Field Notes

Some places you have to earn. Growing up in Toluca, the Nevado de Toluca was always there. Visible from the city, part of the landscape I knew before I knew anything else. But getting to its summit is a different thing entirely. You don't just look at it. You climb it. That first ascent taught me something I've carried ever since. The mountain doesn't care about your schedule, your plans, or how fit you think you are. It asks everything and gives back exactly what you put in.

Photo taken by Felix Lariviere I arrived in Tofino in May 2024 with no real idea of what I was getting into. The first thing that hit me wasn't the ocean or the surf. It was the silence. The kind that makes you realize how much noise you'd been carrying. The first months were about exploring. Vargas Island, day trips through the Sound, learning to read the water. Surfing here humbled me fast. The Pacific doesn't ease you in. It's heavy, unpredictable, and completely indiffere

I was standing at a crossroads, deep in uncertainty about what came next, and I didn't have the answer. So I packed a bag, flew to Spain, and started walking from Burgos. Twenty three days and roughly 590 kilometres later I reached Finisterre, the end of the world. Some days I covered 25 kilometres. Others, close to 40. The body adapts when the mind is committed. The French Way gave me what I was looking for. Not immediately, and not easily. But somewhere between the blisters