A light breeze caressed my check, early morning rays of sun warming my face. I rolled over hoping to fall back asleep. After two weeks of waking, loading my gear, and heading out to beat the heat, my brain switched to autopilot. Today, however, I didn’t need to be anywhere. I had a zero day, a day where I would hike zero kilometers. I had all day to explore Porto. My plan was to walk as little as I could. Ah, who was I kidding, I can’t sit still more than an hour at a time.
I rolled out of bed, and enjoyed a long shower with fresh, fluffy towels. Oh fluffy towels, how I had missed you. A microfiber towel that size of napkin might be good to save weight, but it doesn’t compare to a full size towel that smells of fresh linen. Oh fluffy towel, how I love you. Reluctantly, I put the towel down, dressed, and headed outside.
The streets were crowded, locals heading to work, tourists snapping pics, and the occasional pilgrim starting their hike wandered with a expression of lost confusion and bliss on their faces. I knew that feeling, the trail already calling me to walk again. I felt guilty for not walking today. I stopped for a coffee, sipping the dark hot liquid, washing away the guilt.
There is something about European coffee shops that I love. It’s the smell of the roasted beans, the crunch of the fresh pastries with their thousands of varieties of sweet and savory toppings, the conversations in foreign languages washing over me. Coffee shops are universal.
I had read about a bookstore in Porto. It was reportedly the most beautiful in the world, and was a heavy influence on JK Rowling’s view of Hotwarts. I checked my phone. It was 5 minutes away. I finished my coffee, and headed over. The online review had warned of lines, sometimes an hour long just to enter the store. When I arrived there were no more than five people in front of me. I paid my $5 entry fee, waited fifteen minutes, and entered.
The reviews didn’t do it justice. The bookstore, Livraria Lello was stunningly beautiful. Rich dark wood bookshelfs, crammed with thousands of books stretched two stories overhead. My eyes followed the shelves up and up. The ceiling above, a majestic stained glass latice work of color, sparkled. I stared in awe as I saw the central staircase leading to the mezzanine level. A single sensous curve, with deep red stairs, wound its way upwards, like the trunk of an ancient tree. I felt like I had been teleported back in time. I snapped photo after photo, trying to capture it all. It was futile and I eventually gave up, choosing to walk the store in silence as I marvelled at the beauty mankind is capable of.
I spent the afternoon relaxing in the park, drifting in and out of sleep as the dappled sun crept through the trees canopy. I found an outside bar and enjoyed a beer mixing with the locals, snacking on tapas. As the sun set, I walked the streets again watching the hues of pink tint the tiled buildings and illuminating fountains. I felt the weariness of the past few weeks ebb out of my legs. Tomorrow I would walk again. Tomorrow I would contine to Santiago. Nothing could stop me.