A Step Too Far
Yesterday when I checked into my hotel I was very excited to see that I had a balcony. Not so much for the view, because there really wasn't one, but because it gave me a place to dry my clothing overnight. So anything and everything that needed to be washed out was taken care of early in the day and placed outside before dinner.
It turns out there was such high humidity in the air that the clothing did not dry. I couldn't pack damp items in my bag without them becoming nasty again very quickly. The only option was to hook everything up to my pack, which gave me the appearance of being a walking clothesline. I wasn't the only one hanging clothes off my pack as I went down the trail. I guess other people had the same experience.
The good news is I found my way onto the Camino without much confusion this morning. The hills gave way to some great views. Off in the distance you could see mist still hanging in the valley, far ahead.
I took my first break about three hours into my walk. There were some great benches next to a library in the middle of the town. A change of socks, some food, and a Powerade and I was packed up and on my way again. I figured it was about another six or seven miles to my destination.
That second stretch of trail included all kinds of hills in rough terrain. There weren't many real views, but the challenge of getting up some of the hills made the day worthwhile. There is a sense of accomplishment in scaling something that must be five or six stories high, only to reach the top and see another section of hill yet to be conquered.
It was just after cresting this hill that I ran into another pilgrim. The interesting thing is that he was going the other direction. During this section, the Fatima Trail overlaps the Camino de Santiago again, but they go in opposite directions.
The gentleman I met was named Dino and he lives in Porto. We only spoke for a couple of minutes because each of us needed to get on our way. He shouted back a restaurant recommendation for when I arrived in Porto, in about a week.
The trail varied from pavement again, to packed earth, to a somewhat treacherous area that was loaded with stones. At the bottom of the hills were small stones that the rain would carry down, while bigger ones remained in place in the steepest sections.
The trekking poles came in handy over and over again. I passed the Hungarian pilgrim, Audrey, early in the day and she had gathered a couple of pieces of wood to use as trekking poles. I really came to like the convertible hat I selected for the trip as well. With the flaps up it let the air pass around and offer more cooling. With the flaps down it not only offered more protection from the sun, it also deterred the flies from circulating around my face.
In one small town there was a piece of public art. The wire sculpture looked like a giant sewing machine. Later down the trail there was crochet work hanging from the trees.
I took a short break and checked on my hotel. It showed that I still had about an hour and 30 minutes to go before arriving, and that I was about 45 minutes from the town of Alvorge. I planned to get a beverage there, get my bearings, and then finish out the day.
I found a small cafe and ordered a small beer and a big water. Then, I checked the distance to my hotel again. The time had increased by about 40 minutes. It turns out that I had walked right past where I was supposed to spend the night. I was now about four and a half miles too far down the trail. Immediately I felt deflated and foolish. I would have to retrace my steps up and down those same brutal hills to return to my hotel. Compounding my level of annoyance with myself was the fact that the bench I had taken my brake on was less than 150 feet from the hotel entrance. And, I would be walking there in the wrong direction facing my fellow Santiago pilgrims, having to explain exactly why I was going backwards. I would rather they read about it here.
As I finished my beer, I tried to look at my options. I asked the woman behind the bar to see about getting me a cab. The only one within any reasonable distance never answered the phone. The longer I thought about my limited options, the more I became annoyed with my error. A few minutes later a car pulled up, and the guy who stepped out rushed to his trunk to gather some goods he was trying to sell inside the cafe. It looked like an assortment of things you might see in a knock-off shop in Chinatown. He pressed pretty hard but there were no takers. It was then I asked him, through the bartender, if he might drive me back to my hotel.. I knew the cab fare would be about 10 euros, so I offered him 20 and he agreed. It was a win-win situation. He made a sale and I didn't have to walk back the way I came.
The conversation for the next 10 to 15 minutes was in English, Portuguese, French, and even a little Arabic. My driver was an immigrant from Morocco. While I really regret making the mistake, this did offer me an opportunity for an unusual adventure. On balance, it was a pretty good day.
I had assumed my hotel must be further down the road than the point where I took my first break. My practice has been to get to a city nearby and then locate my lodgings. That practice will change starting tomorrow morning. It'll be deja vu all over again as I get up, have my breakfast, pack my gear, and scale those same hills. I consider it my penalty lap for lack of planning today. It will be fine. Besides, there's no point in getting to my next hotel way too early. That is, if I could manage to grab a taxi or a bus to get me back to Alvorge.
Dinner was some takeout grilled chicken with rice. I stopped by the grocery store and provisioned up for tomorrow. One good thing is that I already know a nice little stop in the next town at the top of the hill. I wonder if the woman behind the bar will recognize me?