<![CDATA[

Santo Estevão, Portugal

Ok, now that I got the catharsis over with, I can tell you about my journey. Since there was no ferry (for no rhyme or reason) in Caminha, I walked to Vila Nova de Cerveira. Even though the map shows the walk going alongside the river, the Pilgrims of ancient times must have had other ideas. They preferred to walk in the bush. (Up to no good, me thinks…). Seriously – while there is a perfectly good path running all along the river, the pilgrimage is all along the edge of town, far away from the cafes and the beer, on the edge of the forest. As my heart sinks into my shoes, I just think of yesterday and what an incredibly beautiful path it was, and I go forth. And it is the same again – ancient paths, cobbled, through the most beautiful forest landscape.

I read that there is supposed to be a Youth Hostel, but somehow, after the last night, I cannot see myself in one tonight. I walk out of town, and discover the Inatel Hotel. Suffice to say, there is NOTHING caminhno about this place. Four stars, the works. I pay with a smile, have a long hot shower, a nap and then walk back to town to try and find something to eat. The town is deserted. Really, truly deserted. I end up in a cafe where I am delighted at the fact that they actually can serve a tuna salad. (I think I have scurvy and it has gone to my brain. Like syphillis).
My solitude is at the moment the most precious gift.

And then of course, Marco appeared. He stayed at the Youth Hostel (brave man), and was going on to Valenca today. I immediately decide that I will take a train back to Caminho and catch the ferry. We exchange pleasantries and platitudes (“a remark or statement, especially one with a moral contect, that been used too often to be interesting or thoughtful”). Like the **** people post on Facebook with pictures of angels and flying pigeons that are supposed to look like doves. (An example – it is not about the destination, but about the journey). Anyway, I participate gladly, pay the bill and walk back to my hotel, which is about three kilometres out of town. Marco will be going north, I will be going west. End of that.

Back at the hotel, I decide to have another glass of wine in the foyer. To my (not) surprise, an entire busload of OLDER (as in geriatric, my specialty) people have checked into the hotel in my absence, and are now having dinner in the restaurant. And a crooner is setting up his electronic piano in the foyer to entertain them after their meal. I watch them totter into the foyer, flop down in chairs that are too low for the hip replacements, and sit and wait for the music. I decide to go to bed…

Thanks to sound proof walls, thick curtains and enough red wine, I sleep like the dead. Eventually I wake up at 08h30 only because I accidentaly knock over the empty red wine glass next to my bed and splatter it to pieces on the tile floor. (I might still have been asleep if that did not knock me right out of bed). I decide to go to breakfast immediately – a hotel breakfast! And yes, I meet the bus. It is so funny – the man turning the whole pepper pot onto his scrambled eggs, the lady trying to pick the raisins out of the muesli, the one harassing the waiter for hot milk – like being back at work! I sit in the corner watching all this, laughing by myself, when suddenly I feel a very strong pair of hands on my shoulders: MARCO! He had walked all the way out to my hotel to tell me that he is taking my advice, to be adventurous, take the road less travelled, and that he is not going to Valenca like he had planned, but that like me, he is going to cross the bridge (into Spain), and be the adventurer and walk back down the river and up the coast. I cannot believe this – walking three kilometres to my hotel to come and tell me his plans. Good lord. And then he leaves.

Of course, now the decision on which route is easy – I go the opposite direction on the road travelled by everyone else.

Just before I go, I check Facebook (as one does before losing the wifi signal) for one last time. I see two things – a message from Victor that Sophie (our Char for the past 13 years) has resigned and a post by a friend about the student riots back home. Somehow these two bits of news collide and coincide and contort in my brain to completely ruin the day. When I eventually sit down, I realise that I had walked ten kilometres without a break. I was exhausted, completely overcome by emotion, and in tears. I stopped, hauled out my ipad, and started writing. Relieved and drained, I set off to Valenca.

The town of Valenca is built inside the old castle walls. Somehow, it is completely filled with shops selling table cloths, towels and baby clothes. I have no idea why, but it is like walking into a mall of linen shops. And they are all selling the same things! The city, the ancient stone walls and look-outs are beautiful, and yet these absurd shops! I venture out beyond the castle walls and find a shop where I buy bread, cheese, ham and wine and decide to have a quiet night in my room. Tomorrow life should return to normal again. I hope.

]]>