A 36-day adventure by Jill Read more
  • 24footprints
  • 3countries
  • 36days
  • 116photos
  • 9videos
  • 12.6kmiles
  • 11.0kmiles
  • Day 18

    Fiesta

    June 9, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ☀️ 64 °F

    None of this is looking good for any sleep tonight. The gaudy decorations are going up and now they are breaking out the accordions...

  • Day 19

    Casa de Fernanda

    June 10, 2019 in Portugal ⋅ ⛅ 63 °F

    I walked about 20 kilometers (12.5 miles) today along quiet forest paths, through farmland and more little villages. Met and walked with Sean from London, who retired from the London police force after 30 years and now drives a Black taxi cab. You have to take a test to be a Black Taxi driver and he convinced me you should go with them instead of Uber while in London. They know what’s up.

    I also met Richard, a New Zealander walking 30+ k a day and camping along the way at night.. He's a writer and artist, focused on supporting clean drinking water for the developing world. The book he's working on now will be about this walk and will be called. "A Walk about Water."

    I stopped at Cas de Fernanda, a family-run albergue that only accepts a donation as pay. Dropped my gear in a grassy courtyard with six cats and four small dogs. Mostly Germans here again, along with an interesting young Chinese guy. After a shower and washing/hanging my clothes, I sat at a picnic table in the courtyard with the others. The Europeans are all convinced that Trump will be re-elected. Fernanda brought us cold beers, homemade local cake, then her homemade white wine, then little quiche squares. Now she’s making us dinner as we relax.

    Later: I talked some more with the young Chinese guy, Xiao (pronounced like the first syllable in "Shower"). He comes from a small village in southern China, where they speak a dialect that is unintelligible outside of that town, is not written, and is not being learned by younger people. He casually said that the language will likely be gone for good in another 40 years. Shui's parents only speak that dialect, and I heard Shui talking to them on the phone. He speaks a number of languages besides his local dialect and Mandarin, of course, and just quit his job working as a hotel receptionist in Paris to do this walk. He's not sure what he'll do after this, and he's not worried about it, but needless to say his parents are!

    Dinner at Fernanda's was about five courses, lots of homegrown wine and involved much loud singing in a number of languages (including Chinese) and laughing. If you walk the Camino Portugues, you need to stop here.
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  • Day 23

    Cast of human and animal characters

    June 14, 2019 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 66 °F

    I've walked 57 kilometers since I last posted (80 before that) and have crossed the border into Spain. Am taking a rest day in Tui.

    Animals seen so far, besides the usual domestic ones:

    Starlings like we have, but with bright orange beaks I rescued one baby off the road and put it on a limb where its mother could find it.

    Small nondescript brown birds with a beautiful, varied trilly song, magpies, seagulls, herons, and many other birds I can't identify

    A small brown vole ambled across the trail in front of me

    Green, whiptail-style lizards

    A dead grey-brown snake (about a meter long)

    Small tree frog-size brown and green frogs near springs, Larger Leopard frog-size green frogs in rivers and ponds. I followed the frog-song and grabbed a tree frog to show Sean and he squeaked like a little girl. Apparently he has a frog phobia.

    Human Cast of Characters:

    More people are showing up on the road and I've gotten to know some of them a bit as we leapfrog past each other walking and meet up in cafes and albergues.

    Sean, the British ex-policeman who drives a London cab. We keep meeting up again and again.

    The Czech woman with her 3 1/2 year old son

    Tricia, who lives 1/2 mile from me in Albuquerque

    Father John, wearing his long black robe and carrying his backpack containing - along with his regular walking gear - props used for saying Mass along the way. He's from New Hampshire and belongs to the Brothers Fraternity of St. Peter. He was invited to walk the Portuguese camino with an American family as their spiritual adviser; he’d walked the Camino Frances a year ago. Before I met him, Sean and I were walking along and he was describing this priest in a long black robe he saw and just then we turned a corner and came upon Father John sitting on a step. Sean said, “Wow, I was just telling her that I saw a priest in a black habit walking down the trail!" Fr. John replied, "that sounds like the start of a joke."

    The next day I walked with Father John for a while and I told him about the Virgen de Guadalupe mosaic mural I worked on for the Franciscan friary. He said, " I'm surprised we haven't run across any of them. This path screams Franciscans to me." We ate dinner together; I had a glass of wine and he ordered a Mojito. He wasn't walking with the family for a few days because he's required to have a 5 day solo retreat every year and he's taking that now. Apparently drinking and goofing around with me during his retreat is ok!

    Richard Parkes, the New Zealander writer and water activist who I pass every few days, sittting outside a cafe pounding away on his solar powered laptop.

    Two impossibly tall, thin Austrian women I call “the stork sisters.”(to myself, not to them)

    The group of Germans who are absorbing other Germans as they go, like an amoeba on the trail. They greet me but usually don't invite me to sit with them, because they don't want to have to speak English. One of them whistles constantly, which I really think is worse than snoring in the albergue.

    Xiao Yin, the Chinese man who lived in France and doesn't have a plan after this. He envied my poles, so tromped down into the forest and broke a couple of sticks for himself.

    A sister and brother from Mexico, across the border near South Padre Island. They are in their 20s, she wanted to walk to Fatima, so she brought her brother along and after Fatima, they are now walking to Santiago. So nice to hear and talk Mexican Spanish! They were at Fernanda's albergue, too. Buena gente.

    Older South African couple who are forever indebted to me after I gave them my Brierley guidebook to the Camino Portugues, when they lost theirs. I keep thinking they will give up, but they are real troopers, walking some good mileage each day and I run into them again and again.

    Jared, the young climber/motorcycle mechanic from Alberta, Canada who was living in Peru and then found a cheap flight to Europe and started walking the camino on a whim. He only follows the route sometimes, then gets lost for a day or two. He has a knee injury from bull riding. We talk motorcycles whenever I see him, which turns out to be often.

    Frank and Gabrielle from Holland, with fine-tuned sarcastic senses of humor.
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  • Day 23

    Lugar de Corgo, Portugal to Tui, Spain

    June 14, 2019 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 64 °F

    After the communal dinner with laughing and singing at Fernanda's and her big breakfast spread the next morning, I headed out.

    The path passed through old oak forests, vivid green meadows and small villages, each big white house with an immaculate vegetable garden and grapevines over arbors. Everyone must make their own wine. At times, the trail followed 2000 year old Roman cobblestone roads, picturesque bridges over streams.

    The next town of some size was Ponte de Lima, a part-Roman, part-Medieval bridge connecting the two parts of the city over the Rio Lima. A small city with fortified towers and lots of narrow, cobbled alleyways, mostly just for strolling. I'm not sure why I don't live there. If you ever visit Ponte de Lima, you will wonder that, too.

    When I arrived, sitting at a cafe table outside the municipal albergue were John, the New Zealander water activist having a beer and talking with Jared, the Canadian motorcycle mechanic, debating the merits and pitfalls of different sources of alternative energy. They had just met. Two of my favorite pilgrims so far, so I crashed their party. I learned that electric cars are not really sustainable because of the batteries (wasteful to produce and to throw away), and that it's not that hard, with some new parts and tinkering, to adapt an inner-combustion engine to run on hydrogen.

    I slept in the "municipal" albergue where one of the Austrian stork sisters poked me twice during the night because I was snoring. I don't want to be "that guy" (I too hate people who snore in the albergue) so I've decided to seek out private rooms after this. Not much more expensive for vastly improved comfort and often a private bathroom and shower!

    Leaving Ponte de Lima, I fell in with Sean and the Dutch couple, Frank and Gabrielle. The three of them had developed a series of inside jokes and I was quickly brought up to speed. Together we climbed steeply 575 meters (almost 2000 ft.) on a rugged, rocky trail through pine forest up to Alto de Portela, the summit, and ate lunch. Many of the pine trees have a section of bark cut off and a bag attached below, catching the fluid. Turpentine? Sean commented that, without some level of fitness, this climb wouldn’t just be a piece of cake for a lot of people.

    Throughout the climb and the long steep decline, Sean mewled about his blisters. No one wanted to hear about my knee, though.

    At Rubiaes, I peeled off from my friends and found a comfortable hostel outside of town while they continued on. I think I was the only person staying there. I asked the hospitalero in Spanish about dinner options and, as usual, he understood me but I couldn’t understand him. But with some words in common and sign language, I figured out that I was to meet him in front at 7pm and he would drive me somewhere to eat. He drove me to a café down the road a ways, which apparently is his place too, because he went to work at the bar while I ate and then drove me home afterwards. I spotted the German amoeba pilgrim group at another table and they waved.

    Leaving the next morning, next to the church in town I found an ancient Roman mile marker! These stones were placed by the Roman military to mark each 1000 paces (counting steps by the left foot). Later on the walk, I passed another one.

    I hiked on alone through more gorgeous, rural Portugal for about 23 kilometers, meeting up and walking with Father John for part of it. I like that guy.

    Finally, I entered the walled, Portuguese border town, Valenca, passed through the fortress tunnels to emerge onto a long bridge over the River Minho into Spain. Along the Camino, there are hand-painted yellow arrows to help with navigation. However there were long stretches without them, including at forks in the road and it’s not hard to get lost. So I thought it was funny that there were yellow arrows painted every few posts along the high bridge over the river, like there was anyway to make a wrong turn?
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  • Day 24

    Lookin' good, Redondela (not)

    June 15, 2019 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 64 °F

    Maybe it's an unfair first impression. I don't know.. after a long strenuous walk, I had a hard time finding a place to stay and the weather is grey, so I'm a little grumpy.

    Spain is very different, not as tidy and manicured as Portugal. More rustic. Don’t get me wrong; I love Spain, but after guidebook descriptions of Redondela being "delightful" and "charming", when I got there, I just wasn't feeling it. Too many cars and grimy buildings decorated with graffiti. A slight whiff of spoiled fish. The people are unattractive. Even the PIGEONS... take a look at this piece of work sitting on my table like my new BFF. Looks like he got dredged in hot grease. He's also missing some toes. Then another pushed him off, looking to get into my tapa-action. Feathers are a little smoother, but missing parts of both feet!

    Getting outa here first thing tomorrow.
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  • Day 25

    Pontevedra, now we're talkin'

    June 16, 2019 in Spain ⋅ ⛅ 70 °F

    The "cast of characters" has mostly moved ahead or I left them behind. I occasionally spot one of them from a distance or in a city crowd. I saw Jared, the Canadian motorcycle mechanic, walking with what looked like a Swedish girl, so that's nice. I’m walking alone, which I relish.

    Pontevedra is a quintessential mid-sized Spanish town, set up for wandering, browsing and socializing on foot. Narrow streets opening onto broad plazas; grandparents on benches, people drinking wine and having tapas at outdoor cafes, teenagers riding bikes and scooters, toddlers chasing pigeons, wheelchair riders chatting by the fountain, a busker playing classical guitar, and not a car to be seen. Bordered by historic buildings and a cathedral with a statue on top of a Medieval woman pilgrim (you don’t see that often).

    Down another stone alley to another plaza with an ice cream vendor and a shop renting pedal go-carts, bikes with sidecars, six passenger pedal carriages. Another guy rents remote control cars that can be driven/ridden by babies as young as a year old, parents holding the remote, laughing hysterically as their toddler drivers whip around the plaza and through the crowd. People walking french bulldogs and yorkies, taking them into bars.

    This is how city life for our species is meant to be lived and I think many Americans don't even know it.

    Long walk, about 14 miles today. Through eucalyptus forests carpeted with ferns, past big gardens and across rivers.

    There were firecrackers/fireworks popping in small towns and in the village of Arcade (Ar-Cod-Eh), a little brass band marched through. Dia de San Juan? I don’t know.
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  • Day 27

    Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis

    June 18, 2019 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 64 °F

    Yesterday. I walked with Tricia from Albuquerque for a while. She’s an interesting person; has visited and lived all over the world. Doesn’t live far from me. It was nice, but I talk too much.. I feel the urge to express every thought I have out loud. I point out what I think is beautiful and then explain why it is beautiful, in case the other person with me doesn’t appreciate it the way I do. It’s exhausting for me, not to mention whoever I am walking with. I miss what else is going on around me. I love walking alone.

    More tranquil forest paths and a great waterfall along the way.
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  • Day 27

    Galicia!

    June 18, 2019 in Spain ⋅ 🌧 66 °F

    I walked from Caldas de Reis to Padron, mainly on a woodland track though meadows, gardens and more eucalyptus, pine, and oak forests. Mostly in the rain... classic Galicia weather. It's lush and green.

    I have a room at Hostal de Flavia, on the 4th floor overlooking Padron. This town was named after the "Pedron" Roman stone, now displayed under the altar in the Igrexa Santiago here. It was this stone, according to legend, that the boat carrying the body of St. James was moored to, before it was transported by oxcart to the site where the Cathedral of Santiago was built. Yep.

    Padron peppers (named after the town) are popular here, served roasted. They say one in ten is hot. "Os pementos de Padron uns pican e outros non." (in the local regional Spanish) They were brought from the New World (New Mexico region?) by the Franciscan monks at the nearby Herbon monastery, where they are still grown. I asked where I could get some seeds to take home, but was told they are only sold on Thursday, market day, in the square, so I missed that.

    Pictures below:
    That statue on the side of a small church is San Rochas. He is portrayed holding open his robe to show a plague sore and there is a dog next him. While he was ill, the dog brought him bread every day and licked his sore to heal him. San Rochas is the saint for people with infectious diseases and for dogs (What they didn't know was that that dog probably carried the fleas that gave him the plague. Oh well).

    The chalkboard sign was outside a "China shop" in Caldas. These tiny shops are found in towns all around Spain and carry a little bit of everything. I found needles and thread there and duct tape (cinta Americana). They are run by Chinese people, who you practically never see anywhere else in Spain. I loved this example of cultural pride and reaching out for connection.
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