Board Not Bored Walking - Setting off

This I know is true. Just as we had to take those first uncertain steps into the unknown, taking one step at a time on our Camino, I know that unless I type my first words and get on with it, I’ll never write our story. Simple as that. I have a very simple philosophy; it has stood me in good stead since I was a child: take things one minute at a time, then one hour, then one day, one month, and soon it’ll be one year. So, it’s an emotional one word at a time this time. Difficult to do with only wonderful memories of a sometimes-harrowing experience. Two broads board walking. Reflecting on these moments helps me appreciate how each step shaped my journey and my growth.

Today is Monday, and Mondays are excellent days to start a diet, crush that last cigarette, or set out on a 340km walk from Porto in Portugal to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Our last Sunday was spent relaxing, with an early supper, and, as the good book says, early to bed, early to rise; we did as suggested. I could hardly sleep; when I did, I had a recurring dream of getting lost in a labyrinth in a strange country where I couldn’t understand the language. The scary part was that I’d forgotten my underwear—a nightmare.

We started our Pilgrimage on 5th June 2017. To feel confident and motivated, I got up before the alarm at 5h00, enjoyed a long, hot shower, washed my hair, made sure I was properly sun-blocked, and carefully layered my clothes to ease into the sunny day as I walked along the coast. I strapped my toes individually (Elastoplast) as instructed and applied cream to my heels. I slipped into my knee-highs and brand-new Merino wool socks. I pulled my hat on, tightened the strap, and made sure I had essentials like lip ice, tissues and sunglasses close at hand in my side pockets. Our Pilgrim passports were easily accessible for stamping, and Lise had the Guidebook. My camera was fully loaded. I was as ready as I’d ever be, feeling a mix of excitement and calm readiness for the journey ahead. We had enough cold water to stay hydrated, and we added Nuun electrolyte tablets for a boost.

While Lise got herself groomed, I once again read up on our walk, mentally preparing for a mere 24 km, a breeze. Before checking out of our lovely apartment, I went back inside, almost knocking the orchid over, and double-checked that we had all our possessions. We did.

Lise, the ultimate selfie queen, set the camera on a self-timer, and with broad, confident smiles, we posed for our first photo of the day. As instructed, we stretched our quadriceps, ankles and calves. I set my Garmin, waited for the satellite to lock on (a little confusing for him, I’m sure; last time he beamed down to Worcester), and with a spring in our steps and lots of bonhomie, we set off.

Of course, we’d have a wobbly. Opting for what I understood to be the scenic route, we decided to take the train from the Metro station to Matosinhos and walk from there. Easier said than done. We arrived in Matosinhos and couldn’t find the yellow Peregrino marker. We walked and walked and found ourselves almost back in Porto! Never mind, we decided to sit down at a pavement café. After a coffee, Wi-Fi and Google Maps, we’d GO. According to our guidebook and careful recalculations, it would be 33.9 km. We would get our first stamp of the day at the tourism office and head off. Fortunately, we read a tiny notice stuck in a corner of a grimy window with their business hours: 9h00 open. No way! We had to leave without the stamp, but we stopped to buy our Pilgrim shells at a newsagent, and there the kindly shopkeeper did the honours. The bronze statues of women waving to sailors setting sail for faraway places felt so apt.

Once we found our way-markers, things became a breeze; we crossed the “draw” bridge “pontes móveis”, spanning Rio Leçã. Once on the Promenade, we found our rhythm and chatted amiably, enjoying the early-morning peace as the occasional cyclist or runner passed by. I was looking forward to the boardwalk; that’s where we would really start to enjoy this jolly day. Lise was all smiles, and we even did a jig, stopped for photographs, and had another coffee and croissants before the sun warmed too much. I wondered what surprises the rest of the day would hold and how these moments would shape my memories of the pilgrimage.

The boardwalk would be easy and well marked, and I couldn’t get lost no matter what. Little did I know that the boardwalk would become unbearably hot, the spring in my step, caused by the swaying wood, would become monotonous, and the strain on our hips would develop into a dull ache. The sun's glare ricochets off the bleached wood, making us strip down to our barest necessities. I felt a mix of exhaustion and determination, reminding myself that every ache was part of the pilgrimage's story and growth.

We pass anglers tending their nets, living in small cottages so reminiscent of our West Coast; I stop to chat and take photos. The cottages are painted in bright, cheerful colours, celebrating their simplicity and resilience. Cottage gardens, smallholdings, and farms are dotted along the way; young crops grow prolifically. Each garden has a vineyard, a lemon tree, a few rows of corn and tomatoes, and a selection of seasonal vegetables and salads. Small, self-sufficient patches that reflect their way of life and connection to the land, inspiring admiration and cultural appreciation.

At lunchtime, we stopped at a Restaurant buzzing with locals; we undid our latches, dropped our bags unceremoniously, and fell into our chairs. Exhausted. Three ladies oversaw the restaurant, and without any fuss, they served our lunch: a basket of their freshest bread, a simple garden salad, and freshly prepared fish. Coffee and Pastel de Nata to pep us up and set us on our way.

My Garmin has a battery life of approximately 6-8 hours when using GPS to track our route. We’d done 28.17 km when the battery was kaput; we had at least another 12 km to go, and we were exhausted. We’d walked from Matosinhos to Mindelo; Vila do Conde wasn’t even on the horizon yet. I would estimate our total walk to be 44 km; I never thought I could do it - a marathon.

From the Garmin: Walking by Maricha on 5 June 2017

I was lagging slightly, taking photographs, when I caught up with Lise. She was stretching her thighs and quads. I asked, “What’s up, Lise? You tired? Can it be?” She replied, “Mom, please! These hips don’t lie!” It was time to sing Onward, Christian Soldiers, the only marching song I know. Our spirits were flagging, and I was angry and frustrated. Lise plugged in her earphones, switched on her iPod, and just slogged on. I didn’t have the luxury of music, so I had to find a song in my head.

The sunny day turned cloudy, and the skies grew grey. "Rain on our first day," I thought; we certainly didn’t have the energy to unpack our waterproof kit. Considering my options kept me going: it was warm, and I’d hopefully not catch a cold if I got wet, but I couldn’t afford a wet backpack and camera bag. Imagine trying to dry all my clothes, especially the socks. Fortunately, my wandering thoughts made the road seem shorter, and we made it to our guesthouse just before the heavens opened.

Streets are poorly marked, and using the address listed on a website to find a place is often misleading and maddeningly frustrating. People who’ve lived in cities, towns, and villages all their lives are often clueless about street names and addresses, and I can’t recall a single occasion when we were satisfactorily shown or clearly directed to a location. Finding our Guesthouse proved difficult, too!

Erva Doce Guest House was our destination on our first day. Our hostess, a lovely young woman, welcomed us as she put the finishing touches to a beautiful cheesecake she was garnishing. Yum. She knew all about us and announced that we’d be sharing our room with another Pilgrim, a man! The last thing I needed to hear. Pedro from Spain. We’d be a threesome. My heavy, tired heart dropped into my boots. As a sign of my distress, the heavens opened, and a gentle shower fell.

Fortunately, Pedro was out shopping for his supper at the local fresh-produce shop when we stumbled into the small room. I felt 6 (and sick) again, with double-decker bunk beds. We unpacked, got ourselves organised, bathed and dressed, and by the time Pedro returned with his supper, we were about to head next door to the Tapas bar. Small, cosy, warm and welcoming. We enjoyed a lovely supper, managed to get our Mojos back, and headed home for an early night. Pedro was snoring quietly.

After coming to grips with our circumstances, we had a good night’s sleep. The beds were comfortable. We both had lovely hot baths, relaxing our weary legs. We both slept like logs after a good Voltaren Gel application to our legs and a thick layer of healing foot balm.

Pedro slipped out of the room quietly as I woke at 5h00. He was on his way. Maybe there was a reason we had to share our space with someone else; who knows? It confirmed our decision not to share digs with strangers in an Auberge, commonly used by Peregrinos. I owed it to myself to spend time with Lise, to bond with her, laugh, cry, and get to know this remarkable woman, my daughter, without distractions. I wasn't ready to meet strangers yet either. We had the room to ourselves and could get ready for our second day at our leisure. Breakfast was included—hot croissants, rolls and bread, the usual accompaniments, and excellent coffee.

Another long day awaited us—a day of sheer hell.

ACCOMMODATION:
Booking.com
ERVA DOCE GUEST HOUSE
Rua do Caisdas
Lavandeiras, 39/40
4480-754 Vila do Conde
+351 919 058 715