Saturday, March 10, 2018

Camino Portugues Day 10: The Writing on the Wall

— VILA DO CONDE

Distance: 22.5 miles
Time: 9.5 hours

I didn't mean to go that far. But a misreading of the map plus an unexpected detour due to a bridge closure made for an extra long day. Lucky the wind was at my back, and made for some amazing scenery, otherwise I might have been a little put out. 




Nice as the coast was, I became ever more agrieved as the rain began, and after 18 or so miles with several yet to go I was facing another wet, lonely finish to a long day. I'd cut into a town once already following signs for an albergue that turned out to be closed for the season, and had returned to the trail to sit down, probably forever, when two other pilgrims happened upon me. 

Mark, from Russia. And Erica, from Germany. Him maybe 50-something, her 60. They insisted I needed to rise from my spot and walk with them, just 6.5 kilometers they said, we're just about there. They didn't seem inclined to leave without me.  

And thus began an amusing evening with a very odd couple, who seemed bizarelly committed to a shared schedule despite their chance meeting just 24 hours before. "It's better, go together, yes?" And we did. Walking to the tune of Mark's many, MANY questions, and Erica's audible eye rolls. 

Mark approved of my Russian accent, but not of my insistance that I didn't drink alcohol. "What, like the anonymous alcoholic?" He said with quote fingers, wiggling his eyebrows. 

When I was like, "uh, yeah," he laughed endlessly. He had thought it was a fictitious organization, meant only as a punchline to absurd stories. And could not be convinced otherwise. This was apparently the most ridiculously thing he'd heard in a long time. 

This is Mark. 


Mark is very confident, jovial, and talkative. He very much likes cars, and tells us the make and model of most of those we pass, as well as a detail about their engines. Then he lists the cars that Amercians like most. This is interspersed with directives to Erica and I that we needed to smile, namely for his pictures. Erica tells him something less graceful in German in response. Erica and I get each other instantly.

Ever curious, some of Mark's questions broached the realm of politics, wanting to know what life was like in America since the "great showman" was elected president. "He is cartoon. It's like joke, yes?" 

YES MARK. IT'S LIKE JOKE, I said. And that was about it on that subject. 


Entering Vila do Conde, after the longest day yet and full out limping now, I encountered a magnificent bit of trail magic, one reminiscent of my last Camino. 

Five years ago, see, on one of my hardest days of walking, picking apart a number of inner demons in a most surly manner, I happened to look up from my feet and my pouting in time to catch a note someone had left. "Walk it off Hannah." Written in marker, who knows when and for who, it was precisely the kick in the ass I needed at that moment to jog out of my funk. 

And then today, wouldn't you know it, on this longest of long days, I find this message as I finally approach the bridge to cross the river Ave and into the town where I'll sleep. 

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