Chapter 25
Yesterday, Wednesday 15th April, I crossed the bridge that spans the River Douro, and entered the northern district of Baixa.
My timing was aspirational, not deliberate.
As I fumbled to secure a selfie on the bridge, my watch showed 11.11 and my ‘Gratitude Alarm’ sounded.
Amazing!
I was thankful.
I feel it has been quite an achievement to get here.
An epic adventure, meeting some amazing Peregrinos and traveling through some spectacular scenery.
I have no regrets so far.
Well perhaps I have one:
That it was a little less painful on the feet.
My 2 x 40+ km day had caused more pain.
I understand a bit more of my C’Amigo Glenn’s blister world now.
It’s a stinger.
The white stuff is nothing more sinister than sudocrem.
I’ll do all I can to be trail ready for Monday.
The Camino always makes me pay a tariff for a big adventure.
“No regrets.”
“No pain, no gain.”
“It is what it is.”
Blah, blah, blah.
Of course, in recent days, I had to up my game, at some mobility cost, as my RHD, (Red Hot Date❤️) was coming into town.
At 1.30pm Wednesday afternoon to be precise.
I wanted to meet Nicky and I didn’t want to be late!
More on that debacle in a bit! 🫣
I woke early in the empty hostel where I was the only pilgrim.
I’d slept fitfully.
A mixture of weariness and aches and pains after 2 long, consecutive 25 mile / 42 km walks to get to this ‘Porto Pivot Point’.
Plus, the anticipation of course at seeing Nicky again kept me awake it had been 3 and 1/2 weeks since I had left home.
With 3 weeks of walking
It’s felt like an age.
21 full days of walking to get here.
Crackers!
I blame Camino Steve!
If he hadn’t said yes, it might not have happened!
A 3rd minor issue had affected my sleep.
I write minor, because on the face of it, it was.
Mosquitos 🦟 .
There were 2 in my room I think.
I never saw them, but I sure heard them.
That ear whine is unique.
I lost count of how many times I slapped myself.
I think I got one, but never actually saw the evidence.
They always go for me.
As a family, whenever we were away on holiday, there was always one guarantee:
Nicky and Rosie would be all olive tanned, smooth skinned and beautiful.
Meanwhile, Harry, Jake and I could play ‘join the dots’ on most parts of our bodies.
Is it a testosterone thing?
I have no idea.
It’s a sexist thing for sure!
I flipping hate mozzies! 🦟
What is even the point of their existence?
At nearly 15 kilometres, yesterday proved to be my shortest walking day since 30th March.
It should have been easy.
It was far from it.
It was probably my toughest day on the trail.
The minute I closed the hostel door, I thought “oh no!”
Cobbles!
Portuguese cobbles.
Lots of cobbles.
At the moment, for this particular Peregrino, cobbles carry a certainty.
COBBLES = HOBBLES!
I played all the psychological games I could, as I began my plod to Porto.
‘Big Cobbles no Troubles.’
It won’t be forever.
Do an hour then reward yourself with a coffee.
Sing.
Play music.
Zigzag the streets to exploit any non cobbled pavements.
(A flawed strategy as there were none!)
After 20 minutes of cobbling, relief arrived.
A beautifully sculpted, camber free piece of smooth tarmac.
Honestly!
I welled up, almost as much as my soles of my feet had swelled up!
I relished it!
Of course, all roads have can end.
That tarmac’s stretch was only short.
The cobbles returned with avengeance.
‘Such a perfect day.’ 🎵
Irony!
My camera sought distractions.
Piles of kindling, strapped up, ready to go..
The drizzle of the last 2 days returned for one last hour’s hurrah.
It made a particularly lovely stretch of super smooth tarmac, shimmer in the early morning soaking.
Without labouring the point any more, those cobbles were to be my persistent reality for the next 3.5 hours.
Of course, as I’ve said previously, most bad things end…….. eventually.
The Portuguese seem to be as mad about dogs as the Brits.
I’ve seen hundreds.
I’ve only had one face off so far.
A particularly vicious, scary, woofy, growly type if dog barred his fangs at me a few days ago.
And barked his head off.
He was up for a scrap.
I wasn’t!
He was seriously menacing.
I adopted my ninja warrior mode and fended him off with my walking pole.
Fortunately the owner had heard my ‘jeffing’ and the general commotion and run out to save his pooch before I could stab it.
“Ele não vai te machucar”.
I didn’t need to be fluent in Portuguese to understand what he was saying.
“He won’t hurt you!” 🙄
Oh yeah, course he won’t!
A huge Alsatian launched itself at the fence as I walked by.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Simultaneously the moving cursor in my navigation app started to spin.
Without realising it, I took a wrong turn and after about 10 minutes found myself fielding a second broadside from the same dog.
I’d looped the loop!
I’m still not sure who was most outraged: him or me.
I cursed that cursor!
Such bad luck.
It is what it is. 🙄
Fortunately a cafe for first breakfast, revived my spirits a little.
It was tough going but I was making headway: slowly.
My first mural of the day cheered me no end.
A kingfisher!
It made me think of Allan from my Monday walking group, and Stephanie: my friend, who started her first teaching job at the same special school as me: 39 years ago.
They are both excellent photographers and kingfishers are their speciality.
Judge for yourselves:
Allan’s
Stephanie’s:
Amazing talent!
A skilled ‘snap’ of photographers for sure.
(Snap is the collective noun for 2 or more photographers apparently!)
Everyday is an education day! 😜
I’ve never seen a kingfisher up front. Just the odd flash of blue on a river bank.
One to add to my bucket list for sure.
A little later I walked past a sunflowers fresco.
My niece Hannah loved sunflowers. Her family have adopted them as the logo for the charity established in her name.
I immediately thought of her.
My journey into Porto began to improve from then on in.
I zigged again, this time to walk along a purple carpet outside a supermarket.
Nicky likes purple.
Obviously it was there for her official welcome. 💜
Those 9 steps were the best of the whole day.
Soft, comfortable.
My soles stoped screaming for six seconds!
A road tunnel threw up some colourful street art.
I was now on the final 3km to the bridge that separated Vila Nova de Gaia from Porto.
There was only 2 problems:
I could see how far it was and could see that the street was cobbled all the way!
Once again:
My ‘Camino Provided’.
Gorgeous, green, gentle grass!
Separating metro line and road traffic.
Was it allowed?
I didn’t bother to enquire.
Throw in some trail nuts which I munched as I shuffled and I started to realise that I was actually going to make it.
That grass was a lifesaver.
So soft to walk on, even if it was still wet from the morning dew.
It made a ‘marginal gain’ to my foot pain!
In case you are unaware, I’m totally sold on ‘Marginal Gains!’
I walked past a colourful structure in a park area just before the bridge.
As I fumbled for my selfie, my 11.11 phone alarm rang!
Not deliberate!
Perfect timing!
Gratitude!
I’d made it to Porto.🎉
What an introduction.
What a view.
Stage 2 of my 3 stage journey was done.
Now to find the Red Hot Date.❤️
How often do the simplest things in life turn out to be the hardest?
After walking 3/4 of the length of Porto, I managed to completely screw up my journey on the metro, to the airport.
To my chagrin, I ended up 15 miles east!
I’d got on the wrong train!
Then the next train took me too far south!
Third time lucky!
I wasn’t alone. 3 other tourists had been given the same incorrect information.
Still!
“Could do a lot better”.
For someone who had established a nationally respected independent travel training scheme for students with special needs, the irony was not lost.
Teach hundreds of kids with significant learning disabilities to be fully independent across West Yorkshire, walk 420+ miles through Porto without getting lost, only to fail miserably on the final 10 km journey!🫣
Only Martin Moorman!
By the time I got to the airport, Nicky had cleared passport control and had waited 20 minutes wondering whether she was being stood up!
That hug though! 👌
So, so special.
One hour later, we returned to the bridge linking Vila Nova de Gaia to Porto.
“Me and my girl”. 🎵
All’s well that ends well.
And now?
4 days recovery for my battered tootsies.
Adios to Nicky on Sunday. 🥲
Hola to Lizzie on Monday. 👌
Santiago de Compostella: we are coming for you.
Thanks so much for the read.
If you would like to sponsor me for this poignant cause, please click the link below.
Thank you so much.
Buen Camino.
I’ll be back to blogging on Sunday.
Until then, this rambling peregrino is taking a couple of days off.
Happy early weekend everyone and lots of love to you all.
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!
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Martin Moorman 