I woke up early after a good nights sleep in Santarem. I needed the rest after the ruthless sun of yesterday afternoon. Santarem wasn’t what I excepted, but in some way, what I needed. I took it easy in the afternoon, reading and walking to the lookout points before finding a local pizza place where Claudio and I stuffed ourselves silly. The pizzas were so big, I still had a few slices in my pack for a morning snack.
I left the hostel just before sunrise, finding a steep trail that snaked it way down the climb from yesterday. Below, a neighboring town, nestled in the shadow of Satarem, caught the first rays of dawn, putting on a beautiful show of light and color. I walked through the maze of streets before being immersed in fields of corn and tomato. Today, I finally felt that I had left the industrial reach of Lisbon.
I walked along through the fields, the only sound was the rustle of the corn husks and occasional tsk-tsk-tsk-rrrrr of sprinklers. The sun rose warming everything quickly, drawing the smells of fresh dirt along with it. At about 7am, I dug out the pizza from last night, and ate it while walking. I was at peace. My life was simple, stripped bare. All I had was a cold slice of pizza, my backpack, and one thing to do - keep walking.
After three hours, I arrived in a Valle de Figurua. I ordered a coffee in the bar next to the small city square. Thick, stubby tries lined the edges. Young children squealed as they rode scooters around, their parents engrossed in conversations with friends and neighbors. The gang - the Italians and Spanish - whom we had all stayed in last few hostels together - arrived. They all ordered coffee, and one whom I had dubbed the Professor, as he worked in a university and carried a huge book with him, ordered a beer. We ate and chatted, marveling in the change of scenery, before heading out again.
By 12:00, I had arrived in Azinhaga. I needed another coffee, but the only cafe I found appeared closed. I pushed and pulled the door with no luck. I was about to move on when a local motioned for me to go around the corner. I followed his directions to find a beautiful patio. The Spanish were already there drinking. I dumped my pack and ordered a coke. I few minutes later the Italians arrived too.
I ordered a sandwich and took off my shoes. So far, I was mostly blister free . I lounged back sipping my coke, cold stone feeling wonderful on my bare feet. We only had 6km more to go. I had no need to rush, ordered another coke, and finally picked up my pack.
The last stretch followed the shoulder of the road. About halfway, on the right side of the road, a huge sunflower field bloomed in all it’s glory. Beautiful yellow faces stared back at me, heads lilting this way and that. Until now, I hadn’t had much like timing my camino hikes with the sunflower season. I always seemed to arrive too early, with fields bare, or too late, where sunflowers were shriveled and black. I took advantage of today though, diving into the field, snapping dozens of photos.
Leaving the sunflowers behind, I arrived in Golega with Claudio. We had planned to stay in a hostel called O Te, but after eventually convincing the owner, an overweight bald man who insisted on walking around shirtless, to show us the room, we decided against it. Around the corner, we found another albergue, Solo Dura. At first Claudio was hesitant on staying here for some reason. He even considered going back to the O Te and the crazy man. But after we opened the iron gate and entered the little courtyard, with a few friendly dogs, and quaint bungalow, even he was sold. I loved this place. It reminded me of the gites along the via Podiensis.
We showered , washed our clothes, and relaxed in the sun. After an hour, Claudio leaned over, “Solo Dura” - the name of the albergue -, he said to me slowly, “it means hard-on in my language.”
I burst out laughing.
