Maya’s departure date is here, and though Thomas and I never truly sat down and discussed a plan - too caught up in the excitement of the festival in Fafiao, camping, and getting rained out in the national park - our intention to do the Camino de Santiago through Portugal becomes more and more apparent, as we both behave as though that simply is the plan, no discussion needed.
We shove our sun dried clothes and sleeping bags into packs, and after trying and failing to hitchhike out of town, call the lovely Mario to take us to the bus station.
The day passes in a blur. Trying to plan everything in the few moments of wifi between walking or busing or waiting.
We book a room in Porto 5 minutes before boarding our bus there.
It hits me rather suddenly that we’re separating from Maya after two solid weeks together (for me and her), and it feels hard, but she reminds me we’ll be at a festival together in a month, easing the difficulty.
We arrive to Porto. Maya heads to her next bus, and we walk to the center to find our airbnb.
As we cross the street, a man approaches us.
“I’m who you’re looking for,” he tells us, but in Portuguese, and all we really catch is “looking for”.
Used to being approached by all manner of people selling all manner of things in these streets, we brush it off. “We’re not looking for anything, thanks though!”
He matches our steps, pointing ahead, and says something about what he’s looking for.
“You’re looking for something?” Thomas asks.
His demeanor is friendly and confident, unlike all the dudes trying to sell us drugs in the street. He says something else that I don’t really understand any of, but it causes something in my brain to click.
“Wait a minute,” I start laughing, “he’s who we’re looking for!” I say to Thomas. “He’s our host.”
He smiles a big smile, seeing we finally understand. Points to his phone, then to his eye, and sweeps his hand towards the street, all with accompanying words I don’t quite know, but intention often comes through, regardless of language.
“I think he’s saying he was watching for us cause he knew we were coming.”
“I saw you in the cafe,” he says in English. “I was there having a beer, and realized you were Maia from your picture. This way, guys.”
We toss our bags down and realize that if we want to get our Pilgrims Passports - a booklet you collect stamps in along the walk which proves how far you’ve walked and allows you to stay in the municipal albergues - from the Cathedral today and not tomorrow morning, we need to go now.
There’s a wedding party in the doors of the cathedral. Okay, maybe not the move. We spot the tourism office nearby and think maybe they can give us the passport.
“You have to get it from the cathedral,” the girl tells us. She looks at her watch, “they are closed for today. But you should go try anyway, through the side door, sometimes they stay open late.”
We run back up the hill and in through an inconspicuous door. A grumpy woman hands me two passports and demands four euros. Back outside, it finally hits me.
We are starting the Camino Portuguese in the morning!
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| Passports acquired! |
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| Target achieved! Day we arrived in Santiago |
My first trip on the Camino was, compared to most people, very un-planned. I met a guy on a bus in Croatia who had done it and told me I should. My mom had done it a few years before, so I already knew what the pilgrimage was, but it was this conversation in this moment of my life that sparked my interest in doing it myself.
A month after meeting him, the idea having percolated a while, I said, screw it, bought some hiking shoes and a ticket to Madrid and started the journey. But a short journey. A little over 100 kilometers.
This journey is equally unplanned. In fact, I’d venture so far as to say this journey is less planned than the first. And longer. We’ll set out along the Coastal Route of Portugal with the intention of completing about 260 kilometers in 10 days.
Let’s do it.
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| Sending a pack ahead with all our unnecessary items |
Day One - 17k - Vila do Conde
I walk confidently into the municipal albergue and sit at the desk across from a woman who smiles broadly at me. We got a late start this morning, with sending our bag at the post office, stopping at a supermarket, and catching a bus to Matosinhos*, so it’s already 6 in the evening, but we’ve seen so few pilgrims today, we figure it will be alright.
“Ola! Falas Ingles?”
“Of course,” she responds.
“Do you have two beds?”
Her smile falls, “We have nothing, we’re completely full.”
It’s my turn for my face to fall. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you have any recommendations of where to look next?”
A man sitting with his daughter on the couch behind us begins talking to the woman in Portuguese and holding up his phone.
“There is a hostel you can try, but you should call them right now to try and reserve,” she says to me.
“I don’t have data on my phone…would you mind calling them?”
The man says something else.
“Go sit with him, he will help you look.”
I move to the couch and his young daughter smiles at me.
“Okay,” her dad says, “these are the options you have.” He shows me a list. “I’m just going to start with the cheapest, no?”
I agree. He calls four hostels and hotels for me, but everyone is full. I feel the anxiety building, but he stays calm and determined. After the fourth rejection he stands and takes his daughter's hand. “Okay,” he says, “come with me.” At this point my blind trust is embedded in this stranger and I follow him out of the door and down the street.
“This one doesn’t have a phone number, but the woman back there told me where it is, so we’ll just go ask.”
“Okay, thank you so much.”
“No problem.”
His daughter stares at me, smiling anytime I catch her, and eventually asks him something.
“I don’t know,” he responds to her. To me he asks, “Are you American?”
“Yeah,” I smile at her.
“She wants to know from where.”
“Texas.”
Her face lights up excitedly.
“She loves the US.”
“Oh really?” I ask her, “will you go there someday?”
She nods excitedly.
We arrive to the location the hostel should be, but it’s not there. There’s a restaurant on one side, a narrow building in the center, and a bar on the other. The narrow building has the address we’re looking for, but no signage or way of buzzing past the locked door.
My new friend asks two old men standing at a table outside the bar if they know about the hostel that should be here, but they have no idea. One of them pulls out his cellphone and starts making a call, all of them chattering away, referencing hostels and hotels. Even the waiter from the restaurant next door gets briefly involved. I stand, feeling practically useless, understanding only about 40% of the words, but 90% of the intention. Useless, yes, but unendingly grateful that these four strangers are so invested in my finding a bed for the night.
We can’t find the hostel and continue on in search of others. Calling outdated numbers, receiving insanely high quotes, but mostly being told everything is full.
We’ve been at it at least 45 minutes, and I start to worry what Thomas will think, having left him at a cafe with our bags while I ran “right next door to get us checked in”. With no data, I just have to hope he’s hanging tight til I return.
The young girl begins to wave excitedly to a woman in a car, and runs over to her once she’s parked. She’s very beautiful and dressed very nicely, and when she kisses the man helping me, I realize quickly that I’m now infringing on date night. What should have been 5 minutes out of his night to help this pilgrim has turned into much longer.
“Okay, they were also full,” he says, hanging up for what feels like the millionth time, “but they said there is a man who has a room that he sometimes lets. It’s 50 euro, which I know is pretty expensive compared to the albergue, but at least you’re splitting it with someone. Do you want to try this? I will call him now.”
“I don’t think I have much of a choice at this point.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Yes, please call him. Thank you so much.”
He explains briefly in Portuguese to the woman what is happening, and I smile apologetically at her, but she doesn’t seem put off at all.
He says the room is available, but I need to go right now, since I haven’t put a deposit down. I wonder what kind of room I’ve just agreed to. Some sort of under the table airbnb situation with a room in someone's house? It doesn't sound like the nicest thing, but we’ve exhausted all options.
The woman offers me a ride back to the cafe where Thomas is, and I accept gratefully, though I feel odd, as filthy as I am from the day's walk, climbing into her clean car.
They drop me off and give me their number, “in case you need help with anything else.”
I fall into the chair across from Thomas at the cafe, take a gulp of the beer on the table, and thank my stars that some people are willing to help strangers. I’m not sure I ever would have found a room on my own with zero Portuguese and zero cell data. The man told me he’s walked this camino 25 times… I suppose eventually you become sensitive to pilgrims in distress.
Thank you.
I leave Thomas once more and follow the map I’ve been given to the address of the room we’ve agreed to, preparing myself to be staying in a grungy place with some random guy, as I have no idea what “there’s a guy with a room he sometimes lets” really means.
But wait, I see a sign ahead…
It says… “Boutique Hotel”.
Ha.
Amazing.
Our first night on the Way and we’re accidentally boujee.
*Matosinhos is the next little town above Porto, because everything we read said the first 10 kilometers out of the city were nothing but industrial buildings and better to start above the city.
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| the food and drinks along the walk are always a highlight! |
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| first days walk was misty along the oceanside |
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| Thomas loaded down with both instrument and pack |
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| sometimes you have official markers, and sometimes you have spray painted arrows |
Day Two - Vila do Conde to Bacelos
I can’t find any arrows.
I wind through a large town, with zero idea what town it actually is, looking in all directions and finding nothing. I followed one that sent me down this street, I’m sure, and retrace my steps in my head, wondering where I could have missed the next. It seems it shouldn’t have happened, but there’s been nothing for a while now. Thomas and I separated after breakfast, agreeing to meet for lunch, but it seems unlikely we’ll find eachother again today if I can’t even find the path. I’m walking further and further from the ocean and that doesn’t seem right, since I know the first few days of this route are all coastal. I follow my instincts, turning left on the next street. But the way the roads twist and wind in Europe, no grid system to speak of in most places, throws me off, and I stand in the next crossroad, somewhat disoriented. I know the beach is on my left, but there’s a major road on my right that will take me to the next town, even if I did lose the path. I take a few steps right, attempting to let logic lead, but my steps falter quickly. It feels wrong. I look back over my shoulder, feeling myself drawn left. Okay, fine. I follow the street to the left until I can see the boardwalk again, round the next corner and run smack into Thomas.
I burst into laughter. “You’re supposed to be faster than me,” I say to him.
“I got lost,” he responds.
“Yeah, me too. The arrows here are awful.”
It’s nearing noon and the sun is already at a full blaze, and it’s pretty clear there’s no shade on today’s walk, as we’ll simply be along the ocean for hours. We sit in a small pool of shade while we can, and pull out the camino map. Portuguese tourists on their beach holidays look at us strangely as they pass.
“How are you feeling about this?” Thomas asks.
“I’m feeling like… this feels really difficult and it shouldn’t.”
Thomas nods in agreement.
“We’ve both done this before,” I continue, “so the fact that we lost the arrows isn’t a good sign. And honestly, I feel stressed for the future days after our difficulty finding a place to sleep last night, and I don’t want to feel stressed on the camino.”
“Right,” he agrees. “And honestly, I love the ocean, but I don’t know how many days I can walk through tourist beach towns.”
“Yeah…there’s no vibe here. I feel like we’re just wading through a sea of beach goers and they’re all looking at us like we’re aliens with our packs and hiking shoes.”
“The camino doesn’t seem to be such a known part of the culture here, for sure.”
“So… obviously we’re on the wrong path. We’re not flowing here. What do we do?”
“I found a train… we can take it inland a few kilometers, and then it’s 16k to Barcelos from there and we can be on the central route then. We need to walk back about 3 kilometers into town to get to the station though.”
We put our bags back on our shoulders and set to retracing our steps, an action that doesn’t feel so great on a journey meant to take you forward.
When we finally arrive to the train station, we’re told no, and sent in search of a bus. We wander about the town some more. I feel I’ve been wandering this town, lost, for ages.
By the time we actually find the bus stop and learn that the bus won’t be there for 45 minutes, the afternoon is in full swing, the heat is wearing on us, and we decide to simply take the bus all the way to Barcelos and start fresh in the morning on the central route. I have some mixed feelings about using transportation, as this is meant to be a journey by foot, but eventually I decide, we’re not cheating, we’re simply redefining our start.
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| bad pilgrims, on the bus! |
Day Three - 34k - Barcelos to Ponte de Lima
I’ve been ready for a break for hours, but the right place never seems to come. What I’m really searching and hoping for is a cafe, because a coke in this heat would be divine, but there’s nothing. No markets, no cafes, nada.
I pass an alburgue, its outer door ajar, and stand in the doorway a minute, debating if I should go in and see if they sell cold drinks. I decide against it and continue on my way, but I make it only a few feet further. At the edge of the building there is a beautiful spot with a sign welcoming pilgrims to rest. A stone bench under a lattice of grapevines, with a stream running past. It’s too beautiful not to enjoy, and I decide I must go ask for a coke so I can sit here and soak it in.
I head back to the door and follow voices through the garden towards the kitchen. A woman pops out of the doors as I approach.
“Oh hello!” She calls out. “There you are! We were getting worried about you!”
A confused laugh escapes my lips, as I’ve no idea who she is, but as I open my mouth to request clarification, Thomas appears in the doorway behind her, and she says he’s explained he was waiting for me to catch up, as we’ve been separated most of the day.
“I put my energy out to find you,” he says, smiling behind her.
“I felt it,” I reply, marveling at the fact that I tried to walk past this place and was called back in.
The second time in two days I tried to go one way, and was pulled the other.
Day 4 - 22k - Ponte de Lima to Rubiaes
I pass a cute snack bar along the route. A small structure with a service counter and some chairs outside, tucked into a young forest. It looks nice, but as I’ve just stopped, I decide to continue on for now.
I see the man standing inside the building looking at me, and smile and wave to him as I pass.
“Are you Maia?” He calls out in Portuguese.
“What?” I respond, my steps faltering, surprised to hear my name.
“Are you Maia?” He repeats in English.
“Um…yes?”
“I have something for you,” he says, bending down to find something behind the counter. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says as I reach the counter.
He hands me a postcard with a beautiful drawing of a backpack on the front. I flip it over.
Dear Maia,
Bom Caminho.
Love, Thomas.
I start laughing.
“How many people have you asked if they were Maia?”
“You were the first! Thomas promised we would know you when we saw you, and he was right.”
His partner returns to the counter, smiling. “We’ve been keeping a sharp eye out for you,” she says. “It would have been very disappointing if we missed you.”
“This is amazing. Thank you.”
I buy a kombucha that they’ve made and sip it while they tell me this is only their fourth day open as a buisness on the camino, and of their plans to begin an apple orchard on the land and make their own ciders. Leonor and Andre and their orchard. It sounds like a beautiful plan.
“So, Thomas said you guys met traveling and now you’re doing the Camino together?”
“Yeah! We met in Mexico this January. It was him and I and two of our other friends that all became really close and formed a group. We actually all have matching tattoos now,” I chuckle at this last bit.
“Oh really?” They ask, “Of what?”
“The big dipper constellation,” I say, tugging down the neckline of my shirt to expose my collarbone where the stars sit.
“No way,” their faces light up and they look at each other excitedly. “That’s our logo!” Leonor points to the sign at the entrance and I realize it’s the big dipper above a coffee cup.
“Oh my god, that’s amazing!”
“This is so amazing,” Andre says, grinning.
“I love this story so much,” Leonor agrees. “The whole thing. You meeting in Mexico, getting the tattoos, Thomas leaving you the postcard with us so you can get it when you catch up and so we can have this conversation. I will never forget this story. I’m so glad it happened.”
I sit and chat with them for much longer than I usually stop, but I really like this couple. Their ideas, their conversation, their nature. I feel I’m with friends. It saddens me knowing we won’t bump into each other in the next town like other pilgrims, but I cherish the interactions we’ve had.
A man approaches the counter and the conversation switches to Spanish, but as I gather my things, I make out enough to realize they are telling this man about Thomas coming here earlier in the day, playing music for them, and leaving me a postcard. I smile to myself, thinking how sweet it is they’re relaying this story to other pilgrims, and wondering if it will beat us to the next town, as other tales have.
I typically spend the days along the way disconnected from the internet, and today is no different. At the small stand, they asked if I needed the wifi, and I said no, sure I didn’t need it. But 30 minutes later, when I stop at a small cafe to use the restroom before finishing out my last three kilometers to Rubiaes, I feel the need to connect, though I’m not sure why.
I sit at a table and chairs outside the store to rest a minute and connect to their internet. Immediately I receive a message from Thomas. I’ve stopped at the municipal albergue. The woman wouldn’t let me pay for your bed, but she said she’ll hold it for you. See you soon. A picture comes through, and I immediately start laughing. The image on my screen is an exact replica of my current view. From the exact chair I’m sitting in, and everything. Good thing I connected when I did, or I would have been cursing myself as I walked backwards three kilometers.
Day 5 - 22k - Rubiaes to Tui - Cross into Spain
I’ve never walked through a country and into another before. We cross the border from Portugal to Spain via a bridge over a river, and it feels simultaneously exciting and like nothing has occurred.
In Tui, we sit in the square outside the cathedral, two of only a few people. The city is a ghost town at 3pm, middle of the heat, middle of siesta, but still, there is a team of people setting up speakers and microphones and lights at the entrance of the cathedral. We discover there is to be a concert at 10pm, and decide immediately to be “bad pilgrims” and stay out late, which means we’ll need to stay in a private alburgue, because the municipal ones lock the doors at 10pm, forcing you to be good.
I’m so glad we made the decision to be bad. The concert at the cathedral in Tui was my favorite night along the way. The music, the people, the energy, the old city walls. Magical.
Day 8 - 21k - Pontevedra to Caldas de Reis
The temperature has been climbing all day, and while we trek on stubbornly, it does get more and more difficult. We come to a road, and see a group of pilgrims leaving the path.
A woman glances at us as we approach. "There's a waterfall ahead," she tells us. "Just a little out of the way. You should take the detour."
And I'm so glad we listened to her.
Day 10 - 27k - Padron to Santiago
It’s the hottest day yet, hitting 43 celsius, 111 fahrenheit. We’re walking through the heat of the day, mid-afternoon, not another pilgrim in sight, as they all, presumably, love themselves and don’t want heatstroke.
Our steps drag on, closing in on the outskirts of Santiago. Finally nearing the cathedral. We break for an ice cream half a kilometer from our mark and it drips down our fingers immediately as we try to keep it under control, winding down the suddenly packed central streets of the city.
“Buen camino,” a passing stranger says to us with a smile and a nod.
“How did he know we just arrived?” Thomas says to me, puzzled, as we’re surrounded by so many people.
“Seriously?” I respond, motioning to our sweaty clothes and dirt covered bodies. “Look at us.”
We both burst out laughing.
Finally, the plaza.
We throw our bags down, kick our shoes off, and lay on the stone to watch the cathedral and all the pilgrims rejoicing in their arrival at it.
“I can’t believe we made it,” Thomas says.
“What? Did you doubt we would?”
“Well, I can’t believe we never killed each other.”
“Good to know you had so much faith in us,” I laugh. “We did well. It was much smoother than I expected. Not a lot of people I could spend two straight weeks with.”
We high-five.
Lay back.
Play music.
Feel exhausted.
Feel grateful.
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| the Santiago Cathedral! |
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| wise stop signs along the way haha |
Lessons I’ve learned on the Camino so far…
When unsure if you’re still on the path, don’t stop walking. Just slow down, stay steady, and take the time to truly observe your surroundings.
If the path you chose doesn’t feel right, it’s okay to pick a new one. This holds especially true in my life right now. Don’t stubbornly follow a path you don’t want to be on, just because you started it. On the Camino, as in life, it’s supposed to be joyful.
You will never be happy walking the camino at the pace of another, just as you will never be happy living life at the pace of another. Follow your own rhythm. Listen to your own heart. Your own body. Rest when you want. Eat a sweet. Contemplate a flower. You’ll get there when you’re meant to.
Breathe.
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