Kick-Ass Heroes For A Day

Although we were quite content with each other’s company and had no need to hook up with other Peregrinos, we did meet and chat with a father and son walking alongside us, which added a meaningful layer to our journey. The attraction was our feet, of course. Flip-flops! When I mentioned that St James would've approved, we got a 'Touché'!

One was a professor of Biblical Studies from New York City, and the other was in IT from Chicago. Dad, all chirpy and full of bonhomie, had made various pilgrimages with other members of his family; Sonny Jim, though, was battling this for the first time. I think he needed to unburden himself as he struggled with his weight. We had the feeling that Sonny was crushed by his know-it-all dad, who, I am sure, was giving advice liberally, in the kindest, most solicitous way! Other hikers who fascinated us were a couple, I think a mother and son, who were pushing or pulling a small cart with their luggage. We'd see them on occasion but didn't talk, just waved and greeted them with "Bom Caminho Peregrino" as we passed. Here, anything goes.

We quickened our pace and lengthened our strides; a pool was beckoning us at our guesthouse, Quinta das Leiras, a few kilometres before Rubiaes. It had, like most places, a bidet! The ultimate foot spa.

A United Nations of pilgrims would be staying there. Couples from Dublin, Melbourne, Germany and Spain. I was a little apprehensive, I must confess. What would we talk about? Would I be able to “sell” South Africa, I wondered? Did I know enough about their respective countries? Could I talk rugby with the Australians? The IRA with the Irish? With the Germans? Michael Schumacher! Of course, there was no need to fret. We only spoke about our feet and our Caminos. What a relief. Lise and I spent an enjoyable afternoon lazing in deck chairs by the swimming pool with books, occasionally dozing off with the warm sun on our backs. Bliss! Plus, we had it all to ourselves. You see, the water had turned GREEN overnight. Fortunately, we know all about that; it was a bad dose of too much chlorine, too little acid, and a Mediterranean downpour the evening before. We’re not chicks; we’re Africans, and we had the stomach for it.

Helmut and Heidi, the owners, served a delicious spaghetti Bolognese and my favourite Caprese salad for supper, followed by a cheese platter with a delightful, almost South African, quince jelly, ice cream, and coffee.

Early the next morning, we packed and had breakfast with our “friends” before they took the shuttle and then the bus to their next destination. They would continue their Camino from Redondela in Spain, or thereabouts.

This was our last day in Portugal before we crossed the Rio Miño at Valença to stay over in Tui for the night.

Walking in our flip-flops was a mystery to the trio of German pilgrims we’d met on the road, chatted to, and passed once again. This time we were their heroes, and we even had to pose for pictures showing our bloody, blistered feet and bandaged toes. They were younger than me, fitter, and chatted incessantly. We often wondered what the Dickens they had left to discuss. Turns out they’ve been friends since Primary School and have lived in the same village, so they have years of history together.

I felt confident that the extra care we were taking with our feet was paying off. Each evening, we’d tend to our blisters, exfoliate dry skin, and keep our soles soft and pliable by massaging healing creams in generously before bed. I’d give open blisters a good dose of Mercurochrome and apply antiseptic creams and plasters to my big toe. At the same time, Lise pampered it with many newfangled silicone gels, plasters and patches. Our foot-care adventures, with all their mishaps and remedies, kept us resilient and amused, proving that humour is essential to travel.

Valença, a beautiful city on the banks of the Rio Minho, is linked to Tui in Spain by a long suspension bridge. We entered the walled city, enjoying the sights along the way, but did not linger as the heat was sapping our energy. As with all our other accommodations, our hotel was conveniently situated on our route, making it easy to find. Hotel A Torre do Xudeu was again in the heart of the city, with a magnificent view of the sun setting over the river.

Although the very sweet receptionist recommended our dinner choice, we were disappointed. We always prefer local, which is 'lekker'. In Spain, we had to adjust our times by one hour (as in Namibia). This may have contributed to our confusion, but we were unaware of Spanish dining traditions. Evenings are enjoyed outdoors with friends, with long drinks and Tapas, which are served everywhere. Locals go out for dinner at about 21h00 at the earliest; many restaurants wouldn’t serve diners before then. This cultural difference sparked our curiosity and made us appreciate the local customs more deeply.

Out came our mobile phones; fortunately, everyone had free Wi-Fi (I could go back just for that reason), and we could translate the menu using our translation apps! The meal was mediocre. We were tired and not really in the mood for tiny morsels on a plate. Lise glared at me and said it would be the last time she had little unsalted snacks; what she needed was a plate of authentic food. Oh boy.

Retail therapy was what we needed. So, we went shopping, decking ourselves out in new navy-blue T-shirts with a large yellow arrow emblazoned on our chests. We were on The Way.

With our windows wide open to catch the welcome breeze off the river, we went to bed. We’d done our laundry earlier and hoped our things would be dry soon enough. We had so little, and a fresh set of underwear always lifted our spirits in the morning. But the next morning, after a thorough search, I spotted my freshly laundered underwear on the balcony below us. Someone would have some explaining to do! We left before the receptionist opened the guesthouse, slipping out through a side gate, sans my underwear and our only long-sleeved T-shirt. We tucked our breakfast hampers into our bags to enjoy on the way.

We hiked through forests, along ancient paths, and up steep hills; we enjoyed the cool brooks and were amazed by the ancient trees and ferns, some of which were so similar to those on our own Garden Route. We enjoyed a welcome break at the pop-up cafe run by two university students on holiday. They were renting the container from an old aunt and serving delicious snacks, coffee, freshly pressed juices, and ice-cold water. The astonishing murals by Xai Oscar celebrating Peregrino on Camino are exquisite, and we stopped there to take in the art on a forest wall. There for all to enjoy.

What a day we had. I was walking with Lise, who had a spring in her step, having, as far as she was concerned, sorted her foot problems out once and for all. She certainly provided a lot of comic relief, and I have to confess I haven’t laughed so much, so loudly, and with such complete abandon for a long, long time. It was pure magic. We laughed until we lost all our inhibitions, then laughed some more until we cried and felt much better for it. Laughter certainly is the best medicine. We had no reserve. 

Lise decided to reinvent her ankle socks, cutting through the toe until she had a cleft that enabled her to wear them with her flip-flops. This extremely self-conscious person, meticulous about her outward appearance, always fussing over the smallest strand of hair until it is perfectly placed, was throwing caution to the wind and looking totally ridiculous! Another lesson learned.

There are times in life when one must dig deep, be humiliated, eat humble pie, look ridiculous, and be the Village Idiot to reach one's goals. To hell with what “friends” or the world thinks; they certainly do not walk in our flip-flops. Our paths are set, and how we deal with them depends on the resources at our disposal at the time of a crisis. If one can do it with a positive attitude, good; if one can do it with good humour and laugh at oneself, great. It shows tenacity, character and a strong will.

Believe me, our extremely competitive Germans thought we were amazing, worshipping at our feet! We all made it to Barcelos, a little ahead of them, and then parted company. Sadly, we never saw them again. They were there when we needed their encouragement, gamesmanship and admiration.

When we were weak, they bolstered and boosted us. They egged us on with loud cries of “Here come the South Africans” each time they saw us. Who they were, we’ll never know, as we never exchanged names or email addresses, but maybe that was the magic in it. As often happens, we have people in our lives when they matter most; as we grow, we sometimes grow apart. That is the circle of life. “We have friends for a reason, friends for a season and friends for a lifetime.” They will not be forgotten.

I do believe the white horse (not whiskey) following us along the fence was almost supernatural, so beautiful, swift and handsome. One minute he was there, cantering easily alongside us. Then he turned on his heel and was gone, silently vanishing into the thick undergrowth of the forest just on the outskirts of the district of Redondela.

We were staying in an apartment, conveniently located on our route in the centre of the old town. Exhausted, we stood in front of the locked door, a note telling us to fetch the key around the corner at the cafe/bakery. We could barely set one foot in front of the other, but we shrugged our backpacks into position and, without energy, ground our way to fetch the keys. I was almost bowled over by the rude reception we got. Firstly, we were ignored, then told to wait 5 minutes while they served customers, and I think they went looking for the key. It is hard to imagine that our faces didn't tell a story of utter fatigue. I was so disappointed.

We would stay in Redondela for a night, then head to Vigo for two nights to await Butch's arrival, who was joining us to complete the Camino!  Happy days.