The prospect of mariscos

Even for me, this one goes on a bit. Alternate
paragraphs would probably give you the general idea.

Thankfully (in reply to Jenny) the neighbouring church was silent.

If, however you stand on the bridge south of Tui you can hear the church bells from two countries with different opinions as to the correct time. I counted nine synchronous bells then a solitary (but I imagined more authoritative) one from the Spanish side - insisting that it was actually ten o’clock

So, Saturday evening:

I’d just settled myself down in an Italian in the centre of Porriño for a bit of pre-emptive carb-loading (not that I need it. In the regrettable event that I ever found myself adrift on a life raft it’s odds-on that I’d lose the ‘who are we going to eat first’ vote; and they’d probably still have takeaway containers when rescue arrived) when in walked Señor El Patron from last night. He was last seen in a pair of furry Rupert-the-bear check trousers and nothing else, but was now accompanied by Señora el patron, who is a good deal more stylish. He’s certainly punching above his weight in the relationship stakes, as am I. Nice guy.

And so to bed. I’m warming to the Parque, but the heating’s not reciprocating. I think I’m the only resident but he’s put me in a room on the 4th floor, roughly a light-year from the boiler.

Some time later …

Yea gods, I’m not soft; but that was a cold night. I had a bath available to me and, whilst the prospect of getting in was appealing, the thought of getting out terrified me.

I’m up for a slightly longer day today, with the possibility of a short day thereafter; so today’s objective is Arcade where; having called ahead, I understand the Hotel Duarte to be open and there is the prospect of seafood.

I’m a big fan of fresh fish and mariscos; but I draw the line firmly at pulpo. In my mind there’s something different about an octopus. I met one in Corsica once who was able to climb out of his tank, scoot across the floor, eat his fill in other tanks and return ‘home’; they had to put a board with bricks on over his tank to save the other residents.

It’s like rabbits and hares; I’ll shoot and eat rabbit without a second thought - but never, ever, a hare. Something about them is very different. It’s strange - they’re all God’s creatures if you like, but some seem to have more character or spirit than others. Is it anthropomorphism? How can I still be able to spell that? Assuming I have, of course.

I need to be true to my few remaining principles and seriously consider going veggie I suppose.

Shortly out of Porriño I’m through Chan de Pipas. Apparently in the early C19 a local chap, called Chan, (unsurprisingly) did his bit in resisting the invading French by dropping barrels (pipas) of wine on them from the top of the tower. History doesn’t record Sr.Chan’s sobriety when making that decision, nor how long he lasted when he ran out of barrels and the rest of the Grande Armee showed up. Nor how he, supposedly, got the pipas up the stairs in the first place. Some stories are best left alone. Especially mine.

I’d better get a move on.

First stop for a coffee is Café Flora in Mos; the few preceding facilities being more closed than it being Sunday morning would explain. Then Churrasqueria Choles where the locals agree it’s already beer o’clock. I have a quick scoop, so as to not give offence. I pass on the proffered tripe and bean stew though. When it comes to traditional food, I prefer the stuff the bloke on the horse ate not the chap who shovelled up the horse dung.

Thereafter a nasty little steep downhill in the course of which I manage to defy my usual alcoholic constipation and pass a bar. (That might take a bit of untangling). What a shame to lose the hard-won height so quickly.

Redondela turned up quickly enough. Whoever laid out the Camino through town needs to take a long hard look in the mirror. A tour of the steepest and most slippy pavements in town was not what I needed.

I think this is already the furthest I’ll have walked since the great knee-failure of ‘22. No drama as yet, but it’s c 7k further to Arcade, and there’s a bit of a hill in the way. 16k so far in 4 hours with a couple of stops. Not my historic pace by some way, but I’ve no longer got my historic knees.

The last stretch into Arcade was a bit of a slog to be honest; then the last K along the main road is really rather dangerous. It’s a very fast road.

The sight of the sea ( photo) and the prospect of seafood has lifted my spirits somewhat. I came this far because Arcade is renowned for mariscos and I’ve a deliberate short day tomorrow just in case something went wrong today. Happily, it hasn’t.

Hotel Duarte tonight. Lunch service will be in full swing at 1430.

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