Chapter 13
Last night we arrived in Lisbon, after another 21.5/35km walk.
What a stunning city!
Nicky and I will come back for a proper city break for sure: with no walking!
Yeah right’ 😜
The ‘Road to Lisbon was long and laboured’.
But it was necessary.
We don’t walk these distances deliberately!
Sometimes they really are a necessary evil.
We don’t really want to sleep under a hedge, particularly as it still gets freezing cold overnight.
So, until accommodation options increase, we have to be tactical and target our next sleepover.
Good Friday is intrinsically linked with suffering.
That’s where the analogy starts and ends.
My sole on my right foot suffered all day.
It squealed, whined and whined, but thankfully it never screamed.
I’ve had this issue on all 3 previous long distance Camino’s.
So it’s no real surprise.
I’m probably just well practiced at keeping the ‘hotspot’ under control.
I swore by sheep’s wool just 10 days ago.
Now I swear by a potent cocktail of ibruprofen gel, paracetamol/ibruprofen tablets (if absolutely necessary, Compeed, sheep’s wool and Crocs.
Those Crocs are brilliant. Well done Jake Moorman!
It is all working!
But maybe it is just a reality that this former Headteacher, often ribbed by his friends as a “pen pusher with soft hands,” has soft feet too.
Though these long 20+ miles walks do seem to carry a foot battering sucker punch.
Never mind!
Today is Easter Saturday.
More on that and the walk we enjoyed today, in tomorrow’s blog.
And tomorrow being Easter Sunday, we are having a much more respectable 12-14 miles some /18-20km walk.
A gentle stroll.
The silliness needs to stop!
Hopefully we will be ‘home and hosed’ after approximately 4 hours on the trail.
We can also properly wash 2 days worth of sweaty and dusty gear and have a civilized sit down, ‘all you can eat breakfast!’
Hope their kitchen is prepared.
Remember, I have a big lunchbox. 😜
This is a shorter blog today, especially as we didn’t finish our walk on Saturday 4th April till 5.45pm.
More on Saturday’s ‘Why’s and wherefore’s’ tomorrow then.
On Good Friday we left our lodgings at 06.45 with deliberate intent as we knew we had a big day, a long way to walk and a hot day to contend with.
As usual, the sunrise was lovely though we never truly got the visual benefits as our target, the ferry port at Seixal, was hidden by a number of sizable hills.
We passed a vintage car: in a car sales yard lovely!
The moon was still visible.
A big cheese!
Google Maps told us to circumnavigate the hills, but in the principal espoused by the children’s book ‘We’re going on a Bear Hunt’ we, or I really should say I, decided”.
Can’t go round it, so we are going to go over it!’
Camino Steve was clearly in ‘Doubting Thomas’ territory. and gave me a long quizzical look but said nothing.
“It won’t be too bad”, I said.
I lied.
It was steep.
Very steep!
But the flowers were ‘Pretty in Pink.’ 🎵
The views lovely.
But that hill!
Consolation could only be found in the fact that it was early, still cool and the steep climb was always shaded.
After that, the walk proceeded to become longer, harder, hotter and more and more tarmac based.
It was dull!
The opportunity for attractive photographs diminished with every passing kilometre.
A very colourful dwelling was frankly a bit over the top, but at least I did get to use my camera.
We took a marked path that saw us wading through long, thigh high grass, that was soaked by the morning dew.
Soaking socks and shoes resulted!
In the verges pink heather gave a vibrant visual, but too often its surrounds were spoiled by that old chestnut:
Mankind!
Another 3km stretch of minor road was clearly the illegal tipping point in the whole of Lisbon.
Maybe I should be grateful.
Fly tipping is not just a British problem.
In truth it never got any better.
I changed from trail shoes to crocs and back again as I tried to calm my sore sole.
A motorway underpass became a thing of beauty.
Fences were scaled, gates were climbed and short cuts thwarted.
I’m betting Camino Steve cursed me and my navigation silently.
I cursed me silently!
It was hard!
That garden fence could never feature on any UK based DIY TV programme.
Wow! 😳
But we are no quitters.
At 3pm we were ‘Sailing!’ 🎵
At 4pm we were ensconced in our lodgings and showering off the dusty excesses of that 21 mile ’yomp’.
We visited the cathedral to collect our Pilgrim Passports/Credentials.
And we posed outside the tiny church that marks the start of the Camino Portuguese, whilst a kindly, well heeled tourist took our obligatory snap.
We are proud and pleased to have reached the Portuguese capital.
As you know, I’m doing this walk to support my sister and her family in the aftermath of the tragic loss of her youngest daughter Hannah: she was killed last July, in a head on crash with another car. The driver of that car was well over the drink/drive limit.
Lizzie sent this to me today.
Timely because of the Easter Sunday connection.
Teary, because it’s a hard read.
But beautifully written.
Lizzie writes:
“Easter Sunday follows the same pattern each year. Nine Joneses, plus assorted other halves and children, all pile into church for a joyous Easter Mass, then home for lunch — always lamb, and hopefully eaten in the courtyard — before an Easter egg hunt.
While David and I hide the eggs around the courtyard and field, the rest of the family gather excitedly in the kitchen, curtains closed and under strict instructions not to peek — this last instruction squarely aimed at the eldest members of the family.
Then, once the eggs are hidden, they are unleashed, and with vintage colanders in hand, they noisily stream out of the kitchen and begin their search.
I’m not sure when vintage colanders became their “baskets” of choice, but thankfully I have a huge collection, most of which are only ever used for this occasion. They spend the rest of the year hanging from a beam, gathering dust while waiting for their time to shine.
Once the eggs are all gathered, it falls to Sarah and Hannah to divide them into bags, each labelled with our names. Then follows the inevitable negotiations: “Can I trade a Creme Egg for a Rolo egg?” I once traded Hannah five mini eggs for a Creme Egg… I definitely got the better deal.
Last year, I left for Poland for work immediately after Easter, and on my return Hannah had bagged a load of marked-down Easter eggs from the supermarket. The following weekend, she organised an Easter egg hunt for David and me. Her reasoning was that we always did it for them, and she felt we’d missed out.
Never in the history of Easter egg hunts has there been one so competitive — but I finished victorious, my colander far fuller than David’s.
It was fun, and so typical of Hannah.
This morning, I was looking through my photos for a picture of one of her Easter messages on the chalkboard door. I found one of the artist in action, and it hit hard.
Tomorrow we will stick with tradition. We will go to Mass, the lamb is marinating, ready for lunch in the courtyard, and the Easter egg hunt will be as noisy as ever.
She will be missed.
But she is in it all — in the laughter, the chaos, the traditions she loved and helped create.
Right at the heart of it where she belongs.”
I have no words!
But I do have actions.
And that is why I walk!
If you would like to support Hannah’s charity, here is the link:
Thank you so much!
Buen Camino.
Martin x
Martin Moorman is a 61 year old retired Headteacher who lives with his wife Nicky, daughter and her family in North Yorkshire, UK.
Happily married for 36 years, Martin and Nicky have 3 grown up children, all happily married too. In his spare time Martin loves walking, photography, football, renovating cooking and talking rubbish to anyone who will listen!
I’ll answer yesterday’s quiz question tomorrow.
My stomach is growling!
Martin Moorman 