, with a few buildings nestled in a little pocket to the right. Surely we would be there soon. We passed Cessford Castle, which is a ruin that has very little left to it, most notably these thin pieces of the former castle wall that look like they might blow over in a strong wind.

There was a bench near the castle and I was ready to sit down for a while but with our destination in sight and our tummies growling, we pushed on.

I was super discouraged when 2:30 came and went. At one point in our figurings, we had decided that 2:30 was the absolute latest we would arrive.

We finally wandered into Morebattle at half past three, famished and tired, only to discover that the only shop selling food had closed at 1pm. Their hours are from 7am – 1pm. Take note fellow walkers. No sandwiches (or jammy pieces) to be had in Morebattle past 1pm. We found our hotel. There is only one in Morebattle.

When you open the door to the Templehall Hotel in Morebattle, you have to duck into the bar in order to keep from hitting your head. Locals sit at the few barstools with their dogs at their feet.

While I was waiting to ask about checking in, a man came in and sat down at the bar and the bartender said, “The Usual?” and he nodded.

I actually thought that only happened on Cheers.

The hostess came out of the kitchen to show us to our room upstairs. The room was comfortable and I quickly forgot all about food in lieu of a shower and getting out of my muddy pants. We had tea and biscuits in our room and dinner would be at six. We figured we could hold out.

After our showers, we hobbled around the room, me doing a bit of stretching and Anna, trying not to fall asleep. Her jetlag was plaguing her still and she had been having trouble falling asleep. We tried to read but Anna kept dozing off and we were trying to keep her awake so we decided to go outside.

‘It’s funny,” she said. Usually when I get to a town and get checked into a hotel, I would go for a walk. But when you’re walking all day, you don’t really want to go for another walk.”

Nope, you don’t. I had already taken ibuprofen, but I still felt like my feet were going to fall off when I stood up. We sat outside across the street in some old plastic chairs that were in front of a church that was being renovated into a coffee shop. (Maybe something else will be open by the next time we go to Morebattle.)

We put our feet up on two more chairs and began to imagine what would be for dinner. “I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Anna said.

“I know. It’s kind of a crap shoot.” It was the kind of place that could be surprisingly good and featured on Dives, Drive Ins and Diners. But there was an equal chance that it could be disgusting.

“I think this is my fish and chips night.” Anna figured she would eat fish and chips once while she was in Scotland, but she was waiting for the perfect moment to order it. She went for it and I had the house special lasagna and we both got lucky. Dinner was wonderful.

Around the corner from the bar was a small dining area, which we shared with the couple from breakfast, the one we had never caught up with on the trail.

Now that we had met at two different hotels, we were proper friends and had a lively exchange about the trail and about walking in general. We asked them if they had always been walkers.

Anna and I had been speculating earlier in the day about what predisposed some people to doing these sorts of walks without any trouble at all as opposed to being dead exhausted like us.

“Oh yes. We’re from Yorkshire,” the wife answered.

As if that was meant to help me understand why they were able to cover the same ten miles as us without having to hobble into the dining room. In fact, the lady was wearing pumps. She dressed up for dinner in the evenings after being out walking all day and she had not a hair out of place I tell you. I could barely be bothered to get clothes on at all and would have been more than happy to have someone bring me a sandwich in bed.

They told us they had raised their daughters as walkers and now they were married and their families were walkers as well. “Do be sure and make time one day to walk in the Yorkshire Dales, as well as Wainwright’s Coast to Coast Trail,” they enthused.

We remained fascinated with this couple all week, maybe because in the next couple of small towns, they were the only diversion, but also Anna was determined to discover what it was that British people had that we didn’t that was helping so many people to become walkers.

The interesting thing about a lot of hillwalkers you meet is that they don’t look particularly athletic or even in shape necessarily. In the case of this couple, the lady was tiny. She looked like she might blow away if you sneezed on her. He was about two feet taller than her, and fit enough, but he ate an amount of dinner that would feed a small herd of sheep.  Neither of them seemed like they were struggling one little bit with the walk.

Curiously they asked us if we had seen a diversion on the trail. They said that someone had put up a hand-written sign saying “diversion” and they followed it. Generally speaking, British folk seem to be kindhearted rule-followers who actually read small posted notices and take them to heart. Unfortunately, the path they took didn’t lead anywhere and eventually they rounded back to the trail through the bushes. We said we had missed that all together and the husband observed that he thought someone must have being playing a practical joke on them.

Anna and I fell asleep that night giggling at the image of this very proper Englishwoman bushwhacking her way back to the trail.

We were planning to get an early start the next morning so that we would for certain be to the next town before lunch and also we were gearing ourselves up for how early we would have to start on Day 5 in order to beat the tides at Lindisfarne.

We knew we would be out before our Yorkshire friends and Anna asked me if I had a pen and some blank paper because she wanted to hang up a sign on the trail tomorrow that said, “Diversion.”

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Day 2} appeared first on Alison Chino.

Day 1 of St Cuthbert’s Way: Melrose to Harestanes

We laid our waterproof pants out the night before in anticipation of the rain, which was still falling when we woke up in Melrose. We pulled on all our gear, packed up our bag and left our comfortable room a little reluctantly.

However, Sheila had made us a gorgeous big breakfast to get us on our way. Full Scottish Breakfast, to be exact. This was Anna’s first experience with full Scottish breakfast, which consists of eggs, toast, a variety sausages (and sometimes haggis), bacon (which in the UK is thicker and more like ham), baked beans and tomatoes. Plus fruit, yogurt, tea and coffee.

“The weather is just terrible,” Shelia said, “Better just let me drive you over to St Boswells.”

We were hoping to be at St Boswells by lunchtime and Sheila had already recommended a darling bookshop and café.

Since we did not think it would be very good sport to get a ride for the first leg of our walk, we turned down her kind offer and said goodbye after eating so much we could hardly move.

As we practically felt like rolling down the lane from Sheila’s house, we remarked that at least we would not be hungry for a while.

We stopped for a photo or two in front of Melrose Abbey. And then, while trying to ignore the rain, we pushed forward the direction we felt that St Cuthbert’s Way went from the Abbey. There is no sign marking the trail at the abbey, but it is the official beginning. Up the road towards the Eildon Hills we walked for a good mile before we met someone on the way who asked us where we were walking.

There are lots of people out walking in the small towns along this trail but those who are hiking from town to town (or hillwalking, as it is called in the UK) are distinctly recognizable by the swishing sounds made by waterproof pants. So often we found ourselves being asked by locals who assumed correctly that we were walkers, “Where are you walking?”

 “We’re walking St Cuthbert’s Way,” which we followed with, “Do you know where the trail leaves the main road?”

 “Oh you’ve gone the wrong way. You need to go back down the hill, back through the center of town and underneath the overpass. You’ll see a sign.”

It is possible that at this point Anna was already feeling a bit skeptical about my plan for her to fly all the way over from Chicago to go with me on a long walk. If two days of rain had not already put her off, my inability to actually find the start of the trail was sealing the deal.

We would walk past the exit to the trail again before finally turning around to find it.

If you’re walking St Cuthbert’s Way and you can’t find the beginning of the trail in Melrose, it is probably because you are not used to walking into someone’s backyard. You turn off of the road into an alley that holds someone’s trash bins in order to get on the trail. If you’re walking down the hill, the alley is marked with the sign, Eildon Hills, which you know from your guidebook that you are supposed to follow, but if you are walking up the hill, you see a sign for St Cuthbert’s Way that points up the hill and you have not yet learned that this means you should be looking for a small trail to the left. Once you walk down the alley and pass the trash bins, you can see behind the houses that yes, there it is, a trail, over the water and straight up into the Eildon Hills.

As we made our way up the giant staircase leading into the hills, I told Anna between breathes that now that we had found the trail, it would be easy to stay on it. Not to worry, I’m sure it will be fine.

She nodded and graciously did not point out to me that we had walked three miles before actually beginning what would already be one of our longest days of walking.

Now would be a good time to mention that during our walk, Anna was wearing a gadget I’d never before heard of called a FitBit. She mocked me a little for being out of the loop and told me that they are all the rage in America. Over the course of the next five days, I came to have a love/hate relationship with Anna’s FitBit. It would make a little noise when we had hit five miles, and you wanted it to make this noise so much so that you would know you had gone five miles, but then on long days, you could be discouraged because when it went off you felt that surely you had actually gone ten. The FitBit was handy because Anna could always tell us exactly how far we had gone, but it was amazing how this news could be alternately encouraging and disheartening.

But now we were finally on the trail and getting high up into the hills made us feel our progress. Melrose got further and further away. We slipped around a bit in the mud as we grabbed for our footing on the trail, rising above the sheep fields and watching the bridge over the River Tweed turn into a tiny line. When we got to the shoulder where we would drop over to the other side, Anna called, “Goodbye Sheila!”

Going downhill is so wonderful after a good climb up and we were proud to manage not to fall down the mudslides. We descended into a forest in the valley and sloshed our way to the tiny little village of Bowden, where there is an old school, an ancient well and a church. And not too much else. The best part of Bowden was that it stopped raining there. We were so grateful and we stopped to adjust our wet layers and have a granola bar because it was lunchtime and we were still a long way from St Boswell’s.

The rain stopping makes everything seem a bit brighter and at some point between Bowden and St Boswell’s I managed to win Anna over to going just a tiny bit out of way to visit Dryburgh Abbey, where Sir Walter Scott is buried. It is possible that I misrepresented how out of the way it was, mainly because I did not know. Our guidebook said, “a minor diversion” and honestly, when we crossed the bridge to get to the side of the River Tweed on which the Abbey stood, I felt that surely we would be able to cross back further up the road. We were still walking towards St Boswells, just on the wrong side of the river. Anna knew better of course, and as we walked to the abbey, she was pointing out that we would probably have to walk all this way back to that same bridge we crossed.

“Oh no, I’m sure there will be another way,” I said, and of course there was not, which is probably why on Days 2-5, Anna took on the bulk of the map reading.

But Dryburgh Abbey, and of course I can say this now that I am at home in my cozy house and not in any danger of being rained upon, but Dryburgh Abbey was totally worth the extra mile or two. I do not know what it is about an abbey ruin that is so incredibly romantic to me but they just leave me feeling like I’d like to put up a tent and stay for ages. Like if I’m quiet and still for long enough that I could hear the singing, or the soft steps of the monks. I am undone by this strange melancholic combination of joy at the purpose of this place of long ago and grief that its day has passed. They make me want to cry and sing and read and pray and study and love all at the same time.

Somehow the fact that it had been raining all day made it all even more perfect. Pink stones and green grass just glistening. We tried to move slowly, but that we were still not even halfway through our day’s walk was weighing heavy enough that we pulled ourselves away from Dryburgh before too long.

We retraced our route back to St Cuthbert’s Way. Along the way, we passed a hill to our right, marked by a sign that we could not read from the road. “Should we just go read the sign and see what it is?” I asked Anna.

“No, I’m hungry and it’s already so late.”

 “You’re right,” I said, reluctantly. “This is why I never get anywhere on time. Good thing you’re here to keep us on schedule.”

An hour later we finally walked into St Boswells and were overjoyed to find the little café Sheila recommended. She had not led us astray. It was an absolute gem of a spot and we ate what we both agreed would probably be our favorite meal of the entire week. Of course, the fact that it was almost 3pm might have had something to do with our enthusiasm, but it really was divine. Also divine? Taking off wet jackets, coats and backpacks. We took off as much as possible and set everything on the radiator to dry. I’m pretty sure it looked like we were moving into Main Street Books, and I would have liked to. It was far too soon that we were packing up and getting back on the trail.

“Should we just call Sheila?” Anna asked as I finished off the last of my tea.

Back on the trail, Anna noted that there was a large bend in the river and that if we followed St Cuthbert’s Way along the River Tweed, we would be going a good bit out of the way instead of the general direction of the next town.

Now that Anna had the map, she was frequently pointing out times when it seemed like we were headed in the opposite direction of our destination. And in her defense, it was a bit discouraging that after we walked for two hours after lunch we crossed over a road with a sign that indicated that St Boswells was less than a mile away. However, the bend in the river also turned out to be one of the most beautiful stretches of trail we wandered that day.

We were often tempted to take a different road than old St Cuthbert, but all in all we stayed on the trail in the hopes that the mapmakers were leading us astray for beauty’s sake.

After the River Tweed we walked long country lanes to a little village called Maxton, with a darling little church and views of the Eildon Hills in the distance. It seemed like such a long time ago that we had been on top of those hills. Was that just this morning?

After the trail left the country lanes and turned onto a muddy path, an old Roman road actually, we found that we were really dragging. We had phoned the Allerton House in Jedburgh where we were staying to say that we thought we would reach the pickup point by 6pm. I was a little worried to see 6pm come and go, and for the following hour we kept saying every ten minutes that we were surely almost there. There are very few markings on that last stretch so it was difficult to know how much progress we were making. As we were tromping along in the mud, sliding and at one point, falling in it, we might have begun to regret our side trip to Dryburgh Abbey and even not taking a short cut at St Boswells.

 By 6:30 we had passed the point of being discouraged and had become sort of delirious. We started laughing about how much our feet hurt and about how ridiculous it was that we thought we were going to hike 18 miles on Day 5 before the tide rolled in. We were so covered in mud that we figured that the man who was picking us up would sooner let two pigs into his car than us.

Also, we had not seen anyone since we left the river. No one. It was so quiet and even though it was no longer raining (which I kept pointing out: “At least it’s not raining!”), it was still very cloudy. Low afternoon light on a cloudy day has this funny way of making you think it’s about to be dark for like four hours. I knew it my head that it would not actually be dark until 9pm, but it still felt like it was about to be dark any minute.

Finally we reached a forest that was mentioned in the guidebook as the end of the day’s walk. Fields and forests had pretty much been the terrain for the last hour or so. I hesitate to say that we reached a dark forest on a dark day at our darkest hour, but I promise you that it felt that way. Just a little bit. Like if I fell down in the mud, I would just stay there. One time my husband took our friend, who was very out of shape, hiking in late September in Colorado. There was an unusually early snow and the trail was covered in snow and mud. Our friend tells this story about trying to keep up with my husband while they were hiking and feeling like he was dying and finally falling face down in the mud and snow and not caring if he ever got up again. We love to hear him tell that story because he is super dramatic about it and he makes us all laugh. But I have not ever really considered how it might feel to be that tired. So tired that you actually don’t care that you are face down in mud. Well, now I can say at the very least, that I have been close. I was dang tired.

At 7pm, we were so happy to see the signs for the Harestanes Visitor Center that we almost cried. I called our ride, Chris, who came right over from Jedburgh, which was three miles away.. Fortunately, his car was covered in plastic coating. Clearly, he is used to muddy walkers. He told us that we were his last group of walkers, but that he had been picking them up all day. He drove the car through the little town of Jedburgh, pointing out Jedburgh Abbey and a couple of spots where we could grab dinner. Then he made a left turn and proceeded to climb a giant hill. Anna and I looked at each other, both of us wondering the same thing. “How far is he going to drive this car up this road?” I’ll tell you how far.

Too. Far.

He showed us our room and I fell on the floor. Glory be. I was so happy to be in a hotel. I stripped down and fell on the bed and told Anna I was never leaving. Anna was already looking through a book of local restaurant menus. She proceeded to go back out and ask Chris to make us a dinner reservation.

I could not believe she expected us to walk down (and more importantly BACK UP) that hill for food. And in like thirty minutes.

Not. Happening.

But twenty minutes later, we were showered and changed and I was hobbling down the hill to a very mediocre dinner at an even more mediocre restaurant in Jedburgh. I was only not irritated by this fact because we did get to see the abbey up close, through the locked gates. And it was beautiful. It was not the first or the last time I considered climbing a fence to get into a closed abbey on our trip. But I had to save my energy for the hill.

We both made whiny noises all the way up the hill. Thankfully, Chris has whisky and sherry decanters in the common room, so we popped our ibuprofen with whisky and promptly went to sleep.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Day 1} appeared first on Alison Chino.

“This country would be really beautiful if it was warm and sunny.”

We had just gotten off the bus in Melrose and were standing in front of Melrose Abbey in the rain.

Melrose Abbey is the starting place of St Cuthbert’s Way, a 63 mile walk across the Scottish Borders into England and out on to Lindisfarne Island.

Four transport changes between trains and buses between Aberdeen and Melrose had provided the rain further opportunity to soak through all our layers, so that by the time we arrived in Melrose, my sister, Anna, was commenting on the weather for about the sixteenth time.

Again, she said, “This abbey would be gorgeous if it was warm and sunny.”

“Yep, you’re probably going to need to quit saying that.” I offered, helpfully, “It might rain all week long.”

To her credit, she laughed.

We trudged off in the rain to find our lodging for the night.

Along the way, a friendly gentleman asked us if we were lost.

I have a knack for looking lost, even when I am not exactly lost. There is a step just before Completely Lost that I like to call Finding My Way. Somewhere between Finding My Way and Completely Lost is where I live most of the time.

But we were willing to admit defeat if this gentleman was willing to point us to dry shelter.

“Yes, actually, we’re looking for the Fauhope House.”

“Oh yes,”he replied, “I stayed there once, several years ago. I’m walking in that direction and will take you as far as the bridge and tell you the rest of the way.”

“Great!”

Anna and I were carrying our bag between us because we were on a sort of gravel road on which it would not roll. We later noted that having the large bag between us all day, getting it on and off buses and trains, would make us very appreciative of our tour having arranged a baggage transfer service for the rest of the week!

Our new friend told us that he was visiting the area on a motorcycle tour but that he used to come to Melrose all the time to fish for salmon in the River Tweed. He was just going for a walk to the river to remember all the good times he had there.

True to his word, he took us as far as the bridge over the River Tweed and then pointed at a spot on the hill where he thought that the Fauhope House sat.

“Tell Sheila that Jonathan said Hello, he told us as he waved us off and wished us luck on our walking journey.”

We crossed the bridge and started up the hill but we could not find any sign of the Fauhope House. It began to rain a bit harder and I could no longer see my instructions at all, so we were walking blindly towards the spot on the hill that Jonathan had pointed to.

We were probably a mile and a half away from Melrose Abbey and about to give up altogether and walk back to Melrose when I spotted a tiny sign on the ground on the left side of the road that said FAUHOPE.

“Look, Anna!”

“THAT? That is our sign?”

The small sign gave no indication of which direction the Fauhope House was in, but we crossed over to it and a little further down was a small gravel lane that headed straight up into the trees.

“I think this must be it.”

Huffing and puffing with our suitcase, we pushed up the lane until the beautiful house came into view. I was certain this was our spot. We rounded the lane to the back of the house where the entrance was and took a minute to catch our breath before we rang the bell.

Shelia opened the door, horrified at our drowned-rat-state, she shooed us into the house and reprimanded us for not calling her. She would have been happy to pick us up from the bus stop in all this rain! Oh dear, and we must get off our wet things and come have a cup of tea. Dear oh dear, could she make us a dinner reservation? Of course she would drive us into town for dinner. And what about a glass of sherry? Just get in here and I’ll get you your tea.

Needless to say, we were only too happy to be pampered by Sheila and to come out of our wet things and into the cozy comforts of the Fauhope House.

Once we were warm in front of the fire, Anna said that if we had not run into Jonathan, who had pointed us in the right direction, we would be referring to the Fauhope House as the No Hope House. We sipped tea with cakes and shortbread and sat by the fire before getting cleaned up to go out for dinner.

Sheila drove us back down the hill and we assured her we would be fine to walk back to the house now that we were not lugging a suitcase. We had dinner in a little pub in town and when we emerged, blessedly, the rain had stopped.

So we walked back across the suspension bridge, this time stopping to spot Sheila’s house above the yellow rapeseed fields. While we were walking back up the lane, Anna remarked, “I think that this trip is going to be the perfect mixture of adventure and luxury.”

“Yes,” I said, “It’s not so terrible to traipse around all day in the rain when you know that at the end of the road, a warm fire and a cup of tea await your arrival.”

Back at the Fauhope House, we had a spot of sherry before crawling into our big fluffy beds for the night.

Tomorrow our adventure on the trail would begin.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk in exchange for my being willing to tell you all about it here on my blog, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking. I’m trying to blog #48walks this year. Join me?

Read more stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

The post St Cuthbert’s Way Journal {Beginnings} appeared first on Alison Chino.

Snapshots of Durham, England for Instagram Travel Thursday

Whenever someone mentions Durham in a room full of people in the UK, at least one person makes a reverent oohing sound.

Ahh, Durham.

Yes, you must see Durham.

So when we heard that Taido was slated to speak at a conference at Durham University, the rest of us tagged along to see the city.

Dodging a slight drizzle that was broken up by sporadic patches of sunlight, we made our way straight to the World Heritage Site, Durham Cathedral.

Began in 1093, this grand Romanesque structure was conceived to hold the bones of the humble St Cuthbert, who spent his life wandering in the woods and farm lands just north of here, before taking up residence on the Island of Lindisfarne.

Within the cathedral is a giant shrine to the Saint, a place to which medieval and modern pilgrims alike have come in search of peace, healing and enlightenment. (St Bede is also entombed here.)

I found these stories super fascinating and I felt honored to have seen this place before I started walking St Cuthbert’s Way. However, I had three kids with me who cared nothing for reading the history of the cathedral.

The sacred site held their interest for other reasons, the first of which was that the courtyard of Durham Cathedral appears in the Harry Potter movies.

And whether we were imagining Benedictine monks or Daniel Radcliffe, we all enjoyed walking through this beautiful cloister.

The second reason the kids enjoyed the cathedral is that they discovered that for five pounds (2.50 for kids), you could climb to the top of the tower. They begged me to do it and even talked the attendant into letting Simon stand on his tiptoes to fudge the height requirement.

325 steps did not actually sound like that many to me. (The Eiffel Tower has 710.) But actually it was quite a lot. And the last few were very tight. Mary Polly started to get scared towards the top as we began to get glimpses through small windows of how high up we were getting.

She and Simon did not stay on the roof for more than a minute, but Ben and I walked all the way around the edges of the tower, taking photos from each side.

I was so glad they had talked me into climbing it, because the views were breathtaking, and I loved getting a feel for the shape of the city from up so high.

You could actually see the whole bend of the river as it appears on this old map.

Getting down was a little harder, and I don’t recommend it if you have a bit of claustrophobia, but Ben and I were both so glad we had climbed it.

The attendant gave us all stickers that said “I climbed to the top of the Durham Cathedral Tower,” which I thought was cute.

But if you ask the kids about their favorite part of Durham Cathedral, they might just say that it was this Lego model.

And I have to say that this is a brilliant marketing strategy on someone’s part for this World Heritage Site. All over the cathedral, attendants and workers were wearing t-shirts about this Lego model, so before we ever found it, the kids were looking for it.

And then, when we finally found it, we discovered that it is in the slow process of being built and actually, you can pay a pound to add a brick to the model, which of course the kids wanted to do.

It was pretty impressive already, but it would be fun to see it when it is completed.

The meander in the River Wear which encircles the city has a lovely walking path, so after we visited the cathedral we headed off to walk it. Of course.

The kids were not super excited about this walk. It was exactly that time of day which is too early for lunch but when your breakfast (especially if you had an early one) was long enough ago to make you grouchy.

We were not staying in Durham so we needed to spend the whole day there while Taido was in his sessions and I knew if we ate lunch at 10:45, we would be in trouble waiting for him until five. Our blue sky was gone and if you sat still, you began to get cold so I told the kids if they would walk all the way around the city with me we would eat out instead of having the peanut butter sandwiches we had brought in the car.

And though this cost me a pretty penny in Italian food later on, it totally did the trick!

After our walk we warmed up with calzones and cappuccino at a yummy restaurant and Mary Polly remarked that she was so glad we were eating inside somewhere warm instead of having our peanut butter out in the cold.

After lunch, we visited a few of the shops.

There are a lot of great store and pub fronts in Durham.

The Shakespeare is one of the older pubs in Durham, LOVE!

We spent most of the afternoon looking at books, and I could imagine passing away lots more hours in these cozy spots that sit in the shadow of the great cathedral.

It was raining again when we went to the main town square to meet up with Taido, so the kids were all huddled together under a statue when I snapped this picture. Soon they would be falling asleep in a warm car. Bless.

PS If you’re visiting Durham, be sure to also pop over to beautiful North Yorkshire!

Do you travel + Instagram? Join in IG Travel Thursday!

More of my IG Travel Thursday posts.

The post Snapshots of Durham, England appeared first on Alison Chino.

My sister has an uncanny ability to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to.

She does not waste a lot of time on the what ifs. She pushes forward and deals with problems as they come. It’s not that she thinks everything will always run smoothly and be perfect. She anticipates that there will be obstacles, but she also expects to be able to deal with them.

She faces more challenges in a day than I do in six months, but somehow she keeps her head up and pushes on.

Somehow in the midst of her very busy life, she made time to come and walk with me for a week in the countryside along the border of Scotland and England.

She had absolutely no doubt about whether or not we would be able to walk the 63 miles we had set out to cover on our walk and she did not really train much for it, apart from her regular life of being on her feet all day as a chef and owner of a busy restaurant. Oh and being a runner and participating sporadically in a special form of torture known as CrossFit.

So she was a little taken aback by how wiped out we were by the end of our first day of walking.

“It’s just walking,” she kept saying. “It’s not burpees. It’s just walking.”

Just walking. One foot in front of the other. For a long time.

For five days in a row. And there were some tired moments. There were some blisters. There was being baffled by the senior citizens who were in better shape than we were. There was mud. A lot of mud. There was rain. And there was sun.

There were yellow flowers. And there were endless moors.

But we made it. All the way to the end. To St Cuthbert’s beloved Lindisfarne. To Holy Island.

The day after we finished our journey, we walked to the farthest tip of the island where many fellow pilgrims had built cairns out of the rocks along the shore, a gorgeous mini city of rock towers shining in the sun.

“Let’s make one!” Anna said.

We did not have a lot of time before our taxi was to arrive and sweep us away from the end of our long walk. I was feeling a little sad that it was all about to be over, shooting a few last photos of the island and letting the sunlight warm my face.

But I swung my camera behind me and helped Anna stack a few stones. Our efforts were half-hearted, at best. The first couple of tries fell over completely.

Anna joked, “Let’s just make an ‘A’ in the grass instead. It can stand for Alison, Anna and AMERICA!”

We tried again and got our stones to stay up but the shape was sort of sideways and it was definitely one of the shortest structures of the bunch.

“This is the worst cairn ever.” I said, refusing to take a picture of it.

“No it’s not,” Anna quipped, “The worst one is the one we didn’t make at all.” She snapped a picture on her phone, while I stood there dumbfounded.

If your fidelity to perfectionism is too high, you never do anything.

David Foster Wallace

This is the difference between us. Between being a perfectionist and being a get-it-done-girl.

That it doesn’t have to be perfect enables Anna move through life so much more unfettered.

How many things am I satisfied to leave unattempted because if I do it, it might be the worst attempt ever made? And it certainly won’t be the best.

But Anna is right. The worst one is the one I never tried. The rocks that never got off the ground. The walk I didn’t take. The words never written on the page.

The cake that falls apart or that Tiny Oven doesn’t cook in the middle is not the worst cake ever made. The worst one is the one for which I never bothered mixing the dough. The one no one got to taste because it never got made.

Now that the walk is behind us and Anna has gone back to the states, I am so grateful that she came and reminded me how beautiful it is to move forward. In walks and in life.

Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life.

Anne Lamott

PS. Stay tuned, because next week, I am dedicating every day on the blog to more pictures and stories from our wonderful journey along St Cuthbert’s Way.

Disclosure: Macs Adventure generously discounted my booking for our walk because I promised to cover it prolifically, which of course, I am more than happy to do since this trip fits in so perfectly with my Year of Walking.

The post A Story about My Sister appeared first on Alison Chino.

A little yellow in my life makes me smile.

On a cloudy spring day, this yellow rapeseed can almost take the place of the sunshine for me.

Even in the pouring rain, I will stop for a spot of yellow.

Glimpsed far away or along the River Tweed, these fields have been grabbing my attention for several weeks now.

And oh my goodness, when the sun does shine and the sky is blue, the combination of colors is too perfect for words.

Bring on the yellow.

I’m sharing all this yellow for IG Travel Thursday as a very brief glimpse of my walk along St Cuthbert’s Way, a 63 mile walk along the border of Scotland and England, last weekend with Macs Adventure. MUCH more to come from the amazing experience of walking village to village in the UK with my sweet sister.

I hope your day is all yellow! (Mine has been a little blue since saying goodbye to my sister!)

Do you travel + Instagram? Join in IG Travel Thursday!

More of my IG Travel Thursday posts.

The post Snapshots of Yellow appeared first on Alison Chino.