Camino Portuguese day 15 - Porto to Rates 40km

I woke early, excited to keep hiking. There is a draw or a calling, I feel when I hike. I want to put on miles, to feel the ground-pounding beneath my feet, to get lost in the simple rhythm of the walk. I showered, packed, and left the hotel by 6 am.

Drunken partygoers meandered through the streets as the morning sun bathed the city in the golden light of dawn. I crossed the square where I ended the day yesterday. Unlike yesterday, when it was crowded and busy, I had it all to myself. The late-night partiers preferring to stick to the alleys and benches in the park. A pedestrian crosswalk blinked at me, the green figure of a man walking, encouraged me forward, out of town and back to the Camino.

Here, the Camino split for a few days. I could travel along the coastal route as Claudio had done the day prior, or I could walk the traditional route that followed a more central path through the hills. I had read that the way out of Porto, along the traditional path, was heavily urban for the first dozen kilometers. I’m not a fan of road walking, and the coastal route was undoubtedly more scenic, but for some reason, I felt drawn to the central way.

I walked for hours amongst the suburbs, stopping occasionally for croissants and coffee in small local bars, enjoying the company of locals, listening to their conversations as best as I could with my non-existent Portuguese. I was a foreigner in this land, but everyone made me feel welcome, nodding their head, wishing me well on my journey, and accepting me into their community, at least for a few brief moments. I walked and I walked experiencing a typical day unfold around me.

Buildings and houses began to grow more scarce. A warm dry fog embraced fields of sunflowers. I followed rural stone walls and smelted the scent of logging industries and fresh dirt. Deeply rutted roads wound their way into towns before turning into roman paving before once again changing to logging paths disappearing into thick Eculatypus forests. Farm dogs barked in the distance. Chickens cackled. Crows cawed. I walked on.

I arrived in Rates late afternoon after walking 40km. I felt strong and could have walked further. At the albergue, I saw many new faces and more pilgrims than I had seen for the past 400km. There were Germans, French, and a couple from Isreal. I cooked a simple meal of noodles and tuna, sitting in the courtyard. Once again I was alone, even when surrounded by others. I can walk across an entire country, but I can’t walk away from myself. If hiking has taught me anything, it’s to make peace with that; make peace with who you are, and embrace it. If I wasn’t comfortable with myself, there was no way I could travel so long and so far. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Camino Portuguese Day 10 - Salendra to Agueda : 24km

The sun was just beginning to rise as I left the albergue. The air smelt sweet, with a mix of honeydew and lavender. The hills rose and fell underneath my feet, the ground still damp from showers. I followed the road as it headed upwards into fog draped hills. Eucalyptus grew thick, their trunks slick with moisture. This is the type of hiking I love. Give me moody morning over baking sun any time.

The moody morning matched my mood. I was relaxed and thoroughly enjoying the hike, but felt lost. Why was I here? Why was I walking? And what did I want to do with the rest of my life? I kept walking, pushing negative thoughts away as best I could.

I continued climbing through small clearings and lumber yards. The fog closed in, blanketing me with it’s damp embrace. Visibility had been reduced to less than 100m. Disheveled houses appeared out of nowhere, long abandoned by the occupants. Eventually, I made it to the top of the hills and began to descend. The fog cleared, sun casting an ethereal glow over a small lake. I crossed a stone bridge, birds chirping, singing their morning songs.

I arrived in Agueda around midday, finding a cafe in the town square. Above me, hundreds of umbrellas hung, bathing the square in a kaleidoscope of colors. I ordered a latte, croissant, and an orange juice, kicked off my shoes and stretched out. One thing that I have learned after many years of hiking is that you should never let a down morning keep you down. You have to keep looking forward. As simple as it sounds, sitting at that cafe, in the middle of Portugal, with all of my belongings at my feet, was everything I needed to remind me just how fortunate I am. What more do I need?

I finished my meal, put on my socks and shoes, ignoring the looks of the locals as I did. The Camino Portuguese is second only to the Camino Frances in terms of popularity, but the stretch between Lisbon and Porto is significantly less trafficked that the section from Porto to Santiago. Perhaps the locals in Agueda was still not used to scruffy pilgrims hiking through. I smiled, offering the occasional wave when someone made eye contact with me. Whenever I have a backpack and am on the trail, this is the true me. See me as I am.

The albergue was another 1.5km up the road. When I arrived I almost turned around. It looked like a hotel with guests sipping wine and beer in the dining room. I checked in, discovering that the albergue was in the rear, in a beautiful little detached house and shared tiered garden. I dropped my gear, showered, and stretched out under a tree.

The hours slipped away. The sun set, spilling hues of pink and gold across the garden. Somewhere in the afternoon I had drifted asleep. By the time I woke up, the Italians had arrived. I smelted fresh pasta cooking, and the sounds of laughter. I was still the mood to be alone, but there is something about the Italian language, with it lilting melodic tone, that raises your mood. I joined the others, helping to dish up the food.

We ate. We laughed, and reflected on the journey so far, and the days ahead. We were about three days from Porto. It was here a few of the gang would be leaving us, and undoubtedly many more would be joining. For now, however, our world was here. Its was a great world to be in.