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.

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.

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.

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.