I’ve tackled sections of the Pacific Crest Trail—backpacking, day hiking, and trail running—but to think of taking months off to complete all 2,650 miles of this trail, which climbs mountain passes and traverses remote California, Oregon, and Washington, feels overwhelming. A long-distance walk, on the other hand, feels more manageable, like something any of us could pull off, given some time. They mostly involve days and weeks rather than many months, and are at more consistent elevations.

I’m not talking about a mountainous thru-hike where you plan out food caches and sleep on the ground. I’m talking about a meandering or purposeful walk that goes on for days, weeks, or maybe months. A big commitment, yes. A physical feat for sure. A mental and emotional pilgrimage of sorts. But not so strenuous that most people couldn’t do it, building up their mileage.

These long walks, on byways and moderate terrain, are more like scenic tours of spectacular landscapes, or adventurous journeys through cities and forests. They are not so much to be completed as experienced.

And I think they’re the most beautiful in the world.

1. Best Urban Trail

Empire State Trail, New York

It took four years to link up and complete the entire , one of the longest multi-sport pathways in the United States, officially finished in late 2020. The route runs 750 miles across the state of New York, from New York City north to the Canadian border and from Albany west to Buffalo. Three quarters of the trail is on off-road pathways. You can walk on converted rail trails through the Hudson River Valley, stroll beside the historic Erie Canal, or move through wetlands and fields along Adirondack Park and Lake Champlain. Eventually the trail will include a 200-mile greenway across Long Island; construction of the first 25 miles of that section begins this year.

Pick a section of this largely urban route, which is also popular with bicyclists, and walk it one direction, then hop on a train back to where you started—Amtrak stations are located in 20 towns and cities along the way. Find community with others traveling the trail or seek tips on good trailside lodging or camping from .

Don’t Miss:Ěý ĚýMore than 200 craft breweries dot the Empire State Trail, in an aggregate known as the . Get a brewery passport and pick up stamps at the places along the way to earn rewards like a T-shirt or cooler bag. In the Hudson Valley, spend a night at (from $195), which has cabins, canvas tents, and a cedar sauna just a short walk from the trail.

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2. Best Pilgrimage

El Camino de Santiago, Spain

Each year, over 300,000 people embark upon sections of this legendary pilgrimage, on a network of trails dating back to pre-medieval times and roadways that vary from cobbled to paved. The most popular route is the Camino Frances, a 500-mile pathway that starts in St. Jean Pied de Port, France, and takes travelers about four to five weeks to walk, passing through the Pyrenees mountains and La Rioja wine region, La Meseta arid range, and through eucalyptus forests into Galicia and Santiago itself. The Camino Portugues, heading up the northern coast of Portugal is another top choice, stretching between 140 and 380 miles depending on your starting point, and crossing through fishing villages such as the UNESCO Heritage Listed cities of Lisbon and Porto. No matter which route you choose, all roadsĚýon the Camino lead to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northern Spain, where the remains of the Apostle Saint James the Great are allegedly buried.

You can walk the Camino year-round—the most popular season is mid-summer—but aim for spring or fall for mild temperatures and fewer crowds, and be aware that many lodges and albergues close in winter ). offers guided walks on the Camino through Portugal and Spain lasting from a week up to 22 days (from $1,436), or, if you’d rather go on your own, has self-guided options (from $718).

Don’t Miss: Once you reach Santiago de Compostela, head to the Pilgrim’s Office for your official stamp of completion, having received a pilgrim’s passport from your entry point to be stamped along the way. Bagpipes will be playing nearby as you enter the gates of the holy Santiago de Compostela.ĚýThe cathedral has a Pilgrim’s Mass at noon and 7:30 p.m. daily; go early if you want a seat. On , await the ancient ritual of the swinging brass Botafumeiro, or cauldron, which is filled with incense and coal and so heavy eight men are required to move it.

3. Best Waterfront Route

Stockholm Archipelago Trail, Sweden

Opening in October 2023, the 167-mile connects new and existing pathways across 20 islands in the Stockholm Archipelago, the largest archipelago in Sweden and home to over 30,000 islands. To walk the whole thing, you’ll need to use a series of public ferries and private boat taxis. You can also pick a section and just walk a few islands at a time; each has an average of about nine miles of trails. You’ll travel along gravel roads, forest paths, and beaches, and through remote fishing and farming communities.

Along the way, camp or stay in hotels or B&Bs. offers a seven-day, self-guided journey on the trail (from $1,095) in spring, summer, or fall that includes lodging in locally owned hotels, luggage transfer, and daily routes that max out at about nine miles.

Don’t Miss: On the island of Tranholmen, a celebrated chef named David Enmark opens up his home to diners every Friday night—. Or visit the island of Furusund, which contains about five miles of trail and is site of a famed 19^th-century summer resort, now a 16-room boutique hotel: the (rooms from $121), which welcomes guests who arrive by boat or on foot.

4. Best for History Buffs

Lycian Way, Turkey

Traversing the rocky Mediterranean coast of southwestern Turkey, the 472-mile Lycian Way winds through the ancient maritime republic known as Lycia. Mountains rise from the turquoise sea as the route follows old roads, footpaths, and mule trails through long-gone civilizations. You’ll pass by lighthouses, beaches, historic sites like Roman amphitheaters and rock tombs, and lagoons over underwater ruins of sunken cities that can be toured by boat.

Most people take on just a section of the Lycian Way. has five- to 14-day guided tours (from $1,187) that include lodging and luggage transfer, or leads seven-day treks (from $995) with an English-speaking guide. Best to do this historical walk in spring or fall, from February to May or from September to November to avoid the high heat of summer.

Don’t Miss: °ŐłÜ°ů°ě±đ˛â’s illuminates Lycia’s ancient capital city of Patara after dusk, making it a magical place to explore by night. Best lodging on the trail: the (from $240), built in 2005 on a hillside, has glass windows, viewing hammocks, and saunas overlooking the Aegean Sea.

5. Best for Conservationists

John Muir Way, Scotland

Not to be confused with California’s more demanding John Muir Trail, the is a relatively new route (established around 10 years ago) that stretches coast to coast across Muir’s home country of Scotland. This 134-mile walk begins in the western waterfront town of Helensburgh, where quotes from the famed Scottish-American environmentalist mark a commemorative stone bench. The trek ends around 10 days later in the eastern seaside town of Dunbar, where Muir was born in 1838.

On the way, you’ll walk through the cobbled streets of the capital city of Edinburgh, along the shores of , and by the Falkirk Wheel, a rotating boat lift in central Scotland. has self-guided itineraries (from $1,827) for the entire route, including accommodations.

Don’t Miss: Stay in (from $417), a restored 16th-century castleĚýjust off the trail 20 miles east of Edinburgh. The trail’s eastern terminus is at Muir’s birthplace, a humble three-story home in Dunbar that’s now a historic and free to visit.

6. Best for Self-Reflection

Shikoku Pilgrimage, Japan

This circular walk across the Japanese island of Shikoku visits 88 temples and sacred sites where the Buddhist saint known as Kūkai is thought to have trained in the 9^th century. The entire route is about 745 miles—mostly using roads, but also on select mountain trails—and takes around six weeks to walk. Or you can choose just a section.

The traditional approach starts at the first temple, Ryōzenji, in Tokushima prefecture and proceeds clockwise until you reach the last temple, Ōkuboji, in Kagawa prefecture. Many pilgrims dress in traditional attire, including a white cotton robe, scarf, and straw hat, and carrying a walking stick; they also carry pilgrims’ books, to be stamped after worshipping at each temple. leads an eight-day tour of the pilgrimage (from $2,303), where you’ll walk up to eight miles daily with an English-speaking guide, staying at guesthouses and temple lodging.

Don’t Miss: One of the hardest temples to reach is number 21, Tairyuji, or Temple of the Great Dragon. You can ride the tram to reach this mountaintop temple or hike to the site on a steep three-mile trail through limestone rocks and an ancient cedar forest. There you’ll climb a marble staircase leading into the temple gates and visit a bronze statue of Kūkai meditating.

7. Best for Wildlife Spotting

Yuraygir Coastal Walk, Australia

The 42-mile point-to-point leads through the beaches and bluffs of Yuraygir National Park in New South Wales. You’ll start in the village of Angourie and follow the sign-posted track, as trails are called in Australia and New Zealand, south to the red-tinted cliffs of Red Rock. Most people take four to five days to do the whole route. Along the way, you’ll spot turtles and whales, swim in the Pacific Ocean, and walk through coastal headlands and the biodiverse Solitary Islands Marine Park.

Spend your first night on the trail camping at the , which is only accessible on foot. Or if you’d prefer sleeping in a bed, book a guided walk that includes shuttles to trailside properties like (from $234) or (from $125). leads a guided five-day walk of the trail (prices vary according to group size and season) for private groups from November to April that includes luggage delivery, boat and bus transfers, national-park fees, and accommodations. If you’d rather go it on your own, you can base out of the family-owned in Wooli, and the owners will arrange for lifts to the trail each day (from $499, including lodging and hiker shuttles).

Don’t Miss: Stop into the beachfront , about halfway through your route, for a sausage roll or pizza. Spend some time at the and estuary, a breeding site for endangered shorebirds including the pied oystercatcher and beach stone-curlew. The trail along the Station Creek estuary is lined with scribbly gum and corkwood trees, and if you’re lucky, you’ll spot an Australian crane or coastal emu.

8. Most Adventurous

Te Araroa, New Zealand

New Zealand is known for its stellar tracks, and , also called the Long Pathway, is the country’s most ambitious trail project yet. It’s a 1,900-mile journey crossing the length of New Zealand’s North and South Islands, from Cape Reinga at the north end to Bluff at the southern tip. The trail itself climbs mountain passes, crosses verdant plains, and travels through small cities and remote villages. Roughly 2,000 people walk the whole trail each year, taking between three and six months. Most hikers go north to south, starting around October, which is springtime in New Zealand. If you don’t have that kind of time, pick a section or a single island; the South Island is considered the more challenging of the two due to its more mountainous terrain.

While this video shows a Te Araroa thru-hike, some choose a section or decide to hike either the North Island or South Island. The South Island is more remote and considered more difficult, the North Island route longer but with more road walking. (Video: şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř TV) Ěý

Before you go, ($34) to receive the latest maps and a Te Araroa walker-information packet. Buy a (from $110) for access to over 70 Department of Conservation-managed backcountry huts and campsites along Te Araroa. The trail also has Ěýto help you plan and navigate, and the trail notes for each section give details on the route and where to stay and resupply. Or you can book a guided 12-day trip with (from $8,595) and let the outfit take care of the logistics, including hotel bookings.

Don’t Miss: On the North Island, you’ll climb the extinct volcano of Mount Pirongia and descend to the valley below, where you’ll walk by the glowworm-studded , which are worth a stop; you can see the illuminating glowworms in their grottos by boat. On the South Island, spend a night at the 12-bunk, first-come, first-served near Wanaka, which has stunning views from the porch overlooking the Motatapu Valley and a nice swimming hole in the adjacent creek.

9. Best Way to Explore Indigenous Cultures

Vancouver Island Trail, Canada

Vancouver Island, British Columbia, is a rugged and densely forested place, and the 500-mile is among the most challenging routes on this list. The trail goes from the capital city of Victoria on the southern end of the island to Cape Scott on the northern tip, crossing rocky beaches and through lush rainforests and territories sacred to First Nations tribes, including the Songhees in the south and the Tlatlasikwala to the north. The trail is broken up into seven distinct sections, from paved pathways through urban areas to logging roads, hiking trails, and rail trails. Each section takes around five to 10 days to walk—or you can spend two months doing a complete thru-hike. Some sections of the trail are still being completed and not well marked, so plan on some skilled route finding or that’s better delineated. If you’re walking the trail northbound, you’ll end in , where the Cape Scott Lighthouse has been shining light for mariners since 1960.ĚýĚý

Don’t Miss: Book a cabin or pitch a tent at the First Nations-owned , between the northern towns of Port McNeill and Port Hardy. At the center of Vancouver Island, you’ll walk through Strathcona Provincial Park, British Columbia’s oldest park, dotted with high-alpine lakes and jagged snow-capped peaks. The , on the outskirts of the park, has eight seasonal campsites and a sauna.

10. Best New Trail

Camino de Costa Rica, Costa Rica

You’ll walk from the shores of the Atlantic Ocean to the beaches of the Pacific Ocean on the 174-mile-long , or the Costa Rican Way, which was inspired by Spain’s El Camino de Santiago. This relatively new trail—established in 2018 by the nonprofit Asociación Mar a Mar—travels through coffee plantations and rainforests, over the Continental Divide, and among tiny villages that rarely see tourists. Plan on around 16 days to hike the whole thing.

The trip starts on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, in the town of Barra de Parismina, at the base of Tortuguero National Park, known as a nesting ground for leatherback turtles. It ends in Quepos near Manuel Antonio National Park, filled with coral reefs and white-sand beaches. Stay in guesthouses, campsites, and hotels along the way. You will want to hire a guide, as much of the trail is sparsely marked. leads guided hikes ranging from eight to 16 days (from $1,675) that include meals and stays at local homes and guesthouses.

Don’t Miss: In the Orosi Valley, stay at the (from $59), which has private casitas and rooms close to the trail. In the town of Orosi, you can visit Iglesia de San José Orosi, the oldest church in Costa Rica, dating back to 1743, and its Religious Art Museum, and the .

11. Best Paved Trail

Paul Bunyan State Trail, Minnesota

Most popular with cyclists, the Paul Bunyan State Trail is still a great long walk for those who want a paved, accessible pathway. The route begins at in Brainerd and ends 115 miles later at in Bemidji, home to a famous giant statue of Paul Bunyan and his Blue Ox, Babe. This is the longest continuously paved rail-trail in the country, moderate in grade throughout as it follows the former Burlington Northern Railroad, abandoned in 1983. You can camp at and Lake , or stay in hotels in the various trail towns along the way.

Don’t Miss: You’ll walk through the town of Hackensack, where every September chainsaw carvers turn hunks of wood into art in the annual Chainsaw Event. The (from $89) in the town of Nisswa has rooms and lakefront cottages steps from the trail on Lower Cullen Lake. In Pequot Lakes, stop into the trailside for a scoop of ice cream.

12. Best for Foodies

Cinque Terra, Italy

Cinque Terre or “Five Lands” refers to five coastal towns—Monterosso, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola, and Riomaggiore—over the the Ligurian Sea, all linked by about 75 miles of hiking trails. The most popular route is the Sentiero Azzurro, known as the Blue Trail, which is less than 10 miles and can be done in a day. You can start in Monterosso or Riomaggiore and work your way in either direction, passing through lemon groves and walking staircases directly down to the sea.

For a more expanded tour, consider five- or eight-day self-guided hiking trips in Cinque Terre, where you’ll stay in curated hotels, dine on pizza and gelato from locals’ favorite spots, and ride trains to reach new trails each day. If you’re hiking on your own, be sure to check the for updates on closures (landslides have closed sections of the trail), and grab a (from $7 a day) for access to the two paid hiking trails—from Monterosso to Vernazza and from Vernazza to Corniglia—and for use of the bus lines within Cinque Terre National Park.

Don’t Miss: Climb the stairs to Doria Castle, a medieval fortress near the village of Vernazza, to see the remains of one of the oldest surviving towers on the Liguria coast. The five-room guesthouse (from $208) in the Unesco World Heritage Site of Vernazza makes for a good midway stop on your hike.

13. Most Accessible

Cotswold Way, England

The is a quintessentially English experience, where you’ll walk from the historic market town of Chipping Campden, once a busy center for traders, to the steps of the Late Medieval church of Bath Abbey, crossing through farmlands, country parks, and beech woodlands. Stop and admire fields full of sculptures or study English Civil War sites. This well-marked 102-mile trail can be traveled in either direction, taking between seven and 10 days. has both guided and self-guided walks (from $1,154) ranging from between seven and 12 nights, where you’ll sleep in limestone cottages and guesthouses.

Don’t Miss: Climb the hill to the Broadway Tower, an 18th century tower within a 200-acre estate of parkland offering expansive views across the valley; enjoy afternoon tea at the Tower Barn Café afterward. The trail also passes by , home to some 30 species of endangered butterflies, and , a historic garden filled with seasonal flowers and a lavish mix of Classical, Gothic, and other architecture.

Megan Michelson is an şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř contributing editor and avid traveler who once lived in England for a year and went on a lot of long rambles through the countryside. She recently wrote about trips that may help you live longer and her favorite new backcountry hut in Colorado.

The post The 13 Most Magical Long Walks In the World appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

We landed awkwardly on a wave and the boat shuddered, our aluminum hull protesting loudly under the impact. Seconds later, I felt another violent thud and immediately feared the worst—orcas! Foghorn in hand, I readied myself to wake the rest of the crew, reciting our response plan in my mind. Noisemakers, full revs to shallower water, radio call, check the bilges. Run like hell and hope they lose interest!

But I hesitated in the intervening silence. After many days underway with relatively little sleep, I knew my nerves were raw, my internal radar struggling to decipher clutter from true danger. I forced myself to count to ten. Breathe, listen, wait. The usual sounds resumed. Water rushing beside us. Gulls calling hoarsely in the dark. Wind whistling against the halyards. No 8,000-pound whale body-slamming our boat. At least not yet.

It was 2 A.M., and I was on night watch 15 miles off the west coast of Portugal, feeling anything but at home on the sea. Familiar constellations offered reassurance that we hadn’t sailed off the edge of the earth, while the wildly tilting horizon suggested otherwise, making Orion dance like a jester. It was mid-November during a new moon, the sea black besides occasional phosphorescence rising in our wake.

We rode easily over the ten-foot swell that lingered from an earlier storm, but the west wind had begun to kick up an unpleasant chop with short, sharp waves whose crests looked eerily like orca fins. Alone on deck, my mind wandered to worst-case scenarios. I pictured my seven- and nine-year-old sons, Dawson and Huxley, being shaken from sleep as my husband, Pat, sprinted up on deck in his underwear to find that we had been struck by an orca.

Most unsettling of all was the unwelcome reconfiguration of my relationship to the natural world: suddenly, I was afraid of a creature I’d long regarded as friend. As a wildlife biologist in Alaska, I’ve worked in the company of orcas; as a sailor, I’ve celebrated each surprise sighting at sea; as a mother, I’ve reveled in my sons’ fascination with them.

But now, rather than being graced by the presence of whales, I was worried we’d be taken down by them.

The post Navigating Orca Alley: One Family’s Journey Among Rudder-Bashing Whales appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

Health and wellness is highly personal. Sometimes our bodies want a challenging mountain trek and a big dose of carbs. Or, after I’ve adventured hard, I might crave a nourishing week of yoga or a few days of planted-based meals and mindfulness sessions, preferably on a beach somewhere. Other times, I long for the support of a like-minded community while exploring a new place.

Whatever your needs, what you’ll find below aren’t your typical . They’re for active people who like to travel in some of the most beautiful places in the world. I chose spots with a variety of price ranges that meet a number of different goals, from hiking in spectacular mountains to surfing perfect swells to chilling out at a zen center. Better yet, I’ve been to many of them and share my personal take on why they’re the best places to recharge. Here’s to your health. Now get planning.

Aro Ha Wellness Retreat, Glenorchy, New Zealand

Best For: Hikers who want to explore the Southern Alps

The Experience: The Tolkien-worthy views are breathtakingĚýat this 21-acre, just outside of Queenstown on the South Island. Sparkling Lake Wakatipu and the snow-capped peaks of New Zealand’s Southern Alps are on full display from the 20 suites, yoga deck, and outdoor plunge pool of its minimalist lodge. Daily, guided hikes immerse guests in the beauty of the mountains. There are treks for all fitness levels, from mindful walks through towering beech and medicinal Manuka trees to quad-burning climbs of up to 10 miles, including a portion of the famed Routeburn Track. Six-to-eight-day retreats are designed around the concept of rewilding mind, body, and spirit.

A typical day starts with a sunrise vinyasa flow class, followed by a bowl of fennel coconut muesli, then a three- to-four hour hike and a well-earned plant-based lunch like veggie Pad Thai. Free time allows for a therapeutic massage or kayak outing before an afternoon workshop in fermentation or journaling. Dinner might be accompanied by a tart cherry and magnesium shot (alcohol and caffeine aren’t allowed) and all the fresh air and physical exercise guarantees you won’t have any trouble falling asleep. Aro-Hā bills itself as a mind-body reboot, but it’s also great conditioning if you want to extend your stay three days and tackle the full 20-mile Routeburn Track.

The Cost: All-inclusive six-day retreats from $4,320

Ojo Caliente Spa and Resort, Ojo Caliente, New Mexico

Best For: Hot spring devotees who love the southwest

The Experience: This located halfway between Abiquiu and Taos is steeped in history and healing. For thousands of years, Northern Pueblo communities made pilgrimages to the area’s restorative thermal waters. When Ojo Caliente opened in 1868, it was considered the country’s first health spa. Today, the resort includes a farm-to-table restaurant, suites with kiva fireplaces and vintage trailers, and a spa. But the sulfur-free, therapeutic hot springs are why people come. You can devise a soaking circuit to soothe whatever ails you. A pool of iron-rich water provides an immune boost, while the arsenic spring may help achy muscles. The soda pool promises digestive relief and if you’re feeling down, the lithia pool is purportedly a natural mood enhancer. There’s also a mud pool where you can cover your body in purifying clay and new bathhouses with saunas and steam rooms. Drop in for a day soak or create a DIY wellness weekend and join vinyasa flow sessions in the yoga yurt and bike and hike the high-elevation trails right at the resort’s doorstep. The trailhead for the cottonwood-lined 1.8-mile Bosque Loop is steps from the lobby. Nearby, the Abiquiu Lake Vista Trail system offers sensational views of the 5,200-acre reservoir, Cerro Pedernal mesa, and Georgia O’Keeffe’s beloved summer home, Ghost Ranch.

The Cost: Rooms from $239 + communal soaking from $45

Euphoria Retreat, Peloponnese, Greece

Best For: History buffs who want to sightsee while they sweat

The Experience: Programs at Euphoria combine the physical training of ancient Spartan warriors and the wellness wisdom of Hippocrates, with influences of Taoist philosophy, traditional Chinese medicine, and the latest science-based therapies mixed in. The resembles a medieval village on 90 acres of hills in Mystras, a 13th-century town outside of Sparta in the Peloponnese region of southern Greece. A sprawling four-story spa complex is built around a heated, sphere-shaped pool with an underwater soundtrack of whale songs. All guests have access to the Byzantine hammam (a type of steam bath), salt therapy room, infrared sauna, sensory deprivation pool, and gym. You can also customize your vacation with a la carte treatments, like a detox cupping massage or sign up for a retreat, like the Spartan Spirit of şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř. This multi-sport program doubles as a sightseeing tour over three, five, or seven days. Every day you’ll be challenged with two to three hours of physical exercise. You might trek to the 7,890-foot peak of Mount Taygetus mountain or go rock climbing at Lagada, one of the best sports crags in Greece. Meals are customized for each guest based on a test that looks at metabolic markers such as glucose and glutathione, and can feel, well, a bit spartan. We won’t tell if you hit up one of the nearby tavernas.

The Cost: From $284 per night, including group activities

Blackberry Mountain, Walland, Tennessee

Best For: Active people who like good food and a tipple of whiskey after a hike

The Experience: Blackberry Mountain’s deep selection of Pappy Van Winkle bourbon was my first hint that this wasn’t your typical wellness retreat. The second: I was encouraged to work up an appetite. The spectacular setting makes that easy. Situated 20 minutes from the entrance of Great Smoky Mountains National Park, this Ěýfeels like a private playground, laced with 36 miles of hiking trails and 8 miles of singletrack. You can get after it trail running, bouldering, and mountain biking, then revive your muscles with fascial flossing (a technique that simultaneously elongates and contracts the fascia) at the recovery lab.

Or slow things down with aerial forest yoga followed by spa treatments like candlelight sound bathing and crystal reiki. An on-site art studio encourages guests to flex their creative side with pottery and watercolors. Blackberry Mountain puts a lighter spin on the decadent seasonal Southern cooking of its sister property, culinary mecca Blackberry Farm. I fueled my days with sweet potato oatmeal cakes topped with honey creme fraiche, then rewarded my efforts at night with dishes like hanger steak, smoked carrots and oyster mushrooms, and a sip of whisky. I left feeling like I’d just spent an energizing weekend at adult summer camp.

The Cost: Rates start at $1,595 per night based on double occupancy and includes meals and unlimited morning fitness classes

Kamalaya, Koh Samui, Thailand

Best For: Ayurvedic-focussed healing on a stunning island

The Experience: Founded by a former yogi monk and a master of traditional Chinese medicine and Indian Ayurvedic philosophy, this sits on a dreamy slice of jungle shrouded sand. You could come to the island for a beach vacation and book a la carte therapies. But the majority of guests are drawn to the 20-plus programs Kamalaya offers that range from three to 21 days and address everything from gut health to burnout. A team of in-house experts—including osteopaths and naturopaths, as well as visiting practitioners— administer treatments like Chi Nei Tsang, a Taoist abdominal massage, in treehouse-inspired rooms.

If you’ve come for the signature detox program, you’ll dine on ​​flavorful, yet portion-controlled plant-based, low-inflammatory, low-allergenic, and low-glycemic food. Otherwise you can indulge in Thai specialties, like thom kha gai (chicken and coconut soup). All programs have downtime to take advantage of activities, like a half-day cruise aboard a wooden Turkish Ketch along the southern coast.

The Cost: Three-night minimum. Three-night programs start at $1,400, including meals and treatments

Root şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs, Peru + Puget Sound + Banff

Best For: Those seeking outdoor adventure and community

The Experience: A lot of wellness retreats cultivate mindfulness and push us physically, but also emphasizes the importance of being part of a diverse, inclusive community. Domestic and international itineraries combine the knowledge of local guides with the expertise of Root şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs’ tour leaders, who include yoga instructors, wilderness therapists, justice advocates, and body positivity coaches. Most trips are capped at 12 people and pre-trip Zoom calls allow participants to bond while post-trip calls keep new friends connected and help reinforce new habits with supportive coaching.

Itinerary highlights for 2024 include:

• A four-day kayak and low-impact camping expedition around Puget Sound ($2,995) with daily yoga and meditation, locally-sourced food, and possible orca sightings.
• A challenging nine-day trek in the Andes of Peru ($4,595) that involves five to eight hours of hiking a day, journaling sessions, and camping in local communities.
• And a six-day backpacking and camping adventure in the rugged Canadian Rockies around Banff ($3,595), where you’ll wild swim and forest bathe.

Mountain Trek Health Reset Retreat, Nelson, British Columbia

Best For: Mountain lovers who want to recharge in the Canadian Rockies

The Experience: A good wilderness ­ramble can do wonders for our health. Ěýamplifies the benefits by complementing rigorous hikes with holistic healing therapies, lifestyle workshops, and a diet free of processed foods, caffeine, sugar, and alcohol. A team of 40 experts, including nutritionists, naturopaths, and certified forest bathing guides, take care of 15 guests each week. Based out of a timber lodge in B.C.’s gorgeous Kootenay Range, the daily schedule starts with sunrise yoga, followed by three to four hours of nordic hiking with a break for a picnic lunch. Groups are broken up based on fitness levels and depending on the season, you might trek past meadows of alpine wildflowers or patches of golden larch, and spot bear, moose, or marmots. Back at the lodge, you’ll attend lectures on topics like the art of goal setting and have down time to soak in the hot tub or the natural mineral hot springs just a five-minute walk away. Dinner is at 5:15 p.m. and might feature cedar plank grilled salmon and baby spinach and arugula salad. A post-meal crystal singing bowl session ensures you’ll wind down for a deep sleep.

The Cost: $6,700 a week, all-inclusive

Crestone Mountain Zen Center, Crestone, Colorado

Best For: Those craving solitude and quiet

The Experience: When life gets overwhelming, this Zen Buddhist tucked sixty miles south of Salida between the jagged Sangre de Cristo Mountains and Colorado’s vast San Luis Valley, is the ultimate escape to still the mind and reset. And a visit doesn’t resign you to a monastic life of 4:30 a.m. wake up calls and marathon meditation sessions. You can create a custom retreat from four days to three months, be it solitude in the wilderness or a quiet, distraction-free space to read, breathe, hike, or regroup. Accommodation options range from a 10-site campground and a yurt to simple cabins and a five-room guest house. Stays include three garden-grown vegetarian meals per day and guests are welcome to join residents in group meditation. It’s also a great base if you’re craving some contemplative solo adventure time. The campus is surrounded by 240 trail-laced acres of piñon pine and juniper forest and is at the doorstep of some of Colorado’s most majestic hikes, like the Spanish Peak Trail and Kit Carson Peak, as well as natural hot springs.

The Cost: Starting at $75 a day for camping

SHA Wellness Clinic, Alicante, Spain + Riviera Maya, Mexico

Best For: Those looking for a total reboot

The Experience: This is in the middle of Spain’s Sierra Helada Natural Park. Of every 100 guests who arrive, more than half are repeat visitors who consider this a health check up that doubles as a vacation. SHA’s sleek, white-washed design and cabana-lined, rooftop infinity pool could be mistaken for a fancy seaside resort in the Mediterranean. But the real draw is a tried-and-true holistic approach to biomedicine backed by a team of 30-some full-time doctors and specialists who work in partnership with Harvard Medical School and NASA. Personalized health programs range from four to 21 days and address nine areas, including nutrition, cognitive stimulation, and physical performance. Diagnostic tests measure everything from nervous system activity to melatonin biorhythms. Based on results, you’re prescribed a routine that might include sound therapy with Tibetan singing bowls, a photobiomodulation session where you wear a helmet of LED infrared lights to stimulate cell repair, and a daily visit to the hydrotherapy circuit where you’ll rotate through the sauna, cold plunge, Roman and Turkish baths, and therapeutic water jets. Customized meals are inspired by Japanese and Mediterranean culinary traditions, and SHA’s Healthy Living Academy offers cooking classes, as well as workshops on meditation and fitness coaching, to send you home with healthy habits. On January 26th, SHA will open its second outpost in the beach town of Costa Mujeres, Mexico, with a sea-to-table culinary concept and activities like swimming in cenotes and scuba diving in the large coral reef in the Americas.

The Cost: Four-day program, all-inclusive at SHA Wellness Clinic Spain from $7,796 and at SHA Wellness Mexico from $5,770

Eleven Deplar Farm Live Well Retreat, Troll Peninsula, Iceland

Best For: A bucket list splurge packed with adventure and relaxation

The Experience: şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř collective Eleven is known for its high-thrill experiences. But the company’s new Ěýbring your body back to baseline with a float tank and yoga nidra sessions after the adrenaline. Deplar Farm, a remote 13-room lodge with floor-to-ceiling windows framing craggy peaks, is the perfect setting for transformation. At a visit here last winter, I braved the extreme elements on Icelandic horseback expeditions, Arctic surf missions, and cross-country ski outings to a silent lunch in a cozy cabin.

Back in the comfort of the lodge, I reset my nervous system with guided breathwork, sound baths, and a Viking sauna ritual that involved alternating between sweating in what looked like a hobbit house, then dunking in the cold plunge. Nourishing meals highlighted Icelandic ingredients in dishes like wolf fish with braised cauliflower puree and deconstructed skyr cake with almond crumble. At night, I’d watch for the Northern Lights from the geothermally-heated saltwater pool and would lull myself into a meditative state.

The Cost: Four-night retreat from $11,000

The Ultimate Costa Rica Wellness Retreats

A hotspot for wellness and longevity—the country’s Nicoya Peninsula is one of the world’s blue zones, a place people regularly live past the age of 100—I couldn’t leave Costa Rica off this list. Here are four more incredible trips that will leave you re-energized.

Surf Synergy

Best For: Surfers who crave personal instruction

The Experience: This in the beach town of Jacó was co-founded by Marcel Oliveira, Costa Rica’s reigning national SUP champ. Week-long one-on-one surf and SUP immersions include twice-weekly massages, ice baths, daily yoga, breathwork training, and healthy meals featuring ingredients from the on-site permaculture garden. With six beaches within easy reach, programs can be tailored to all experience levels and coaches provide video analysis that breaks down your technique.

The Cost: Seven nights, all-inclusive from $2,765

Hike Coast to Coast Along el Camino de Costa Rica

Best For: Hikers who like to explore

The Experience: I thought all of Costa Rica had been discovered until I trekked el Camino de Costa Rica, a 174-mile trail stretching between the Caribbean and the Pacific. Its 16 stages highlight rural communities, an Indigenous territory, and rarely visited parks and nature reserves. During my hike with I spotted an insane amount of wildlife, from glass-winged butterflies to two-toed sloth and racoon-like coati, dined in the homes of welcoming locals, and overnighted at simple hot springs hotels and low-frills eco-resorts. Be warned, this isn’t a walk in the park. Each stage averages four to 24 miles and the trail contains some serious elevation gain and requires a few river crossings.

The Cost: 16-day trips on the Camino de Costa Rica with Urri Trek from $1,950

Blue Osa Yoga Retreat, Osa Peninsula

Best For: Yogis who love the beach

This solar-powered in the southwest province of Punta Arenas is steps from a quiet stretch of sand. You can customize your own wellness vacation (beach yoga, a coconut body scrub at the spa, a day-trip to Corcovado National Park) or book a structured retreat. The Best of Costa Rica program is packed with yoga sessions but also takes groups off property on mangrove kayak tours, hikes to waterfalls, and birdwatching. Communal meals are a highlight (there’s even a Blue Osa cookbook) and showcase produce from the lodge’s on-site organic garden and local farmers. Start the day with Costa Rican coffee and tropical fruits, midday, refuel with a vegan chimichurri sweet potato bowl, and at night, feast on house-made rosemary focaccia and pesto pasta.

The Cost:Ěý$1,440 for a four-night, all-inclusive retreat

Surf with Amigas

Best For: Solo surfers looking to make new friends

The Experience: This founded by former pro Holly Beck runs trips around the globe, but Costa Rica is hands down the most popular destination thanks to the variety of surf and pura vida vibes. The week-long, women’s-only Northern Costa Rica Surf & Yoga itinerary is perfect for both beginners and shortboard shredders. Your hotel, located 40 minutes outside of Tamarindo, sits on a long sandy beach known for super consistent waves that break both right and left. Daily yoga classes help revive paddle-weary muscles and if the surf isn’t up, you’ll tour local farms, go on horseback rides, and visit national parks.

The Cost: From $2,400, all-inclusive

şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř correspondent Jen Murphy is constantly on the road finding the best places to adventure. Her next stop? Surf Synergy in Costa Rica to work on her surfing skills.Ěý

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To some, the calling phrase, “Soup’s on!” in the midst of a broiling outdoor workout might not elicit positive reactions. But in southern Spain, gazpacho—a chilled tomato soup— is a coveted relief on any sweltering day. Temperatures can reach 115ÂşF in the months of June, July, and August, and energy is costly. And Even Ted Lasso, reflecting on his time in Europe in the final episode of his namesake show, declares he’s “finally accepted that air conditioning is a privilege and not a right.” This never feels more true to me than when I’m in the blazing summers of Seville, Spain, where I’ve lived since 2017.Ěý

This city turns into a fiery ghost town in August. Shops shut down, restaurants close, and citizens head to the beach for their month-long vacations. The heat is so oppressive it leaves you tongue-tied, lethargic, and even kills your appetite. For those who stay, keeping cool is an art form. Seville is built to keep out the heat, with its narrow streets that block out the sun and buildings lined with cooling marble floors. Many older apartments have inner courtyards with bubbling fountains, a concept brought here by the Moors. But even so, women always keep a fan in their purse and around 4 pm that after-lunch siesta beckons loudly.ĚýĚýĚý

However, the best way for folks to cool down quickly and replenish electrolytes is not by drinking a bottle of a fluorescent sugary “ade,” but by guzzling one of Spain’s most beloved ancient refreshers: gazpacho. There’s gazpacho galore across Spain in the summertime; it is in every fridge and on every menu. It is even at the grocery store. , a food company located in Alpujarra, Spain, markets their gazpacho to athletes who are looking for a hydrating recovery drink.

I will add that even though people do sometimes buy bottled gazpacho, my husband always says it’s one of those things he thinks people will keep on making from scratch because it tastes unlike anything else.Ěý

Gazpacho Made Right

Gazpacho made right (or my Spanish family’s version of right) is a thirst-quenching, sugar-and- chemical-free alternative to electrolyte enhancers you’d find at the grocery store. Loaded with juicy summertime vegetables, bulked up with extra-virgin olive oil, and with just enough water to hydrate without dulling the flavor, gazpacho is the ideal post-workout beverage. It’s also the epitome of the Mediterranean diet, which never fails to outlast all other fads.

According to author and food historian Almudena Villegas, Ph.D, “The Romans invented the idea of gazpacho, the origin of gazpacho,” and spread the concept across the Mediterranean. But it really stuck here in southern Spain, with its warm climate and abundance of farm workers seeking sustenance in the fields. Some of the first versions (or what Villegas refers to as the “great-grandfather”) of gazpacho—a watery vinegar mixture with salt and a little olive oil— were used by the Romans in battle. Soldiers would carry a canteen of this hydrating elixir as they traveled and fought, adding vegetables they found along the way or crumbling in dried bread. Tomatoes weren’t added until the 16th century when conquistadors brought seeds back from the Americas.ĚýĚý

Cooling Off with Family Tradition

The second the temps turn, my Spanish mother-in-law, Loli Ramos Moreno, fires up the blender and gets the gazpacho churning. Sometimes my father-in-law will blend the vegetables and my mother-in-law will season it at the table right before lunch, sprinkling in extra salt or more vinegar, and offering sips to taste test. “Gazpacho is full of vitamins and minerals,” she tells me enthusiastically. “It replenishes all those nutrients you lose so quickly here in the summer.”Ěý

My husband and I are more than happy to carry on the tradition. While I’m often annoyed at the giant bowl of it taking up space in our small fridge, gazpacho never lasts long. And there’s nothing like coming home after a sweaty evening run or day at the climbing gym (or dragging myself across town in the heat) to an icy glass of vitamin-packed goodness.

The most widely known gazpacho recipe includes garlic, olive oil, vinegar, bread, and tomato, but everyone in Spain makes it differently. Some add onion, some serve it in a bowl like soup with croutons and finely chopped veggies; Villegas tells me she even adds a little pinch of cumin. In the south, it’s always drunk in a glass, often served over ice. But as Villegas says, “The great thing about gazpacho is that every house has a different recipe. This is part of the abundance of Spanish gastronomy— a gastronomy that is living and represents the rich variety of traditions here in this country. The fact that each recipe is different says so much about us. It’s what keeps our heritage alive.”Ěý

This gazpacho recipe – which comes directly from my mother-in-law –Ěý has changed over the years to accommodate family tastes. For example, garlic was slowly eliminated when my father-in-law started helping out in the kitchen, and they eventually did away with the bread altogether. Overall, the changes resulted in a much lighter soup that’s nothing short of chuggable.

Seville-Style Gazpacho

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Consider the opening scene of Yellowstone’s pilot episode, which depicts a bloody car crash, but in the background of all that chaos is an expansive ranch glowing with the soft yellow leaves of autumn in Montana. I wanted the camera to pan wide and expose more of that beauty.

With most TV shows today, location plays a large part in the storyline. Sure, The White Lotus is complex and groundbreaking, and the Game of Thrones’ prequel, House of the Dragon, is epic, but their locations are equally enticing, from the glistening waters of the Mediterranean in season two of White Lotus to the moody beaches near King’s Landing, shot in Croatia, in Game of Thrones.

Yellowstone spends the next several seasons delivering on that initial tantalizing sample, offering sweeping views of cattle grazing in broad pastures, characters fishing in idyllic streams, and massive log ranches framed by snowcapped peaks.

Such scenery has sparked a tourism trend, as superfans seek out the beautiful and adventurous locales on their screens. A February produced by American Express noted that 64 percent of the 3,000 people interviewed in an online survey were inspired to travel to a destination after seeing it on TV or in a movie.

This movement isn’t entirely new. Remember the brilliant series Breaking Bad, which ran from 2008 to 2013? It launched national awareness of Albuquerque, New Mexico, gave rise to tours and merchandise, and was embraced by the city’s visitors bureau, which still offers information. Croatia, the primary filming location for the fictional city of Westeros in Game of Thrones, reported a $200 million bump in tourism during the show’s five-year run, according to the country’s tourism bureau. And both of the hotels featured in the first two seasons of The White Lotus enjoyed a boost in bookings after each aired—in fact, web interest in the Four Seasons Resort Maui jumped 425 percent after the first season, according to the property.

About ten years ago, busloads of hikers on Hunger Games tours descended on the trailheads of DuPont State Forest and Pisgah National Forest, in my home state of North Carolina, where waterfalls and caves were shot to serve as the setting for the resourceful archer Katniss. At the peak of the movie’s popularity, Joe Moerschbaecher, owner of Pura Vida şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs, led tours to sites in the film and even offered a survival-skills package, teaching participants tasks like shelter-building and fire-starting before having them compete against each other in the wilderness.

“These shows and movies give people a chance to escape, and being able to visit the place on the screen gives fans a chance to connect with those characters or that story even more,” Moerschbaecher says. “It’s a model we’ve seen for a long time. That’s what Disney World is based on, right? Everyone can go and live the dream.”

Want to plan a visit to the dream? We’ve mapped out how to see the most dramatic locations for five irresistible TV shows.

Yellowstone: Montana

This hourlong soap opera on Paramount+ follows the Duttons, led by the patriarch, John (played by Kevin Costner), as they try to hang onto their family ranch. Violence and drama ensue, but there’s nothing more dramatic than the location, which Costner has called a “postcard for Montana.” The show, now in its fifth season, has been filmed in multiple locations in Montana and Utah, but the Bitterroot Valley, south of Missoula and flanked by the Bitterroot and Sapphire Ranges, is the true star.

See It for Yourself: The Dutton’s Yellowstone Ranch is an actual working cattle ranch in the valley called Chief Joseph Ranch. Since Yellowstone premiered in 2018, the ranch’s owners have allowed fans to rent cabins featured in the show and given tours of the property. Sadly, the family is taking a break from visitors in 2023, so you’ll have to get your dude-ranch experience nearby. We suggest the , also in the Bitterroot Valley, with views of Trapper Peak and access to the Bitterroot River (from $1,800 a night, all-inclusive). You can ride horses or take part in a cattle drive. Or sign up for a guided float and casting adventure down the Bitterroot with the outfitter (from $480).

The White Lotus: Sicily, Italy

This HBO series follows wealthy guests as they travel to luxury White Lotus–branded resorts and wrestle with issues of class, privilege, and desire. Each season has been set at a Four Seasons property—the first in Maui, the second in Taormina, Sicily. Rumor has it that the next season will be set in Thailand, but where exactly hasn’t been revealed yet.

See It for Yourself: Why not bounce around the island of Sicily as the characters in season two did, by foot, boat, and Vespa. Book a room at the in the coastal community of Taormina (from $2,620). The stunning property, formerly a convent, is perched on the edge of a cliff, boasting views of the Ionian Sea and Mount Etna, Europe’s most active volcano. A few companies offer comprehensive White Lotus tours, including the LGBTQ+-centric , with a nine-day exploration that takes in featured locations like the towns of Noto and Palermo ($7,550, including two nights at the Four Seasons). Or be your own guide. Rent a Vespa and cruise the serpentine streets of Taormina, just like the distressed Tanya in her better moments. Definitely make a detour to , which features prominently throughout the second season.

House of the Dragon: England, Portugal

±áµţ°żâ€™s House of the Dragon is the prequel series to Game of Thrones, taking place more than a century earlier but covering similar territory: medieval characters fighting over power and, ultimately, the throne. The original GOT was filmed in Ireland, Croatia, and Iceland, and House of the Dragon follows the same pattern, bouncing around walled stone towns and wild lands in Spain, Portugal, and England.

See It for Yourself: There’s not much opportunity to mimic the lifestyle you see on House of the Dragon because, you know, swords and dragons aren’t really part of our day-to-day, but there are a number of set locations that you can—and should—visit. Try an inexpensive of Monsanto, Portugal, a city whose houses are built around massive boulders; this setting is home to the fictional House Targaryen’s ancestral home.

In Cornwall, England, the dramatic coast factors into a number of scenes throughout the first season. Check out , a sandy strip of coast marked by crags and caves that serves as the backdrop for a crucial scene involving Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Daemon. The surfing here is pretty good, too. For more adventure, head into Derbyshire to , and hike the area you might recognize as the Vale of Arryn, a rugged expanse of peaks ruled by the show’s House Arryn.

Alone: Saskatchewan

While the other shows on this list offer up fictional characters and storylines, the drama on History Channel’s Alone is very real. This reality show pits ten contestants against each other in a game of survival in extreme locales; whoever can stay alive by themselves the longest wins $500,000. Over the past nine seasons, the contestants have been dropped off everywhere from Vancouver Island, British Columbia, to northern Mongolia and Patagonia. Season ten premiered on June 8 and has contestants attempting to survive on the shores of Reindeer Lake in Saskatchewan.

See It for Yourself: The 2,568-acre Reindeer Lake straddles the border of Saskatchewan and Manitoba and is surrounded by a lush boreal forest. It’s known for its world-class pike fishing and robust black bear population (with more than 40,000 of them in the area). The exact Alone filming locations haven’t been disclosed, but viewers saw the contestants get dropped off by seaplane at a lakeside lodge and camp out in canvas tents for a week before starting the competition.

Book a cabin at the and you’ll be navigating the same terrain as your favorite contestant but without the suffering (four-day packages start at $5,395, all-inclusive). Cabins at the lodge are hand-built, with woodstoves and hot showers. Instead of trying to trap wild game for dinner, you’ll be fed generously by a chef. Spend your days fishing Reindeer Lake with a guide (cost included in your stay), who will put you on pike, walleye, or lake trout, and prepare a fresh shore lunch with your catch.

Succession: Norway

OK, Succession has officially ended, but our enthusiasm for the show endures. We were emotionally invested in watching members of the Roy family vie for power within the Waystar RoyCo empire. Most of the show was filmed in New York City, but because we’re talking about mega millionaires, the show featured plenty of jet-setting to remote British castles, Iceland, Croatia, and Italy. Oh to be a media mogul.

See It for Yourself: As wonderful as it would be to follow the family’s travels and hit every hot spot, we don’t all have an inheritance to burn. So focus on Norway, where the Roys experience some of the country’s most iconic and luxurious highlights. Reserve a room in coastal Valldal at the , whose all-glass exterior walls expose a wilderness of mossy boulders, hardwoods, and rushing rivers (from $436 a night, including breakfast and dinner).

The Juvet will also put you close to Trollstigen (“the troll ladder”), a crazy-beautiful mountain road that climbs almost 3,000 feet via 11 hairpin switchbacks, passing waterfalls and rocky outcroppings. While the Roys traverse this road in a car, it would be more fun on two wheels; this is a classic road-bike climb (or you might ride it on an now) but one that comes with risk, as you’re sharing the road with motorists enjoying the scenery.

Another must-see site from Succession is the 22-mile Atlantic Road, dubbed the world’s most beautiful drive, as it connects Averoy Island with mainland Norway via a series of bridges and islets. Grab a drink at , a restaurant atop Nesaksla, the mountain where negotiations for the media empire take place. You can either take the Romsdalen gondola to the summit (like the Roys) or hike two hours to the top.

And then come back down to earth.

Graham Averill is şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř magazine’s National Parks columnist. He watches way more TV than he probably should, so it’s nice to justify it for work. Traveling to the locations of his favorite shows sounds nice, but if it’s at all possible, he’d rather just hang out in the van from The A-Team.

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I clawed up the steep mountainside near LeĂłn, , digging my fingernails into clay to steady my body, pitched forward under my pack.Ěý

Step, claw. Step, claw. Step. Heavy clouds threatened to downpour. Wind whipped tendrils of hair across my face.Ěý My rain jacket whispered softly. Sweat stung my eyes. burned. My lungs gasped. Focus, almost there.

ĚýIt was July, 2018 and I was 330 miles into the French Way of , a 560-mile blend of mountainous singletrack, pavement, farm road, and vineyard paths across Northern Spain. The Camino is actually a network of routes through Europe leading to Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain and originates from a 9th-century Catholic pilgrimage to pray at St. James’s bones, allegedly buried in the cathedral there. In a normal year, some 300,000 people make the trek.

I didn’t embark on a pilgrimage, as millions do, for religious reasons. I was raised in a liberal Catholic household, and though I had an inherent understanding of the Camino’s Christian context, I went for a life reset. As I approached 30, I was tired. Tired of noise and disconnection. Of forgetting what I ate for breakfast; rapid-fire emails; bowing to bosses; scrolling through people’s curated lives on social media. So, I quit my job in publishing to hike The Camino solo and contemplate life’s two fundamental questions: Who am I and why am I here? I knew, having hiked the final 60-mile stretch from Santiago de Compostela to Finisterre twice before, that it wasn’t a vacation. It was a soul-seeking journey. No one else could carry my pack, or walk the miles for me.Ěý

Like 186,198 other pilgrims walking the French Way that year, I carried a pilgrim’s passport. It became my most sacred possession, wrapped safely in plastic, tucked deep in my pack. A 70-something Frenchman had presented it to me when I registered my hike in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, France. Colorful ink stamps from the Camino’s historic sites sprinkled the card-stock—testament to hundreds of miles on foot. To the Santiago Pilgrims Office, it would be proof enough to record my name on a Latin certificate saying I completed the trail. To me, it held memories, andĚý was my ticket to low-budget beds at pilgrim-reserved hostels.

For the entire 33-day trek, I carried only essentials and hiked 20-plus miles per day. Without a map (like most others), I followed yellow arrows and scallop-shell signposts marking the trail through rural villages, humming towns, crimson poppy fields, silver fir thickets, and rows of plump grapes.

Three weeks in, I began to understand why some refer to the Camino as a great metaphor for life. It hurt. At that point, I had hiked enough of the trail to know pain. I’d been soaked by rain, pelted by hail, scorched by sun. Chapped lips, sunburn, sweat stains, voracious hunger, and eternal exhaustion were just side effects. Each step’s pinch and bite promised blood between blistered toes. Time and distance under my pack’s weight peppered bruises on my hips and collarbones. I became an expert in self-rehab. All pilgrims do. At each day’s end, I’d loosen my trail runners, peel wool socks from open sores, knead aching muscles, and fall into a six-hour coma. Then, repeat it the next day. Profanity muttered in foreign accents by my fellow pilgrims reminded me that pain is more universal than language.

But I also found joy, unearthing bliss in simple things: aromatic eucalyptus forests and rose-gold sunrises; a breeze and clouds that floated with me; sinks to rinse sweaty socks; duct tape and a wide-brimmed hat; soft black vineyard dirt; silence and salty French fries; rivers to soak swollen feet; café con leche. Most of all, joy came through connections with fellow pilgrims.

As the journey unfolded, my Camino crew formed—an IT manager from Sweden, an obstetrician from New Jersey, a university student from England, an opera singer from Pamplona, and a cancer survivor from Barcelona, among others. Small talk only lasts a mile or two. We hiked together for days, laughing, swearing, crying, sharing. To walk El Camino—or any long path—is to live a shared vulnerability. We cultivated intimate conversation unlike anything I’ve experienced. We talked not of politics or profession, but of life’s joys and sorrows, speaking our truths, fears, darkest secrets, and innermost desires, free from judgement or pretense. In essence, we were walking naked.

On paper, we had little in common. And yet, we each came to the Camino to embrace deep, arduous, soul-changing work vital to self-actualization. Everyone was here to discover something, and in our shared humanity, the trail’s magic became clear: Though we were all broken, together we were somehow whole.

On day 21, with rain looming and no promise of sunrise, I pushed over the Montes de León to El Acebo, 7.5 miles from Foncebadón—the basecamp village where most pilgrims stop for the night to inhale pasta, slurp beer, and treat blisters.

Step, claw. Step, claw. Step. I stumbled as the ground evened out. Lifting my gaze, I finally saw it. Cruz de Ferro: a 3-foot-tall iron cross, mounted on a tall wooden pole marking El Camino’s highest point, a sacred apex for many pilgrims. The cross was planted in a colossal mound of stones, ribbons, letters, weather-beaten pictures, prayer beads, extinguished candles—tokens of pilgrims passed by.

Alone and grateful for a moment of silence, I unclipped my pack and set it down. My pilgrim’s scallop shell, tied to the outside, clacked on the ground. I climbed the pile and took six small stones from my pocket, one for each of my family members and me, pulled from the Eagle River in my Colorado backyard. I tore paper from my journal and scribbled prayers to the universe, then wrapped stones in my words, and set them down.Ěý

I rested my palm and forehead on the cool wood and inhaled. As I looked up at the cross it began to rain. It took me a moment to notice the taste in my mouth: a cocktail of mist, sunscreen, and salt. My heart felt full. I relished this peace as drizzle washed my cheeks. Then, I climbed carefully down the pile of intentions, hoisted my pack, and wished “Buen Camino” to two breathless pilgrims cresting the hill. I hiked on toward a warm meal, dry clothes, antiseptic spray, and dreamless rest in my cotton sleep sack.

Though historically Christian, the modern spirituality of El Camino doesn’t seem to hinge on doctrine or dogma. The path aligns with the Milky Way galaxy (used by medieval pilgrims to navigate the journey), and is considered a “thin place”—where the veil between Earth and cosmos feels translucent. Though I’m not religious per se, I exercise my version of spirituality and The Way honored it.

The trek unfolded for me in three parts. Physically, during the first 179 miles from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port to Burgos, I learned to walk. My body hardened, bruises and blisters formed and healed. I slowed down and plugged into the present. Worries concerning my next meal or bed or career move faded. And my urgency to arrive in Santiago evaporated.

The middle section, 102 miles from Burgos to LeĂłn, held the mental battle. For seven days, I crossed flat arid plains under beating sun where water was scarce. I chased a flat, endless horizon. “You better be OK with being in your own head,” my brother, a three-time Camino pilgrim, had warned me. Thoughts came and went, and to my delight, I found freedom from past or future concerns. I simply was where I was.Ěý

The final stretch, 198 miles from León to Santiago, brought spiritual growth. As the miles melted, I found myself grieving the end the hike. I had grown accustomed to walking. To pain, joy, presence. But I also felt gratitude for the wisdom I’d gained on the trail. It taught me that I’m much stronger than I think I am. That life can be simple, if I make it so. That it’s important to slow down and smell the flowers; beauty is in people and details. That when I look for it, I can find kindness everywhere. I felt more authentically me than ever before.

I continued for three days and 70-some miles past Santiago to the Atlantic Ocean. It had taken me more than a month of blood and sweat to reach open water. In the final miles along a white-sand beach, I waded, reflecting on the peace I felt at Cruz de Ferro. The journey was the toughest, most fruitful thing I’ve done. This is the common experience. The Camino is a deeply personal journey for all who attempt it, yet somehow still universal.

Since El Camino, I’ve learned to keep moving. As with any pilgrimage, there’s no training for life. It takes grit, humor, perseverance, and courage to live well, despite fear. Just as I did on The Way, I choose to walk on, even if it hurts, it’s uncomfortable, or desperately monotonous. These lessons form the kit of my life.Ěý

Its wisdom calls me daily to . To trust, find beauty, and be vulnerable. To share pain, joy, and connection. To, with practice, patience, faith, and grace, continue walking. Ěý

The post Breathe, Hike, Repeat: Finding Deeper Meaning on Spain’s Camino de Santiago appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

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“There was this uncertainty,” says Sharma. “I could potentially let the route slip through the cracks again. That kind of terrified me, honestly.”

Since October 2021, Sharma had been working Sleeping Lion, which traces through an undulating and untouched canvas of thinly pocketed limestone, just meters away from the historic La Rambla (5.15a). The route is hard—V8 to V11 to V11 to V12 to V11, each separated by bad rests—and stylistically various, involving techy heel hooks, punchy dynos on steep terrain, and tenuous face climbing on small edges. But shortly after bolting it, he had to jet off to film the HBO show, “The Climb,” with Hollywood actor Jason Momoa. Filming ate up winter. He returned to the line in February 2022, but wasn’t able to complete it before warmer temps hampered progress. He returned in November with a fire in his belly, a deep and primal passion awakened from within. By March, Sharma had already fallen off of the upper crux—the route’s 54th move—16 times, but he was undeterred.

Quixotic orange and blue limestone cliffs emerged from the landscape. He made the final turns while listening to a reggae song, “Sleepin’ Lion,” by Clinton Fearon.

“Don’t play fish if you can’t swim
Don’t play with fire if you don’t wanna get burn
Life is a gamble, so they say
But what, what shall we win at the end of the day?”

It had been since 2015 that Sharma sent El Bon Combat (5.15b), at Cova de Ocell in Spain, and it had been almost exactly 10 years since he sent La Dura Dura (5.15c), on March 23, 2013. He’d since opened gyms across Spain and the US; he and his wife had kids; he hosted that HBO show; he’d tried really damn hard to keep the flame going. Easier said than done.

“This whole time I’ve been trying to stay in shape, which has been a huge challenge,” he says. “I never wanted to let go of my climbing goals. But as the years go by, you start to wonder, are things going to coalesce? Am I just saying that to myself, that I’m still in shape and ready?”

There had been other projects over the years. He’d come close on Perfecto Mundo (5.15c), in Margalef, a route he’d bolted in 2008, but business and family affairs kept coming up and he kept falling out of shape. The cycle repeated so many times he swore to himself he wouldn’t bolt another line or start another project until he’d ticked some things off. But old habits die hard. After staring at that section of rock in El Pati for so many years, he just couldn’t resist.

“Experience is the greatest teacher of all
No need for defense if we learn our lessons well
Oh, oh, take care of creation, there’s so much to gain
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, we’ve got nothing to lose”

During the short familiar approach to El Pati, Sharma turned inward. He embraced what it would mean to dig deep, inhaled deeply, and swallowed down the doubt. He thought about the big picture.

“In the lifespan of a climber, it’s really good to do other things,” he told me afterwards. “It complements your climbing, and it gives you a different perspective, and then it makes you appreciate climbing in new ways. … The ultimate goal is to be able to climb 5.15 in life, not just on the rock. So I have this higher-arching goal of climbing at my limit while also being present with my kids, and being present as a husband, and creating these climbing gyms and this TV show. All those other things are way out of my comfort zone, but that’s where a lot of growth and the progression of ourselves comes from.”

It was not even noon before Sharma, after over a year of effort, clipped the chains on what he estimates is his second 5.15c. We caught up with Sharma to hear more about his process, training, and how he’s managed to balance his family, career, and climbing goals. The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Sharma on one of Sleeping Lion’s crux sequences:

The Interview

CLIMBING: From what I’ve observed, one of your main superpowers is your mind. You’re so calm, and you maintain such a good perspective on climbing and how it fits into your life. Just the fact that you had all these climbing goals, but then you also had a family and then became an entrepreneur—I think that’s such a testament to your ability to trust yourself and your process. How do you do it?
CHRIS SHARMA: It’s interesting, the conversations that we have with ourselves. You know, trying to stay positive and just enjoy the process. But there were times when I would tell myself that, like, “Yeah, it’s cool, I’m enjoying this.” But really I was frustrated. I was like, “I wish I would have done this thing a while ago, so that I could move on to other things.” I did always enjoy the process, but at the same time, there were moments when I had to also acknowledge that I wasn’t completely happy with everything, and I think that actually helped me process it. Sometimes you’ve got to convince yourself, but sometimes you’ve got to acknowledge how you really feel to be able to work through some of those barriers. I think just some honest conversations with myself, like, “Look, I am a little bit frustrated by not sending this, I am a little bit nervous that I’m going to blow it.” That actually helped me to be kind to myself.

One of the cool things about this experience is the fact that 5.15c isn’t the limit anymore—there’s 5.15d. I wasn’t really competing on a global stage or being competitive with the youngsters out there. It was more this personal goal of proving to myself that I could rise to that level again. Obviously there is some ego involved in that, but it’s more of a personal challenge… If I compare it to trying La Dura Dura with Adam Ondra, vying for the first ascent of the world’s hardest route, there were all these expectations. This time around, it’s just me in my own world on my own creation, just kind of doing it, for the sake of it, because I wanted to see if I still can do it.

It’s very tricky now, how climbing evolves through our lives, or how our relationship evolves with climbing over the years, but I’m just so grateful to have climbing as my craft, it’s my way of tapping into what’s the best version of myself. It’s the way that I can contribute, and it’s what I’ve always done. I started climbing in 1993. So I’m going on 30 years. There’s a lot of wrapped up in this achievement.

So when you’re confronted with that frustration or that failure over and over and over again, you start to have doubts, and then it sets off this very deep process of evaluating yourself—why you’re doing the things that you’re doing. And ultimately, through confronting yourself and that failure, it’s very liberating. It’s a very hard road to go down, where you’re fully committed.Ěý It makes you feel vulnerable in a lot of ways. I experienced the full variety of emotions that you go through in a redpoint process. And so to be able to go through that again at this point in my life is very meaningful and validating and cool.

It’s not necessarily about the send, it’s about the process. But clipping the chains is a part of that process, right? And if we don’t do it, then somehow something’s missing. It’s kind of like when you go to school, and you get a diploma, and really it’s about all the things you learned and the experiences you had, but somehow having that diploma is important, too, right? It’s meaningful. It symbolizes the level of effort that you have to give and that you finished something.

And it’s been amazing to have my wife, my friends, and even my kids supporting me. They know how important this is to me.

I wanted to bring up something you wrote about in this magazine in 2020. You were describing how, as a teenager who just won nationals, you had an ACL injury. And you wrote about how after that, you really dove into a spiritual mindset and started meditating. I’m curious if that was a formative moment for you and influenced how you think about climbing and how you’ve gone through life?
Yeah, absolutely. That did shape me in a lot of ways. If I look at this whole experience on Sleeping Lion, it’s been my practice. It’s been a regimen. The way that I’ve approached it, there wasn’t really the question of “Should I go today or not?” I was basically, like, “I’m just gonna go, whenever I have time.” I used to be really spontaneous, but now I have to plan things out a little bit more. So I’d tell my wife, “Look, on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I’m going to be there.” Even if I didn’t feel good, I would go; even if it was raining, I’d go. And it’s just like when you’re doing yoga or something—you’re gonna have good days, you’re gonna have bad days, and you have to just go and do your practice. Whatever comes up. You’re going to have ups and downs, but I just try to surrender myself to the practice. It is very meditative in that way.

That early injury did set me off on a different path. I think I was 17, and the world was my oyster. I was kind of a punk, maybe kind of cocky; there was nothing I couldn’t do. But suddenly I couldn’t climb. So it put things in perspective, and it put me in my place. After that, for many years, I didn’t even grade my climbs. It was more about having this personal journey on the rock. It was about how, through this intense level of exertion, you come face to face with yourself. And so I had that approach rather than thinking of climbing as a sport and trying to do the things that put you on a podium or give you a certain status. I really stepped away from that.

There were certain moments later on where I did want to know where I stood. La Dura Dura was an example of that. Could I climb at the highest level if I did become more like a real athlete? Because in the past, I’ve never really been like a real athlete. One of the interesting things about this process with Sleeping Lion is that I did very little training. Ninety-nine percent of it was just climbing on the route. But there were moments with La Dura Dura where I wanted to see if I could play that game, and it was cool to prove that to myself. But after climbing La Dura Dura, it was important to me to embark on this new phase of life.

I think it’s very hard to not get caught up with the performance mindset, the hunger to send hard grades and win comps. Can you explain what you do to maintain your grounding?
When you’re buried under things and never actually achieving things, I like to focus on the sensation of climbing. Like, “How did you feel?” Or, “How did I feel that day climbing,” and I look for that good sensation on the rock. I didn’t send anything for seven years. I mean, I did some deep water solos that were meaningful, but as far as doing cutting edge things, I didn’t achieve anything. And so every day you go out, you have to try to find the small progression, the upside, that sensation when you feel good in yourself on the rock. When you cultivate yourself into your highest level of fitness, it’s like you turn your body into a sports car, and it can turn on a dime, it can do whatever you ask of it, and there’s something amazing about that feeling. And so I try to focus on that more than the external achievement.

I’ve always thought that climbing is about progression. It’s about getting better. But then what happens when you stop getting better? Am I going to fall out of love with climbing? One of the other things that I’ve explored in recent years is how to progress beyond just climbing harder and harder grades. There are a lot of different ways to do that. There are different styles of climbing. But there’s also a more subtle level of deepening your relationship with climbing and the movement. It’s about getting really intimate with that connection regardless of if you’re doing something that’s harder or not. So there are ways to continue to progress and deepen your appreciation for climbing.

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This story was originally published by .Ěý

Grunting with the weight, we lift heavy packs and inflatable paddleboards onto our backs for the hike into Spain’s Mont-Rebei Gorge. Though it’s still early in the morning, the heat from the surrounding hillsides and cliffs radiates outwards, making us sweat.

As we round the first corner, we stop to stare in wonder. Where’s all the water?

The Noguera Ribagorçana river, separating Aragon from Catalonia, should be just feet away. Instead it’s far below us. This is going to make scouting for deep water soloing routes incredibly difficult.

With no clear path, we have to scramble down a slippery gravel slope, the weight of our packs making foot placement critical. At the bottom, between us and the water, lies another hundred feet of baked and cracked river mud. Our first steps break through the crusty surface, and we repeatedly sink to our knees as we wade toward the channel of water in the receded river’s center. Reaching it, we sit down to discuss our next steps.Ěý

It’s clear that the original plan of scouting for new deep water soloing routes is going to be almost impossible with the river level as it is. However, the team’s optimism has not waned; we just have to change our focus and enjoy the journey. I elect to hike the cliffside trail, hoping to chat with some local climbers along the way, and get more of a sense of the vast climbing potential that exists in this national park.

Ěý*

After helping the river team pump up their paddleboards and launch into the withered channel, I shoulder my pack, which contains the day’s provisions, and depart on foot to our planned rendezvous. My route takes me back up the slope to a trail that runs down the canyon into the Congost de Mont-Rebei national park, a stunning location for climbing, hiking, kayaking, or stand-up paddleboarding.

As I head down canyon, the walls grow increasingly sheer, and I begin to hear the shouts of climbers. I see a few of them, several hundred meters away on the Aragonese side of the canyon: dots of green and orange crawling up orange-and-white limestone cliffs. There is not yet much established climbing in the canyon so far, just a few dozen traditional routes ranging from 600 to 1,500 feet tall, plus some A2 and A3+ aid routes. But with the Aragonese side of the cliff extending horizontally for more than 5,000 feet and the Catalonian side almost 4,000 feet, there seems to be an incredible amount of new route potential.

As I pass deeper into the canyon, the cliff gets steeper and the path narrows, becoming just a thin ledge hacked by hand into the canyon’s walls. Here, wire cables are anchored alongside the path, providing reassurance and safety for those who fear the void mere feet away. The canyon’s walls have been carved into wondrous shapes by the river, the smooth lines and curves banded with color, geological forces displaying timelines beyond most of our comprehension.

I can hear the boaters below me in the river, snippets of Catalan echoing on the walls, their voices blending together, becoming muddled, their original meaning lost. Chancing a look down, I can see the river, which has turned into glorious shades of Prussian blue as the sunlight finally clears the ridgeline, and, moving with deceptive speed, the SUP team dipping their paddles in rhythm.

One of the team has packed climbing shoes and chalk bags, having seen photos of Chris Sharma’s wondrous Trick or Tree (5.14a/8b+) deep water solo. His hope was that, by using paddleboards, the team might scout for new deep water soloing potential, but unfortunately this beautiful landscape, like so many others, is in danger.

All around are signs of massive drought—a drought so severe that the river, which normally rises to the base of many of the vertical and overhanging cliffs, is now almost 60 feet lower than its traditional level. The result: Instead of paddling past beautiful limestone walls, riven with pockets and cracks and perfect for climbing, the banks are mostly made of crumbled bits of mud and stone, neither steep nor climbable.

For those who still think climate change either doesn’t exist or doesn’t impact our landscapes and livelihoods, just go to the areas most affected by the changes.

Here, in this gorge, the river levels are down; on the other side of the planet, whole islands are about to be consumed by a sea that has risen less than three feet. Now imagine what a 60-foot sea level rise would mean for billions of people!

With the river far below its normal level, I have to descend a fixed rope to a floating pontoon anchored in a cove in order to rejoin the team. I gingerly place my backpack on the tandem paddleboard, hoping we don’t tip over and ditch our food into the river. As Chuan paddles us out into the slow current, we hear a splash and see, behind us, a sleek dark shape flowing beneath the water, chasing carp in the depths.

We find a giant wave of stone, formed into a small cave around the next corner. The perfect place for our lunchtime refuel. Firing up the stove and unpacking insulated containers, we soon have our simple tapas of Trinxat. Far above our heads, zigzagging up the cliff face, is a Via Ferrata, the sunlight shimmering off the steel bolts and cables.

*

As the sun wanes, I’m outside the national park, waiting for the team at the river’s edge, but something has changed. This morning the river was placid, slow moving, shifting in color from clear to green to light blue. Now it’s gray brown, with tiny rapids starting to form. Far upstream, one of the power companies has opened the dam’s sluices. The currents carry mud, stones, and small bits of debris. A few minutes after we notice this, I get a call on the radio.
Unable to paddle against the increased current, the team has had to beach their SUPs far downstream and they’re now trying to reach me on foot, post-holing through miles of hip-deep mudflats—exhausting work when you’re also dragging a 40-pound paddleboard. What should have been an easy hour’s paddle now becomes an adventure.

Hours later, they round the corner, on the opposite side of the river. We’re only 90 feet apart, but to reach me they have to glide on their boards across the now-raging current. They manage it and then, their faces and hands streaked with dried mud, pull their paddleboards onto the bank and crumple to the ground, chests heaving. But it’s with mile-wide grins that they flip over onto their backs, elated. Our original plan for this journey may have been thwarted, but experiences like these, shared with good friends, is reason enough to revel in the moment. Tonight we will feast on slow-cooked Catalan stew and sleep under moonlight, ready for whatever tomorrow brings.

Ěý*

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A series ofĚýrecently launchedĚýand soon-to-be-finished trails around the world are leading to places you might not picture for a typical hike in the woods. We’re talking about routes that passĚýthrough First Nations lands and surf spots in British Columbia, Lord of the Rings–themed scenery inĚýSpain’s Sierra Norte,Ěýand every single national park in Italy. Thanks to the hard work of crews and land managers in the following remote locales, theseĚýlong walks are all about getting off the beaten path.

El Camino del Anillo, Spain

If you’re a Lord of the Rings fan, then you’ll especially appreciate the vision behind thisĚý76-mileĚýtrail through the Sierra Norte, anĚýhour north of Madrid. With a resemblance to the fictional Middle-earth landscape and a name that translates to the Ring Road,Ěýthe circular route hasĚýbeen five years in the making and was completed in 2020. It also features Tolkien-inspired sights along the way, including theĚýtownĚýof Buitrago del Lozoya, which resembles Bree, theĚývillage of hobbits and men. A goodĚýalternative to Spain’s other pilgrimage routes, like the popularĚýCamino de Santiago, you can hike it on your own or sign up for a seven-day guided outing through theĚýĚý(from $328), which can help book lodging along the way.Ěý

England Coast Path National Trail, England

When it’s completed later this year, theĚý will be the longest marked and maintained coastal path in the world. Its roughly 2,800ĚýmilesĚýwill connect multiple existing trail networks along the country’s jagged seaside cliffs, from swimmable beaches near Cornwall in the southwest to Victorian towns on the eastern Yorkshire coast.Ěý offers intel forĚýa self-guided, multi-day treks on the stretch that intersects with the 630-mileĚý, and get helpĚýarranging logistics, like luggage transfers and lodging throughĚýĚý(from $623).

Ę”apscĚŚiik tĚ“asĚŚii,ĚýCanada

AĚýpreviously uncharted section of theĚý, on the west coast of British Columbia’s Vancouver Island, is the site of this soon-to-launchĚýpaved trail.ĚýBuilt in partnership with the Tla-o-qui-aht and Ucluelet First Nations,Ěý (pronounced “ups-cheek ta-shee”) means “going in the right direction on the trail” in their indigenous language. When it’s completed in early 2022,Ěýthe 15-mile routeĚýwill connect the surf towns of Tofino and Ucluelet. Running parallel is a rugged expanse of coastline that offers access to offshoot trails, a shorefront that includes Long Beach and First Nations landmarks.

The National Famine Way, Ireland

A new 100-mile interactive historic walk called theĚý opened last fall on the Emerald IsleĚýto commemorate a group of emigrants who, in 1847, were evicted and forced to walk from the north-central town of Roscommon east to Dublin during the Great Famine to board ships forĚýNorth America.ĚýBronze sculptures and signage along the pathway tell the stories of their historic plight. The trail starts at the at Strokestown Park and follows the Royal Canal all the way to in the capital.

Sentiero dei Parchi, Italy

TheĚý recently announced plans for a new trail that will traverseĚýall 25 of Italy’s national parks. CalledĚý, or “path of the parks,”Ěýthe route, when finished, will be over 4,000 miles long and will cross the mountainous regions of the country, includingĚýthe northernĚýDolomites, as well as the coastal villages of Cinque Terre andĚýthe southern island of Sicily, connecting many existing trail networks. The trail was announced in 2020Ěýand is expected to be completed by 2033.

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Everything fell apart at 2,500 feet. Julio, Alberto, Fernando, and I had spent the day skiingĚýsecluded Spanish peaks, carving easy turns into forgiving corn snow, and putting close to 14 miles on our skiĚýlegs. Climbing out of the high-alpine amphitheater, we watched airplane contrails crisscross the late-dayĚýhorizon. A wet slideĚýrumbled downhill in the distance. As you so often do in the mountains, we felt at once untouchable and insignificant.Ěý

As we roundedĚýthe corner to our exit ridge,Ěýtexts that had been hangingĚýin dead-zone service limbo came rushing forth on our phones,Ěýan onslaught of panic and confusion. The coronavirusĚýhad arrived in Spain a few weeks ago, but itĚýcaught up with us on the crest of the Valley of ValdeĂłn in the north-central part of the country. “We lost Madrid,” murmured Julio, who, along with Alberto and Fernando,Ěýworks as a professional mountain guide. Clients that were set to arrive from Spain’s capital city, fearing that they would be officially locked down within the next few days, were canceling their weekend clinic. The trio continued reading the bad news aloud. A group of ValenciansĚýwho had booked months in advanceĚýhad backed out as well. Summer tour groups wereĚýpulling the plug—from Spain, England, Germany—one after the other. In the span of minutes, my group of new friends watched a third of their annual income evaporate. Julio’s impenetrable smile waned. The mountains that had seemed so invulnerableĚýhours before were no longer a shelter fromĚýthe world’sĚýterrifying new reality.

Numb, we chased the sun until it hit the last jagged outcroppings of limestone and gneiss. As it disappeared, we made our wayĚýdown toward the dark unknown below.Ěý

I had landed in Europe two weeks earlier, on assignment for a U.S. ski magazine, and was eager to reconnect with the continent I had called home for three years. I moved to Spain in 2017 to freelance and learn a new language, and it was my first time back sinceĚýreturningĚýto the U.S. inĚýNovember. My plan was to make my way upĚýto Bilbao in Spanish Basque country before chasing snow inĚýthe north of Italy.Ěý

For most of the winter, theĚýcoronavirusĚýhad been stealing headlines inĚýChina, and it had already made landfall in Italy when I arrived in northern Spain on February 26.

Its spread through the Italian countryside was enough to set off alarm bells, especially the rapid rise of cases in Lombardy, a northern regionĚýwhose capital isĚýMilan. Every morning I monitored the numbers, and, as the virus touched down on the Spanish island of Tenerife and then the capital of Madrid, I started a tally for Spain as well.

But the virus stillĚýfelt foreign, far away.ĚýI settled into the Basque routine I had carved out during the years I lived in Iberia. I went to a Saturday soccer match, packing in with thousands of red-and-white-clad fans to cheer on the local pro team, Athletic Bilbao. I spent the evenings with old friends in the plazas of Casco Viejo, enjoyingĚýsidraĚýandĚýpintxos,Ěýthe BasqueĚýversion of cider and tapas,Ěýas kids in school uniforms chased each other around. I even caught the last day of carnival in a nearby village, sharing food with a raucous local community group. Irreverent, the sign above their stand mirrored my own feelings of denial: “Here we eat together, we drink together, we kiss each other. Coronavirus, you’re not invited to the party.”

On March 8, I made the decision to cancel my trip to Italy as the number of cases there topped 7,300. In Basque country, despite occasional news of case clusters around the peninsula, I still somehowĚýfelt safe. Newspapers showed Athletic Bilbao’s victories on their covers. At the time, thoseĚýsick and dying from the virus were hidden on page three.Ěý

Trying to adjust my assignment, I rerouted my plans to a mountain range in the north of Spain, connecting with Julio through a friend.Ěý

On March 10,Ěýa day before we were to meet in the mountains, the momentum abruptly shifted. The case tallies for Spain I’d been scribbling in my daily travel journalĚýstartedĚýjumping—from 13 to more thanĚý2,200 in a little over two weeks—and Madrid announced the closure of allĚýof its schools, effective immediately. We didn’t realize it then, but it was the first move in a domino cascade of effortsĚýto control a pandemic that was already well underway. Within an hour, Vitoria, the capital of Basque country, shuttered itsĚýschools as well, with the promise of more closures in the coming days.

After the bad news on the mountainside, I was grappling with our new reality in a Bilbao AirbnbĚýwhen President Trump announced his sweeping European travel ban. For the second time in six hours, I was inundated with texts, this time from friends and family in the U.S. I frantically tried to reassure my loved ones that I was safeĚýand that I knew I had less than two days before the ban would rupture travel between the two continents indefinitely. I’ll be honest: I went to bed angry.ĚýI had two weeks left on my trip, why should I have to leave? Why all the fearmongering?Ěý

I woke up defiant, ready to stick it out in Bilbao, where I felt equipped to weather this storm,Ěýdespite the many cases already reported around the city. But I had woken up to a different Europe. The streets that normally pulsed with a human current sat empty. Instead, lines of agitated peopleĚýtrailed out of grocery stores, and restaurants hung “closed”Ěýsigns. The warm morning greetings always accompanied byĚýdos besosĚý(two kisses) were replaced by looks of distrust and uncertainty. This was not the welcoming city I was used to. This was something else:ĚýParanoia. Fear.

That afternoonĚýan expat friend called to tell me she was locking herself into quarantine at home. Julio texted that he didn’t think they would be skiing much after the announcements. But my focus was now far from the mountains.

I thought of my sister back in the U.S., seven and a half months pregnant, who was somehow still more worried about me and my safety.ĚýWas I going to get stuck here and miss the birth of my first niece? Worse yet, would I be a health risk by returning and being in the same room?ĚýMy mind raced, as my initial confidenceĚýunraveled.

My instinct as a world traveler has always been to adapt to the situation on the ground, to endure and find a solution. But what if my presence could potentially put others’ health at risk, not only in SpainĚýbut back at home? As everyone scattered, I suddenly felt alone and exposed in a place that now felt more foreign than ever before. The script was rewriting itself in real time. I thought of my sister. I knew it was time to go.ĚýĚý

Calling to change my flight, I hit a wall of four-hour wait times and dropped connections.ĚýA mass exodus of American tourists wereĚýjammingĚýthe phone lines. I eventually managed a ticket change by working through the lesser used Spanish help hotline,Ěýsliding just under the lowering travel-ban door. I left with pangs of guilt, feeling as if I wereĚýleaving my Spanish friends to fight this new battle alone.

The layover in Paris was like a disorienting family reunion, except instead of aunts and uncles, it was other U.S. citizens—aĚýwhole lot of us. A Florida flight attendant hoping to squeeze her friend into standby. A man fromĚýPortland, Oregon,Ěýwho had just finished a ski trip across Finland. An entire class from an Alaskan high school that had cut itsĚýsenior trip in half. Like everyone I spoke to, I wasĚýoperating on the hope that, if we could just get on that flight, everything would be all right. But once in myĚýseat, the shame that maybe I wasĚýbringing the virus home with meĚýstarted to seep in.

Two days later, Spain entered total lockdown. My friends can only leave their apartments to get food and medicine. Some can escape to walk their dogs. Anyone else will be fined by the police,Ěýwho patrol the streets 24 hours a day. The total number of sick now tops 20,000.

From the comfort of Basque country, I watched as .ĚýThenĚýmy friends and I went and made them ourselves. Soccer games, festivals, parties—we lived like Italy’s situation could never happen where we were, let alone in the U.S. We didn’t know it would go this far.

Now, withĚýĚýfrom the State Department telling U.S. citizens in international countries to come home immediately or be prepared to stay put, thousands of others faceĚýan even more difficult decision. As I sit in self-quarantineĚýthousands of miles from Spain,Ěýtrying to do my part to end the COVID-19 cycle, I worryĚýthat Europe’s story is already starting to repeat itself at home.

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