Jill on the Camino Portugues

May 2019 - March 2024
An open-ended adventure by Jill
Currently traveling
  • 24footprints
  • 3countries
  • 1,772days
  • 116photos
  • 9videos
  • 12.6kmiles
  • 11.0kmiles
  • Day 6

    Dodged a bullet

    May 28, 2019 in the United States ⋅ ⛅ 59 °F

    I'm pretty good at talking my way out of most things. Helps being an older white lady...(if they're gonna stereotype me, I'm gonna use that shit against em). I don't know if anybody else does this, but when I'm doing something mildly illegal l am usually at the same time always thinking up and practicing alibis in my head to use in case I get caught.

    For example, last night I was driving a little over the speed limit on 4th St. and thought of a good one, "Oh, I'm sorry if I was speeding, Officer. My husband just had a heart attack." (Who's going to give me a ticket after that?)

    But this one was true. Byron had a heart attack!

    He'd been having indigestion/heartburn lately, so was carrying Baking Soda with him on his 30+ mile bicycle rides most days. Last week, he did a 70 mile ride around the mountain, much of it on a remote dirt road. A few days ago, he took the train to Santa Fe and then rode his bike home on back roads. He kinda bonked (lost steam) one time, but for the most part - other than the occasional heartburn - he was doing fine.

    A couple of nights ago, Byron woke up at 3am and is complaining about chest pain. He gets up and takes a Tums. The pain gets worse. Finally, he is kneeling on the floor, clutching his chest, starting to cry. I called an ambulance.

    At the hospital, they looked him over, took a blood test that showed elevated cardiac enzymes and said, "You just had a heart attack."

    What?? They transferred him to the Heart Hospital, admitted him and continued to monitor him. Yesterday, they did a cardiac cath, where they send dye into the heart and send a camera up in there on a wire from a hole in his wrist. They find one vessel 99% occluded. The other veins and arteries are fine. So they put in a stent - a metal straw that holds the vessel open. They put him on blood thinners. The prognosis is that, after some rest, he will probably be better than he was before! Wow. We went from feeling alarm and fear to real relief that things could have gone much worse.

    One of my friends, a doctor about my age, went for a jog one morning and they found his body later after he died from a heart attack. Another friend was out hiking on a remote mesa with some friends and collapsed with a heart attack. They were too far away to get help and he died, too. What if Byron had had this heart attack out on one of his rides? What if he had had the heart attack while I was in Portugal. Would he have called an ambulance, himself?

    I feel so relieved! Byron is supposed to be home today sometime and he really wants out. The challenge will be to keep him off his bike for awhile.

    So anyway, I'm sorry I haven't posted here in a few days, but you see, my husband had a heart attack.
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  • Day 12

    En route

    June 3, 2019 in the United States ⋅ 🌫 95 °F

    In Phoenix airport, waiting for my flight to London. Flying from Albuquerque to Phoenix, i am now farther away from Europe than i was before i left. This doesn't feel like progress.

    Remind me to tell you about the lost wallet I found in the Albuquerque Airport restroom before I left... I tried my best to find my Sister of The Scatter Brained Clan before I left.Read more

  • Day 13

    Madrid

    June 4, 2019 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 75 °F

    Phoenix overnight to London, manhandled (in a nice, polite way) through security (Trump is in England now and they told me we can have him back, thank you) ran to catch my connecting flight to Madrid on Iberian airlines - a plane full of impossibly good-looking Spanish people, even the ones older than me -Then all the rigmarole with finding my checked bag (they wouldn't let me carry on my walking poles, even though I could disable somebody more easily with my fists than with those light weight poles), figuring out the European SIM card for my cell phone, getting Euros, taxi, hotel, wake up call at 5am to take an Uber back to the airport for my flight to Porto, Portugal. The details can be challenging for me, but I'm happy to be here!

    I got an international calling plan on my phone before I left and a Spanish SIM card at the Madrid airport. But like every time I go overseas, I can't remember how to call or message people in the US with my GD phone.
    505-252-0241?
    1-505-252-0241?
    001-505-252-0241?
    +1-505-252-0241?
    Nothings seems to work. Tips welcome.

    5 June: the first "etapa" of my Camino: walking about 4 miles though "el Catedral" de Madrid airport to my gate at 5:15am. I'm the only "pilgrim" here.
    As we boarded the plane, a group of business men behind me were singing. Now I'm on the plane and the two German men sitting next to me spontaneously sang a song and then went back to chatting. You know you're not in the U S anymore when random groups of people burst into song in public.
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  • Day 14

    More from Porto

    June 5, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 57 °F

    In this picture of the cathedral in Porto, in the bottom right hand corner you can just see the small yellow arrow pointing the way for pilgrims walking to Santiago de Compostela, Spain and the blue arrow for pilgrims headed to Fatima (I waited a while for the light to hit that spot, I’ll have you know). The town is full of packs of often shirtless young men carrying cups of beer, parading down the streets singing about futbol. Portugal is in the finals and playing Switzerland tonight, but the packs of men are British; here for their game tomorrow (and starting the drinking and singing early).

    I had wild boar marinated in local red wine for dinner at an outdoor cafe. I remarked to the waiter that I didn't expect it to be so chilly this time of year, and he brought me a blanket to wrap around me. Had another glass of wine, listening to a busker singing Amy Winehouse tunes. She didn't miss a beat, shoving away drunk soccer fans snatching at her as they passed, singing their own songs.
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  • Day 14

    Cat and Futbol

    June 5, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 55 °F

    Last night in Porto around 11 pm, I walked down to the plaza for an update on the crowd of Brits in Portugal for the futbol games, drinking and – I could still hear them - singing loudly since noon. I met this lady and her kitten in an alley on the way. She told me this was one of a litter of only two this time, and boasted that the mama has over the year now produced 27 kittens in all. I showed her the picture of the cat and the seagull I took earlier and she told me that cat was an earlier daughter of her cat.Read more

  • Day 15

    Swimming to Angeiras

    June 6, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ 🌧 59 °F

    I decided to bring a poncho this time on the Camino instead of a raincoat and it turned out to be an almost comically horrible choice. Try getting a poncho on by yourself while wearing a backpack in whipping wind and lashing rain. The snaps kept flying open and the poncho sailed up over my head. So I pulled a rain cover over my pack and put the pack on over the poncho to hold it down. I still got soaked completely through.

    The walk took me from the mouth of the river at Porto, north onto a miles-long wooden boardwalk, built to protect the beach and dune habitat along the shore. Rough surf breaking over the rocks beyond a wide expanse of beach. Quite beautiful. I got a couple of photos before it really started to pour raining. I stopped at a little seafood cafe for lunch and, with my lousy Portuguese, I ended up with a steak. The beer was good, though.

    I've only seen a few other walkers, huddled in rain wear, heads down against the storm. I stopped at a campground in Angeiras that rents out tiny cottages and I have one to myself. Spread out my wet clothes, made a cup of coffee and watched the rain out the window. Heaven.
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  • Day 16

    Vila do Conde

    June 7, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 61 °F

    So I was gratified to learn that the storm I walked though yesterday was a real Thing; it had a name, "Miguel". The only other walker I met at the end of the day in Angieras was a Czech woman with her 3 1\2 year old son. She walked through that storm carrying her son on her back and her backpack in front. She said her husband was away on a business trip and she didn't feel like just hanging around the house. So they are headed to Santiago on foot (or being carried sometimes). Next time you get proud of yourself for some feat, think of that. I got a picture of them today.

    I watched the England vs Netherlands futbol game in a cafe last night with three Brits, which was fun and educational. They were probably in their 40s, came down to Portugal in their motor home to see the game, which was going on in a stadium outside Porto, but they couldn't get tickets. They expressed horror at the behavior of their young countrymen, drunk, loud and fighting with the police in Porto.

    Today was fantastic walking, with fresh air and clear skies. Many miles on the wood boardwalk with expansive views of the Atlantic. I saw practically nobody. Had a wonderful grilled fish for lunch at a small, family-run cafe on the beach. We couldn't communicate well and I didn't understand the menu, so she brought and showed me the fresh raw fish ahead of time.

    In Conde do Vila now, where – according to the city map - there is an Albuquerque street, spelled like we do, without the extra R. I walked all over, looking for a street tile with the name, but apparently some Burqueño was here before me and stole it.
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  • Day 16

    Another view from today

    June 7, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 59 °F
  • Day 17

    Rates to Barcelos

    June 8, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 61 °F

    At Vila do Conde, I found the trail that connects the coastal route to the central Camino, inland through Portugal. Pretty little stone villages, rivers full of fish, Roman bridges, towns with more tiled buildings, the works. Still I am seeing almost no one walking the camino, but I meet them in the cafes along the way and in the albergues at night. In Vila do Conde I shared a two bunk-bed room with three Germans - a couple and another man - who went to great lengths to ignore me. They didn't even say Geshundteit when I sneezed.

    The next day I walked to Sao Pedro de Rates and stayed in a larger albergue with mostly Germans again, but friendly, and a South African couple who were distraught at having lost their Brierley "Guide to the Camino Portugues" with maps, history, accomodations info. They were frantically asking everyone to predict for them when they might pass through somewhere that might have an English copy. Finally I just gave them mine. They were aghast and jubilant and were my New Best Friends. They made me share a bottle of wine with them and later, separately, I heard from each about the challenges of traveling/walking with the other. Walk alone, Cowboy, that's my advice!

    Today I met a German woman pushing a stroller with her 18 month old baby. Her husband decided to walk the camino to Santiago from their front door. Like the Czech woman I met before, she didn't want to sit around the house, so she decided to walk to Santiago from Portugal (haven't these people heard of babysitters??)

    Ran into her with her baby again in a cafe and heard another peregrina telling her she'd also met another mom walking the Camino with her TWO kids, age 8 months and 2 years, AND leading her blind husband! So I teased the German woman with only ONE baby about how easy and cush she had it, comparatively. Later I passed her, toiling with the stroller up the steep, narrow rocky trail. I thought about stopping to take over the stroller and give her a break.

    I didn't do it, but I thought about it.

    On the way to Barcelos, I passed through Pedra Furtado, a village I read about that was named after a stone with a hole through it. Apparently a saint was once buried alive and he punched his head through the stone to escape. So they built a church next to the "holey" rock and then added the village after that.

    The trail passed through eucalyptus forest and farmland and now I am in the delightful town of Barcelos. A medieval tower, narrow walking streets bordered by blue and white tiled buildings, people laughing at outdoor cafes with glasses of wine, a big traditional wedding in the cathedral (which I crashed obviously), old people two-step and line dancing in the plaza.

    I see some ominous "festive" decorations going up; a foreboding sign of a potential horrible local festival. Many disagree with me, but I think most large scale town fiestas are overrated. Especially after you’ve walked 14 miles and just want some rest.
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