I left early in the morning, departing with Claudio, Agata, the rest of the Italian crew, and a polish woman who had joined our trail family in Tomar. The morning was fresh, the soft sun warming my skin. A light condensation clung to the eucalyptus as I passed, reflecting the light like a thousand diamonds lining the dirt trail.
We climbed out of Rabacal into rural land. Fog clung to the heights. I could see my breath in the air - the first time on this entire Camino. The crisp morning was a beautiful reprieve from the scorching days we had encountered since leaving Lisbon a week ago. I felt strong, powering up the hills, plunging into the fog.
Three hours passed quickly. We walked through a handful of small villages with no sign of life. All the cafes were closed. My mind was consumed with the thought of breakfast. I wasn’t the only one. We searched for anything, even a vending machine would do.
After giving up on finding a cafe, we flopped down on the ground at the intersection of a rural road. We sat on the one stone walls, dividing farmhouses on either side. I had some rice crackers and sardines, others had cheese and oranges. Sharing between us, we began to eat our simple meal.
As soon as we started, like magic, an elderly woman appeared pushing a cart full of fresh bread she was selling to the locals. We flocked to her like a pack of rabid seagulls buying warm handfuls of warm loaves. So often on the Camino, I have experienced this sort of trail magic. They say the Camino provides. I often wonder if, when hiking, you are stripped down to the bare essentials, you become so much more appreciative of the smaller things. At home, if I wanted fresh bread, I would jump in my car and hit the local bakery. I don’t think of it as a privilege. Here, I am acutely aware of the value of things. It makes you appreciate everything so much more.
Bellies full, we hoisted our packs and continued towards Coimbra, some 18km away. As usual, the sun returned with a vengeance, beating down on us. Eventually, we arrived at the municipal Albergue. It was located outside of the city center and across a bridge. I had read some fo the history of Coimbra - it was home to the world’s second oldest university, and the inspiration for much of JK Rowling’s depictions of Hogwarts. Here, when students graduate from college, they still wear traditional long black robes and wide-brimmed hats. I wanted to experience more of the city. We checked our phones and found a hostel right in the middle of town. Twenty minutes later we were checked in, showered, and ready to explore.
Coimbra enthralled me. Built on the side of a hill, you constantly climbed and descended narrow, twisted laneways. Stores jammed full of clothes, trinkets, and assortments of food: fruits, vegetables, eggs lined the streets. Above the stores, balconies of private residences were decorated with flowers. Despite tired legs from another 30km day, I wandered the streets for hours.
At night, we ate at a local restaurant sharing a meal of Portuguese tapas. We began with salad, followed by sauteed mushrooms, potatoes, and fried sardines. Despite the delicious meal and great company, my insecurities returned. I felt self-conscious and out of place. I struggle in crowds, finding it difficult to make connections. Even here, in my element on the trail, I often don’t feel like I belong. All I want to do is keep walking. Perhaps one day I will walk far enough to escape my demons.
