Arrival in Porto
Today was only nine miles of walking, most of it on cobblestone streets. Truly, what wasn't cobblestones was wilderness. The greatest climbs and descents were over muddy and uneven stone gullies. Just prior to hitting the steepest climb of the day, I saw the first Santiago markings on the sidewalk.
To drown out the noise of tires on cobblestones I had selected a podcast with Conan O'Brien. Just as I hit the steepest part of the hill the audio made me laugh out loud. It was already an effort to keep moving upward. Combined with belly laughs, I had to pause a moment and collect myself.
Throughout the day the wind would gust, the rain would follow, and then it would be clear for another 15 or 20 minutes. My timing was just right when I stopped for coffee and a pastry two hours into the walk. As I took my seat I could see the ocean for the first time off to the west. Then it disappeared under a torrent of rain.
Too often a peaceful moment walking through residential areas was interrupted by dogs barking. They would appear from nowhere and be very loud and very animated. Some seemed threatening and others, for the most part, just yapped with vigor as I passed. There were as many dogs running free as there were kept behind fences or on tethers. As I was leaving one of the small villages I noticed something odd about my shadow. I wondered if somehow my bag had become dislodged or something was hanging off of it. I looked to my left and saw nothing. I looked over my right shoulder and there were two dogs that had been following me for the better part of a mile. I thought I had left them in the woods. Then, as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Fortunately, they were not menacing. It was almost as if they had escorted me through their territory and as I left the boundary they were satisfied.
Much of the day was unimpressive. Clearly, the highlight was when I started down the hill and Porto first came into view. It is a picture postcard city on the far side of the water. Like a switch, I went from wilderness, to city traffic, to tourist crush. Throngs of people boarded and disembarked from tour buses at the premium spot for their selfies.
In the time it took me to cross the bridge, the rain had started again. Tourists clustered under store overhangs and I put my rain suit back on, only to remove it five minutes later. This seems to have become the routine.
Just beyond the bridge was the tourist office. I went in to get my official Porto stamp in my credential. Isa, the woman behind the counter, was very helpful. We briefly discussed the attributes of the Porto to Santiago route as being superior to the section I had just completed from Lisbon. I'm very encouraged that I will encounter much more scenic and peaceful trails in the next 11 days of travel.
After cleaning up at the hotel I had a chance to step across the street and get a haircut. I was getting a little shaggy. My barber's English was actually pretty good. I asked him where he had learned it. He responded that he had acquired his language skills by playing countless hours of video games with other international competitors.
The most important information I extracted from him was where to find the best signature sandwich of Porto. It's called a Francesinha. I've included a description of the ingredients. Usually it is also topped with a fried egg.
I connected with some other Camino participants for dinner. Two gentlemen from the Czech Republic, Thomas and David, and Stacy from Washington, DC. They met on the Camino a few days after leaving Porto and continued to see each other all the way to Santiago. Then the three of them, independently, decided to return to Porto to see some sites before heading out in different directions. The Czechs were headed home and Stacy will be heading to France.
They all ordered the specialty sandwich. I couldn't deal with all the pork. I opted for a very boring dinner of grilled turkey breast. I will admit, I did steal a taste of the sandwich and it was pretty delicious.
The conversation ran through several topics and translations. Thirty minutes were spent by Stacy and one of the Czechs to determine how man evolved and why blondes seem to be concentrated in the Nordic countries. There were even diagrams drawn to make the case. The content of the conversation was unimportant. The camaraderie among Camino travelers was the underlying theme.
Tomorrow is my day off. I'll be walking the city and with any luck not spending half my time putting on my rain gear and removing it again.
