My 2023 Hike on the Stevenson Trail in France

Why would any 72-year-old in his right mind leave the pleasures of Paris and Lyon to go hiking 150 miles in the rugged Cevennes Mountains of south-central France? (Clambering up, around and over many a boulder-strewn path.) Partly to follow in the footsteps of Robert Louis Stevenson, told in his 1879 book, Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes. (He's the guy who pioneered the idea of long distance hiking-and-camping "just for the fun.")

There are other reasons. Adventure, the chance to get away from boring everyday life, and especially the FOOD and those end-of-day rewards. They're all part of a Camino hike, which generally refers to one of many such routes scattered throughout Europe. But I have an expanded definition: Any hike where at the end of each day you can look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer. (Also, in most of Europe those end-of-day rewards include those rich, creamy delicious desserts that you'd never DREAM of eating at home.) And 2023 was my fifth Camino hike, so I can pass along some lessons I've learned to those who may be thinking of such an adventure themselves.

In 2017 I hiked the Camino Frances, from Pamplona to Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain. (Opting out of "over the Pyrenees," but I felt guilty about it.) In 2019 I hiked the Portuguese Camino, from Porto (home of Port wine) back up to Santiago. In 2021 I went back and hiked the part I missed in 2017, from St. Jean Pied-de-Port, over the daunting Pyrenees, back to Pamplona - and Hemingway's Cafe Iruna - then on to Burgos before taking a bus down to Madrid and flying home.

In 2022 I hiked the Way of St. Francis in Italy, 150 miles from Assisi down to Rome, and in 2023 that Stevenson Trail in France. But in both cases I had those end-of-day rewards: Warm bed, hot shower, cold beer and those rich, creamy desserts. (That you can indulge because you know you'll be working them off the next day.) So those two fit in my definition of a Camino hike.

And just to keep you up-to-date, in September 2024 I went back to Santiago and from there hiked the Camino Finisterre - out to "the end of the known world" - then over to the Camino Ingles to hike back down to Santiago. (From which hikes I learned several more valuable lessons.)

But back to this book, on that 150-mile hike on the Stevenson Trail in September 2023. And back to the question, "Why would anyone put himself through such agony?" One answer came to me the night I stayed in a medieval castle, two days before the end of the hike. That evening, relaxing on a slat-shaded balcony, beer in hand, looking south over the azure mountains - the ones we ourselves would clamber over in a day or two - I pondered the question.

Part of the answer comes from the feeling you get at the beginning of each day. I remember a Zen saying from years ago. "A child looks at a mountain and sees a mountain. An adult looks at a mountain and sees many things. A Zen master looks at a mountain - and sees a mountain." Except that as an adult on a Camino hike - and "in the proper frame of mind" - you don't just see a mountain. You see that of course, and for the moment just that, but you also have a lifetime of memories to "mule over." More than that, each morning you are a child again. Everything is fresh, new and exciting, and each bend in the trail reveals things that you've never seen before. (But of course, the warm bed, hot shower and cold beer at the end of a day helps a lot too.)