Camino Portuguese Day 9 - Coimbra to Sernadelo : 25km

After a great night enjoying the ancient town of Coimbra, I left early, and alone. My anxiety of not fitting in, and not being able to connect with people weighed on my mind, as heavy as my legs, and the grey sky above. The sun had barely risen. It was humid already, sweat dripping off me. I walked out of town with two Spanish women. Together, we navigated the labyrinthian streets, casting our headlamps around searching for the yellow arrows, leading us north.

The day consisted mainly of road walking. I held my head down, lost in my thoughts. The night before Agata, asked me how I feel when I travel. I immediately responded that I feel more like me. Traveling, with a few possessions on my back is where I feel the most at home. I asked her how she felt. “Inivisible”, she said. I think that is a great way to think of it. People ignore you when you have a backpack. I like to go unnoticed.

I walked for 16kms mulling over everything. Finally, I found a small cafe and ordered a coffee. I ate it in silence with the remainder of the breadrolls I bought the day before from the woman in the small town. I also picked up some juicy tomatoes in Coimbra. Here, now, is everything I need.

I finished my meal and walked on through a deep eucalyptus forest. Everything was silent, save for the rustling of the wind and leaves until I started hearing the occasional pop-pop sound of rifles. I kept walking until I saw a number of pickups, parked on the side of the trail. Men, dressed in camouflage lounged against the vehicles, shotguns propped against them. The hunters eyed me up and down, before nodding as I passed. I guess I was scrawny enough to not be worth the effort.

Eventually, I made it to the small hamlet of Mela. I was exhausted and drenched in sweat. I sat, eat a fruit tart and drank a coke. After 25 minutes, I started walking the raining 5km. I needed to walk alone today, but couldn’t help thinking of the hiker saying “never quit the trail on your worst day”. I had really focus on that to keep me motivated. Sometimes you just have a bad day.

Right before Sernadelo, Claudia caught up with me. We walked the remainder of the section together, his company raising my mood. We check into a simple albergue with a small cafe beside it. I showered, changed, and washed my gear, before settling into a chair at the cafe to edit a few photos. We are about 3 days from Porto, where I plan to take a rest day.

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.

Camino Portuguese Day 7 - Alvarieze to Rabacal 32km

I woke up early, around 5:15am and was out the door of the albergue by 5:40. The sun had get to rise and walked through rolling eucalyptus covered hills. Heavy fog lay low filling the air with a damp, fresh scent of toiled soil. I hiked at ease, alone and at peace with my body and surroundings. This is why I love to hike. Everything slows down. Your thoughts drift, and your heart finds a rhythm with your steps. I always hear of the struggle to live in the moment. Some seek that moment through yoga. I find it comes easily on the trail.

Before I knew it, I had walked 15km in about three hours, stopping in a small town for my first break of the day. I found a local cafe, ordered coffee and an almond croissant so fresh that it melted in my mouth. I sipped my coffee slowly, every ounce of stress leaving my shoulders. I sat in silence, smiling to myself.

Eventually, I picked up my pack, threw it on my back, tightened the straps and headed out of town, climbing a hill, passing a large school before, once again, being enveloped by trees and a dirt track bordered by ancient stone walls, flecked with moss.

An hour later, I walked through a small pueblo where a pack of snarling dogs approached me, fangs bared. You get used to dogs along the camino. Most venture no further than their master’s property line, cautiously warning you to keep walking, but never really threatening. This time, however, it was different. This was the first time, I actually thought they would attack. I kept eye contact walking past them slowly trying to show no fear.

I continued out of time for another hour until I found a bit of shade and patch of grass. I was hungry and decided to take a break to eat some lunch. I pulled out some rice crackers and a tin of spicy sardines, heaping them atop. As I ate, another pilgrim, a middle aged Irish woman will a wonder lilting accent stopped briefly. She had quit her job and decided to walk the camino to think about the next phase in her life, and find some purpose. Like most people I have met so far on the Camino Portuguese, this was not her first camino, having completed the Frances a few years back. We discussed the difference between the two, agreeing that the Frances still has something special about it. I told her of the Le Puy route, by far the most beautiful of the camino routes I have completed so far. Speaking about the Le Puy, I knew I would have to walk it again.

I finished my meal, said farewell to the Irish pilgrim and continued on. I walked the remaining 9km arriving in town feeling fresh, like I could keep walking for hours still. I consider going on, but stopped the Albergue. I was called Albergue Bonito. And, you know what, it truly was bonito. There was a pool, small cafe, and great beds. As I checked in, the rest of the Italians arrived. There is not much else to say, but bonito.

CAMINO PORTUGUESE DAY 6 - TOMAR TO ALVAIAZERE 31KM

Despite the great hostel, I slept poorly. All night, a nightclub near by, belted out thumping music until about 2am, when patrons left and decided to start fighting in the streets outside my window. Eventually, everything went quite. A few fitful hours later, I woke, packed by bag and left town.

It was a beautiful walk in the early morning beside a river. Thick vine and undergrowth took me out of my thoughts. Mosquitos buzzed all around me. The sky above was low, silver and oppressive. The air was humid. It felt like a storm was imminent. I walked in complete relaxation, totally present with no sound but the wind and the crunch of my footsteps.

I walked on for another 10km following country lanes that led up a hill and a small town. I found a cafe ordering a coffee and two chocolate croissants - one for now, and one for later. I paid for my meal, thanking the shopkeeper, and donned my backpack. The threatening weather of the morning had given way to a blazing sun. The air was still humid and sticky. Even after my break, sweat stained my shirt. I pushed on out of town and into dirt trails surrounded by eucalyptus. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of home, so far away.

After the wooded area, I hit a long hot 4km slog up a bitumen road with no shoulder. I was out of water, and sweating profusely. Eventually I found a small tap in the front of a yard, filling my water bladder about half way. I had 6km go. I just needed to power through the rest of the way. I arrived into Alvaiazere mid afternoon and checked into the albergue. On the wall was a photo of John Brierly, the author of the most popular camino guidebooks. This was his albergue of choice when walking through town.

I showered, changed and went down the road to the local cafe and ate a huge meal of two mango ice teas, a kebab roll and a coffee. Right on time, the Italians: Claudio, Agata, and the two others whom I still can’t remember their names — I blame the hot sun. We ate and laughed as Claudio shared stories of his attempts to chat up the polish pilgrim we met in Tomar.

I leaned back in my chair letting it all wash over me. We had been consistently putting in big days. After from the second day, we hadn’t done less than 30km over the past week. And the next week looked more of the same. This camino is so different from the Frances, especially before Porto. But here, with new friends, and the simplicity of a life that fits into a backpack, it felt exactly the same. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Camino Portuguese Day 5 - Golega to Tomar 30km

I left Golega feeling lethargic. My legs were heavy, each step like stone. The sun was yet to rise, and somehow I got lost in the streets of Golega. It’s a pretty small town, with long straight streets. How did I manage that? I chalk it up to Camino brain and too much sun. Oh well, I plodded on.

I followed the two Spanish women I had been leapfrogging for the past few days. We stopped at about 8am in a small town for a simple breakfast of coffee and croissants. I was in my head today, just watching the bottom of my coffee cup. It’s one thing you have to be prepared for in any long hike - the moments of introspection and the mental game. Your brain gives out long before your body does.

I returned by coffee cup to the counter, thanked the proprietor and headed out, quickly leaving the town and into a trail surrounded by eucalyptus trees. The scent brought me home, to Australia. I let my mind wander walking on autopilot until I reached Grou. Grou, like so many of these ancient towns was perched atop a hill. The climb was steep, but short. I found solace in another cafe. Finally, this did the trick. Some of my mojo was coming back. I checked my map. I only had about 10km to go. I can do it.

The final leg went by fast, perhaps 2 hours since I left Grou. Before I knew it, I was passing the train station in Tomar. I’d pounded the road for the majority of the day. That seemed the norm on this camino. It’s definitely more road walking than the Frances, and significantly more than the Via Podiensis. I check into the Hostel Tomar, paying $8 for the night. The hostel was fantastic, one of the best I have ever stayed in. It was clean, modern and all the walls were covered with writings, and drawings left by other travelers. I ran my fingers over endless stories, getting a glimpse into everyone’s experiences.

I had a quick shower before heading out to explore. Tomar was one of the towns I was most looking forward to visiting. It was here, perched high above the town was a majestic caste, the seat of the Knights Templar for hundreds of years. I found a hamburger restaurant near the town square, devouring my meal. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. All I had eaten for the day was a croissant in the morning and some tomatoes and crackers on the trail. I paid my bill, and headed towards the castle.

The walk to the castle was steep, winding its way around the hill. Tourists puffed and wheezed, sweating until the hot sun. I, now with a full belly, and about 150km of walking under my feet, felt strong, especially without the weight of my pack. I powered up the hill, paid my entrance fee and explored for hours.

The castle was designed as a cloister, but in traditional Templar fashion felt more like a military base with towering walls and buttresses. At the center of the complex lay the stunning octagonal chapel. The ceiling towered above, with the entire thing covered in intricate gold carvings and spectacular paintings. The photos simply did not do it justice.

At about 16:30, I left the castle and returned to the Hostel. I chatted with Claudio and Agata. I had barely spoken to Agata until now. She came from Bologna, Italy. Bologna was one of the cities I had wanted to visit for many years. I peppered her with questions about the town, her life, and experience so far. Pretty reserved and obviously figuring out some of her personal demons, she, like so many Italians I had met, always had time for community, dinner, and conversation. When the topic of dinner came up, Agata, Claudia and two other Italians, whom I still couldn’t remember their names, immediately set out looking for food. Me, I’d had enough of people for the day, and needed some time just to relax.

I checked my guidebook. Tomorrow’s hike is another 30km day, with a few morning stops before what looks like a long 20km stretch with little to no facilities. That’s definitely one thing that I have found unique about the Camino Frances, vs. another other long distance hike I have down. You can start much slower on the Frances, clocking in 20km days, or shorter if you want, until you get your legs under you. So far, on the Camino Portuguese, every day, except one was a 30km+ with a lot of road walking. I headed downstairs buying some maize cakes , canned sardines, and tomatoes. All is good in the world. I’m simply living.

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.

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.

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.

Camino Portuguese Day 3 - Azaumbura to Santarém 32km

I left early, at 6am. The small albergue was hot, but I slept well, snagging a bed near the window. The night was filled with laughter and conversation. I didn’t know it then, but I would walk with many of the people in the albergue for the majority of the camino. Hiking from Lisbon is far less popular than starting from Portugal. There are less services, and less pilgrims. The days are longer, but each night there is still one or two albergues in the towns.

Last night, things felt more like the Frances with wine, conversation, and company in excess. During my passed few Caminos, I had become fascinated how different languages sounded so different. Some are musical, others guttural, and others still, lilting. I even once met a man when I was hiking in Ethiopia who could speak Khoisan. Khoisan sounds like insects clicking. It was fascinating. The best example of different languages is the word butterfly. In Spanish, it is mariposa. Italian, it is farfalla, French is papillon. These words sound like a Butterly - light, airy, and pretty. Then, there is German. In German, butterfly is schmetterling. It sounds like a machine gun!

I laughed remembering the conversations of the night. I headed out of town, meandering through the streets before hitting a dirt trail towards a small, local airport. The sun rose as I walked between towering eucalyptus. I closed my eyes and smelled the mix of soil and trees. I could be back in Australia. It felt natural, just like home. The sky was painted in slashes of pink. The weather already warming fast.

About two hours out of town, I walked through an immense network for tomato fields. Ripe red dots stretched as far as I could see. I bent down and picked a few, gently depositing them in my pack beside some tuna, avocado, and fresh bread rolls I had purchased the day before. My guidebook had indicated there was no services along the route today. In preparation, I had stocked up on supplies.

Claudio caught up with me shortly afterwards. We hiked for the next few hours along small country roads, and fields of corn, tomato, and potatoes. Shortly after midday, we stopped in the shade to eat lunch. We feasted on the fresh bread and vegetables, freeing our feet from the confines of our shoes, and lounged in the dirt, our backpacks forming pillows. We lingered and relaxed for about an hour. We were in no rush.

Eventually, it was time to go. We estimated that we had about 8-9km to go. The hottest part of the day was upon us. The weather was in the mid-thirties. It was baking. We packed our gear and left the shade. We soon discovered that bit of shade was the last spot until Santerem. The camino gods were definitely looking out for us.

We pushed on in the baking heat. The ground, which was fresh and moist in the morning was a spiderweb of cracked clay. Fine dust rose with each step. Eventually, we made it to the road which led to town. I was running low on water and feared dehydration. The remaining 45 mins was brutal. The road climbed steeply into town. Like so many medieval towns, Santarem was built atop the largest hill around. The height offered protection from invaders, but was always hard work for pilgrims at the end of a day.

Finally, the road led us to town. I had read a lot about Santarem, being fascinated by the ancient towns of Europe. I had excepted a roman style city surrounded by stone walls. It was nothing like this. The roads were wide and spacious, with just a few narrow laneways. We checked into the Hostel Santarem. It was clean with half a dozen large rooms. I showered, washed my closed and relaxed before dinner - an entire pizza. This is the life.

Camino Portuguese Day 2 - Villafranca to Azambura 18.5km

I woke early, just past 6am. I didn’t sleep too well. The albergue was opposite a train station. the windows rattled throughout the night as trains rolled in and out of the station in an endless procession. I packed my gear chatting briefly with Claudio before heading out at 6:45. I crossed the tracks and headed towards a field. The air was cool with a deep orange sun hugging the horizon. It appeared bigger than normal, closer somehow. The way was going to be hot.

I was dragging this morning after such a long first day on pavement. The sun rose as I walked through the fields, corn towering on either side. Aside from the field I was currently in, the way was still quite industrial, but the air felt cleaning. I was catching glimpses of rural Portugal. I arrived in the quaint town of Villa Nova da Rainha. It was still early but I found a small cafe with a friendly owner who was happy to serve a weary pilgrim breakfast. After two coffees and a pasty I began to feel myself again.

I checked my guidebook deciding on a short day which would set me up well for Santerem, the first historical city I was looking forward to visiting on the hike. One good thing about long days is that it beats your mind into submission. You are too exhausted to overthink things. All you care about is town, food, a bed, and doing it again the next day.

I left Villa Nova de Rainha expecting a 6km slog down the n10 highway, but after half a kilometer, the path cut to the right into wetlands running parallel to the same train tracks I had slept beside the night before. I followed the path away from civilization. Birds chirped, gathering in the murky waters. Reeds blew in the wind, rustling their well wishings as I passed by. The sky grew overcast, cloud blocking the bright sun. To the left, across the tracks I saw the industrial lungs of Portugal wheezing and belching from smokestacks. To my right, agricultural lands spread far into the distance, the smell of rich soil hanging heavy in the air. The thin strip of dirt I walked on balanced between the two.

I arrived in Azambura around 13:00. I briefly considered pushing on, but decided against it. I was in no rush, and still had a long way to go to Santiago. It would be good to give my legs a rest. I found a local supermarket, grabbed some supplies: cheese, bread, and salami, and found a quiet spot in the local park to eat. I pulled out my harmonica and played the blues. Life was simple.

At 15:00 I checked into the small albergue with 12 other pilgrims. Most were Italian, including Claudio, with an American, and two Australians. I returned to the park until the sun set. It felt great to rest, but by the end of the day I was ready to continue. I could tell that every step takes me further from civilization, and closer to where I belong.