Warm

I quickly typed out some word vomit into my phone, praying that it didn’t turn to actually losing my food as we bounced down the highway toward Madrid. We were sitting in the back of a crowded bus, so excited to escape the 95degree weather, and instead found ourselves in the seats above the engine, blasting hot air directly upward for six hours. Needless to say, that is the first and last time we will ever take a bus.

But a lot of good reflection happened on that bus ride. The spray of words I was finally able to get into writing turned themselves into a spoken word piece I decided to call Warm. Now, I won’t type it out here, there’s a reason they’re called spoken word, but I can tell you about the general sentiment behind it.

But first, a quick recap, for your sake of context, and my sake of reminiscing.
Seven cities in two weeks can be hard to keep track of:

1.    Amsterdam: So much jetlag and culture shock. But somewhere in between, we walked the streets of this beautiful, broken city and it was a blast to spend a few days abroad with all 19 of us before we split off.

2.    Brugge: I’m tempted to say my favorite city thus far, but Sevilla was a close contender. This sleepy city stole my heart when we walked around late at night- the streets deserted, lights and lampposts everywhere, laughing with new friends and walking over canals and past quintessential European buildings…I felt like I was in a movie.

3.    Paris: Not at all what I expected. I was not a huge fan of Paris- loud, crowded, expensive. But more than that, I was frustrated after meeting so many people in Brugge; our hostel was on the
outskirts of everything so people headed into the city early and stayed there all day, so it was really tough to meet people. The Lord really worked to teach me patience, as well as strengthened our team during that time. Good preparation as we headed to…

4.    Barcelona: Crazy. Crazy. Crazy. We unknowingly were there not only during a music festival, Primavera Sound, but also the Copa Final, which took place two streets down from our hostel. Such a great introduction to Spain.

5.    Valencia: The southern Brugge, I might say. Everything about this city was stunning- I don’t think you can really top moonlit castles framed by palm trees.

6.    Sevilla: We’ve all liked different cities, but it’s pretty safe to say our favorite city collectively is Sevilla. We met so many cool people and had so many deep conversations. Plus our hostel was sick- “family dinner” was served on a rooftop with a view of the cathedral. Increíble.

7.    Madrid: Perhaps takes the hostel cake. Even the staff have become friends- last night, I had a jam session with the receptionist, and made dinner with the cook. Every night is free dinner and
we’ve become a little family.

And there I was last night, in the kitchen, talking to my new friend Christo (“It’s like the Spanish Christ, I dunno why they call me but I like it you know?”) as I grated cheese. Between
our mixed language conversation, I listened to the hum of the hostel around me.
People from all over the world becoming friends. 

More travelers checking in,
getting the run down of the city. 

Laughter and backpacks dropping to the floor and the general hum of excitement.

 I kind of lost myself in the moment, and realized that for the first time in a long time, potentially years, I felt completely at ease. I prayed that I would feel comfortable in the traveling community, but I had no idea God would use it to fill me with so much peace, with a sense of comfort I rarely feel.

By all accounts, it makes no sense. I’ll be the first to say that I am a
distrusting, skittish, generally scared and uptight person.

But somewhere between Brugge and Barcelona, something changed. I began to see something beautiful in transience, an opportunity in forming fast and often brief relationships that would not
have sounded appealing back home. The traveling community is indescribable.

When you learn so much about a person’s life and then an hour into the conversation stop and say, “Wait, I never caught your name”, that’s a really cool thing.


So standing in the kitchen in Madrid, my heart just felt warm. There’s no other way to explain it. I had found a home in the wandering, and felt like one of these people, these disorganized, adventurous souls who not long ago, would have so intimidated me.

Maybe the feeling also had something to do with the fact that Spain is flippin hot. Lord have mercy, I have never been in a place where I step outside and literally feel like my skin is melting off my body. I guess that’s what you get for being 120 miles north of Africa (here’s lookin’ at you, Sevilla).

Now, we’ve made it to Santiago.
All around me are pilgrims. You can pick them out easily- they’re wearing clothes that clearly haven’t been properly washed in at least two weeks, the top of their head is covered by permanent hat hair, and they wander around the city with this glazed, happy, “I did it” look. In three days, we will begin the journey back to this wonderful city. 250 miles in two weeks.

It will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m tempted to say I can’t do it. But never in a million years would I have said I could journey so far away from home, sleeping in a different city and even country every couple of days- and now I’ve got this adventure fever that’s left me yearning to pack my bag and start up again.


So, fellow adventurers- Go. Do. See. Find that thing that sets your heart on fire.
And realize that it’s probably in the most unexpected of places.

Catch you in two weeks!

(Seen in Brugge. Describes Europe in general. The tackiest and the most adorable of pictures).