camino

camino, travel

camino Portuguese day 8 - Rabacal to Coimbra : 30km

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.

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camino, travel

Camino Portuguese Day 4 - Santarém to Golega 30km

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.

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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.

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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.

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camino, travel

Camino Portuguese Day 1 - Lisbon to Villafranca 40km

I had planned to spend another day resting in Lisbon before I started walking, but by 5:00am, with jet lag keeping me awake, and the draw of the trail, I knew I would be out the door at the first rays of sunlight. I packed my bag, filled my water bladder and studied the day’s route. The way seemed flat, mostly through the outskirts of Lisbon before heading inland. I planned for about a 30km day. At 6:45am, I dropped the keys at the front desk of my hotel, and closed the door behind me.

Foggy clung to the water, tendrils snaking into the narrow city streets. A light glow emanated from the horizon, casting shadows as locals began their day. Delivery trucks carrying breads and milk stopped on each corner, catching with owners. The occasional runner pounded up steep inclines, offering me a buen camino between heavy breaths. I was back where I belonged - on the trail.

I climbed a narrow street to the Cathedral de Se, the official start of the camino. I briefly stopped by yesterday to collect my credential, obtain my first stamp, and scope out the route. In general, the camino’s are well marked with yellow arrows, but I have learned that navigating out of cities in the dark is hard. It’s always best to find the next arrow in the day light, then return the following day.

I walked up to arrow, leaned down and touched it, marking the beginning of my journey. Beside me, a taxi pulled up and a man wearing a blue flannel shirt and carrying a backpack, exited. He introduced himself as Jesus, from Barcelona. He too was walking the camino. I picked up my backpack and we headed off today. We chatted briefly before parting ways. He was making a solid pace and pushed on. I wouldn’t see Jesus again until 19 days later when I passed him walking into Santiago.

I continued walking, the sun rising on the horizon. The way took me towards the waterfront where I walked watching the day come alive. The path stretched out across the water along a wooden boardwalk. After 6km of hard, urban walking, the wood felt soft beneath my feet. The fog had burned off and a light breeze caressed my face. I was free and happy, the constant noice of my mind, still.

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I turned inland, bidding farewell to the sea, and followed a river inland. I passed under highways, passed bus depots, and derelict house. I saw remnants of squatter camps, rubbish, and overgrown bush. The city faded away for the next 5km, but was never far out of reach. I arrived in Alverca, about 20km from Lisbon. My guidebook indicated that there was a small albergue here and a good option to start slow before building up the miles. It was too early to stop. I continued on aiming for Alhandra, another ~6km ahead. Just passed town I met up with an Italian pilgrim, Claudio. Claudio and I hiked, and chatted for the next hour before I pushed on, eventually arriving in Alhandra at around 14:30.

I found a bar and ordered a coffee, my first for the day since leaving Lisbon. In broken Spanish, with a smattering of Portuguese I asked her where the albergue was. Angrily, she said there were no places to stay in the entire town, and walked off. Had I said something to offend her, or was she just tired of pilgrims asking the same question? I typically walk in the Autumn months, at the start of the camino season. This time, however, it was August. Pilgrims had already been walking for months already. I paid my bill, wished her a good day and hunted for accommodation.

I found nowhere to stay in Alhandra. I had no choice but to push on. I walked another 10km, mostly along pavement, following the waterfront again. Cyclists whizzed passed, families strolled into the afternoon sun, and I plodded on. I felt tired, but strong. My feet throbbed with the hard ground, getting tender after so much road walking. I had read that the first few days out of Lisbon were pretty rough. By the time I reached Villafranca, I had put in 40kms on my first day! I found an albergue near the train station, paid $12, dropped my gear in a small room with two bunk beds and took a shower.

After the shower, I returned to the room to find Claudio, the Italian I had walked with earlier, occupying the bunk beside me. I guess he hadn’t found any accommodation earlier either. I lay on my bed, relaxing, flipping through my guidebook. Tomorrow I could go either 18km or 30km depending on how I feel. Jet lag began to kick in. I called it a night by 20:00 hoping to get a good night sleep, ready for another day on the trail.

travel

Camino Portuguese Day 0 - Lisbon 0km

The world around me has changed so dramatically in the past few months. COVID-19 has changed everything. Instead of exploring and hiking, I sit watching the news, wishing the world well. During this time of reflection I’ve been drawn back to the camino. My heart goes out to Spain, in particular. It astounds me how much a simple trail and a country has helped me. I have plans to return to hike the Camino Norte as soon as I can - partly for me, and partly to show solidarity and support for the Spanish people. For now, however, my mind drifts to my last camino along the Portuguese way.

I arrived in Lisbon after a long flight from San Francisco. It was hot and sunny as I walked out the airport doors and caught the Aerobus for $4 to downtown. Behind me, on the bus, two elderly British couples chatted about shrubbery, when they were last in Lisbon, their house, and medicine they needed from the pharmacy. I looked down at my pack and nodded. I’m attached to this pack. We’ve been through so much. This is my home, my life, my normality. Conversations like the British couple are engaged in, are not for me. Another’s normal is not mine. I accept that now. It look me a long time to come to this realization. One I did, the struggle in my mind subsided. I leaned back in the chair, at peace.

The bus wound it’s way off the freeway, entering the cities center. Beautiful promenades, crowded with people, were lined towering eucalyptus, casting welcome shadows. I exited the bus, walking the streets and city square to stretch my legs after an international flight. I walked to the waterfront in a square of undulating tiles of white and black. It reminded me of the ocean, foaming waves cresting against the shore. A stone fountain, carved by a master craftsman looked like a flower in bloom.

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Terra-cotta roofed building framed the square, cafes were packed with patrons laughing, enjoying the afternoon light. I took it all in. The last time I was in Lisbon, I had just finished the Camino Frances after beginning a journey across the Eurasian continent from Beijing, via land. I had been gone for months, I treated Lisbon as nothing more than a jumping off point; the final leg before I got home. This time, it was a beginning and I drunk it all in.

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