Camino: day 5

With difficulty (read: that third Super Bock pulsing through my head) I wake early and begin unpacking both our bags and repacking the two bags that we’d take forward and the big bag that would go back to Lisbon with Luke. Cait joins and I think we do a fairly good job of it.

We say goodbye to Luke and Mattea, they head off to the bus stop. We finish packing our two, light and small bags - they feel great. And head off to Spain.

A quick stop at the supermarket, another yappy dog and then head to the ferry that would drive us across the 2km channel separating the two countries. There’s a man standing outside the ferry ticket office that asks if we want to go across and ushers us in. He’s someone who I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night, just from his look. How wrong I was.

After buying tickets, he turns out to be our boat driver and launches into the history of the ferry - the big one hadn’t run since covid and is now very broken. The channel has filled with a lot of sand and you can walk most of the way. We would go on his smaller boat, he had another boat with a bigger engine, but that’s also currently broken.

He asks where we’re from, and speaks of friends of his from Joburg. He’s completely present, engaged and excited. He must take pilgrims across all day every day, yet he asks as if we were the first. He’s done the Camino before, and wishes us off with some directions and a reminder that Spain is one hour ahead of Portugal. Talk about being wrong about someone.

According to the Wise Pilgrim app (definitely the best of all the apps - worth the R100) there are two routes to go: over the hill and around the hill on the coast. We opt for coast and the extra 4km, which are the best decision. It’s a beautiful coastal forest with stunning path oscillating between single track and small road.

It was shortly after the house perched on mushroom stilts (pictured below) that I realized that I had left me monocle telescope thingy in the big hiking backpack and was now heading to Lisbon with Luke. It was shortly after that that I realised that I left the running poles that I would need in France in the bag too. Damn third Super Bock. It’s ok though: monocle is a nice to have, and other running poles can be sourced.

We pass through a beautiful forest. And the vibes are immensely high. It’s hot and we begin to scout out for a beach.

A fisherman explains (purely in Spanish and hand gestures of chains) that this island was/is a Portugese prison.

We have an idyllic swim in a sheltered bay. Eat probably our last Pasteis de nata (it scored a 6, sad) that we had smuggled in from Portugal. And we’re back on the trail. There are pagan-ish symbols painted on the trees, and when you line them up correctly the image appears. The information board is in Spanish but from what I gather they were found in a mountain nearby from a time forgotten.

When there was a decision to make about where we would take transport to, Cait had insisted that we did the crossing into Spain and some of the Spanish coast - and how right she was. It’s truly stunning. The biome has changed slightly: everything from the coastal vegetation to the rocks in the sea to the livestock (horses and donkeys). Big smiles on our faces and we march on at the fasted pace, uninhibited by weight.

This part of the coast reminded me of the Otter trail: Little Rock pools as far as the eye can see, an almost old river bed type rock in the waves and just expansive blue ocean as far as the eye could see.

Already it was the most exciting day. The weight off our backs heightened the feeling a thousandfold.

We came across a beautiful little fishing town. Postcard perfect.

The moment that someone mentions having lunch or food on a hike I’m conditioned to stop everything and eat immediately, having had so many hangry people on hikes in the past - I know that the first mention of food is almost too late. When we discuss lunch, there is no obvious place to stop. Spain doens’t seem to understand that some people might want a public bench in the shade, so many beautiful spots are unplayable with the sun scorching overhead.

We spot a small public park with some trees and set ourselves up for a little picnic. With Chorizo, cheese, mayo and rolls - which we absolutely stuff - we look out over a little beach and have a lovely time. I ruin it slightly with a truly terrible and weak coffee. Yet the spirits can’t really be tainted.

We have received five “Bom Caminos” something that still makes us tingle to hear. It’s a sense of community. And I suspect given by someone who’s make the pilgrimage themselves. I never realised how revered and special a journey it is.

We hit our first big hill of the Camino - nothing ridiculous, but with five days of walking with big bags we felt it. The view on top made up for it. The light pack made it possible.

Cait and I stop in a strange place to download The Pilgramage audio book and begin listening to it together. Paulo’s writing is iconic within his genre - and he hits on some beautiful topics and metophors that we resonate with.

This is an old pilgrim clothes washing station

The trail mostly sticks to the bicycle lane of a road here and it’s hot and less stimulating. I spot a yellow arrow and sign pointing to the left and down to the coast, yet the app says go straight - I follow my gut and we head down to the coast. Beautiful coastal forests encroach and we’re cooled by the proximity to the ocean and lack of tar. It turns out to join the road about a kilometer later, and probably added distance on, but it also added motivation and enthusiasm onto our spirit which helps more than anything.

We pass through an old set of houses and I opt for a sit under some pine trees on an old stone wall. It’s a nice sit, great actually. Until we try get up and our pants pull away slowly, covered in pine sap. Cait begins to scheme how to wash it out - this scheming will continue for another day or so.

We come across another church by the sea and go inside. I sit on the pew and stare at a sculpture of Jesus on the cross. He must really have been a powerful presence in that time to have received that treatment.

We’re nearing the end of our journey. We have booked a hotel to celebrate the light packs and it’s drawing near. Cait heads off for a last dip in the ocean before we climb into the old town.

There’s a beautiful old monetary in a quaint fishing town and we get into the hotel. We’re greeted by a lovely man who chats with us about Portugal while filling in the forms. Our room is lovely. We pop down for a dinner and watch the most beautiful sunset that we’ve seen since Waking Life.

Cait: - Portuguese Sephardic Jews changing surnames in the 15th century, after forced conversions to Christianity - Conversion or exile from Spain & Portugal - Adopted the surnames as a way to hide their Jewish identity - Often changed to either traditional Catholic surnames or surnames that are derived from plants, flowers, trees, animals, mountains, fruits etc. - Mine - Pinheiro (pine tree). His - Pereira (pear tree) - A fact that I had always known, having been told by my father when I was very young. But I had never met anyone who acknowledged it as a part of their own experience.

We reflects on a thing written in The Pilgrimage - that while traveling, small acts of kindness from strangers mean so much. It’s like being reborn: everything is foreign, you often can’t understand what people are saying and your brain is wholly focused on the now trying to figure out what is happening. Something as small as a genuine greeting from someone can make your day. It’s a beautiful state to be in.

Another thing that we spoke about was how wonderful it is to see another country by foot. You don’t just fly into the cities and walk around. Then taking public transport to skip out the in between bits - on foot it’s all about the in between bits. The fascia of the country that hold it all together and give it its charm. The best parts of the Camino aren’t in the cities or towns, but in those liminal spaces where you truly see what the country is all about.