We continued on down the hill and followed a lovely shady woodland path along a babbling rock-strewn brook, the Rio Umia. The path is punctuated at intervals by a series of abandoned stone grist mills which were early users of hydropower. I lagged behind a bit and then strove to catch up; B, planning to resume his role as sweep, stepped aside, slipped on a wet rock, and landed in the creek. Miraculously, he bounced on his backpack, and leaped out of the water so fast that only one leg of his shorts was wet. (Obviously noone had a camera, but I looked over at the crucial moment and saw him soaring over the water – the drawing reflects what is pretty much seared into my mind.)
We shuddered to think of how badly he could have been hurt – head cracked, back broken, leg splintered – but no. One knee was a bit hyper-extended, and he walked slowly, but resolutely – there was no other option, as we were about at the midpoint of the natural path and the nearest civilization would have been up through the underbrush and who knows how far away?
Fortunately, the path was level and lovely up to our next stop, and we were able to enjoy a dinner al fresco outside our hotel
Our first day on the Spiritual Variant of the Caminho, supposed to be the most scenic alternative. easy day’s walk to the coast with only a moderate climb. Lots of stone crucifixion along the path. Apparently the early Christians raised one at every site with significance for the pagans to drive away the demons.Â
The path led along the coast with a friendly sun and soft breezes. We stopped for lunch at an outside cafe overlooking a lawn fringed with palm tree
Combarro is a Must-See place. Â Charming fishing village, buildings almost exclusively of stone, no cars in the Old City, most houses include a view. Almost every house has what looks like a New Orleans-style burial crypt on stilts, but these turn out to be medieval-style granaries, on stilts to keep the varmints from getting at the grains.
Plaza da Fonte, where we stayed, was a charming two-bedroom apartment with comfy sitting space and a high tech shower. Â I figured out the controls for the hand held sprinkler and the side sprays;Â but I yelped in surprise when water started to come from the ceiling!
I wished we could have stayed longer at Cambarro. A young woman staying at another of the apartments was drying her hair after a dip in the bay at the local beach – I would have loved to do that.
We did treat ourselves to an excellent restaurant meal at Tinte Negro. Wonderful scallops in honor of our trek!
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.
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.
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!
Outdoors in South Carolina is a lot different from outdoors in Northern California, where I spend most of my time. SC is green, the air is moist, there is water, and there is history. Columbia’s Riverbank Walkway is a wonderful illustration of the difference, with its effortlessly un-irrigated green spaces, its leisurely meanderings along the Columbia Canal, and its unexpected evocation of the workers who built the canal.
We parked at the Laurel Street entrance, just late enough to avoid a major fun run which had been organized for the morning – volunteers were folding tables and taking down canopies, but they cheerfully directed us down the pathway to the canal.
On the way we pass a steep stairway leading upward. Signs let us know that there is a restaurant above, probably with a fine view of the canal and the river beyond. We resist the temptation.
Further down we spot a building off to the side, which turns out to be the former operating station for the canal. Facing the building is a monument to the Irish worker who helped build the canal. I remember that at the time of the canal’s building there were probably signs in downtown Columbia reading “Help Wanted: No Irish Need Apply”, and felt pleased that this maligned immigrant group was receiving recognition.
At the bottom of the trail is a playground for children who have not worked off enough steam on the walk down. No, wait; it’s not for children, it’s a workout center for adults who have not worked off enough steam after jogging the four-mile river trail. Whichever – it’s a beautiful location.
As we turned to go back up the slope to the parking lot (not feeling up to a four-mile jog on this particular day) we spotted this whimsical artwork just up from the workout center/playground. It’s a testament to a light-hearted spirit that we felt throughout our visit to Columbia.
Columbia, South Carolina is a walkable state capital, and the area around the Capitol building has plenty of agreeable spots to walk to. The Capitol building itself is a peculiar architectural folly – a classic Greek/Roman base complete with grandiose steps and towering pillars, but topped incongruously with a weathered bronze cupola and dome which seem to have wandered over from some eccentric Victorian’s mansion. The Capitol grounds have the requisite number of monuments to the fallen heroes of various wars, interspersed with (in March at least) truly splendid beds of blooming azaleas, dogwood, and other gifts of nature.
The main street of Columbia starts at the Capitol. Called, appropriately, Main Street, it is the core of activity every Saturday, when a craft/produce/food truck fair takes place from 9-2 year round. Folks line up for barbecue, for chicken with grits, and even just for coffee. If you are a fan of vintage clothing, kitchy art, and herbal cosmetics, you’ll have fun here. If not, you’ll still have fun watching the parade of people and pets that wander the street in search of that perfect vintage leather jacket, or the ideal potpourri.
And there’s the food…
And the street musicians…
And if you get tired of the crowd, you can always go to the art museum, only a block off Main Street…
Or to the Richmond Library, a truly amazing collection of books and nooks to read them in. only a couple of blocks in the other direction…
I was attending a Women’s Camp on the west side of the Rockies in Colorado. My sister-in-law was at the camp also, along with one of her besties. One evening one of the other campers (DH) drove me and my friend DB to dinner and a theatre in Grand Lake, while my SIL and her friend spent the day touring nearby Rocky Mountain National Park.
Dinner was lively, with sixteen campers chattering away, and afterward we hurried to get to the theatre as it was beginning to rain. I pulled out my phone to check the location of the theatre, and when we parked I hurried around to help DB extricate herself from the seat belt. Only after we were in the theatre and I reached to put my phone on silent mode did I realize that it was not in my purse where it belonged.
Had it fallen out in the car? Or in the parking lot where we had stopped? I rushed from the theatre – the car was locked, and there was no sign of my phone anywhere along the walkway to the theatre. I figured that best case, when the show was over I could ask DH to call my number; if the phone was in the car we would hear it, and if someone had picked it up maybe they might answer a call.
After the show I relayed my plan to DH, and she pulled out her phone. First thing she saw was an urgent message from my SIL: “Allyson’s lost phone was picked up by an Australian man named Barney. He and his friends are at the One Love Rum Kitchen and Bar for trivia night. If Allyson doesn’t get the message he will leave the phone with the bartender.”
Great! DH and I left DB to guard the car and hustled along to the One Love Rum Kitchen. We walked into the lively, well-lit pub and immediately a gentleman was waving my phone in our direction. ( Barney could not have looked more Australian if he had been sent from Central Casting.) Lots of excitement, thanks, hugs, and my phone was restored to me in perfect order (Nancy and Barney at left above). But how had the message reached DH’s phone?
Chain of circumstances:
I had not gotten around to putting a password to secure access to the phone. (Shame on me, but…)
When Barney and his friend Nancy opened the phone, they were able to see that I had recently called HOME.
But when Nancy called HOME, she caught my husband drowsing over a book. He did not understand what Nancy was saying and, thinking it was a prank call, hung up on her.
Undaunted, they went to the next call on the recent list, my younger brother C, who was trailer camping in Wyoming, but happily with decent Internet coverage.
C got the message, and fortunately remembered that our mutual SIL was in Colorado at the camp with me. But he didn’t have her phone number.
So C called my older brother D in Texas, who relayed the message to his wife, whose roommate happened to have the cell phone number for DH, who relayed it to me.
Happy Ending! thanks to the miracle of modern communication, and as always, thanks to the kindness of strangers.
