CAMINHO PORTUGUÊS – Villadesuso (Spain)
(31,201 STEPS – 24.13 KMS – 14.98 MILES)
The Border Crossing
I finished breakfast at 7:50 am, grabbed my backpack from my sleeping cubicle, and was in the common area of the albergue at 8:00 am sharp. There were 3 others waiting to cross into Spain, a couple from Portugal and a young lady from Canada. At 8:15 am, a taxi pulled up in front of the building. The driver jumped out, opened the hatch of his SUV, and scurried inside.
“Who needs a ride to the river crossing?” Note the vague language.
The four of us piled our packs in the back, and then piled ourselves into vehicle. I called shotgun and excitedly rode up front. Today was the day I would finally connect with the friend I supposed to meet in Porto. We had been separated by a day or less all the way up the coastline. He got an early start this morning and caught up, waiting for me at the Ferry Station.
Once we were fully loaded and buckled up in the SUV, the driver sped away. Zipping through the crowded streets of Caminha, he arrived at the Ferry Station. And kept on going. I commented:
“You missed the Ferry Station.”
“We are not going to the Ferry Station.”
This was one of those situations where it is best to sit back and see how it unfolds rather than doing anything rash. He sped through town and drove back the way we had walked yesterday. Trust, but be prepared to act.
Two kilometers out of town, he turned right on a road that led through a forest. Half a kilometer down this road, he pulled off to the side. He jumped out of the SUV, popped the hatch, and introduced us to the man that would get us across the border for only 6€.
Now the comment from last night, “You will be in Spain much earlier,” made sense. This was the no-frills, no-delay crossing. Non-governmental and unsanctioned.
After the “captain” stamped our credentials and collected our euros, he pointed us to a glorified jon-boat bobbing on the shoreline. We embarked. He instructed us to put on the life vests, but before we could even distribute them among the four of us, he had fired up the engine and was backing up. Ten seconds later we were skipping across the choppy Minho River waters at full throttle.
It was very cold and very fun.
Within three minutes, he throttled down the engine and slammed the little boat into a steep sand bank on the Spanish side of the river. When it dawned on me that this was the quick, no-frills crossing, I realized the sandy bank was our place to disembark. I jumped out of the boat and held the vessel steady against shore while the others piled out one by one. With the last pilgrim safely on shore, I pushed the boat off. The captain of the vessel turned it towards Portugal and yelled out:
“Obrigado! Bom Caminho!”
He quickly skimmed across the river towards Portugal. The four of us stood in the sand, not saying anything, but acknowledging that we had just had a good adventure. We traversed the sandy beach for 50 meters and then found the Camino turning up the coastline to the north.
The walk, now in Spain, was a continuation of the coastal walk of the last few days, a good trail that hugged the Atlantic shoreline. The rugged and beautiful Galician mountains beckoned us forward.
Soy Contigo
Over the next three kilometers, our fellowship of river-crossers had spread out – the Canadian way out front, me at a distance in the middle, and the couple lollygagging way back.
As I walked alone along the coast, I spent some time thinking about the time I had spent alone on this pilgrimage walk. Sure, I had enjoyed walking with Doug and a few other pilgrims between Lisbon and Porto. But those days before right Porto were mostly alone. Then there was the brief reunion with Doug in Porto, AND the missed connection in Porto. And most of the walk up the Portuguese coastline was solo. I had a few brief interactions – like the one with the Jewish girl, and a couple of others, but it was mostly alone. All other interactions were transactional.
There is a distinction between being alone and being lonely. Most of the pilgrims on the Portugues Way were from northern Europe, mostly Germany. They shared a common language and often ended up among clusters of the nationality. There were no USAmericans on the Way, and few English-as-first-language pilgrims for that matter. Being a lone ranger among groups of others made me feel lonely. So did walking on the big, beautiful coastline.
As I walked towards A Guarda, head down and deep in thought, I paused and looked to my right. Coincidentally/Serendipitously/Miraculously there was graffiti on the cinder-block wall:
Soy Contigo
In English, “I am with you.” There are many ways to receive this. It caused me to think back to my first Camino, and the words stenciled on the wall in my albergue in Pamplona:
Walk on, Through the wind, Through the rain. Tho' your dreams Be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on, With hope In your heart. And you'll Never walk alone, You'll never Walk Alone.
I’m comfortable being alone and spend a lot of the days walking in this way. And sometimes I get lonely, but then I remember, I am not alone. I am surrounded, front and back, by like-minded people. I am surrounded by kind and hospitable people. Thanks to this graffiti, I remembered that I never walk alone.
The Rain
My first town in Spain was A Guarda, a decent sized coastal town. I celebrated the familiar country with a café americano and a croissant. I sat at the sidewalk table and watched the waves roll in, this was a nice-looking town, and I was pleased to be in Spain. Halfway through my second cup of coffee, I remembered that rain was in the forecast today and I wanted to get as close to “home” as possible before the afternoon rains started. I chugged the coffee, paid the 2€ bill, and hit the trail.
Not far beyond my coffee break, it started to sprinkle. A sprinkle is not too bad when you are walking, provided you have a good rain jacket and a rain cover on your backpack. The exposed parts – mostly pants and shoes, get a little wet but often dry with the generated body heat.
The light rain continued all the way to Portocelos, a little over 5 kilometers away, about one hour of walking. I decided to have an early lunch at the Explanada do Horizonte and wait the rain out. I had a Tabla Ibérico (think charcuterie – ham, cheese, fruit, nuts) and another coffee. Midway through the meal, the skies opened up and the sprinkle turned into a deluge. I finished my meal, carefree…there was absolutely nothing I could do about the weather. There was something I could do about the 10 kilometers (2 hours or so of walking) that separated me from my home for the night in Villadesuso.
Full speed ahead, damn the torpedos.
I checked the radar, the rain was not going to end for hours, so I cinched my rain jacket tight, double-checked my backpack cover, and the set forth into the blowing rain. The locals at Explanada do Horizonte knew it was the right call, they all nodded in assent as I walked out.
“Buen Camino.”
Walking in persistent, heavy rain is different than in a sprinkle. In a sprinkle, you can manage the wetness. In a heavy rain, all you can do is resign yourself to the fact that you are going to be wet and that most of the stuff in your backpack will be wet. Get over it and keep moving.
The Destination
It rained, and rained, and rained, through Oia, and all the way into Villadesuso. I arrived at the Albergue da Estrela like a drowned rat, soaked from head to toe. As such, I was a little self-conscious about going in. I am a mostly hospitable person, but I might balk at a sloppy wet person coming in my home. Not so with the owner of da Estrela, he welcomed me like the father welcomed the prodigal son, inviting me into the albergue to take a load off and start stripping off some of the wet gear. When I entered the room, I was greeted by my fellow travelers, the fellowship of the soggy, I had not walked alone.
After settling into my sleep cubicle and showering, the rain tapered off. Our host told me of a nearby café if I wanted to eat, he predicted the rain was finished for the day. I put on my flip-flops and shuffled down to the seaside café.
As I ate my Bocadillo de Jamón y Queso, sipped my Riojan wine (I was in Spain!), and surfed social media, the skies parted. The rain stopped, the clouds moved to the south, and a warm sun dominated the afternoon sky. I quickly finished the meal and hustled back to the albergue, I wanted to take advantage of this warm sunshine and dry my shoes, backpack, rain jacket, et al. You know you’ve been wet when your rain jacket needs to dry in the sun.
I spent the rest of the day on the sunny porch watching my gear dry, and the sunset, and enjoying cold Estrella Galicias. What a day! I was glad to be here.
Guides
Colors
Paths
Pilgrims and Prophets 