Normal service is now resumed after an unfortunate
stuff-up by the web hosting company, hopefully there will be no repeats.
We have now completed
nine days of walking, 152 kilometres in total (17, 21, 15, 18, 22, 13, 21, 12
& 13). And I still haven’t really
written anything about the walking. The
days seem to shoot by, at least when you get to the end of them. In the middle of them, they seem as though
they may never end! A shower once you
reach the accommodation, and a really cold beer, after that all good intentions
of being disciplined and sitting down to write evaporate, like the early
morning clouds as you start walking.
The first day out of Porto we were driven to the outskirts of Porto in order to start walking. This is a blessing as Porto is spread out and the first 13-14 km is through residential and industrial areas where we would have had to walk along busy roads and motorways. To get to the start we were collected by a very dapper man in his 60s, in a late model Audi. There were four of us, ourselves and a mother and daughter from Perth. Everything was going fine until a guy in his 50s, in a small van, cut in front of us. A ten kilometre dog fight ensured involving high speed, tricky manoeuvres and deliberate holding of each other behind slow moving vehicles. Our dapper man was incensed when he was out gunned at one point and decided to show the upstart the raw power of the Audi, needless to say we blew him away along with any feelings of relaxation we may have harboured.
The first few days were HOT. Climate change has had its way with the Camino! Long-term average maximum temperatures for this time of the year are around 15-18 degrees; for the first 2-3 days we walked in 20-27 degree heat, which tends to make things a little tougher. But then it rains and suddenly they announcing temperatures much lower than normal – then you remember that “averages” are a human construct, not a real thing. Yesterday was the most rain, we started in rain and it continued for possibly 3-4 hours, then cleared up. The day before that we could feel the weather turning and we were very grateful that it was not yet raining as we had to walk over quite a mountain. The track was steep in places and rocky, it would be difficult in rain. But it ended in a small village in the loveliest accommodation run by a really nice young Portuguese couple.
The natural beauty of the area is quite wonderful, like so many countries that have been settled for so long, the landscape is very much shaped by human activity, but in a fairly gentle, organic way. It’s as if the fields, roadways, tracks, hedgerows and wilder areas have all coevolved in fairly positive ways. There is little evidence of heavy-handed human development, with the exception of the larger cities of course.
So seemingly ancient moss covered stone walls simply rise out of a field and follow a logic of their own, possibly tracing an ownership pattern that has been lost in time and no one remembers, but all still honour. A meandering wooded pathway turns a corner to be confronted by a healthy babbling brook over which a small stone bridge, built by Romans, eases our way forward. Fields of yellow daisies and purple flowers (that look suspiciously like our own Patterson’s Curse), stretches away into the middle distance. An ancient row of vines is receiving a late pruning from a bent old man who looks old enough to have actually planted them.
At another point we fall into easy stride with a beautiful young German woman (turns out her mother is Mexican and her father German), she is probably in her late 20s and is an easy, relaxed conversationalist. We discover that she has just left her job in Germany and will soon take up a new job in Belgium, where her boyfriend is from, selling commemorative watches (who knew there was such a thing). She is walking the Camino alone, and when she returns she and her boyfriend will marry next month. Marion asks why her boyfriend did not join her on the Camino, she laughs an easy laugh and says that she didn’t invite him; she wanted to walk it alone. After an hour or so she wishes us Bon Camino and walks on ahead.
Food is also a feature of any Camino, locals are very eager to show their local cuisine, this is rather unfortunate for vegetarians because local cuisine seems to be shorthand for strange parts of animals cooked in quirky ways. On our first night out we booked in for dinner at our place of accommodation because the village was too small to have other options. The menu was fixed and was some kind of veal, so the four Australians opted for the vegetarian option, even though we had no idea what it would be. When it arrived it resembled the large bowel of a small animal swimming in a sea of dark green rice. I can only imagine it was some sort of attempt at vegetarian haggis. The casing, which resembled a leather condom, proved impossible to cut. When I finally made an incision, using brute strength, I found the “sausage” contained a rather foul tasting white mixture. The green rice was more or less edible, everything else resisted all attempts of consumption. Being naturally adventurous I attempted to eat a section of the sausage covering, a moment of panic and embarrassment followed when I almost choked, it required an unseemly large mouthful of red wine to dislodge it and send it southwards. God only knows where it is now!
There are brief sections of the walk that skirt along the edge of busy roads, these can be taxing and a little scary as cars pass quite closely at very high speed, but for the most part these interludes are brief, before the track takes off into the forest. In some places alternative routes – Camino Complimentarios – have been devised to ensure that pilgrims are kept well away from the more mundane routes. This afternoon’s entry into Porrino was one of the less salubrious sections of the walk. The guide book rather haughtily dismisses Porrino by saying, ‘there is nothing here to interest us,” and they are right. It’s just another working town without too much history, so the long walk into town past factories, service stations, car outlets, etc doesn’t inspire the spirit, but it does remind us, everyone needs to work, earn a living, feed their family, etc. Having now showered and having had that cold beer I am able feel magnanimous about these things, I think at the time I was probably thinking, “Shit, will this never end!”
Not all pilgrims are having, or express, a euphoric experience. It is not that uncommon to meet a fellow traveller who is clearly troubled by some external or internal demon/s, these unfortunate beings tend to make it clear that they are not interested in ‘happy chat,’ which is fair enough. All but the most obtuse of their fellow pilgrims recognise and respect this.
A Danish family have been tracking along at the same pace as ourselves, they booked through the same company and so are staying in the same establishments each night. This has provided a salutary lesson in not always trusting first impressions. The mother, about Marion’s age, is travelling with her daughter (mid 40s) and son (late 30s), the mother was obviously a character from the start, the daughter was friendly enough but a little reserved, but the son appeared to be aloof and a little arrogant. A couple of afternoons ago we arrived at our accommodation and they were also there, as we sat in the garden chatting the son suddenly opened up and entered into the spirit of the conversation. It quickly became apparent that he had just been a little unsure of himself and possibly a bit shy. That evening we all sat together for dinner, along with an American fellow in mid 60s, and had an absolute hoot of a meal. Who knew that Danes are as irreverent and as cynical (in the nicest possible way of course) as Australians? The father arrived this evening in a cab from Porto, when he walked in his daughter and I led the clapping to welcome him, much to his astonishment and then delight, I think! I expect we are in for more entertaining Camino dinners together.
We have completed nine days of walking with three more to go, most of them long, the last being 25km into Santiago De Compostella. We have begun to realise that each day is like a new glass of wine, different, to be savoured for its own qualities. Once in a while life will throw in a glass of vinegar, grasp it and savour it like a fine vintage. Then when it serves up an absolute gem, it is hard not to feel genuine gratitude for the good fortune that falls our way every single day.
Postscript: When I went to post last night the Wi-Fi has a massive hissy fit, making any further progress impossible. Then the hosting company made an error and took me offline. So it’s much later, and we have just three days of our Camino left. Yesterday’s walk was 22.2km. We walked 10.5km in pelting rain, when we stopped at a café for a much needed coffee one of the American women we were sharing a table with said, “Would you guys be at all interested in splitting a cab to the next accommodation place?” For a nano second I thought, but that’s cheating, then in another nano second I thought, what an excellent idea. So here we are showered, feed and watered by mid-afternoon. So today was clearly vinegar, but we found a solution!
Three nights ago the accommodation was a bit like ‘Fawlty Towers meets The Shining’, but at least there were quite a few of us trapped in the same place, which made it bearable. Until next time!
Inspiring reading, can’t wait to follow in your footsteps 😊
Keep loving and living life Mike and Marion.
Greetings from Amsterdam- Lisa x