Last segment in Portugal and just as lovely as the rest. Walking through rural villages, peering over walls to inspect blooming gardens, and the city of Valenca approaching.
After M had been saying “Only 30 minutes to go ” for an hour and a half, we decided to take a taxi to our hotel from the Cafe where we were stopped for an ice cream break. It was all the way across the city threading through the medieval gates in the city wall and would certainly have taken us at least an hour.
 We stayed at one of the two hotels called Alojamento da Vila, this one with Golden added (Alogamento da Vila Golden).  It was the only time our luggage went astray (we used Top Santiago (www.topsantiago.com) because we didn’t include the last word on the label; but as they are two medieval blocks away from each other, not a big problem! Â
This is a very nice hotel, excellent lounge area with free wine and snacks available as well as a good breakfast. I would stay here again even if not on a walking holiday. The city of Valenca is charming, worth a visit on its own. There is a cute dress shop just around the corner, several interesting craft stores, and a big public plaza with outdoor eateries.
Since our luggage is not here yet, I can’t take a shower (no clean clothes) or go for a walk (I have a small blister that needs treatment and I don’t want to put my boots back on). D has gone to see the city in her hiking gear while M and B go to retrieve our luggage.
Yes, we have been walking through vineyards and under shady grape trellises the past 2 days.
Beautiful views out over the vineyards of Galicia
This cross reassures us that we are on the Way. The path zig-zags down to the picturesque little church halfway down the hillside. At this point my toes are quite tired of being shoved into the front end of my hiking boots, so I delay to take a picture every chance I get. My super 5-toed sox did not get dry from last night’s washing and I had to wear my silk sock liners with wool sox dating back to my trek in Nepal fifteen years ago- so dated! D is heading down the path ahead.
Tomorrow I am going to lighten my pack by two punds by leaving my dop kit in my suitcase – M infected me with paranoia that the suitcases might get lost, but on today’s hike I begrudged every ounce. This was the steepest elevation over a boulder-strewn path – I was glad for my sticks but at some points I had to hand them to B and hug a tree to get around to the next portion. (The maintainers of the Way certainly do their best to maintain the authenticity of the experience!) At another point I tried to force myself up an unusually high step and with the pack on my back I almost overbalanced and fell backward. I was VERY careful after that, leaving me trailing behind the other three with younger bones or less fear of falling.
Below – our first view of Valenca in the distance – we have a lot of valley to traverse before we get there~
We had made sandwiches from the breakfast offerings, plus fruit, so even though we were only “30 minutes ” from where Michele wanted to stop for lunch we took advantage of a bench and some rocks and picnicked.Â
Further on we were delighted to find a little bit of California in Portugal – a drift of sunny California poppies!
Finally – arrival in Rubaies! Nice view out the window, two double beds with matelasse/embroidered coverlets, a shower with a tub so I can soak my weary feet (the blue nail is no worse)
We are to go down to meet B and M and share a glass of wine while we exchange photos – but since they have iPhones and D and I are of the Android persuasion I don’t expect much success.
We are to be picked up and transported to the best restaurant in town (probably the only restaurant in town) at 6:30 so I’ll have more to tell you when we return about 930 our time, 12:30 your time.
I slept wonderfully last night in Ponte de Lima – one melatonin + one ibuprofen for the aching quads and dorsal muscles did the trick.
Leaving Ponte de Lima was hard. We took our time in the morning, and I had a chance to wander a bit along the river and discover some additional history. It seems that a Roman Army was in pursuit of some fractious Iberians who fled across the river. “After them!” thundered the General, but the soldiers refused. They believed that the obstacle was the river Lethe, and that if the waters touched them, they would lose all their memories.
The General swam his horse to the other side and from there called to each soldier by name, proving his memory was intact. The episode is commemorated by some steel monuments somewhat reminiscent of the card-soldiers in “Alice Through the Looking Glass.” The platoon is on one side of the river, the General harangues them from the other side.
It seemed Ponte de Lima was sorry to see us go also. There were lots of signs to attract the attention of pilgrims as we crossed the Ponte de Lima for the last time.
tarted off the day ust packing up for the next leg . I must confess, by he end of the first day of hiking I was grateful for a cozy bed, a dark room, and ibuprofen . Our lodging for the night did not include breakfast so we moseyed on down the road to a local pub, where some of the other customers drove up on tractors.
This was a much shorter day, eased also by the wonderful five-toed hiking sox that had been given to me by DM, and were highly recommended by some pilgrims on Day 2 who sympathized with our developing blisters. The 5-toed sox keep the toes from rubbing against each other, and the toenails you forgot to clip from slicing the neighboring toe, so all you have to deal with is the friction between your foot and your boots. We were heartened also by the many encouraging signs and markers we encountered on the way, including this stalwart pilgrim.
Ponte Lima was one of several towns along the way where we agreed we should have allowed more time. Our first view of the medieval bridge, still used for pedestrians to walk across the bridge, was only a hint of the interesting streets, shops, and historical markers waiting for us to explore.
In addition to the attractions of the town, M and B have two friends who have established residence in Ponte de Lima, and of course we shared dinner with them. M had hoped they would invite us to their home, a stone cottage which they had been renovating for awhile, but apparently the home is located an impractical distance from the town center and construction was ongoing so instead we met in a local bar on the other side of the medieval bridge from our hotel. On the way home, we were entranced by the lights outlining many of the features of the town, its church, and its bridge.
We woke up for our first day of walking to meet a drizzly morning. We were undaunted – each of us was equipped one way or another with rain gear – DM had a voluminous poncho which was parr of the swag from one of her cruises, I had my lightweight hooded gown courtesy of a Maid of the Mist tour at Niagara Falls, M and B had more elegant fitted jackets and backpack covers. D even unfurled her umbrella, but the rest of us decided to keep our hands free.
One of the few miscalculations M made in her planning was to have us start off with one of the longest hikes, Barcelos to Vitorino dos Paies. We started off through the center of Barcelos, which we had explored the evening before, spent some time in the suburbs, and finally reached open country. (M agreed later that we could easily have hopped a taxi and skipped the suburbs, though if you want to learn a country the suburbs count too.)
Along the way there were plenty of accomodations for pilgrims. We learned to be alert for the scallop shells in the pavement or bright blue and gold signs, whether to announce a meal opportunity or sanitary facilities.
After seven miles, (broken by lunch and snack breaks) we limped into Postela ready to sit and soak our feet. Despite two layers of socks I still had a blister forming on my left big toe and the toenails on both my little toes were turning blue.
At Porto, the Caminho starts in front of the cathedral, looking out over the city. Here is where you pick up your empty Camino passport – filled with stamps from businesses along the way it might earn you a certification as a true peregrina. The symbol on the pylon is the official stylized scallop shell logo of the Pilgrimage. The arrow, of course, points the route, and within the small oval is the number of kilometers you have between you and your goal in Santiago. From one of many vendors about the place, you can purchase an actual scallop shell to hang on your backpack to let everyone know you are on the Way.
Following the advice of a Caminho Whisperer whom Michele consulted, we are taking the train through the industrial outskirts of Porto, and beginning our walk in Barcelos, a charming town about fifty kilometers along the way.
We are staying just across the river from the medieval walls and chapel of Barcelos, at the Top ‘Otel. This is a modern, sleek, brightly colored inn, whose only defect is a lack of elevators to carry us to our rooms on the top floor.
Barcelos is famous for its roosters, based on a legendary appearance of Saint James in support of a pilgrim falsely accused of theft and sentenced to hang. A medieval cross within the castle grounds illustrates the miracle.
The condemned man cries out to his judge who is eating a dinner of roasted chicken “As sure as I am innocent, that cock will rise and crow if I am hanged!” To everyone’s shock, the roasted cockerel did rise and crow, the judge rushed to the gallows and found that the pilgrim, though hanging, was not strangled: Saint James had appeared and supported his feet.
The man was cut down, the judge apologized, and the rooster became the symbol not only of Barcelos, but also of Portugal.
When my long-time travel companion DM (see “Nepal” and “France” tagged entries) suggested we should do another walking trip together, I hit on doing at least part of the Portuguese Way of the pilgrimage to San Juan Compostelo’s cathedral in Santiago, Spain. My sister M and her husband B are permanent residents of Porto, Portugal, a popular starting point for the Portuguese Way, and they immediately signed on with enthusiasm.
The average age of the foursome is over 75, and all agreed that they felt no need to earn a Compostela – a certificate affirming that the pilgrim has walked at least one hundred kilometers along the Camino. We were inspired only by the desire to travel together in a way that would enable us to enjoy the countryside of Portugal and Spain on a path largely inaccessible to tour buses. We did enjoy getting validation stamps on our pilgrim’s credentiales, as the restaurants and auberges along the way vied to offer the most interesting stamps. But instead of tracking miles and steps, Michele consulted with experienced Camino walkers to identify the most interesting and most scenic stretches along the Portuguese Way, including one stretch on a boat up the Rio Ulla to Padron. The quartet began in Porto on May 18, and used trains, buses, and taxis as needed to finish their Camino in Santiago on May 30.Â
Rather than work with a tour group, M booked accommodation each night through Bookings.com. Accomodation varied from elegant hotels in Barcelos and Valenca to four twin beds in a single room in a tiny town between Padron and Santiago. M also arranged luggage transport from each accommodation, so the walkers had only to carry daily essentials (food, raingear, extra layers of warmth, and first aid materials) in our backpacks.
All four of us were fit, fairly experienced hikers, and well -equipped with hiking boots, walking sticks, comfortable backpacks, and broad-brimmed hats to fend off the Iberian sun. How well did that all work? Stay tuned for a day-by-day account!
One of my recent posts covered four airports in the US where I had touched down in the course of one trip. Since then I have had exposure to additional airports on an extended trip in Europe. Do overseas airports manage better?
Not quite fair to start the discussion with the San Francisco International Airport (SFO) This is my home port, I’m quite familiar with it, and to boot, I had a business-class ticket which put me in United’s Polaris Lounge before the flight. I and my companion enjoyed champagne/grapefruit juice mimosas, tomato soup, cheese and crackers, fruit tarts, chocolate mousse – it was hard to tear ourselves away when our flight was boarding. My father used to say “It only costs a little more to go first class” but unfortunately that is no longer true, so I can only say “If you can afford it, it’s a great way to start a trip. A+
We had checked our flights before leaving and were pleased to see that our departure gate at Munich’s International Airport (MUC) was only steps from our arrival gate in terminal G – no problem with making the connection, and maybe a quick stop in the Lufthansa lounge while we waited. But no; our gate has been changed from nearly-adjacent G32 to different-terminal K01. This means a stop through passport control, and then along endless moving and not moving sidewalks, up and down escalators to our gate. We breeze past attractive looking shops and eateries, wave at the Lufthansa lounge, and make it to the gate just as boarding is called. The only thing I can vouch for at MUC is that the unexpected passage through passport control was efficient, and the signage is excellent. B+
Next stop: Marseilles (MRS): This is a huge airport, hub for all sorts of African, Asian, and European airlines. We stopped at an ATM for cash, at a friendly information booth for directions to the train shuttle, and were on our way on the shuttle within twenty minutes of landing – slick as goose grease! [Full disclosure: We had carry-on luggage, and I speak pretty good French, which helped a lot]. Again, our rapid passage precluded any evaluation of amenities. One surprise: we expected the train shuttle to take us to central Marseilles, where we would have to negotiate a bustling station with lots of noise, people, and confusion. Instead, the shuttle dropped us at what seemed a remote suburban station, Vitrolles. Almost no-one waiting there, a small building with restrooms a quarter-mile from the tracks, and no posted routes. I looked at my trusty French map to confirm that any passing train would actually take us where we wanted to go. Reassured, we hopped the next train going north, and no worries.
On our return trip through MRS we had a bit more time to be confused by the construction at the entry and by the hugeness of the airport, and due to very poor signage we had to ask directions from a janitor to be directed to our proper terminal. I also was unable to download my boarding pass to my phone while inside the terminal, so we had to circle back to the check-in counter, where my carry-on was deemed too thick to make it onto my smaller plane to Lisbon (LIS). No more business class for us, but the waiting area was comfortable and not too noisy. C+
Zoomed through LIS as my flight from MRS left 40 minutes late. At the TAP gate there was confusion; it seemed there was a problem with my seat (2C) , so I was sent to the rear (8C) But there was a uniformed pilot sitting in 8C. More confusion. Eventually I was seated in 8C with many apologies, while the pilot dead-heading home was put in my original seat. Oh well. The flight to Porto (OPO) was easy and the young man in the adjoining seat friendly. But I can’t really give a grade to LIS – I have a hazy impression of lots of shops and advertisements and having to peer over the shelves to find the signage to my gate, but I will withhold judgment – InComplete
The Porto airport (OPO) is small and easy to negotiate. My hosts met me on exiting the baggage claim and guide me from there. On my return, I found my way to THE Business Lounge – all airlines share the same rather spartan space on the mezzanine level. Only later did I realize my good fortune in having access to the Lounge lavatories – there was not a trace of a WC visible on the plebeian level of the airport, although I’m convinced there must be at least a few. What’s fun about the Porto airport is the cosmopolitan veneer: Porto has a large expatriate colony from all over, and it shows in the variety of shops and food available. B+
And then I flew into Frankfurt (FRA), the largest, busiest, most harrowing airport in Europe. We landed a mile from the terminals, disembarked down a rolled-up stair onto the tarmac, boarded a bus, and drove through every ugly airline backyard the airport could show us before finally reaching Terminal A, Lufthansa’s pride. Unfortunately, it seems Lufthansa has quarreled with its code-share partner United, as my flight back to SFO was switched to Terminal Z. Are you kidding? No, Terminal Z is in fact at the far end of the line in Frankfurt, a dark, gray tunnel remote from any comforting Lounge. Its only recommending features are its Germanically hygienic rest rooms and the promptness of our departure from this depressing cave. D-
