Ponte de Lima Municipality

Today was hard. Really hard. We walked about 25% farther than yesterday and up bigger, longer hills. It’s still very hot, 86° today with high humidity. The stretch we walked this afternoon had very little shade. When we did stop to rest we were swarmed by biting flies. Today we paid our pilgrim dues in blood and sweat. Too dehydrated for tears.

On the bright side, at least we fared better than the 79 year old South African man who was rescued by a group of Canadians we’d been leapfrogging all day. They were a few minutes ahead of us when they came upon him just as he collapsed to the ground on a dirt path through the never ending corn fields. He told them he has diabetes and was disoriented from low blood sugar. They helped him to a shady spot farther on where we were already resting and one of their party ran on ahead to a cafe to call a taxi for him. After sharing our emergency M’n’M’s and offering electrolyte powder, Ellen and I trudged on.

When the Canadians caught up to us later we learned that they had gotten the man into the taxi but did not know where he had decided to go. Apparently he was walking the Camino with his daughter who had gone on ahead though he didn’t know where. He refused to let anyone call her so we can only hope they got reconnected.

The other silver lining appeared when we arrived at our lodging, the famed Casa de Fernanda albergue. When we staggered into the yard we must have made quite an impression. Fernanda shared in a conspiratorial whisper that we could have her only private room, complete with its own bathroom. One of the other guests, a Québécois named Marcelo, whinged to me about the favoritism so I pointed out that we were obviously more pathetic than he was. (Fernanda also initially mistook us for mother and daughter which is either funny or sad. I’m going to call Ellen « Mom » whenever I need a little morale boost.)

Right now we’re hiding out in our PRIVATE room listening to all the other pilgrims chatter. Germans, Spaniards. Portuguese, Brazilians, Poles, Italians, and probably other countries., too. About 20-25 people in all. We seem to be the only Americans and are referred to as a unit, “The American Girls”. Fernanda even brought me a refreshing cup of wine. Lying on my bed in our private room, sipping wine as Mom pops her blisters. Life is good.

Communal dinner tonight. Used to be my worst nightmare but after today’s walk it’s now only my second to worst nightmare. Silver linings abound!

Report from dinner: Confirmed my suspicion that we are the only Americans here. Sat next to a German mother and her 29 year old son, Betty and Jan. We are now friends on WhatsApp. We will always have a place to stay when we visit Hamberg. Across from me was whinging Marcelo . He’s a very philosophical sort who is walking his third Camino and who asked a lot of probing questions as he polished off a large pitcher of wine. He subscribes to the «no vino, no Camino » ethos.

Dinner was delicious. Vegetable soup, homemade bread, lots of fresh veggies, and a meat stew of some sort with chicken, pork, sausage and white beans served over rice. The food just kept coming. Lots of wine and beer, some homemade. After dinner everyone’s glass was filled with a shot of port wine, the regional specialty. Might have been NyQuil. Not really sure.

After that the singing and dancing began. Songs in every language. As the token Americans we were treated to the group’s enthusiastic renditions of Take Me Home Country Road, YMCA, and Man! I Feel Like a Woman!

It was a wild a crazy time and that’s why people love Fernanda and her husband, Jacinto. They throw this same party every. single. night. They have 3 old dogs and numerous cats that wandered through placidly, totally unfazed by the commotion.

And now we sleep. Tomorrow’s a shorter leg. Hope it’s a good one.

Boa noite from The American Girls.Read more