Walking Forward: From Fontainebleau to Banderas Bay

A few years ago, while visiting the small town of Samois-sur-Seine, I found myself walking along a quiet path at the edge of the Forest of Fontainebleau. The forest floor surprised me—rocky, yet almost perfectly flat—and tall trees rose around me in the deep stillness that only old forests seem to possess.

Then a group of hikers appeared along the trail. They moved easily together, all carrying slender hiking poles. They did not appear to need them for support. They simply walked happily along the path, stylish in their hiking attire, poles swinging rhythmically as they went.

The image stayed with me.

I had come to Samois-sur-Seine because it was the last home of the great jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt. Over the years my life in Puerto Vallarta has been deeply connected to music and musicians, so making this small pilgrimage to the resting place of one of jazz’s most original voices felt quietly meaningful.

The town rests between the waters of the Seine River and the wide green expanse of the forest. Django and several members of his family are buried there, and visitors still come to pay their respects.

One afternoon I decided to walk to the edge of town and continue out into the forest. It was there, along one of the quiet paths beneath the tall trees, that I encountered the hikers with their poles.

At the time, they were simply an interesting sight along the trail.

Years later, after a few injuries left me feeling less steady than I once had been, I remembered them.

That memory eventually led me to order a pair of walking poles of my own.

I discovered that they are not only helpful but rather stylish as well. And so on my upcoming trip to Puerto Vallarta, where I hope to do as much walking as I comfortably can, the poles will be coming with me.

To begin, I will choose flat surfaces. The long curve of the Malecón (Puerto Vallarta) seems perfect. As I walk, the broad waters of Banderas Bay will stretch beside me.

In my travels through Europe I have also noticed many people using these poles on cobblestones and uneven streets. They provide a quiet sense of stability, something that becomes more valuable as we grow older and begin to understand the importance of balance.

There is also an unexpected benefit. The poles encourage you to stand tall. When I focus on engaging my abdominal and back muscles and keeping my head lifted gently upward to support my spine, these simple devices become more than walking aids. They become companions in movement.

Perhaps they will take me further than I once expected—along quiet paths beside the ocean or through small stretches of countryside I might previously have avoided.

And as I walk, I hope to observe the world in a simple way, much as Alberto Caeiro once suggested: seeing nature plainly for what it is, without trying to force magic upon it.

Simply noticing.
Simply walking.

The Portuguese have a lovely way of describing this kind of attention to life. They speak of recolher pequenas coisas da vida—gathering the small things of life.

Sometimes those small things return to guide us years later.

A walk in a forest.
A group of hikers with poles.
A memory that quietly shows us how to keep moving forward.
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