Camino Portugués Day 5 - Barcelos to Vitorino dos Piães

I had breakfast in the hostel this morning, to the accompaniment of 4 men and a youth taking off the breakfast room doors, firmly supervised by the woman in charge, who was very keen that I leave swiftly so that more engineering work could be initiated. As breakfast was orange squash and processed cheese I didn’t mind not lingering.

Talking of engineering, something that’s been troubling me is the tiles on the houses. We are told that the paint and render on a house needs to breathe to prevent damp. How does that work with tiles that don’t allow any breathing at all?

I enjoyed walking through the town that was getting ready for the day, with a number of people wishing me Bon Camino. After the exhortation from my bar of soap from yesterday to live my life, today a motorbike supplier told me to focus and get results.

For the first time the signage was a bit shaky, so I needed the map to navigate the route out of town. Once in the countryside though, the arrows were back, and there wasn’t a moment today when I wasn’t sure where to go.

I walked past a school with brightly coloured flowers, children similarly multi coloured, with all of the things I used to see at school, the more ebullient running around and pushing each other playing football, the quieter standing in little groups and the ones who needed the reassurance holding their teacher’s hand.

After Vila Boa there was an episode of downhill walking on the cobbles. I’ve not yet used my walking poles, as the conditions have been fairly easy, but at this point I considered getting them out to steady me coming down the hill. But I then watched a small elderly Portuguese woman moving easily down the cobbled street in her battered wellies. So I continued, initially behind her, then wishing her a good morning as I passed. She asked ( in Portuguese) if I spoke Portuguese. I said I didn’t, whereupon she launched into a voluble dissertation in Portuguese also involving hand signals.  I smiled with as much matching volubility as I could manage, with no idea what she was on about, and walked on. As I moved away from her, she called urgently  ‘Peregrina!’  In turning round, she took me firmly by the hand, and insisted I moved off the path to cross the railway line.   I finally realised what she’d been saying. This was a shortcut to save me trudging downhill to (presumably) a level crossing. We parted warmly, I wish I’d got a photo of her lovely smile.

After about an hour I stopped at a cafe for a coffee. It was about 9.30, and the cafe was quiet, when a man came in for a large glass of port which he downed before leaving as abruptly. Nobody blinked.

The first of the hills today caused the walkers to string out - it was beginning to feel quite hot in the full sun. More gorgeous flowers in the gardens on the outskirts of Gandaria, and then there was a section that I’ve seen in the guides, where the walkers are given a smoother surface to give them a break from the cobbles, just like in the Wizard of Oz.

The main focus of today is the hill to Tamel, which is a couple of kilometres of steady climbing.  I stopped looking at my map and just walked, following the yellow arrows. I discovered later that the marked route on the ground was different to the one on the map, but whatever, it did the same thing, which was to go uphill.

I am better in a rhythm on a hill, powering on at roughly the speed I walk on the flat. At the top there were many cool granite benches in the shade around a church, definitely the thing hot walkers needed.

I was pouring with sweat, my T shirt had resumed its wet sheep aroma and my shorts left a lovely imprint on the bench. What a glamorous picture I am painting.

This area around the church was full of peregrinos, arriving at the top in various states of disrepair and enjoying each others company whilst recovering their composure. I was delighted to meet up with Kurt and Deb again, and also met Birgitte from Copenhagen and  Kamilė from Lithuania. We sat under olive trees and talked about linguistics and told stories of other adventures. This cross nationality togetherness is a very special thing.

I noticed a weird object on the side of a building as I started the descent with the beautiful view of the hills ahead of me. I’m thinking it’s a sundial, but am hoping for further information?

Although I’d eaten some of my emergency protein bar, I was feeling it was well past elevenses. I saw an indication to a pastelería, and took that as a sign, so I took a 2 minute detour to have a cold drink and a nata. The little cafe was rammed with local people clearly about to sit down to a large lunch. I felt I was interrupting as they looked up, so I took my snack outside and got on my way again. Kurt and Deb arrived just as I was leaving, and we were commenting on how much we’d like it to be that the big agricultural complex nearby used the cafe as their work’s canteen. I left them to try to find out and went in my way.

Ponte das Rabas was a treat, a little  oasis of green with an ancient bridge and pond, and a young peregrino beside it who looked like he’d been in for a dip.

Further on, the path was dusty, the sun was overhead and there wasn’t much breeze.  It could have felt a bit of an effort, but it was still beautiful, sparsely habitated but impeccably cultivated. And although I was warm, I was so happy.

I soon approached Balugães, at which I had planned to stop for lunch, as it seemed quite a big village. I’d not searched out a cafe though, thinking I’d stop at the first one. D’Grill was that. It was another cafe filled with locals as I arrived, who almost all left at 1pm. My options were explained to me by the waitress as ‘meat’, ‘pork’ or ‘chicken’, or, with the aid of Google translate - ‘gizzards of chicken’. It’s a good job I’m not fully vegetarian any more, Portugal would be a challenge. I’d planned on just getting a sandwich, but it’s important to keep my energy levels up…. And food is such an important part of travel for me, this felt like an experience as well as a meal. The massive plate came within minutes, and was like what Nando’s is trying to be. Absolutely delicious chicken grilled with hot sauce, together with the holy trinity of chips, rice and salad. With bread and a drink, 8 euro. Maybe I should move to Portugal.

I worked my way back to the path using the map. Everywhere was deserted, silent apart from the birdsong and the cockerels. Maybe the village was having their siesta after their plate of gizzards.

I had the option to do an extra km to see what my blog notes describe as ‘the Virgin Mary place’ - better described as the place of the ‘first Portuguese Marian apparition’ in 1702.   I wasn’t feeling it. But I did take a small detour to see the church of São Martinho of Balugães, partly so that I could do a new stamp for my Credencial. The church was closed, like they all have been today , but the stamp was left outside for eager pilgrims.

The heat was really revving up, and I was beginning to feel a bit fried when the path led through a little copse. It didn’t last long, but the shade was so welcome for a moment. Life is so simple, it’s about staying cool when you can, eating when you’re hungry, following the arrows.

And for the first time on the Camino I listened to music. I’d been sent a recommendation that I’d been looking forward to hearing - ‘In my secret life’ by Leonard Cohen. It diverted me from the heat, as I listened carefully to the lyrics and loved the extraordinary nature of his voice. I was very touched by the suggestion. It led me to listen to some of the special songs of my other walks, and one thing led to another, and despite the heat I was dancing a little.

Some of my friends were staying in what I understand to be an iconic hostel, called Casa Annabel, just down the road from mine. . Frankly, I don’t know how it could be better than where I am tonight. My accommodation is a simple room with bare plaster, but it is cool and the bed is clean, and far more important is that it is set in a vineyard and olive grove from which they make their own wine and oil, and there are deckchairs and hammocks enough for everyone.

But the best thing is that it is a place where people from all around the world who have been following an ancient pilgrimage in the hot sun can relax and enjoy each others company. I spent some time this afternoon with Jan and Sally from New Zealand. I commiserated over Sally’s fierce blisters and we talked at length about our prospective trip to NZ next year.

They were founts of knowledge and have even offered for David and I to come to stay. What treasures.

And then the evening finished with a communal meal in the garden. We were 3 Americans, 2 French, 1 German, 2 Dutch, 3 Belgians, 1 South African, 2 New Zealanders and one very happy Brit.  We laughed, swapped stories, teased each other, worked out languages we could use to communicate and enjoyed a memorable night. If my walk had to finish tonight I would feel that I have already experienced what makes the Camino magical.

Stats

Distance travelled - 13.5 miles / 22 km

Total ascent - 1154 feet / 352m

Local tipple - wine made at the hostel with a hearty meal of spaghetti and salad