So Day 3 and looked like a long one from the outset. One of the biggest markets in Portugal comes to Barcelos on a Thursday morning and it certainly was vast. I waved goodbye to my Aussie companions from yesterday and set off across the square that was packed with all the sorts of things you’d expect to see in an English market and quite a few things that you wouldn’t – like a tray of chickens. Live chickens. Perhaps they had been killed the day before and come back to life as happens in these parts. Anyway I made my way through the throng and had a few cheery calls of “Santiago” thrown at me. Can’t think how they guessed I was a pilgrim. Perhaps it was the hat.
I set off about 8am. First cafe stop was at about 10 where I got cafe con leche or whatever the Portuguese phrase is; freshly squeezed orange juice, water and a pastry for £3.20. This must be one of the few places left where you buy a couple of things and the answer is 1€ something – a cornetto and a coke set me back €1.60 later in the day. After about 14km I came to the bridge below which was put up in about 1200AD to replace the previous wooden one which was known as the bridge of planks. It’s a stirring affirmation of the Portuguese love of tradition that 800 years after it was replaced with stone, the old name is still in use.
Not very plank like bridge
A couple of miles later was the first signpost saying how far it was to Santiago – 171km to go. Given that I’ve now walked some 90 in three days that doesn’t feel like too much of an ask.
Porto to Santiago
To get there I will need to pass through some strange lands including a hobbit colony. the photo doesn’t really do the strangeness of the scene justice but please imagine walking through a wood and there is a bank of stone on one side. Then, in the middle of nowhere, is a neat little door – about 3 feet high – set into the bank. Obviously quite modern hobbits live here as the door was secured with a Yale lock (I had to try it) but normally they don’t make their front doors quite so accessible.
Hobbit house
Towards the end of the day (the guidebook reckons that the trip is 33km, my iPhone thought it was 40 and my feet thought it was about 45), I found myself safely out of hobbit territory and walking down lanes inhabited by humans. And I stopped to smell the roses. I really did – it’s a phrase that I have used so often as a figure of speech but I actually physically stopped, relaxed and smelt these roses. Should have done far more of that over the years.
Roses to smell
And then in the last stretch I was back in eucalyptus woods. You don’t need to stop to smell these, the scent just embraces you as you walk. I will always associate that smell with the joy and emotion of my first walk into Santiago. Wonderful.
Trees to smell
I got to the hotel – a strange, box of a building – with 20 minutes to spare before the heavens opened. Seemed funny to be sitting with slight discomfort from sunburn watching the rain come down. I had to wait to check in as I arrived just after a coach load of Germans who were “doing the Camino” by being chauffeured from one hotel to another with little walks occasionally. I noticed that at least one was clutching a pilgrims passport so I think he is going to try and get a Compostela. I expect a lightening bolt will get him while he is in the queue in Santiago. If not, the officials should spot him as a fraud – he was wearing jeans! No-one who has to carry clothes ever brings jeans….
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