Where Will We Walk Next?
A case of continental drift, our furnace man and frozen fish
Ask Kim and I anything about Malta, Sardinia, Cyprus, Slovenia, Menurca, Mallorca and Ibiza. We are also seriously well-versed in Botswana and South Africa after a logistical logjam.
Travelling in October is beyond the shoulder season of many countries unless you love rain, single digits and closed businesses. Kim and I typically take off in September but due to the mad continuum of producing a quarterly magazine and publishing deadlines, my next freedom patch isn’t until the first week of October when the Winter 2026-27 Harrowsmith issue is safely put to bed.
Though we were leaning towards the Dolomites, our plans for the via ferrata (iron cable) route became a no-quibble cross-off due to early snowfall, seasonal rifugio (mountain hut) closures and 1°C lows at night. October in Italy’s northeastern mountain range is beyond shoulder season. It’s nearly up to the ear lobes.
We turned our compass to Africa and equatorial climes until the Strait of Hormuz kinked things.
The flight costs surged as we tried to patch together Botswana’s Okavango Swap and visiting a friend in Gqeberha (South Africa) in one go made for one crazy Spirograph. As Kim said, “I can’t even pronounce it anyway.” (Gqeberha)
And now, well, there’s Ebola to consider. I think my mother would find a set of ankle monitors on Amazon and put us under house arrest if we even spoke of African travel right now.
After dismissing Gqeberha (for now), Kim and I drifted like tectonic plates back to Mauritius. It’s a fossilized stone’s throw from Madagascar which we adored. However, aside from the rare pink pigeon, the Brahminy blind snake and the wandering albatross, there’s not a lot to “see” above the surface in Mauritius. There’s whale-watching a plenty but it didn’t have the same pulse as Madagascar’s Tsingy de Bemaraha National Park with the via ferrata through the limestone spires and caves. And, lemurs, everywhere.
Once again, Kim and I were truly all over the map. We needed to recalibrate and take a break from the chasm of the laptop.
“Let’s do the Cow Patty Loop,” Kim suggested. It’s our 14km “block walk” around a completely pastoral swath of cows and corn. And six emus that live in the original school house. Kim always wants to walk this route on the windiest of days. Cow Patty guarantees a deluge, pinprick hail on our cheeks or winds that carry our voices off and over the stubble of the cornfields.
As we turned right on West road under watchful gaze of the now-nesting osprey above, we bounced ideas back and forth like pickleballers. Should we consider another long walk, somewhere? After completing the 860km Camino del Norte in the fall, Kim and I agreed that we were ready for a “Camino break.” However, the sentiment has failed to have staying power a few times now.
I noticed a plump sheep swaggering beside the fence line with a lamb in tow—a new ewe! We stopped to watch the duo from afar when Kim recognized our “furnace guy.” He had just done a maintenance call on our furnace the week before. He waved at us and as we swapped pleasantries he encouraged us to say hello to his giant-headed bull terrier rescue who was eager for pats. A few chickens expressed interest in attention as well. Before Adam tended to our furnace, we only knew of his organic free range eggs that he sold at the end of his driveway for $7 a dozen.
Adam was chattier than his chickens. He knew Kim and I walked all over the place as he had seen us at all cardinal points as he drove around making service calls. After twenty minutes of talking about sheep, hound dogs and his cow named Ruby he asked, “Do you guys want some fish?” He had a chest freezer full of Georgian Bay whitefish and was feeling overwhelmed.
Kim and I hesitated. “Is it fileted?”
Not to be picky but we weren’t keen on gutting fish when we returned home and we still had eight kilometers to go.
The fish was clean, skin-on. We shrugged and Adam handed us two massive frozen fish in a Ziploc. Luckily I was wearing gloves as there was still a big damp bite in the air. Kim and I took turns passing the fish back and forth like a football, laughing at the oddball-ness of it all. Here we were, in the middle of windswept fields, on foot, with frozen Georgian Bay whitefish. It was so very, very Camino.
The nature of any Camino is carrying stuff. Whether it’s the weight of the world on your shoulders, an Osprey pack, a Camelbak, guilt, a sleeping bag or bag of fallen figs. Kim and I have carried all sorts of things on our Camino pilgrimages: bottles of wine, a 1L bottle of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, 4-packs of yogurt. Once, an Italian woman’s tutu skirt that she accidentally left behind at a nunnery we had all stayed at. We eventually caught up to her. Our packs double as tiny food trucks jammed with sleeves of salami, hunks of gouda, mayo packets, venison stew, tins of tuna, baguettes harder than bats and leftover Šurlice noodles. Refrigeration has always been questionable on the Camino and we really just hope for the best. On the Camino del Norte, the remote route left us portaging groceries for dinner, breakfast and lunch the next day as there were no grocery stores near our accommodations or for 20 kilometres after.
Was it a sign? Were these frozen fish suggesting that we walk again?
That night Kim and I went on a tangent of YouTube selfie-stick footage along the Cami de Cavalls (“Way of the Horse”) in Menurca, Spain. Could we pair it with the “Way of the Dry Stone Wall” on Mallorca? Combined, it would be around 320km. But was October too late for the very-exposed coastal route? While initially charmed by Menurca’s aridness, gin distilleries and equally gin-clear Mediterranean and crescent beaches, the trail through Mallorca had roadblocks. The route wasn’t an obvious thru-hike, poorly marked and after extensive reading it became clear that it was designed more for day hikes from nearby hotel bases.
We researched the shit out of the Balearic islands and the ferries in between. Kim and I have become firm believers in researching both where we want to go and (more often than not) concluding where we don’t want to go. At least right now, in October.
Sardinia came next but every YouTuber warned of the fierce wild dogs on the trail. Kim was turned off. I found myself in the Julian Alps in Slovenia. The rail system was impressive and then there’s Alma, the ChatGPT bot who is eager to assist.
I laughed at the option to purchase “Rail VIP” service if you lack the patience to buy a train ticket online. Really?
Slovenia involved wild camping so I went to France. I liked the historical and writerly connection of the 272km Stevenson Trail from Le Puy-en-Velay south to Alès. In 1878, Scottish writer Robert Louis Stevenson (author of Treasure Island) walked this very across the Cevennes accompanied by “a small grey donkey called Modestine, the colour of a mouse with a kindly eye”. You can actually rent donkeys to walk the trail with you to really authenticate the experience.
Kim quickly recalled the protests of Ali Baba, the mule that pulled our cart around the Siwa Oasis in Egypt. He was not always on board with our agenda and enthusiasm. “No to the donkey,” was my silent takeaway from Kim.
The next day, I read several accounts of walking along France’s canal towpaths. They’re 100% flat, it’s impossible to get lost and you can barge your way along at any point.
We have been J-walking all over the place since April. In no particular order:
Malta (a circumnavigation) and the Gozo Coastal Trail (200km)
The Corfu Trail, Greece (180km)
Kom-Emine from Kom Peak to Cape Emine on the Black Sea coast, Bulgaria (600km)
The Alsace Wine Route (Route des Vins d’Alsace) from Marlenheim to Thanna in eastern France (170km)
The Moselle Camino, Germany (180km)
Way of St. Francis from Florence to Rome (518km)
“Way of the Gull” (The Raad ny Foillan), Isle of Man (164km)
Somme Valley Trail from Aisne to the estuary in the Bay of the Somme, France (227km)
We composed a wet list too. For the fantastical day when we decide we don’t care about sunshine and invest in Norwegian crab fisherman gear.
Coast to Coast (E8), Dursey Head to Dublin, Ireland (596km)
Pennine Way from Derbyshire to the Scottish Borders (431km)
The Whaler’s Great Route, Azores (118km)
Three friends randomly sent us the recent AFAR magazine link to an article about The Cotswolds Pub-to-Pub route (164km, 164 pints of Old Speckled Hen and presumably, 164mm of precipitation).
And then came the hiking boot of Italy (with a bit of the ankle). Kim landed in Puglia and spun her laptop around to show me the darling trulli houses with the conical roofs. There was even an official Camino route (spelled with two m’s, it’s not a typo!). The Cammino Materano is a network of six different routes that funnel into the cave city of Matera.
If we landed in Bari, we could slice southwards to Matera and walk the Via Ellenica backwards to the trullis in Alberobello. It would be around 340km. Both of us spun our laptops like Lazy Susans sharing cool trullo accommodation listings, images of the limestone cave dwellings, orecchiette (ear-shaped noodles), fennel taralli (crunchy boiled and baked dough rings) and smoked Caciocavallo cheese pics. I learned that Italy’s boot heel is a bird migration corridor. We would be in the company of European bee-eaters, hoopoes and (maybe) early over-wintering flamingoes.
Kim found a guide book for the Cammino Materano for $37.99 on Amazon. I told her to hold off for a few minutes while I looked for cheaper options. Kim was already headlong into flight paths and trains to see if adding Sicily onto our itinerary was realistic.
“Here’s a fifteen pound guide book,” I said.
Kim was amazed. “FIFTEEN pounds? Ohmygod. How big is it?”
I realized that I should have prefaced that I was looking at the Cicerone Press site which is based in the UK. I corrected myself, “the guide book is fifteen British Pounds Sterling. Currency! Not fifteen pounds in weight!”
Our Camino packs have always been 10 pounds or under so hauling around a 15-pound guide was totally unreasonable!
So, the 15 pound guide is en route (actually, the Amazon $37.99 option is) and we may be en route to Puglia in October. As always, like migratory birds, we are sometimes blown off course. We may be completely surprised and find ourselves looking for figs for our donkey in the Cevennes. It’s all part of the process and until then, who knows who we will cross paths with and what we’ll be returning home with. It’s not everyday that you meet your furnace maintenance man on the roadside and walk home with frozen fish.
Tell me about your walk today. What do you see in your neighbourhood loops? I realize walking 300 or 800km is not the idea of a “vacation” for everyone but Kim and I are stuck on a “working holiday.” We have walk, whine & wine down pat and highly recommend it. Where would you love to wander next?
Researching and planning a trip is half the fun! I love the idea of the Cammino Materano.
Yes to Puglia!