My camino commences

I am here to walk the camino. (I just put that in there to annoy my cousin Becca who actually speaks spanish. 'You're walking the walk' hahahaha). Yes. Today I begin to walk the walk. Before I can start sharing my journey, you need a backstory that will help describe how I felt today. 

Picture it: Newfoundland, 2014. (Sophia from the Golden Girls reference....imagine I have a bad white wig on my head and dainty purse hanging from my forearm). My good buddy Cheryl and I were on a trip to tour Newfoundland in a week. Notable moments: we must have gone 4000 miles (6k km) in only a week, saw a beached whale (selfie!!), I lost my cell phone near thousands of squalking birds from a scene  out of a horror film and were navigationless for a day, saw the sun rise in the most eastern part of North America, hiked in gros morne, tried a terrible fried chicken chain for the first time, saw snow covered mounds in Saint Anthony where the vikings lived and the first 'European' was born, tried poutine with stuffing, taught Cheryl how to drive a stick shift, and we were screeched in in a sketchy bar in St John's) We saw it all! We were there in April... so there was still snow - doh!! (Simpsons reference). On day 2, we decided to go sled dogging (as opposed to the more familiar dog sledding because all I saw was the sled).

I found a woman named Elaine Pinard online who had sled dogs and offered to take people out on them. What better way to experience Gros Morne than on a sled dog?? We arrived to the sound of 60 barking dogs. Elaine took one look at us and immediately brought layers and layers of clothes for us to put on. Uh oh. We went out to the dogs who were jumping and jerking in 2 rows of 6 dogs per sled, literally nailed to the ice. The sled behind them was a few thin pieces of wood with a little metal 'brake' to slow them down. Elaine suggested we go across the frozen lake and up into the hills, looking at us as if we knew enough to protest. Okay? - we replied. Since we were going over a lake, it would be better if someone were in the sled, because we were driving. She drove the first team over and I followed behind with Cheryl (ever trusting Cheryl) in the sled. The only advice she gave us was - stand on the two woden slats, if you need to slow down, use the brake (a square piece of metal perpendicular to the ice that you push down), and whatever you do - don't let go. You'll have to chase the dogs. Oh - and because we are going on ice not snow, the dogs will want to go fast, but don't let them, but don't use the brake because the ice is thin. These were my instructions and my dear friend trusted me with her life. I was ever grateful for her stabilization in the sled as the dogs were jerking and jumping, as if ready to launch into orbit!!  I really thought there would be a training course or waiver or something, but no... it's a learn as you go kind of activity. 

So Elaine removes the spike and off we go. The dogs speed ahead, pulling us behind, we slow on the curves (I gently press the break hearing ice crack as I do), but we get across. Cheryl goes to her team and Elaine joins the guy on the snowmobile that leads the dogs up the path. When you imagine sled dogs, or at least when I do, I think of getting a ride. Apparently expecting the dogs to pull my big butt uphill is unreasonable, so in what felt like 15 layers of clothes, I start running uphill with the dogs. However, as soon as you step off the sled, the dogs relieved of the weight, go faster, so there's a weird dance of slow ride, jump off, quick! Run!, slow, go, while always holding on. If you need a break, you apply the brake with your foot, putting every ounce of force you have in you down, while holding in and leaning back. Not much of a break. The dogs are so annoyed to stop, even though you can see how tired they are, that they jump and jerk ahead, and there is only your body angled against a metal plate to stop them. 

I am not particularly coordinated, but if there is a patron saint of sports, she was with me in that moment. At one point Cheryl lost her dogs, and like some kind of The Rock/Superman suaveness, I reach over and catch them while simultaneously stopping my dogs. What!?! I have been known to fall while standing still... I too lost my dogs and had to go chasing after them. In thick snow pants and coat through the heavy snow, that was not fun! Later I was sledding along, and suddenly realized I was on my back, staring at the sky, and my foot was caught in the rope as I was being dragged along. In some kind of James Bond motion only a few moments later, I was back up and on the sled, as if were all a dream. Crazy. 

We stopped for lunch at the top and Elaine cooked hot dogs and melted maple syrup which she then poured over the snow and spiraled around a spoon - a heavenly caramel lollipop! While she was boiling the water, Cheryl and I descended down a sink hole. Turns out that's a real thing! We had ice picks loosely connected to our shoes with string, held onto a rope with our hands, and descended 20 feet down at an 85 degree slope. We turned around - and sure enough there was water and ice that descended hundreds of feet down the hole, which we admired while hanging onto the rope and standing/leaning against the slope, praying our spikes would hold. Again - insane. 

On the return journey - no the story isn't over ... the ice had apparently melted in the warm sun, and Elaine had my phone to take photos, but she accidentally recorded the entire journey back. The skido fell into the water and I have a video of her pocket, with her cursing and laughing in french. Yes that's right - we were literally skating on thin ice. The dogs made it back, much to our relief and were rewarded with skinned seal meat (the skins more useful to be sold, the meat worthless). Every muscle I had hurt. Every. I didn't know how many there were! We headed up to Saint Anthony that day (12 hour drive) with a hike on the way to a glacier, and every time I had to shift to a different gear I groaned in pain. What a ride!!

That brings me to the camino. Ditto. For realz. 

For the unoreparedness, the 'oh crap what did I do', and the lack of direction. I started in Viano do Castelo, with Jose from Greenwalks to show me the first 200m and take me through a gorgeous tiled church Our Lady of Mercy, with the corporal works of mercy on the ceiling, including 'aid the pilgrims' (that's me!!) 

There are so many different demarkations for the camino, a yelow painted arrow on a wall or the ground, a bronze cut out shell with an arrow, a blue plastic placard, a decal, and they can be on any surface at any height, randomly spread out. The 'x's are paricularly helpful as they are often where I want to go. There are times I am sure I am lost, but I see an arrow. Other times I catchthe arrows like a boss, one after another without even thinking about it. 

Needless to say, google saved me a few times, including in the first few minutes. I walked for about five hours straight, going the wrong way for only about 45 minutes, so lost in thought that I missed a turn and wondered why it was so far between arrows. I saw grape on the vine and the coast, a bunch of cats and barking dogs behind gates, locked churches, high stone walls, fresh blackberries and gorgeous flowers. 

For lunch, I paused at the the cafe along the way and got cheese, sliced meat (like a slinly sliced version of the chinese pork we enjoy from Albertson's in Idaho - high praise), bread, and an apple / pear. I am not sure which - it looks like an apple but tastes like a pear. Amazing! I stopped in Ancora at a four star hotel (excuse you!!) with my bags sent ahead in this Camino lite. Among the dozen people I saw (passed) today, I am the only without a bag, and was even scorned for this. Thanks german friendly person... see ya! I saw one other person travelling alone and she flew by me! I said 'bom camino' and shared a line or two with a few people - from spain and germany, but stuck to myself (shocker). 

After 5 hours of walking, I was very okay with a hot bath and nap, followed by mass in Our Lady of Care (according to google translate - I feel like that's close but wrong). In the church, the mysteries of the rosary were on the ceiling, and I found the visitation especially poignant as well as the Our Lady statue was reminiscent of the Bon Secours chapel. 

I sat by myself and was sandwiched by two Portuguese older women. Judging by how full the church was (full even for a Monday), I was in their pew! I wandered down to the coast and stepped into the Atlantic Ocean - from the other side. It was freezing! Peakes river  cold!! It was nice to see familiar mussels and the coast - even if it was windy and chilly. 

I finished the night with a long European meal, taking time to document my travels and enjoy some vegatables, my first in almost a week. Apparently after a week of bread and cheese, the body starts to crave greens. I was here from 8 until 11, watching the sun set and seeing the crowd change from young families to young grown-ups. I tried sardine pâte, a local favorite, freshly caught cod with a rice/bean/broccoli/cabbage magic with white wine from the neaby Duoro Valley, and finished with a mousse and tawny port. Oh yes. This camino thing rocks!! (But the start was as unfamiliar, unnerving, and crazy as sled-dogging through Newfoundland. I don't know if Elaine is still giving tours, I wiuld be surprised if she was, but I will never forget that day). 

Today was an easy day - 33,000 steps and around 19 km (prob 21 with my side paths), 66 stories! I am ready for tomorrow (with maybe one more hot bath in case there are only showers ahead....)

 

Plenty of Ports in Oporto

That last morning in Fatima, having had such a great experience the night before, I elected to sleep in and rest, for my camino would begin the next day. Also I heard Oporto is a bit of a party town, and I was going to stay in a hostel, I didn't expect to get much sleep that night. It was a glorious morning. After a big breakfast and single hot chocolate con leche (one is never enough), I headed to the bus station to leave the blessed town for a more rowdy scene. 

Whenever people asked what I was going to do on this trip, I said I am going to Fatima and the Camino, AND I planned to drink port in Oporto. This really was the top of my list. I have loved port ever since my Texas A&M days, when Linds and I would go to the local winery, (yes - there was one in Texas, and it was right next to my house!!) We would get a bottle of wine (occasionally splurge on a port), and sit in our hot tub under the stars watching scary movies from blockbuster online (yea it was a while ago). Or oneparticular  night with my friend Brette when we had fondue (melted cheese), bread, and port. That was a night I treasure, for no particular reason. Whenever I need to feel like a grown up, I put on a big thick sweater, pour myself a tawny or ruby port, pretend to smoke a cigar and sit in my big chair sipping and musing while Ella or Louis swirls through the air. (Happens about twice a year). So... needless to say, I was excited to go port tasting, like the old man that I am. 

In Oporto, the bus station was further from the tourist area, and I got to see a grittier part of the city. There will still the characteristic flat house style with balconies and tiles, but many were in disrepair. I passed a lady of the night (though it was 2pm), and resisted asking to take a selfie with her, a few people who looked like they were in ecstasy while staring at a wall. So far Oporto wasn't too impressive. 

I did pass a few tiled churches and homes, and only a km away was in a nicer part of town. 

I went across a huge bridge that I found uncomfortably high, going too close to the edge to snap shots of the coastal city. There were boats below that traditionally transported port from the Douro valley and out to the world. On the map, Sandeman (my port spot) was onthe other  side of the bridge, just down the street. What google didn't show was that meant I had to go down at least 10 stories, almost running on the cobblestone to ensure I made my 3pm reservation (where did the day go, right??). 

In Sandeman, they have been producing port since 1790. They get red and white grapes from the Douro Valley in Portugal (where temperatures reach over 40 deg C!!), crush the grapes in September, wait until March to begin fermintation, and different than traditional wines, the fermentation process is stopped early with the addition of a distilled wine. This also gives it a 22% alcohol content, so the serving size is greatly reduced. Portugal has a high humidity (yup, check, yes, uh huh) which makes it perfect for aging the casks.  White ports ages in large casks for 3-5 years and are typically a blend from different years that average whatever it says on the bottle. Ruby ports age for 5-8 years and are typically also blended, but there can also be vintage years for particularly good years that are certified by an outside body and marked with a single year, some as old as 1904). Rubies can also be aged, though most are younger. Tawny ports are often aged for 20+ years, in small casks so they can take on the oakiness, fruity or nutty flavors of the cask. They turn a caramel color with age, and the casks are reused by scottish whiskey producers because they draw so many amazing flavors from the grapes. The coolest part was the floors - to maintain the humidity they take old large casks (less desireable to whiskey folk) and cut them up into bricks, then leave water out for the wood to soak up and release. 

Okay... maybe that wasn't the coolest part. The tasting afterwards was pretty great. Typically an ounce or two of port is enough to make me smile... multiply that by 5. This was no tasting! This was a 'you have the room until 6:30, enjoy!!' And we did! There were three and a half couples there (you can guess who was the half). One couple from England, one from New Zealand, and one from close to home - Montreal. Queen Victoria would be proud of her accomplishments for this English tour! The ports - one white, two ruby, and two tawny were ranging in price and I loved the rubies most. By the time I left, I would have loved anything though. It was a helpful stop to hear what to do that evening in the city from the other folk in the group, and they were the first people I have really had an extended conversation with since I arrived. 

 

I stumbled off, to climb the 10 flights back up and find my hostel so I could ditch my bag. That evening I went to a few cathedrals and to the Saint Francis decommissioned church, which includes a crypt. I was literally running up and down the streets (surprise! Another hilly windy Portuguese city), trying to fit everything in during the last few hours of the day. 

  

(Linds and I saw a huge crypt in Lima Peru this last winter, so this one glimpse of bones was somewhat disappointing. How jaded am I???) I next headed to a bookstore Livreria Lello that was said (by Time magazine) to be a huge inspiration for J K Rowling when she worked in Oporto teaching English. Walking inside the store, it's obvious! The architucture is incredible, and the staircase really looks like it could move. You had to buy tickets to get in, and it was inspiring to be around people who were as excited as I was to be in a bookstore (though likely for different reasons.... I looove books). 

It was nearly time for bed but I still hadn't eaten. In fact, I hadn't had a proper meal since I arrived, so it was time. I went down to the waterfront and passed many gorgeous restaurants, with exorbitant prices and amazing-looking food. I eventually landed near my hostel at Route 65, because it was small, nearly full, and had amazing music wafting out. I enjoyed one more port, bread (oh the bread), and ordered what I thought was tapas but turned out to be a meat lovers poutine. It turns out it's a common popular dish here, so yet again I am Mr Bean'ing myself into culture. It had roast beef, ham, sausage, a beautifully moo'ing steak, surrounded by two pieces of bread, cheese, hot peppers, smothered in gravy, and surrounded by homemade chips (accompanied by a port of course). Oh happy accident that brightened my day!! I was especially glad to be consuming such a gluttonous, farm-filled dish before my vegetarian friend arrives....

I went back to my hostel, getting little sleep but enjoying the sounds of so many others having a silly late night. My bag was packed and I was ready for the camino to begin!! Here are a few other snaps of the truly picturesque party town.