Camino Portugués Day 7 - Ponte de Lima to Rubiaes

An early start (on my terms) so that I could be walking as far as possible in the cool. I had bought some croissants yesterday to have for breakfast, and having forced one down (not at its best the next day) I discovered that there was a pool of water all over the floor of my palatial apartment. My hydration system on my rucksack seems to have a very sensitive valve, and something had pressed on it, resulting in it emptying all over the floor. So instead of a chilled start, things were a little frantic, rescuing the floor and all my belongings before setting off again.

The air was cool and refreshing at 6.30, the light gorgeous over the ancient bridge. There were men strumming the weeds thigh deep in the river, I was glad that their bosses were letting them work in the cool as opposed to the exhausting heat.

Walking onto the bridge I met Kurt and Deb again, we chatted for the first half an hour or so of the walk, they pointed out pokeweed, a plant I’ve not seen before, that can cause a nasty skin reaction. I tried to remember it, knowing how dramatically I can react to things.

We followed the path next to a stream that has clearly had delusions of grandeur earlier in the year, the stone flags showing where the water has risen to, and the water has cut across the path on a number of occasions. We negotiated the obstacles caused by the stream cutting across the fields, needing a hop and a skip at times.  I was glad that I used poles today, they served to steady me across these wobbly moments, one of which caught Deb out. Despite appreciating them, I notice a difference in my walking with the poles, I feel a bit less confident going down hills, Like I’m relying on them too much.

We looked together at some unnerving items left by the side of the path. I don’t know if I can call it a display? Deb wondered if it was for Halloween, but if so it’s been hanging around for a bit. I preferred the vibe in the impeccable cemeteries.

After a little while my speed differed to the others, and I walked on.

I feel I’m searching out the beauty in everything as I walk. Even under the motorway there was loveliness.

I met Alex from Germany who opened by saying that I walk fast….  We talked for a while about shoes (a hiker’s capacity to be interested in shoes is endless) and the trails he has done.

This was more like walking in Scotland, being a rough path over boulders as we climbed over the Portela Grande. It felt very familiar.

After Alex stayed behind to talk to some friends by a refreshing looking waterfall, I was starting to walk down a road when I heard a van hoot, with the driver gesticulating wildly. Worried he was annoyed I was walking on the wrong side of the road, I crossed over, only for him to lean out of the window and tell me I’d missed the arrows, and the Camino path was a little way back. The Portuguese are so proud of their Camino and so unfailingly helpful.

Just over the road was a shop and cafe full of pilgrims, together with a few locals. We were stocking up on coffee and drinks, knowing it would be 12km before the next refreshment.

There was lots more discussion of shoes and socks, together with all the blister conversations. Some people are really suffering, some are doing a lot of preventative measures, such as taping every toe or wearing toe socks and shoes, and others (like me) are so far untroubled.

The path had climbed pretty steadily for 6 miles, but I knew the steepest bit was to come, as my apartment host had sucked her teeth when talking of the walk today. I was so glad of the early start, it was already feeling warm at 9 am.

The first steep section on road meant I was glad of the excuse to stop as a tractor squeezed past me, I could look out over the valley to the church on the other side.

Then a very steep section of rocks and tree roots, by far the most challenging section of the trip. Lizzie from the Netherlands, Bill from Australia and I I were a team going up this tough leg, encouraging each other, laughing at how the path kept looking as if it were the top and then there was more. They were great company, and I will always be impressed that Bill is hiking with a bottle of wine in his backpack

We were triumphant at the top, resting in the shade for a while on the granite rocks, which again demonstrated, through the imprint I left behind, my ability to sweat. I seem to sweat so much more than everyone else, it pours off me, leaving salty tide marks on my clothes. I work hard at keeping hydrated, but it sometimes feels that it’s not possible to pour enough in before it’s all poured out again.

I was talking about cycling in Holland with Lizzie, and about the joy of cycling without a helmet. And how walking without a hat feels the same. So I took it off to let the air get to my head - and at some point afterwards I lost it. I realised maybe a kilometre or two later. Because I have such a big head, and therefore don’t fit normal sized hats, it was important to find it, even though that meant climbing back up where we’d come down. So I started to retrace my steps, asking a jovial Portuguese runner about my chapeu (thanks again Duolingo) to no avail, but then to my joy I saw a peregrina walking towards me down the hill carrying it, thinking that someone would be looking for it. In the meantime the Portuguese runner had turned back to help me - he was overjoyed and high-fived me and that hat rescuer, bellowing ‘Bom Camino! at us.

At the first bit of habitation since the cafe, the church bells were playing the ode to joy, appropriately enough. I found Lizzie and Bill waiting for me, who had been told the barbecue chicken was good. I didn’t need to be told twice. It was spectacular, and during the meal I learnt that my intolerance of raw onion and garlic could be genetic - every day a school day.

Bill was also talking about the Australian ‘pub choir’ movement which has become hugely popular, thousands of people turning up to learn one song in harmony over a couple of hours,   and then about the Danish school system - having a year off at 15/16 years old to either get a job or have a year in a specialist arts school or similar before returning to high school rejuvenated and ready to learn. Both sounded  fantastic.

We stayed for a while, during which time many hot faced walkers appeared at the cafe to regroup, eat chicken, drink home made lemonade and commiserate about the heat. Many were trying to work out where to stay tonight, with about half of the people having booked ahead, the other half playing it by ear.

But we couldn’t stay all afternoon, so we set off again to Rubiaes, a little village with a few albergues and hostels, a cafe and a restaurant. Imagine my delight to discover that my hostel had a pool. That was the rest of the day sorted, along with a short nap and a load more washing, ready to make it all sweaty again tomorrow!

After the post walk admin I had a drink with one group of friends in the village bar, sat with my feet in the pool and chatted with another group before heading down to the village restaurant for dinner where there were about 30 pilgrims, most of whom I’ve walked with at some point. A challenging day due to the heat, but deeply satisfying.

Stats

Distance travelled - 12.5 miles / 20km

Total ascent - 1790 feet / 545m

Exhortation of the day -