First What-on-earth-am-I-doing Hike

I'm sure at least someone reading this can relate to waking up at 6 am, randomly and without an alarm, and feeling the undeniable urge to do stuff.

For me, “stuff” was a 12 kilometer hike to another town.

It was so much foggier than it looks.

I’ve asked my host family about nearby hiking trails before, and all they could think of was a road that starts “antes del signo de la papaya" (before the papaya sign).

It turned out to be a tsunami evacuation route. 

Good enough.

I walked for hourssssssssssssssssssssssssss. 

I appreciated the mist shrouded meadows, rickety wood fences, and distant towns of golden lights, but… it was too quiet.

Prettier in real life :)

My footsteps on the gravel grated against the silence, and I was able to hear cars coming for more than a minute before I saw them. I never truly realized, cars are OUTRAGEOUSLY loud in comparison to nature.

Also, look at these signs.

Anyway, as I made it to the next town, I achieved step #1 in a new place: find a little coffee shop.

This one was nearby some docks, so when my host family arrived to pick me up (they were planning to go to the lil town anyway), they found me splayed on the wood, unwilling to walk another step.

This is actually a cute little place called the Boulevard, with a dozen little shops (including a cafe).

Second What-on-earth-am-I-doing Hike

Spoiler: this is where the dogs come in. 

Iloca, a little town on the coast, can be a VERY uneventful place. The water is salty and frigid, the sky often overcast, and everything is like a kilometer apart. Easily-bored people like me and my host-sister, Sara, have to get creative. 

We would walk the instagram-esque streets, spend all our money on ice cream and waffles, and have sunset photoshoots on the beach. 

Good vibes only ;)

Eventually, we got around to visiting one of the few coffee shops in the area. Long story short, we befriended the waiter—the next time I went there, I got a lovely vanilla cappuccino and a waffle for free ;)—and he told us that there was a hiking trail with “un faro” (“a lighthouse”) at the end.

Of course, there was no choice. I HAD to go.

He joked that he could be my guide, and I was like txaaaaaa, no way. Why would I need a guide?

…I needed a guide.

We'll get to that.

On yet another early morning—seriously, the sun wasn't even out yet—I set out. 

The trail was unlike anything I've seen before. Gosh, it was GORGEOUS. 

The trail had all my favorite trail things such as: an ocean view, carved stairs, little caves, and beautiful wild flowers.

Find my instagram @kyllonen_maia if you want more photos.

The vibes alone were immaculate. Imagine the thunder of crashing waves; sun rays slicing through the trees; the smell of salty ocean air.

Lovely. Simply lovely.

Everything was beyond perfect. 

Until the beach.

Stupid pretty beach.

Turns out, that picture-perfect trail was only the FIRST part.

“The beach” is where the path broke, with no indication of where it started again.

“The beach” is where it all went wrong.

I found the start of another path on the other side of the beach, behind a few massive boulders.

It was fine again for a little while, but the trail continued to break. A beach or a road would interrupt the well-traveled path, and there would be no indication of where the trail starts again. No signs, no nothing, just guesswork. Also, fences.

THAT was the trail. What the heck!!! At least there was a ladder over the first fence.

I just did my best, often thinking something along the lines of “omg what am I doing”, and somewhere along the way, someone stepped on the back of my foot.

I turned around and saw two border collies LITERALLY at my heels. Both were a mixture of gold, white, and black fur, and they seemed friendly enough; however, I learned my lesson about stray dogs (pet them and they will follow you) so I just said hi and kept walking.

Look how close they are! This is the first moment I saw them, I swear.

They were unsure of me—the goldie even flinched back when I moved suddenly to take my phone out of my pocket—yet kept following me.

Eventually, I ended up on the barest HINT of a trail, practically climbing a wall of rock (I just wanted to see the lighthouse, dang it) that was literally impossible for the dogs to scale.

So I left them behind.

I made it to the top, and the view was nice. Just nice. And there were no more trails. That was the end. 

That was so NOT worth it. 

It would’ve been ridiculous to go back the way I came—I did not feel like climbing DOWN that wall of rock—so I started walking trail-less towards the nearest road.

And this is when my little adventure came right out of a movie.

One of the border collies popped up from behind a ridge, looking at me.

No. Way.

There was literally no way they could have followed me—which meant that the clever little fur balls found a fast, easy, and safe route. 

I climbed the ridge to find both dogs waiting for me at the top. 

1st photo: when the golden pup popped up (sry for the bad pic). 2nd photo: the black pup waiting for me at the top.

They followed me. They found a path.

Do you guys even realize how crazy that is?

And maybe it was something about my body language, but they went from being wary of me to grinning at me, jumping on me, and brushing up against me asking for pets.

From that point on, I decided to follow THEM. We had a wordless agreement - I chose the direction, and they chose the path. 

I still can't believe it. Also: usually one was behind me, and one in front.

I was SERIOUSLY questioning my sanity, especially when they decided to go swimming in a stream, but guys. GUYS. They found the easiest, safest, and slightly longer road back to where we met, a FAR cry from the Alice-in-Wonderland way I came.

To my younger readers: please do not follow stray dogs. 

Once we arrived at The Beach Where It All Went Wrong, I didn't need their help anymore, and I didn't want to lead them away from home (if they had one). 

So I left them behind. I spat “SALE” (“LEAVE”) at them, shredding my heart, and they stayed, laying in the shade of a tree. They stayed. 

Under that big green tree.

I took step after miserable step until I could no longer see them. For the first time in over an hour, I was alone again. 

Just as I had accepted that fact, I heard the rustling of the long prairie grass behind me. 

There they were. Those two gorgeous lovely miracles. They came back.

From that point on, I accepted that they weren't leaving anytime soon. 

We took breaks :)

I would talk to my furry hiking buddies; pet them; wait for them when the trail got tough; and when we took breaks, I would pick out the burrs from their fur. I even gave them names. The goldish one who was obviously younger and more energetic: Rookie. The older sweetheart who was literally able to walk, run, and CLIMB with a limp: Rox. 

Note: when Rox was more comfortable with me, I checked on their foot to see if I could do anything to help, and no. There was no visible wound.

As people passed me and my two companions, they assumed they were my dogs. Every once in a while I mentioned that they're not, just so I could see the utter confusion on people's faces. 

We walked for hours together. 

I was ready to fight for them. I would’ve found out if they had a family. I would’ve gotten them adopted. I would’ve adopted them. 

I was ready to spend all my money on them and ship them to Minnesota to my unsuspecting family.

When we got to the end of the trail, I was finding my way down the last hill when I noticed their absence. I looked back, and I couldn’t see Rookie, but Rox was at the top of the hill, looking at me. Waiting. Understanding, I waved goodbye, and Rox disappeared too.

They're sheep dogs, and that day they decided I was a lost sheep.

Thank you for reading!!!

P.S. Note: on my way back, I came across a family FAR more lost-looking than I ever was, popping out of some bushes. Literally. I have no idea where they came from. I directed them towards the path behind the boulders, and wished them “buena suerte” (“good luck”). Legend says they can still be found wandering—mud on their faces and twigs in their hair—never escaping the maze of trails.

P.P.S. I do boxing & MMA now :)