Braga Airport

Foggy start. Sooo glad my travel planner taxied me to San Pedro de Rates because traversing that highway in this soup would have been treacherous. At least the fires seem to be managed.

Sun came out by 10:30 and it was a lovely day meandering through farmland, small villages, walled roads. My love/hate, mostly hate, relationship with cobblestones was severely tested. I found my mantra, “may I be blessed on cobblestones”. It works for walking. And the courteous drivers of the cities were replaced by Grand Prix drivers taking blind curves at top speeds. More than once I pressed against a moss-covered wall to continue to be 3 dimensional. I guess for those villagers, the only good pilgrim is a flat pilgrim.

Its corn harvest season here. I watched one family at work. Teenage daughter yanked ears off stalks and heaved them into the already mowed (?) area. Tweeny son acted petulantly instead of picking up ears. Papa ran the stalk mulcher. Uncle drove the truck to wherever corn stalk mulch goes, a good bit blowing on to the side of the dirt road.
Smells of fermenting corn stalk mulch, manure fertilizer being added to overturned earth, one pungent dairy farm. And the oh so lovely eucalyptus groves and pine trees.
Sounds of pigeons, doves, farm equipment, roofing tiles being hammered, cars roaring over cobblestones, and pubs with soccer games on the tube.

For my inner journey, I felt that what I needed came to me. A cafe for a pit stop, a trash receptacle, a quiet place to pee, a stone to rest on, a restaurant with friendly people who spoke English, a perfect place to wait for a taxi. I used to think that I couldn’t get what I wanted but maybe that’s not true. Tuning inward, the wants are simpler.Read more