Another day, another stamp in my pilgrim’s passport. We all hve these passports that need to be stamped at every resting point as proof that weºve actually done the camino. This allows access to cheap or free albergues and also serves as proof for when we arrive at the final destination. Plus, it makes for a cool souvenir.
Today started off better. After about 10 minutes, I found myself walking through forest. I was in nature rather than along a highway. I don’t like walking along highways because, every time a car passes, I’m reminded of how slow I’m going. The first 2 hours flew by. When I saw that 2 hours had already passed, I let out a chuckle in shock. Maybe I was getting used to this walking thing. No, I wasn’t.
I got very tired of walking. I was aching. I took breaks and ate several times. I questioned why I was even doing this in the first place. Why am I doing this?
Luckily, I’ve been surrounded by some gorgeous scenery. I’ve been walking through forests and farms, often spacious green hilly areas spattered with the omnipresent white-wall orange-roof house. I can’t say that it’s prettier than my hike in Morocco was, but it’s very peaceful. The stone pathways that cut through much of the forests are also easy on the eyes, but not the feet. Oh, the feet.
I walked and walked, always alone except for lunch time when I ate with the French guy whose name I never got. One reason I chose to do this trail rather than the more popular French route was the fact that it’s less popular and less crowded. I wouldn’t mind making some friends out here, though. I’ve gotta disagree with my buddy Sartres; other people are pretty cool sometimes. One of my favorite moments of the day was buying fruit from someone on the side of the street and trying to communicate. His face lit up when, before leaving, I paused with my finger in the air and my eyes up as if to search for something in my big head and finally said, “Obrigada” in a terrible accent.
I walked and I walked, feeling like a pilgrim because I had a big walking stick that I pulled from the forest, but a pilgrim without a purpose. Could I really say I was doing this for religious reasons? I don’t know. Could I really say that I was enjoying this? I don’t think so. Not yet anyway. Why AM I doing this?
I walked and walked until I arrived at my destination town 27km and 8 hours later. Damn, that’s a long time. And double damn, I just looked at my tentative schedule because I thought I’d be due for a short day, but tumorrow is supposed to be 33km. Bleh.
Anyway, here I am in Barcelos, Portugal. This is a big town/city. A gorgeous one at that. A river runs through the center where there’s currently a big sand mound that people are fishing from and playing volleyball on. Buildings are ancient, churches beautiful and plentiful, city alive. I’m at the main square where music was playing, people dancing, etc. Strangely, it all shut down around 8. I passed by a group of people on the square -an old man sat on the bench playing a happy accordion and, around him, a group of old couples danced as if they hadn’t a care in the world. It was one of the most adorable things I’d ever seen.
I went for dinner at a fast food burger/pizza joint called Big Bob’s. I got a “big burger” and was a little disappointed to see what they thought “big” meant. Good enough. When I arrived in Barcelos, the tourist office had just closed and I didn’t want to search for an albergue. Instead, I’m staying in a hotel on the camino for 15 euros. I showered, washed my other set of clothes, and immediately passed out naked in a big comfy bed.
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