Stefanie Hurtado

Street Address

Brooklyn, NY

7024800059

Stefanie Hurtado

IMG_6091.jpg

May 6, 2013

i'm stefanie*, i was born in las vegas on the 4th of july. i'm a 23-year-old aspiring writer, photographer, life-long traveler, and amateur farmer. and i think you're really pretty.

I'm Stefanie! I'm a New York City filmmaker, photographer, traveler and writer. In love with my best friend.

A blurry untouched iPhone photo of King David climbing the back of a cliff in Polperro, England, because life on the road is full on. We’re driving around Scotland now and it’s a total DREAM come true. It’s cold and wet and foggy and we don’t have any rain gear (like not even an umbrella because we’re stubborn), but I’m still totally and completely in love with Scotland. There’s so much to see and not enough time so I’m already anticipating our next trip. This day with @rambleonoriginal was also magical. I love GB a whole lot ❤️

London 🇬🇧 The place that shaped me as a person perhaps more than any other. I was only 19 my first time here with dad. I felt like I suddenly saw the magnitude of humanity in a single city. London is why I became obsessed with travel. Its why I studied literature and film. It’s why I live in New York City. I mean, it was really my first true love in a big way. And dang it felt good to be back ❤️

Never tired of you. ✨ @davidjameshebert in France.

The obligatory “I walked 800km to get here” cathedral photo.

We finally boarded our first vehicle in over 6 weeks! After traveling from Southern France to the western coast of Spain solely propelled by our own feet, we did one last 8 mile hike to the airport from Santiago 😂 We could nottt bring ourselves to take a €3 bus ride because 8 miles sounded so easy after the Camino. We had an overnight layover in Madrid and are now headed to a place I love very very much ❤️ Thank you Spain, you incredible beauty. For reminding me of my strength, my courage, my last name 💃🏻 Thank you I love you thank you 🙏🏼

Two days ago, on September 13th, David and I trudged up the cobblestone streets of Santiago de Compostela in completion of a 500 mile pilgrimage across Spain in honor of my dad, who passed away exactly one year ago on September 13th. I received an official certificate from the cathedral on which they agreed to include his name with mine. I did this for him—because he wasn’t able to and I couldn’t deal with that—but I also very much did this for myself. And strangely enough, I think that’s what he intended all along.
I cried all day, walking around and sitting at different cafes amongst pilgrims celebrating their accomplishment, feeling wholly separate from their experience. I drank Estrella Galicia feeling filthy, exhausted and filled with the strangest sense of despair. That this trip is over and I don’t feel any lighter or less concerned with the tragedy of death. That I’m not somehow magically cured of grief.
I started sobbing the night before, when it really hit me the Camino was nearly over and all I could think about was my last night with my dad in the hospital last year, replaying every detail of his death and my attempt to explain to him what he meant to me and fearing that it wasn’t enough.
I often think of this trip as an act of grieving but in truth it’s an act of love. An attempt at proving my love to a man in the beyond. An apology. An act of forgiveness. A thank you. Redemption. Or, very possibly, just one extremely long walk.
I met an amazing Australian man who reminded me a heck of a lot of my uncle Tim, who is also currently battling cancer. He told us that the Camino is like a big meal that you digest long after it’s over. We still have some time here in Europe, but I’m sure we’ll be digesting this experience long after we return home to New York. It went by so fast and now feels like a dream but I’m beginning to feel that I am better because of it. Thank you to everyone who showed us love and support along the way! It meant so very much ❤️

Hi. We walked 41 freaking kilometers yesterday... that’s just shy of a marathon (but we had heavy backpacks on and couldn’t run 😂). We usually go for 25-30k as a solid day, but ever since we reached the final 100 kilometers of the Camino, crowds of people have poured in by bus and taken up all the beds.
Yesterday, when we got to our hostel and found a bed bug on the mattress, we had to walk on to the next town. Everyone we know has gotten bed bugs on the Camino, but David and I are determined to avoid them at all costs. We check each bed obsessively and ask for our money back if we have to. It makes the end of a long day at lot less pleasant, but we’ve never had a problem finding another place.
Until yesterday. Yesterday we walked through 6 extra towns that were allll completo. Full. Our heads hung lower with every rejection. There were still lots of people walking behind us too so we were all racing for a place to sleep that last 10k.
By the time we got to Mercadoiro and got ANOTHER no, I was ready to lay down and sleep on the hostel lawn. Instead, I kept pressing. And in a Spanish that I understand less and less now that we are so near Portugal, the hostelero told me he had a few empty beds but they were running out of food, so we could only sleep there if we were okay with eating a bocadillo for dinner. Yep! Great, just cheese and bread whatever anything to sit down porfa.
We spent the evening talking to a man from South Africa, drank a little too much wine, got too little sleep, and woke at 7am to do it all again. This is torturous and rewarding and totally insane.
We have 3 more days left. 3 MORE DAYS 😭

Dream car, outside Ponferrada 💚

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