Buen Camino Peregrino – Introduction

Eighteen months ago, I grabbed the bull by the horns and sent the family an invitation-slash-announcement. I was setting my sights on doing the Camino Portugués before I turned 60, and I invited them to join me. I knew that if anyone would be up for it, it would be Lise. Just as well I put it out there, because shortly afterwards an engagement was announced, a new Grandbaby was in the pipeline, and a wedding in Mexico was on the cards.

Walking the Camino has been on my bucket list for years. I heard all about it 20 years ago, when Attie and Anise did it; of course, they did the French Way, all 900 km over the Pyrenees. Twice! As much as I would've loved to do it, it might have remained a pipe dream until I heard from the Trotting Tozers, who'd done the Portuguese Way and then repeated it the next year, backwards. I was hooked.

I started saving every cent I could; I even did the ironing, stopped getting my regular highlights, curbed my shopping sprees, and thought twice before buying lip gloss or getting a manicure. This careful planning and frugal approach are meant to reassure readers that preparation is achievable and manageable.

Angela Meyer of Above and Beyond Travel came to the rescue and booked our multiple-destination flights. She juggled different departure dates, secured the best prices, and stepped in to help with our seats and boarding passes for all flights during our trip, which made things so much easier for us, especially as Wi-Fi is always unpredictable. I would fly to Porto, and Butch would meet us in Spain. Coordinating our travel so we could meet up in Vigo was not simple, but her experience, expertise and good humour made it all possible.

Planning certainly has advantages, one of which is that I could read many books and various people’s accounts of their journeys, which were interesting, heartfelt, inspiring and sometimes surprising. The common thread running through many of these stories was of burnt-out, fat, unfit, emotionally bankrupt men who saw this as their road to recovery, where they’d find meaning, truth and light. Strangely enough, I didn’t read any books by women, although I do know that Shirley McClaine wrote “The Camino – A Journey of the Spirit”. I'll find it and read it one day. The Way, the movie starring Martin Sheen, brought tears to my eyes and was an excellent introduction.

Although I was absolutely committed to doing the Camino and knew that, to many Catholics, other believers, and Christians, walking the Camino is a spiritual journey, I did not consciously think of it that way. I likened myself to a peasant walking from town to town, with Santiago as the destination, as many people did for centuries, when walking was the only way to get around. I thought of the adventure: introducing Butch to Europe affordably, spending some excellent alone time with Lise, and, hopefully, awakening a yen for travel and adventure in her life, too.

I was neither fat nor unfit; I trained, and Santa even gifted me a Garmin sports watch for Christmas. In January, Butch and I got seriously involved in our training programmes, and I even persuaded him to start walking, which we did with gusto on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and once over a weekend. Disappointing myself was one thing; being the weakest link with my daughter and Butch was unthinkable. Butch started “Alpine walking” with sticks, which took much of the pressure off his knees, while I puffed and panted, did sets of weight training, and climbed hills to be “the best me I could be”! We tried to do one long, uphill route every weekend, often going out to Hamilton-Russell Vineyards in the Hemel-en-Aarde Valley in Hermanus. My aim was at least 14- 16 km before lunch. 

We linked up with Vitality (the fitness booster on our Medical Aid), and every step I took was recorded, earning us points and discounts. This awakened my competitive spirit and encouraged us to step up our routines even more—special Mention: Jenny Botha. Without your encouragement, good humour, fun teaching methods and take-no-prisoners attitude, I might not have kept up with my fitness classes. Thank you.

Time, as you know, quickens its pace as one gets older, and in the blink of an eye I had to pack, get my Schengen visa, and board my plane to Porto for the first stage of our epic journey. It was quite amusing: the official checking my credentials at the visa office came over to me. It whispered that the Italian Consulate might not approve my bank statement, as it said, "Holiday Fund", and the only transactions were little drips and drabs of funds dribbling into the account.  I said, "Exactly, this is my holiday fund, and it's all for my trip; that's when it'll be pouring out!"  I got my visa.

Not an ounce more than 10 kg would my backpack weigh, I vowed! Travelling light was of utmost importance, and I set out with a list to pack only the essentials, including clothing, toiletries, and shoes.

The bag I put on my back on the first morning weighed 10,8 kg, and my Camera bag weighed 2,9 kg.  Not bad for someone who does not do minimalism.

In my bag: mostly black garments,

TOILETRIES

First-aid kit plasters (lots of rolls of Elastoplast – I will forever love them), scissors, anti-inflammatories, and an antibiotic. (My Dr gave me an official letter “Safe Passage for Medicines”; he said I might tantalise a sniffer dog and get arrested)

Confession time:  I did have an extra bag (6kg) with a few extras for both Butch and me, which Megan would take with her and bring on to Italy.

Although I did toss out or lose a few things along the way, I must confess the girl was pregnant by the time we came home. Who can resist the Portuguese and Spanish shops? But I was controlled and disciplined; I bought only things I could use. P R O M I S E.

We used the toiletries provided by the guesthouses we stayed in, but since they weren’t as generous as we were accustomed to, I often had to wash from my crown to my toes with shower gel. I didn’t mind. We had to refill the Body Lotion twice because we shared it. I organised, folded and packed my clothes into three lightweight travel organiser bags; my cosmetics, medication and toiletries were in Ziploc bags. Perfect set-up.

Each person was responsible for their own bags, so we didn’t question what was inside, nor did we complain about the weight or the choices made; we all have different priorities, after all. Each to his own; we both had other fish to fry.

Travelling with a backpack is wonderful; one feels younger, fitter and more adventurous, feet loose and fancy-free. Inside that pack was everything I’d need for 5 weeks; I didn’t have to worry about anything else and had no need of anything else. The freedom it afforded me was liberating (I am a member of the Liberating Movement), and I will certainly carry on this trend of travelling light. I was as happy as Larry every time I flung, clipped and tightened my Osprey 65-litre backpack, one of my best investments!

And so the big day dawned, and with much excitement and trepidation, Lise and I set off from Porto to Matosinhos to walk along the coast towards Vila do Conde.