I feel a bit of a phoney setting off on a pilgrimage to Santiago da Compostela. My motivations are not really spiritual. People have been doing this for over 1,000 years to either worship, as a penitence for their sins, or to seek divine intervention for poor health, or even looking for inspiration to just make life better. I just want to go for a walk with friends in a faraway land, meet new people, see new things, learn what I can, smell new smells and taste new tastes, all the while keeping myself fit so that I can keep doing it again next year in a different place. It just so happens that a Camino walk provides a very nice agenda to fulfil these desires of mine and give me a readily identifiable label to hang off it as an achievement. “I have done a Camino”.
Evidently there are about 300,000 people a year who do a Camino, up from a few hundred a year in the 1970s. I think it is fair to say it is more a tourist event these days than a spiritual pilgrimage for most who partake. The Camino is the pilgrimage along paths trodden for centuries to Santiago da Compostela in Galicia, Spain, to visit the holy place claimed to hold relics (body parts) of Saint James, a disciple of Jesus and part of his inner circle. It seems very unlikely that the bones found in a field in Galicia in the Middle Ages are actually those of St James, who was executed in Judea in about 40 AD. Legend has it that his body was taken from there by his followers some 5000 kilometres away to the Iberian Peninsula in a rudderless ship without sails, then carried across land from Padron to the current site of Santiago da Compostela where it was buried and then discovered some 800 years later. Unfortunately this legend doesn’t quite stack up. It would appear that the attribution of the bones found in a field in the 9th century to St James was quickly seized upon by church leaders and royalty of the time as a way to boost tourist numbers, and it worked a treat. The poor fellow they did find in the field is now the centre of more attention than he might have anticipated in life.
Anyway regardless of pilgrim and Camino bona fides, we have chosen to walk in the path of pilgrims past from Porto to Santiago da Compostela along the coastal route, about 280km in two weeks. To add to our bogus pilgrim status, we will be staying at hotels (only 2 star though) along the way and we will not be carrying our own luggage. We have been quite excited that our friends C & S are joining us for this walk, but unfortunately S is suffering a couple of bothersome medical issues at the moment which means that rather than walk the whole Camino, he will do bits and pieces where he can and catch buses and trains for the rest of it. He will be a forward scout for us foot soldiers.
Day 1 - Matoshinos to Pòvoa de Varzim 27km - 25 April
As you may recall from my previous blog, Beth and I miscalculated the room temperature shelf life of soft cheese, and paid for the mistake by spending two days in bed at the Da Bolsa hotel rather than seeing the sights of Porto. We were still not quite right when it came time to set off, and we did contemplate keeping S company and leaving C as a solitary pilgrim, but decided that we would probably be ok if we took it easy and watched what we ate. I am not entirely certain how you take a 27km walk easily, but we were about to find out.
Our first day of walking involves a bus trip from central Porto out to Matoshinos in the city outskirts a little way up the coast, ostensibly to skip some of the industrial parts of Porto, but in reality to reduce the day one kilometres down to something manageable. Our notes actually suggested that we take a metro train to Matoshinos, but that would have involved a 2 kilometre walk to the station, and the bus stop was only 200 m away. Given the amount of walking today and our slightly fragile state, we chose the bus. It was about this time we decided to be cautious about trusting our notes implicitly.
S started the walk with us along the coastal trail which for the first few kilometres was never more than 100 m or so from the Atlantic Ocean and was very pleasant. He took his leave from us somewhere near the Porto airport to try his luck with finding public transport to today’s destination. At this stage I should mention the weather, which has been very kind to us thus far. Not too hot, not too cold, and importantly, no rain. And today again, the forecasters were suggesting mild conditions with no rain, but they did warn us of potential bad weather further down the track. Oh well, we will weather that storm when we come to it.
Our first days walking was pleasant, with the ocean our constant companion and plenty of little coastal fishing villages to vary the scenery. We passed through the large town of Vila do Conde which was quite nice, despite having to walk what seemed like a huge distance (probably only a kilometre) up the river Ave to cross the only available bridge and then walk that same distance downstream back to the coast. The walk back along the river was very pleasant through nicely manicured gardens and a nice waterfront. A replica of a 15th century Spanish Caravelle gave me something to take photos of, so I was happy. The rest of the walk was a bit of a slog (none of us are used to 27 km hikes), but we made it. S had a day of misadventures with public transport and got to see much more of Portugal than most tourists do, but he still managed to get to Pòvoa da Varzim ahead of us, then walked out to greet us as we arrived in town.
We were very weary from our walk, and it was getting late in the day, so we didn’t do much exploring about town, and we decided to pop over to the Albatross restaurant just opposite our hotel, for something simple for dinner before resting up for tomorrow. Somehow (I think fatigue played a part), the waitress managed to tempt us with her offer of grilled whole fresh fish (priced by the kilo). Beth and I chose the flounder and S and C chose the codfish. It was a mountain of fish, but heroically, we managed to polish it off. It was very nice, but certainly more than we needed and more expensive than we would have preferred. More importantly, although my cast iron stomach was now accepting food ok, Beth’s was still a bit delicate and complained a little about being bombarded with so much seafood. Beth’s breakfast the next morning consisted of dry bread, black tea and orange juice. Choosing food wisely is not a skill we possess at this stage.
Day 2 - Pòvoa de Varzim to Esposende 20 km - 26 April
Much the same today as yesterday, except a little more forest walking, which makes us feel somewhat at home. Just about every wooded area we have encountered in Portugal so far has been full of good old garden variety gum trees. It seems that eucalypts were introduced to Portugal in the late 18th century by Joseph Banks, and they have taken off, helped along by the forestry industries. But although we enjoyed the familiar colours, smells and textures of the eucalypts, there appears to be a lot of ill will locally regarding them. Grown mainly for high grade wood pulp, the eucalypts appear to be taking over native forests and really messing with biodiversity. All sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it. Sad to think of our gum tree as a weed.
We arrive in Esposende just as the weather starts to turn. The guest house we are staying in has a kitchen, so gives us an opportunity to not make the same fish mistake as the night before. Beth was still not feeling great and was not too interested in anything food related, so C and I popped around the corner to the supermarket to get dinner provisions. Salad vegetables, fruit, olives, ham, bread and some pastry things. As soon as we entered the supermarket the heavens opened, and as soon as we left the cash register the rain stopped. Someone was looking after us. Dinner worked well, although Beth stuck with her bread and water regimen, plus a little Vegemite that S had packed for emergencies.
Day 3 Esposende to Viana do Castelo 26km -27 April
47 km down and about 230 to go and we are already getting wear and tear issues. Both Beth and C have blisters appearing and I have a funny little niggle behind the knee. But the show must go on, so deep breath, then off we hobble on another big day, leaving S behind to explore Esposende a bit more, then catch public transport to our next destination. Lots of little villages, churches of all shapes and. sizes, some quite picturesque cemeteries and of course gum trees along the way today. A couple of the larger cemeteries had a steady stream of visitors with enormous bunches of flowers. They came on foot, in cars, some pushing wheelbarrows and even one tractor pulling a little cart piled high with flowers. Not sure whether it was a special day for commemorating the dead or Saturday is just the day you visit the cemetery. Whatever the reason, it looked Iike it was a good day for florists.
As pilgrims, the thing to do evidently, is to get your Pilgrim’s Passport officially stamped at points along the way and then to show said passport to the relevant authorities at Santiago da Compostela when you arrive. If you have at least 2 official stamps each day and have completed more than 100km of walking, you are then awarded a Compostela certificate granting you formal pilgrim status. I am pretty sure that the intention was that stamps should be from churches or pilgrim hostels. But as often happens with these things, the intent seems to have been somewhat lost over time. Stamps are offered by tourist offices, cafes and even street vendors, which all seem to have very little to do with meeting the holy obligations of the pilgrim. Sorry, I am getting all cynical again. Anyway, it is fair to say that Beth and I were not particularly committed to collecting stamps, but it was a bit of fun getting stamps from churches, and as I mentioned, there was no shortage of churches today to collect stamps, and in the blink of an eye the first page of our passport was full.
A little over halfway through the walk we received a text from our intrepid scout S letting us know that he had come to grief in Esposende, courtesy of a wire strung a few inches off the ground across a driveway just where he had chosen to walk. What purpose this wire was intended to serve was a mystery to us, but the consequence was very clear. S went from vertical to horizontal in very quick time. Given S’s height and frame, I am surprised we didn’t feel the earth shake from where we were, 15 kilometres away. A grazed forehead and a nasty knock to the knee, but it’s ok, his brand new iPhone survived intact. Some local people came to his aid, sought out a first aid kit, and patched up his wounds as best they could. It is good to see that the milk of human kindness flows freely the world around. Nothing life threatening, but enough to take the wind out of S’s sails, so an Uber straight to our destination hotel rather than searching for public transport today.
A highlight of todays walk is the view as we approach town, of the imposing church atop the hill overlooking Viana do Castelo and crossing the beautiful Ponte Eiffel over the River Limia, which as the name suggests, was designed by Gustav Eiffel of Eiffel Tower fame. It put a spring in our (well mine anyway) steps at the end of a big day of walking. S and C, both nursing war wounds decided to hole up in the hotel and have dinner in tonight. Beth and I thought we might have bit of a wander around town and find some dinner. It turned out to be quite a long wander because we chose the wrong part of town to start looking for food and ended up doing a full circuit of the city, but it did give us a nice little taste of Viana do Castelo.
Day 4 Viana do Castelo to Vila Praia de Âncora 20 km - 28 April
Only 20 km today, so we decide after breakfast to take the funicular ride up the hill to that imposing church we saw from a distance yesterday and take in the views of the city, before heading off for our walk. Beth is quite fond of a funicular ride, so when one presents itself it is rarely left untraveled. I quite like funicular rides too, because another thing Beth likes is a good view point, which when presented rarely goes unvisited, so a funicular ride will generally mean a very steep climb avoided.
The walk again today is a bit more of the same. Lots of little villages, lots of chapels along the way, lots of gum trees, and lots of fellow pilgrims to keep us company.
C has changed her shoes from her well worn walking boots to a new set of Hoka walking shoes, which seem to be the footwear of choice amongst pilgrims, and probably for good reason, because C’s blister issue, which was looking pretty grim and threatening to interrupt her campaign, was actually improving. Beth has also walked through her blister problem, and my little muscular issue has all but gone away. A few miles in the legs and feet seems to have toughened us up. I did some self diagnosis with the help of doctor google and found that my niggle was probably a legacy of the steep and uneven surfaces of my diabolical Lisbon run. Evidently a common complaint amongst hill and trail runners which resolves itself in time. Note to self - leave the running shoes in the case for the time being.
Evidently at various points along the way we are meant to encounter Roman roads, but it is never quite clear from the notes just where these roads are, so we are constantly on the lookout. So what differentiates a Roman road from your normal garden variety cobbled path? Not sure really. I guess the cobbles need to look like they have been in place and travelled on for two thousand years. We have encountered some candidates, but cannot say with confidence yet that we have walked on a Roman road. Poor C is somewhat conflicted. She is excited about the prospect of walking a Roman road, but cobbles underfoot translate to immediate pain, so she would like ideally to find a Roman road whose cobbles have been worn smoothly and evenly.
Vila Praia de Âncora is a lovely seaside resort town and our hotel has a beautiful view across the beach then if you look hard enough all the way to New York or thereabouts.
Day 5 Vila Praia de Âncora to A Guarda 15 km - 29 April
Towards the end of our walk today we cross the Minho river into Spain, which means that today is our last day of walking in Portugal.
The walk today is again through villages and past many churches, but the last little bit of Portugal is through a very pleasant pine forest onto the beach at Caminha. It actually felt quite nice not having gum trees for a while. S decides to meet us at Caminha for lunch and then to take the ferry across the Minho River into Spain and walk the last 5 km or so with us to our hotel at A Guarda.
Our notes tell us about a ferry that crosses the Minho river regularly, except that it generally doesn’t run on a Monday, and it does not run if the tides are out. Given that it is both a Monday and the tides are quite low, our expectations are not high.
Not to worry though, evidently there is a water taxi that fills in when the ferry is not running. So, we buy our tickets at the jetty and expect a little water taxi to collect us there. But no, we are directed down onto the beach about 100m beyond the jetty. Beth had earlier seen a little runabout push into the beach and set down some little steps at the waterline that looked like they were made from milk crates. She jokingly said that this looked like our water taxi. Turns out, it was no joke.
There were about twelve of us waiting to catch the boat, 2 with heavy e-bicycles, and there were only 6 places available on the boat. When the boat pushed into the sand and bumped against the milk crate, the driver (it was too small and rickety for me to call him the captain) stepped ashore, anchored into the sand and signalled for passengers to come forward. The e-bike folk jumped immediately into action and their machinery was manhandled aboard leaving precious little room for human cargo, but the driver insisted that he needed six passengers. He already had the bikers and another couple which had moved quickly, so he needed two more. Left on the beach were 8 of us, C, S, Beth and myself, as well as a group of 4 elderly (well maybe a little older than us) German women. The German women were there before us so we suggested that 2 of them should go, but at this point one of the women was quite unhappy, and was expressing that unhappiness in a very German way. It appears that the bike folk had purchased their tickets after the German women, so she was quite incensed that they had got on the boat first and now the Germans could not travel as a group, so she was steadfastly refusing to break up the group, they would wait for the next boat. We could see that this was going to become difficult if we also refused not to travel as a group, so S and C took the last two spots. The little boat was loaded to the gills, but anchors up and a push off from the sand and she was away and we just needed to wait until she came back again.
Eventually the little boat came into sight and we and the Germans got ourselves organised into a tidy little queue near the milk crate, only to see the boat come abruptly to a halt about 200m offshore. This didn’t sound good. There was plenty of action onboard including scrambling about, wild gesticulating and finally producion of a Jerry can, with the little boat all the while drifting toward hazards in the water. I have to admit, my thoughts weren’t with the boat driver who seemed in a calamitous position, but with myself who it seemed increasingly likely was going to need to walk 10 km upstream to the nearest bridge, making mine an even more calamitous situation. Just as I had given up all hope, the little boat coughed and sputtered into action and the driver skilfully manoeuvred it out of harms way and then into its position near the milk crate.
By this time we had been joined by another couple, so we had eight passengers and theoretically 6 spaces. But clearly the driver wasn’t very interested in making the return journey for just 2 people, so he hustled us all on board and coaxed the little boat into action. We had only progressed a little way, but far enough that “stop the boat, I want to get off”, was never going to work, that the driver, despite his lack of English, managed repeatedly through snippets of English, hand gestures and breast beating to convey some important messages to us. 1 That the boat was a piece of rubbish made by the useless Spanish and likely to fail at any time. 2 That the bikes on the previous trip had badly overloaded the boat and they were lucky to make it to the other side, and 3 The undying love that he felt for Fatima and that we should all share that love.
We understood clearly items 1 and 2. But what he was trying to tell us at item 3 was not so clear. Perhaps he was telling us at items 1 and 2 that we were all about to die, and at item 3 that we should all pray for our souls to Our Lady of Fatima. It is fair to say he was entertaining, but he did make us feel a little vulnerable and the (I think deliberate) dramatic broadside landing at the jetty on the other side finished the trip off nicely. We all scurried to get off the boat as quickly as we could.
With wobbly legs we set off on the last leg of our walk and fairly quickly caught up with S and C, who were engaged in earnest conversation with an elderly local gentleman out for a walk. C introduced us as amigos and the conversation continued, the gentleman entirely in Spanish and C in English with a few Spanish words thrown in for good measure. Impressively C kept him happily engaged for a good 20 minutes, whereupon he went his way with a wave and a smile, and we went ours. Chatter doesn’t always need to be fully understood. You just need to get the gist and know that it is friendly, happy and well meant. In no time at all we arrived at the picturesque fishing village of A Guarda.
Crossing into Spain is a bit of a milestone, so I will leave the blog there for now, and come back to the rest of the Camino in my next instalment.
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| Matosinhos - the little yellow arrow That will guide us for the next 280 km. |
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| The first of many little churches Along the way |
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| Caravelle replica - Vila do Conde |
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| Lady in Vila do Conde. It was 25 April Which is a Portuguese public holiday Celebrating the Carnation Revolution |
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| A eucalypt forest |
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| S & C on their way in to get more stamps |
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| Coming in to Esposende |
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| Beth & C getting friendly with the Locals |
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| Their cemeteries are a little grander than ours |
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| Wildflowers - Viano do Castelo |
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| Thru come in all shapes and sizes. From a dab of paint on a rock To this artistic one |
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| Little chapel |
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| Stork in it’s nest |
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| Coming into Viana do Castelo |
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| Poppies - Viana do Castelo |
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| Spearing eels - Viana do Castelo |
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| Roman Bridge Viana do Castelo |
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| Eiffel Bridge - VDC |
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| Three pilgrims - VDC |
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| Funicular terminal VDC |
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| Church on top of the hill |
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| Nice little arrangement of weeds |
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| Nobody home |
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| On the beach - Vila Praia da Âncora |
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| From our hotel room window Vila Praia da Âncora |
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| Vila Praia de Âncora Surfing is popular here |
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| A bit of sand art to guide us |
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| Old school railway level crossing Vila Praia de Âncora |
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| Forte de Insua. A little fortress island at the Mouth of the Minho river |
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| Seagulls are huge here. That is a normal sized chair |
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| Our crazy water taxi ride |
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| Walking into A Guarda |
