El Camino: Part 3

I arrive to the alberghieri just in front of an incoming drizzle that’s been threatening from the dove grey skies all day and just before closing. I arrange my bed for the night with the plump, happy Spanish woman at the front desk. It is a spacious and cozy bunk with a plush white pillow and sheets along with a curtain to draw for privacy.

Through broken, basic Spanish and my translator app I also find out they have a drying machine. This is crucial because I did laundry at my Airbnb the night before, and customary to Europe, there was no dryer, just a rack.

Despite leaving my clothes out for 18 hours, it’s been overcast and humid and they’re still very damp, moistening the other clothes in my bag. This hostel solves that.

Immediately, I head out into the onsetting dusk for a restaurant around the corner. It is sleek and modern, likely to be found in any major European city as much as this small Galician town.

I order a platter of eggs, potatoes and Jamon (thinly sliced, cured and aged Spanish ham – amazing) for an appetizer and a burger with another egg on top for good measure. Hearty food (and it feels good to type this sentence) to gird my strength for the upcoming journey. I wash it down with some tart, tannic red wine and a cold Galician Estrella. A fantastic and fitting way to end my first day on the El Camino.

So as not to confuse my dear, beautiful reader, I have been in Portugal for the last 13 days (though in no way does it feel like it – time flies). I just started the El Camino Portuguese today.

I spent the preceding two weeks meandering up the midst of Portugal’s coast from Lisbon. Three days in the lovely seaside town of Cascais, three days in the fishing and surfing hub of Peniche and 3 days in the immaculately Gothic city of Porto. I’ve loved every bit of my travels (except for a minor tiff which I will touch on in later posts) and so I’ve opted to stay longer in civilization proper before hitting the El Camino on foot.

This morning at 6am I struck out to Porto’s main train station where I took the regional train to the last town on the Portuguese border until Galicia and the start of my trip in the Spanish town of Tui.

The interregional train rocketed through verdant green countryside of northern Portugal where well-tended vineyards studded mist-laden valleys in the early morning sun. The riders were predominantly boomers lolling about some kind of tour. But there was also a hen party of ladies on their way to party somewhere, and locals commuting to university or work, etc.

Other than the sumptuous and peaceful views of the Portuguese countryside shooting by, the only thing of note on the train ride was the horrible bathrooms. On either end of the four car train, both malfunctioned.

The first one happen to geyser toilet water the wrong way onto my nether-regions as I tried to enact my morning constitutional. Not awesome, but thanks to my cat-like reflexes I hopped off with minimal damage done. Though I may have stank of Portuguese toilet water. Only the other passengers will really ever know.

The other bathroom, about an hour and half later as I tried to relieve myself, was essentially clogged by a lady of the boomer sort who left her morning piece sloshing at 100km/hr around with absolutely no regrets. I know because I unfortunately walked in right afterwards.

Gruesome details aside, the day was only beginning and I was soon off the train, leaving the boomers and commuters behind. I stepped out into a crisp, fresh morning into the small town of Valencia, Portugal. Not more than a mile away across a beautiful truss bridge was the Cathedral town of Tui and the place I needed to be.

Cab procured, I made my way across the ‘frontier’ into Spain. My cabby was a friendly older man, who despite not speaking English, answered my questions in a lively manner through my broken English. I tipped him a couple Euros and he wished me a ‘bon journe’ as I dove out of the cab in the city square. I slung my ruck onto my back. As soon as I did the right strap snapped off.

Unbecoming bathos right at the start.

However, that seemingly inauspicious start actually led me to some really friendly help from the Galician folks in town.

Thankfully, due to many pilgrims before me, there was a café/shop directly next to the cathedral. A super kind proprietor first tried to help me get my pack repaired, then had a slightly nicer pack for me to buy. I left my old pack there for him to maybe repair and pass on to another pilgrim if it happens to be necessary.

Between breakfast and searching for another ruck, it wasn’t until 1:30pm before I set out officially on the El Camino. As I walked through the town square – fully a foot taller and the only one wearing hiking gear and a giant ruck – several town’s people smiled at me and wished me a ‘Buen Camino’. It brought a simple, pure happiness emanating deep from my belly.

I found the quintessential yellow arrows and began my way out of town.

This leg of the Camino was to last between 11 and 8.5 miles depending on which map you consult. Let’s go with 11.5 😉. Either way, the sun was shining fitfully and I had to make good time in order to get to my next town and hostel for the night. I had to cover the same amount of ground I planned on originally in half as much time.

Making my way out of town, I was greeted with the site of squat, sturdy grey stone houses that looked like they’d been there for a thousand years. And they probably have. Though they’re all renovated, the area gives off this enchanting sense of the ancient, as nearly all the buildings – homes, churches, etc. – are built in heavy grey rectangular blocks of stone. They’re often wrapped in lush green vegetation. So the combination gives the whole area a sense of heaviness and permanence. I found it very refreshing.

I wound my way through numerous villages. I saw a couple other pilgrims on the way. I stopped to talk to one, a Irishman from the north (technically the UK) who was coming south from A Caruna. We exchanged some chit chat and heads-up on each portion of the trail we’d just been on.

I wanted to stop and chat for longer but I was intent on making my way, as it seemed he was as well so we parted ways after 5-10 minutes. An amiable ‘Buen Camino’ between us and back to the road.

The majority of the walk was through bucolic villages and beautiful stone lined paths from medieval times where the inhabitants would bring their goods like cattle and wine to market along the many streams. Crystal clear water gushed from nearly every direction down into the green babbling brooks, reflecting the tall pines lining their banks.

A broad and beaming smile often spread across my face as I took in the peaceful, undulate greenery surrounding me. The past year has been a whirlwind and this time in such resplendent beauty, on such a storied trail, is exactly what I have been deeply craving.

The many problems, opportunities, questions and visions of the future I’ve been contemplating over the past year are now free to tumble and churn in their own good time as I stretch and test my body in way that is both challenging and leisurely. I am simply, quite happy.

With that I will leave you hear.

I apologize for the drop off in writing cadence over the past few weeks. I gave myself the option to take a slower or faster route, and after a year of military life and being very close to enemy missile range, it felt very good to not think about or watch the news for two weeks. To not do anything other than what suited me when it suited me. And I simultaneously felt what may have been an undue pressure to write given my ‘free time’ now.

However, much of this trip is about finding what is truly ‘restful’ for me. Finding a ‘rest ethic’ concomitant to my ‘work ethic’, as the book Time Off describes it. So that’s what I did.

That all being said, I will write everyday going forward for the rest of my Camino. Along with a lot of walking, reading, eating and swimming if luck will have it. La Dolce Vita.

Writing you very sleepily from O Porrino, Spain. Thank you for reading and much love.