Despite the great hostel, I slept poorly. All night, a nightclub near by, belted out thumping music until about 2am, when patrons left and decided to start fighting in the streets outside my window. Eventually, everything went quite. A few fitful hours later, I woke, packed by bag and left town.
It was a beautiful walk in the early morning beside a river. Thick vine and undergrowth took me out of my thoughts. Mosquitos buzzed all around me. The sky above was low, silver and oppressive. The air was humid. It felt like a storm was imminent. I walked in complete relaxation, totally present with no sound but the wind and the crunch of my footsteps.
I walked on for another 10km following country lanes that led up a hill and a small town. I found a cafe ordering a coffee and two chocolate croissants - one for now, and one for later. I paid for my meal, thanking the shopkeeper, and donned my backpack. The threatening weather of the morning had given way to a blazing sun. The air was still humid and sticky. Even after my break, sweat stained my shirt. I pushed on out of town and into dirt trails surrounded by eucalyptus. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of home, so far away.
After the wooded area, I hit a long hot 4km slog up a bitumen road with no shoulder. I was out of water, and sweating profusely. Eventually I found a small tap in the front of a yard, filling my water bladder about half way. I had 6km go. I just needed to power through the rest of the way. I arrived into Alvaiazere mid afternoon and checked into the albergue. On the wall was a photo of John Brierly, the author of the most popular camino guidebooks. This was his albergue of choice when walking through town.
I showered, changed and went down the road to the local cafe and ate a huge meal of two mango ice teas, a kebab roll and a coffee. Right on time, the Italians: Claudio, Agata, and the two others whom I still can’t remember their names — I blame the hot sun. We ate and laughed as Claudio shared stories of his attempts to chat up the polish pilgrim we met in Tomar.
I leaned back in my chair letting it all wash over me. We had been consistently putting in big days. After from the second day, we hadn’t done less than 30km over the past week. And the next week looked more of the same. This camino is so different from the Frances, especially before Porto. But here, with new friends, and the simplicity of a life that fits into a backpack, it felt exactly the same. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.