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  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    1
    Day 5

    Povoa de Varzim to Apulia: Samesies

    May 4, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 18 °C

    It’s nearly 9000 kilometers from Apulia, Portugal to Monterey, California, but the mustard plants are blooming here too. This coast and my coast are distractingly familiar. Along Apulia’s Atlantic, white sand dunes shush-shush against ice plant mounds that I bet are invasive here too. Blush-and-white-striped dune morning glory and sage give way to marsh grasses as Brigit and I amble inland. Swaths of mustard line the rivers and streams. (So many rivers and streams here!)

    Somewhere along the way today I got so focused on the flora that I started taking lots of plant pictures. Photos of wild asparagus and strawberry and a saucy red poppy sticking it’s tongue out at our orange state flower. Brigit and I walked through groves of Eucalyptus and birch. I even spotted a scrubby little oak, which, ok, is a bit of a unicorn over here. Brigit was perplexed by my obsession. But she was patient: a sure sign of a good walking buddy.

    Even the towns here feel similar. Back in Povoa de Varzim, the street leading out of town was lined with kitschy tourist shops and cafes a la Monterey, with a splash of Carmel. At about the halfway point, the path was bordered on the left by a golf course and the right by small farms. It was Watsonville. Here in Apulia, it’s Moss Landing laid-back with a side of fishing boats.

    Of course, California beachfront towns don’t have quite so many centuries old windmills and churches. Ok. No windmills. And of course the similarities are the result of the Mediterranean climate, and Pangea, and blah blah blah. Still, it was comforting and a bit magical to hear the same blackbird songs and catch a whiff of Eucalyptus as we approached a grove just outside of Apulia. It was a whiff of home for me, 5592.341 miles from Cali.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    1
    Day 4

    Labruge - Povoa de Varzim

    May 3, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ 🌧 17 °C

    Bregit! My feet!

    I walked 10.7 miles today. It was supposed to be 8, but a chosen detour and some lost wandering here in Povoa de Varzim racked up a few extra. My feet aren’t killing me, but they are considering it.

    If a doctor asked me to rate my foot pain from one to 10, I’d say 3, with a serious threat threat for an increase. My heels feel like overworked pistons in need of an oil change. My toes are sun-blind prisoners just released from my trail runners. This seems only natural considering the work they put in today. Hopefully tomorrow and the next day…and so on…won’t compound the issue.

    I travelled all day today with Bregit, from Germany. She majored in English, so was able to accommodate our conversations nicely. (I am forever thankful and also guilt ridden that so many others taken the time to learn my language.) We talked about the many people back home who were confused and worried by our decision to walk alone, and about our families, and our Camino experiences thus far. We agreed the Portuguese people are a cheerful bunch who eat a loooot of potatoes. We also agreed they drive on some of the skinniest streets we’ve ever seen. She taught me how to say ‘snail’ in German.

    Bregit is no slacker, so we clocked about about a 22 minute mile, even with an occasional lollygag. The scenery along our route was very much like coastal California. We trod a raised boardwalk across a lot of sandy beaches and dunes. At one point the wind blown sand had swept over the boardwalk trail so completely that the upright posts were covered. Sand walking sucks.

    Arriving here in Povoa de Varzim, we opted to detour back to the sea rather than take the standard path through town. That’s how we found a great little cafe for our supper, or whatever the Portuguese call the huge meal they consume midday. Of course there were French fries. Bregit got a salad. I was jealous.

    We are hitting the road together tomorrow for an anticipated 8 miles. Feet don’t fail me now.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    Day 3

    Elisabete in Labruge

    May 2, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ☁️ 24 °C

    I confess. I was smitten with Elisabete, the owner and host of at my pension, the moment I laid eyes on her. Kindness and good cheer are a sort of pheromone for some people. She is one of them. I had been with her less than 15 minutes before I was compelled to hug her, and her hug in return confirmed all.

    A former corporate sales executive, she left her job to turn her former, first, home into Smiling Places Guest House, essentially a B &B for pilgrims. She and her husband opened the doors in January of 2020, just in time for Covid.

    Bad luck.

    But Elisabete says not so. She, her husband and daughter moved back into the Labruge house to weather the pandemic together. Mornings were spent updating the home. Afternoons at the beach with their daughter. When they did open in April of 2020, the reservations poured in.

    Now, she spends her days pouring coffee and wine and collecting stories, and “love.” Any cynicism at the use of that word would evaporate if you were in her company. She clearly adores her job and says owning this place has made her a better human. Camino pilgrims share with her unique tales that are a combination of past tragedy and future dreams. She respects the privilege of her witness to their tales. She relishes it.

    I spent my afternoon on the back patio under an umbrella with Elisabete. We shared our stories and others’ stories. We laughed a lot. Hugged a little more. We even cried. She brought me wine and walnuts. She offered some sage advice that was a little difficult to hear. Then she whisked me off for a quick look at the local church and the stubbiest statue of a saint I’ve ever seen. When I left, she walked me to her gate, and we clung to each other like old friends reluctant to part.

    So much laughter. I am happy to have had the courage to break the barrier of formality, and to beg a hug from a stranger.

    This is what I had hoped for when I planned my Camino - connection with the people who live here. The rule-follower in me was worried the the first stamp in my Camino ‘credentialed’ is not a church, which is the norm. Instead, the first recorded stop on my walk will be a stamp that reminds me of an intimate, silly, sometime moving and inspirational afternoon with a total stranger.

    Hallelujah.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    Day 3

    Marosinhos to Labruge: Lollygagging

    May 2, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C

    Everybody passed me today. Four Camino cyclists, a dozen folks wearing backpacks (“Bom Caminho!”), a bunch of locals out for a beach day, and a woman carrying two bags of groceries, A nut brown, big-bellied, shirtless guy in bright blue shorts passed me…twice.

    I am an unapologetic lollygagger. I stopped to read all the informational signs posted. There were probably a couple dozen along the 7.5 miles of boardwalk that made up the first leg of my Camino. (FYI: The Germans sank a boat off the coast here after the war, just to assure the Allie’s didn’t confiscate it. The flowers of the dunes here enjoy protected” status. The still-active fishing settlement on the beach is older than your great grandma.)

    This is nothing new. Anyone who has hiked with me will tell you I like to stop and dissect the roses. Today, I pause to watch some shorebirds, plovers, putter about. They are unworried about my proximity, unlike our shy California version. I witness two couples in their silly flirting and wag my finger at the “mao homem” who scares his girlfriend. I take a brief detour to find an ancient fishing cottage surrounded by the collected plastic remnants of a modern coastal cleanup. Cool!

    Some pilgrims judge a slow walker on the Camino. For them, suffering is part of the process, and speed is essential to the route. Others argue, “It’s your Camino, and it will unfold the way it supposes to unfold. The Camino provides,”

    After a first day of coastal meandering, I can see some challenges ahead. No amount of lollygagging can erase the physical strain of the 100-plus kilometers ahead. But I walked 7.5 miles today, and I could have done a bit more. I’m tired, but no blisters, and no aches. All good news.

    Certainly dark moments lie in wait, ready to chew up and spit out my current nirvana . My feet will likely start to hurt. Rain is forecast for later this week, and I’m not sure how I will navigate that. At some points I’ll get wet, and sore and tired and hungry and grumpy.

    But I’ll be ok. I am going nowhere fast, and it is glorious.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    Day 2

    To Porto : Uber Fast and Furious

    May 1, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    On Monday, I headed for the Lisbon train station after a sleepless night and big breakfast at my hotel. About halfway into my Uber ride, the hotel, Ting’s, called to let me know I had left my string backpack under the breakfast table.

    Shit.

    My Uber driver, Manuel, doesn’t speak a lick of English, and my newfangled translation app can only translate one word at a time. He pulls over at the beginning of a freeway on-ramp. Middle of Nowhere-land, Not USA. We gesticulate wildly as a means of failed teamwork, but cannot decipher how to reset the ride back to the hotel. I order and pay for two drivers as we fumble about for a solution. Uber to the rescue. Giovani is on his way!

    Suddenly, Manual shoos me to the back of his vehicle and proceeds to unpack my carry-on bag and poles. He’s smiling and making soothing sounds in Portuguese. His meaning slowly percolates. “‘Ate ja,’ English lady.”

    “You’re just going to leave me here?” I rant. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

    Yep. That’s his plan.

    Thankfully, Giovani pulls up. I throw my stuff in his trunk and hop in. Giovani has “a little English.” I switch apps to Google Translate, and that sturdy assistant helps me explain my quandary. I have about 40 minutes until my train for Porto leaves. The round trip back to the hotel and then to the station will take 36.

    Giovani, 29, and with a sense of humor and optimism much like Jake, tells me “Fast…but safe.”

    Off we go, recreating the opening sequence of Streets of San Francisco, minus the airborne moment at the top of the hill. (Look it up on YouTube, youngsters.)

    Gio, as I now think of him, starts counting down the minutes until arrival at the station. “Eeeeleuveen. Teen.” Even in a panic, Portuguese is a melodious language. Not super soothing at this moment, however.

    We pull around a tight Lisbon corner heading uphill and there.
    Is.
    A.
    Garbage.
    Truck.

    Gio, now my ride-die partner, yells, “Awwwwww, FUCK!”

    This is the moment I stop caring about the train. Gio has my back, and my love. I tell him he’s getting a big tip whether I make the train or not, because he’s tried so hard. But mostly because now we’re both laughing instead of cringing.

    Garbage guy helps up maneuver around the roadblock, and we’re on our way. Gio keeps counting down. It’s funny now.

    I make the train. Yippiekaiaye.

    I tip Gio $10 on a $6 ride. He will be my Partner for fucking ever.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    11
    Day 1

    ‘Your mother was a hamster..’

    April 30, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C

    I toured a medieval fort and castle. I mean…like in Monty Python and Camelot, and Princess Bride, and The Court Jester. Only flippin’ real. I’m not gonna lie, I gasped when I saw it. It was astounding.

    Castelo de S. Jorge was founded by the Arabs in 11th century. Phoenicians and Romans lived there early on. The original building was an Islamic fort high on a hill. Strategic advantage? Check! Until those dang Crusaders showed up, conquered it, and then topped it with their own defensive gewgaws. It housed kings and governors, and is now a national monument.

    The striations of each civilization are visible in the architecture. Low down, construction is of rough-hewn stone cobbled together in thick globs of friable mortar. The next layer features bricks fitted closely with thin lines of a sturdier paste. And then more modern touches - plaster, and from modern times, protective plastic covering over ages old iron in windows. There are red bricks all about, looking like a decades long patch project. Got a hole there, Bob? Stick a brick in it!

    Walking here is a reflection on human ingenuity. The battlements you see in the movies make so much sense in reality. Everywhere, on every level, are high places from which to hide and shoot, or throw, or pour stuff that kills unwanted guests. It’s clear that the inhabitants climbed higher ( and for that matter built higher) to escape danger. The fortress even features a kill alley as the last, literal avenue of defense. The only way marauders were getting to those within and above was down a corridor lined with fortified, higher ground positions. Brilliant.

    I imagined following someone through the many cobbled avenues from level to level. There is a sense of how the community worked, if you let your mind see it. Water and sewer and lovely courtyards and market stalls - its all clear. They even carved rivulets in roof tiles to aid water runoff. As I meandered, I could sense where people lived and how they went about their days.. I imagined some child delivering goods from the lower courtyards, getting away from the ‘burbs’ and hoping for a glimpse of a fine lady. And the soldiers must have been fleet footed to zip up the slim stairs to the ramparts and along the walls.

    It was an unforgettable morning. I’ll never watch a medieval movie again without an eye toward whether they got the sets right. I have a newfound respect for the centuries of ingenuity that went into our civilizations.    Read more

  • TravelerCamino Santiago Portugese
    11
    Day 1

    Hola, Lisboa

    April 30, 2023 in Portugal ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C

    Lisbon has been compared to San Francisco for its winding hills of roads lined with multicolored, multistoried homes with birthday-cake trim. But, as the guide at the camera obscura at one of its tallest peaks confirmed for me today, it’s also the home of a sister to the Golden Gate.. Built by the same company, its even orange. Said tour guide confirmed Lisboans, too, are forever painting theirs.

    Forget the hop-on bus. The way to really see a city is Uber. I’m glad I made this call. Driver Manual and I talked fast cars, but also about how an influx of foreign investment in vacation homes has driven locals to distraction. Many are leaving, he says, because they no longer can afford to rent, often from foreigners who visit the homes here for a month or two away from a primary home. He drove me to the redeveloped riverfront, where Portuguese folk cannot hope to live in million dollar condos. The influx of tourist and vacation dollars is bom, but the cost of living that comes with it is unsustainable. (I heard a similar story from an Uber driver in New Orleans,)

    Riding back to my old-town rental with stoic Jose took me past all the places the tourism office probably didn't want me to see; warehouse areas with blasted out windows a la Oakland along 580, a barrio where three men were playing cards and smoking around and overturned crate, the working part of the Rio Tejo, with block-like stacks of hewn logs waiting for shipping containers, and regular neighborhoods with folks going about their daily business.

    This city is old. Many of the streets are slim and cobbled, and the hills put San Francisco to shame. There is definitely the same sort of vibe. Rows and rows of shoulder-to-shoulder, multistory buildings painted in happy hues, shops on the first floor, bars on the doors and windows. The azulejos, or blue tiles aren’t as ubiquitous as I expected, but smatterings are all over the old city, with an occasional all-tile facade. Graffiti is ubiquitous and is sometime blight and sometimes beauty.

    The Mediterranean climate is much like home, although a bit warmer. People here are like people anywhere. Some of the are flipping their hair and making duck lips for the camera. Others offer to take a photo of a nice older lady all by herself. I’ve heard the pace is slower, but aside from siesta time (or whatever they call it here) and later dinner hours, I haven’t felt it.

    It’s a lovely, colorful old city.    Read more

  • TravelerUS Hikes and Meanders
    Day 267

    Donner Falls: Braving a Teeny Path

    February 18, 2023 in the United States ⋅ ☀️ 3 °C

    A beautiful spring hike with 6 miles and a 1,200-foot climb to see waterfalls at Mount Diablo. The trail to the falls was so skinny, I sang out loud to keep my courage up. Lots of trail damage from the rain, with water gurgling up in the middle of the path at one point. Where was that coming from?Read more

  • TravelerUS Hikes and Meanders
    Day 246

    Round Valley After the Big January Rains

    January 28, 2023 in the United States ⋅ 🌙 4 °C

    I’ve never seen this creek with more than a trickle of water. Recent rains were so heavy it washed out the back side of the (cordoned off) trail. The impact of running water was everywhere: downed trees, rivulets across the trail, even a foot-wide gully that widened into a downhill tributary to the creek.Read more

  • TravelerUS Hikes and Meanders
    Day 131

    Little River Canyon National Preserve

    October 5, 2022 in the United States ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C

    I’m in love with national parks, and not just because I have the stamp book. This little preserve is the best of all worlds: great scenery, visitor programs, and an affiliation with a nearby university. The promise of an ‘easy’ half mile with a little climbing was a big fat lie, but the finale at the river’s edge was worth the steep climb down. Note to self: even when you don’t think you need water, bring water.

    They marked the trail here by painting a red spot on the trees, which I tend to think of as a mark for thinning. Good reminder to check with the visitor’s center about navigation.    Read more

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