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Oliveira de Azemeis, Portugal

There is now open warfare between Brierly and myself. But we will get to that…

Sitting on the square last night having a coffee under the umbrellas, I am eternally greatful that the next stage is only 16kms. A welcome break. The Albergue I chose is almost 2km out of town, but having seen the umbrellas as I walked in, I had to walk all the way back to town to cure my curiosity, sore hip or not. The room at the Inn was truly the smallest little cubicle I have ever stayed in, and trust me, I have stayed in some small cubicles. Getting to sit down on the loo was a contortionists dream – between amputating your leg against the bogroll holder, having to open your legs as wide as possible to close the door and maneuver yourself onto the seat without breaking the shower door was really someting – especially when you can hardly bend your knees thanks to the day’s walking… Anyway, it was clean, with tiny little details that made it very special. Add to that a washing line in the sun and the prospect of clean underpants and I was a happy camper.

Down in the village I had just finished my coffee when I heard a familiar “peregrino!!!’. Ron and Blanca were in town as well! How great to see them again and catch up over beers and pastries that really looked like flattened, stuffed rats. (And tasted similar!). We decide to go out together and found the quaintest little bistro with an open fire roast. The pork ribs were recommended – and they were delicious, served with the by now familiar chips, rice and crispy fresh green salad. Still not a vegetable in sight! After two bottels of ice cold red wine, it was a great evening of sharing stories. I decide to take a cab back, as my hip is still playing up badly! My little cell. The bed is so tiny that it feels as if I should get up in order to turn around. Between the sore hip and back, neighbourhood dogs barking and leaving a tremendous echo to reverberate through the valley, I don’t get much sleep. At 06h00 some industrious peregrino decides to get up and walk above my bed with what sounds like Dutch wooden clogs. Ok – so that means no more sleep. As the extent of my sense of humour is usually directly related to the amount of sleep I get, I can see that this is going to be a long day of singing “Rus my siel jou God is koning….”.

The day starts with a good stretch on the busy N1, with all the early morning traffic coming straight at me. To make up for the lack of sleep, I at least got a good double espresso and some great breakfast at the Albergue. No sense of humour yet, but at least the caffiene kicked my ass a bit. I am really amazed at how many people are driving and texting, having a good view of the oncoming traffic as I battle up the hill first thing in the morning. At the first crossing I bump into Ron and Blanca again – I have been saying how weird it is that I don’t see any other pilgrims! They seem to have seen quite a few and been chatting to them. We start walking together, but I very soon see that these two are really hoovering it! Blanca is like a machine, even though she has a backpack the size of a double diff Oshkosh truck on her back, and a just smaller one in front! Within minutes they are a speck on the horizon, while I take photographs and meander through the streets.

Friday seems to be house cleaning day in Portugal – suddenly all the windows and shutters are open, duvets and carpets hanging out to air, and housewives are busy sweeping and hosing down their yards. The route takes me through some more small villages, but mostly through eucalyptus plantations. Suddenly there are groups of Fatima pilgrims going the other way – friendly waves are exchanged and shouts of “boa viage” abound. These pilgrims are also walking so fast!! The landscape is not really changing, I stop often to admire the richness of the countryside covered in fruit trees, and the most prolific Kiwi fruit plantations, covered in fruit. I also see a number or proteas – now again, my ignorance, but I honestly thought they only grew in South Africa!

My friend Brierly. I have decided (as only I can) that the man is a pompous ass and that he has never walked the Caminho. (Ron agrees with me). I cannot for the life of me follow his directions. He is about as clear in his description of the road as Jacob Zuma is in an opening of parliament speech. I read his instructions over and over, and am none the wiser. I think I know where I am, only to find out two hours later that I am now only where I thougth I was two hours ago. I sit down, put on my glasses (huge pain in the ass switching between reading glasses and sun glasses mid walking) and read the directions out aloud to myself. Word for word. I concentrate. I get lost. So today, by the time I had to stop in this beautiful town, I was already about 4 kms away from the town. Shall I turn around (that means an extra 8 kms because I would have to do the same thing again tomorrow). I see there is a monastery up ahead (everything seems to be 3.7 km away). I will go and stay at the monastery. I walk. Uphill mostly. I am warm, and just after thinking how few flies there are, the *******s are all back, trying to climb into my mouth. In fact, the little ***** are trying to get between my top lip and my gums, that is where they will feel at home. They stick to my skin like little geckos, feet suckering on for dear life, you literally have to pull them off your face.

The other irritating (of many) thing about Brierly is that he talks about “we”. Years ago someone wrote that the pronoun “we” is reserved for royalty, newspaper editors and people with tapeworm. I assume he is afflicted by the latter and that it affected his sense of direction. I walk up to the convent on the hill (walk is really not the right word – I schlep/trek/hoist myself up the hill – why oh why did they always have to build these bloody things on hills?) to the convent. It looks like a modern day assylum, burglar bars a bit like our home in Sea Point. (Have you ever seen a house with burglar bars on the inside and the outside of the windows? Our house.) In fact, the place looks so scary that I made an executive u-turn and fumble down the hill. At any point I expect some Nazi nun to come running after me. Me, I ain’t staying in this place. Now I have a few options. The 16km day could turn into a 35 km day if I carry on. Convinced that I will find a hotel between here and point 35km, I trek on. (Thinking that when Brierly says “no services” he has just not done his homework. Typical). I walk, and I walk, and I walk. I sweat. The flies try their best to get between my top lip and my gums to lay their eggs, sneaky *******s. There is no sign of no hotel. In fact, after the cleaning frenzy of this morning, everything is tightly closed up again. In Pimheiro da Bemposta (I ask you…) I find a Pastelleira. Cafe with pastries. A very drunk man comes to sit with me at my table, refusing to believe that I do not speak Portuguese. He has a monologue that would put Hamlet to shame – in Portuguese, lubricated by lots of spit and more than usual slurring. I wait for his dentures to land on my plate any minute. He does not give up. Eventually another man walks over, asking if I am German. I decide to avert the insult and smile politely saying no – Afrique du Sod. In a broken english he tells me that he is from New York. And I am the Pope (on Fridays). Since he speaks english, I ask him if he knows of a hotel nearby. He doesn’t. (See he is from New York). A bit later he comes back, offering me accommodation. I politely decline, lying that I have just found something on the internet. The idea of staying with him and his wife, having to listen to his stories all night puts a jump in my step for the next 10km. Yes – that is how far I am from the next albergue or hotel. And it is now 16h00. And I am beyond tired. I get up and walk. With meaning. My legs have a mind of their own, my back is being stabbed with red hot pokers. I walk. And yes. I make it to Oliveira da Azemeis. (Olivier die Muis). And decide that since I have done two days worth of walking in one day, I am go
ing to book into the hotel. I need thick walls, a bath. No pilgrims waking up at 06h00, and decent coffee. In fact, I deserve it. As I walk into the village, a man with a golden labrador walks up to me and asks me if I am German. (Roland – apologies, but WTF?). Is this a Portuguese pick-up line? After a few moments of small talk he points to the hotel (which I had passed in my haste to find it) and confirms that they have a pilgrim special. I check in – 45 euro, bed and breakfast. I am in heaven. A bath that I can stretch out in, two pillows, concrete floors and solid walls.

After a long bath ( and washing my socks – see I only have three now) I venture into town. In the main drag I see a physio, and storm through the door to the astonishment of everyone in the establishment. They are fully booked, but must have seen the expression on my face. I can come in at 20h15. A very short man and his pretty female assistant take me in hand. Yes, both of them. While he tries to break my neck, crack my ribs and dislocate my shoulders, she massages my legs. I am not sure where the “physio” is in all of this, but hey, I am like a lamb to the slaughter. At this point, you can take to my skull with a jackhammer and would lie still. 35 km is not for sissies. Not if you thought in you mind that you are going to do 16. Then again, I am tough. I can do it. “Voorwaarts christen stryder….”

After the physio, I bump into the man with is Labrador again. I make a quick duck to the hotel to escape. I put on something warm and decide to go and find food. I go out the back way – only to bump into him again, offering to take me (thank God he meant show me) to a nice restaurant. I so do not want to spend time with people! And here I am at a jazz bar where I just had something like a “Uijtsmijter”: bread, cheese, bacon, ham, polony, more ham and vienna sausage all between several slices of bread, with a fried egg on top, swimming in a rather tasty tomato soup. With chips on the side. Crispy chips. And several glasses of wine as one does. It is Friday night after all and I walked 35 kms today. WTF.

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