Spoiler alert: I have shared bits of this on Facebook. And am having trouble uploading photos again – there are more on FB. Just revised due to errors of exhaustion…
We have now finished Day 4 of 7 on the Camino de Santiago, Portuguese coastal route. It’s the first day I have felt hopeful that I will survive the experience!
On our first day we headed out from Viana do Castelo and almost immediately took a wrong turn. Pablo left a beloved (and expensive) watch on the rocks when we stopped to paddle our feet. He discovered the loss about half an hour later and went back to look for it. Scarlett & I proceeded, following directions supplied by Follow the Camino (alas, without detailed maps). We turned left where we should have turned right, proceeded merrily along a lovely wooded path for some time, wondering why we were not passing any of the locations noted in our directions and finally deduced we’d gone wrong. We began texting Pablo (and eventually called him to explain.) He was in mourning for his lost watch, but had begun to philosophise that maybe the Camino was telling him to abandon such materialism, etc. When he had almost reached the place where Scarlett and I, having waded across a field to a bridge we quickly realized was NOT the bridge mentioned in our directions, were sitting by the ocean wondering if we’d ever find the promised waymarks, or see an end to what was admittedly a beautiful day but quite hot, Pablo met two cyclists and asked “Did you see a couple of women, about my age?”, lifted his hat to show his age – and there was his watch in his hat. It had been on his head the whole time. He almost kissed the strangers.
Having regrouped we used Google Maps to try to see where we were, where we might find some lunch (it was at least 2:00 by then), also where our next hotel might be (we figured about another 8-10km) – only to find we were 45 minutes from the hotel. Eureka. Following Google Maps, I led my dubious companions in what seemed an odd direction, right down onto the beach. They protested mightily, quoting all the false leads Google Maps can provide, so I gave in and we started back the way we’d came (this was to become an unhappy theme). Then suddenly from beneath a large rock, a man emerged gesticulating wildly at us (and startling us – alas I did not have the presence of mind to get a photo). We understood from his gestures that we should in fact continue along the beach and there would be a way out to our right shortly. So we did, and found it (wondering all along what exactly he was doing under that rock)…although when we finally reached Afife my companions were quick to note we could have got there by a much more direct route if I’d listened to them.
Afife
We had a lovely lunch in Afife (blink and you’d miss it) and proceeded to our hotel (we are using an agency which has booked all our hotels – and they transfer our luggage – thank god. We only have to carry daypacks). It turned out to be a beautiful 15th century building converted into a 4* hotel (we think), with swimming pool. We were the only guests. The host was delightful, even spent half an hour that evening explaining to Pablo (in Spanish) how exactly to get to the Camino. We swam and lounged in the pool. All was well. The town was tiny and quaint. We ate supper at the same place we’d had lunch (apparently the only open eating establishment in town) – a bar with outdoor café facing the train track where high speed trains hurtled past periodically.
At our cafe in Afife
The next morning we departed in good time – and almost immediately missed the Camino and were lost again. We found a gorgeous ocean side boardwalk. It was super hot but an increasingly fierce wind kept us cool, then started sandblasting our faces (the Sahara seemed mild in comparison, but of course I did not have my turban). So we ducked under the ropes and crashed down through underbrush, fighting our way to the road then backtracking a mile or so … and finally, finally, saw our first yellow arrow, indicating we were actually on the Camino.
By the end of the day (15 km total), when we reached Caminha (just across the water from Spain) I was rather in the doldrums. Scarlett charged ahead, Pablo strode after her and I brought up the sorry rear. This somehow seemed incorrect to me. I’d organized this bloody (now seemingly forced) march – and I couldn’t even keep up. My feet were hurting, etc. etc.
Caminha
Caminha is a delightful little oceanside town with lovely main square (where we had a happy beer), cloisters etc. Our hotel was also quite nice except not very accommodating of our needs. (Pablo is vegan and they told him – we think – he could have garlic for dinner and no, an omelette was out of the question – though they eventually gave in and served him the plainest omelette ever). And despite the fact we wanted to catch a 9:00am ferry to Spain they couldn’t possibly serve us breakfast before 9:30. We went to bed grumpy, got up early to get breakfast at a cafe but only got our order in time to rush to the ferry.
I had slept badly and as the day turned chilly and grey the minute the ferry left Portugal, I was, shall we say, somewhat ill-tempered. I declared we should just walk at our own paces because I could not keep up and did not want to try… so we did. We walked for a long time – my feet now burning with every step, which totally improved my mood. At one point when we were following the yellow arrows devoutly along a highway and I was, as usual, well behind them, I ducked off the road into burnout woods , ate my sandwich, rested & aired my poor feet, not caring how far behind I fell. When I caught up (they texted me) they were in the only café we’d come across, a tent in which an old woman sold hard liquor, coffee, packaged pastries and pop. We met 4 other pilgrims (all American) huddled there, 2 of whom I have encountered twice since, as they are sort of on our schedule.
We trudged on to complete the 16 km day at Oia. I honestly began to think I would not be able to complete our planned walk. But after sequestering myself in my room and resting/showering etc. while Scarlett and Pablo explored the town, I went out on my own, found a bar with a stunning upper terrace – all grassy and deserted – and enjoyed a restorative 2 euro glass of white wine.
Monastery at Oia
Heading back to our very basic hotel for a Pilgrim’s meal, I met Ray and Wendy (aforementioned Americans) and she told me I could get this great ibuprofen cream for feet at the nearby pharmacy. So I did.
Oia
Dinner last night was great. Just us and one other guest but a huge meal with vegetable soup, good bread, stewed beef with potatoes (for me) salad, desert and unlimited wine. I slept like a log.
And then, miracle of miracles (maybe it was the cream, or the swathing of my feet in moleskin, or just that this was Day 4) today my feet behaved. We walked 20 km along the coast and up into the mountains, encountered nice cafes (and stopped at them) every hour or so, had a great lunch at a fancy restaurant and arrived in Baiona to a very good hotel by 3:00.
views today, between Oia and Baoina
So – 3 more days to go and now that my confidence has returned (I even kept up with those two today – though maybe they were being kind and slowed down for my sake), I am able to really enjoy this. Landscape and views have been exceptional throughout, especially all the flowers (wild and cultivated) – it’s a profusion of colour and beautiful scents – and always the mighty ocean crashing in immense waves on our left. Today was not too hot, but sunny and brilliant.
view from my hotel balcony in Baiona
Many thanks to all my Avon Trail friends for advice (go slow, air your feet, wear sock liners, have moleskin at the ready, take lots of breaks!) Despite yesterday’s pain, I have no blisters – and somehow today, the soreness is gone.
So, Buen Camino, as they say (which I think means “Have a good Camino”).
Meg Westley 