Distance: 8.5 miles
Time: 5 hours
After yesterday, I earned a short day. Anyway, 31 miles in two days is plenty. Even with the short route I was limping again coming into Sao Pedro de Rates, though it was a lovely day winding along highways, veering inland back toward the central route.
I'd decided early on that I wouldn't continue along the coast. One day getting nearly blown off boardwalks was enough. And after the modern constructions of tourist beaches, I missed the quiet hamlets, ancient landmarks and lush hillsides of the interior.
I woke that morning to what had already become a familiar melody, Mark's habit of repeating, "Oops oops oops," in a sing-song voice while he did...anything. Unpacking his toiletries, out would ring his Russian accent, "Oops oops oops." Hanging wet clothes, "Oops oops oops." Caring for blisters, "Oops, oops, oops.
They had been planning their route last night, picking a departure time and destination, when Erica turned to me. "What do you think Hannah, we leave tomorrow at 9? Just go 20 kilometers?"
Ohhhhh no. I adore running into people during the day, sharing conversation and food at night. But on the Camino Frances I observed and experienced what was, in my opinion, the problem of aligning your schedule too much with others. Walking in tandem, with new friends or old, is often too much coordinating on a difficult walking journey. Patience wanes, inevitably people have different needs and motivations for their journey, and a separation becomes inevitable. I needed to break up with Mark and Erica before this gets too serious, I thought.
Luckily, I wanted to head for the hills, and they wanted to stay on the beach.
Erica gave me a big hug. Mark didn't want to, tried hard to give me a high five as I went to embrace him, but I'd already started the hug and felt like we should follow through. I'm not sure how much of it was cultural propriety and how much was just that Mark is kind of a twitchy dude, but he REALLY tried to get out of it. Sorry, Mark. If it makes you feel any better, I don't like hugs either. But we were invested. After our terribly awkward goodbye, I cut northeast instead of back to the beach, and soon encountered the comfort of yellow arrows leading me back to the Central Camino Portugues. Walking alone, but expecting to encounter people.
The albergue blessedly came into view around mid afternoon, and as I walked through the stone archway leading into its courtyard, a woman met me with a smile and a hug.
"Credential can wait yes? You have some hunger I hope? Because today is a special day."
Apparently I'd walked into what was the monthly gathering and special meal for the albergue's volunteers. They sat me down and filled a plate with savory marinated pork and chicken, potatoes, salad, oranges — and then passed me plate after plate of cakes and pastries to try. They thought it was very strange I didn't want wine. "I'm allergic," I said. No objection followed, and they poured me a glass of coke.
YES. I found the right response to that question. Perfect.
It was an unbelievably warm welcome, instantly enveloped into a table of loud laughing happy people who didn't seem to think I was out of place, and only seemed to mind a small bit how I smelled. (I've showered and done laundry where possible, but a day hiking is a still a day hiking.) And MOST notably, tonight for the first time I have found an albergue not only full of the kindest staff I've ever encountered on Camino, but also one bustling with Peregrinos. As the afternoon and evening went on the beds filled, and noise echoed around the stone halls, evidence of people very happy to be done walking for the day. It seems that the vast majority of people walking the Camino Portugues this time of year are German. (Who are very casual with nakedness, btw. Erica yesterday and the young women I'm rooming with today seem to have no issue changing clothes in a room shared with men and women. No one seems to think anything of it, and since these girls are 22 and Erica is 60, I can't imagine it's a generational thing.)
As expected I am comforted by people commiserating about their first few days on the trail, sharing stories from home, and obsessively organizing backpacks. And of course, the questions come about why are you walking. Is it for sport? For religion? Helene, the younger German girl has asked us.
Elaina in the bunk across from me shakes her head.
"Not religion for me," she said. "But, I think what comes out of religion is amazing. That so many people can believe in something, and build so many things from something, with no evidence of truth."
Her observations are simultaneously full of awe and finality. She seems almost a little sad.
"I'd love to be religious," she said. "It's a great way to cope, to live life."
But for her, it's not possible, too much depends on faith. And in the end what is that? She asks. A demand from man, not God.
"I would need God to show up. To say hi, I exist." And she shakes her head.
"But many people DO believe," said Helene. "And when the rain and wind were so terrible in Porto the last two days, and then when it's time walk Saturday the sun came, that is God yes? Maybe?"
"Maybe." Says Elaine, who IS walking for reflection, introspection, discovery — but she wouldn't call it religious.
I offer that our individual pursuit of something greater than ourselves, or a self more substantial than the one we become accustomed to in our everyday life, is on its own a curious piece of evidence. Not that our personal searches are proof in favor of religion, but indicative that human beings regardless of faith are individually and collectively driving toward something...other.
❤
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