Day 2 - Arcos to Barcelos
I awoke hoping to find the local church open after hearing the bells. But it was shut tight.
After 20 minutes of hopeful rattling and checking out all the doors, I conceded the sleepy hamlet of Arcos and set off, letting the cool air - and the promise of fresh countryside - carry me forward. Oh, and I had my first pastel da nata from the local café - divine - as I was leaving town.
Nothing quite prepares one (or me, at least) for the vast open fields beyond Arcos- waves of corn stretching out under a relentless sun, the thick earthy scent of dung fertiliser drifting on the breeze. Every step felt both grounded and exposed.
Mid-morning, and stinking hot, I took the guidebook's advice and stopped at Pedra Furada, a family-run cafe/restaurant right on the Way. It is known among pilgrims and locals for its warm hospitality and traditional fare. It wasn't quite official lunchtime, and all I craved was a soup. But had to settle for a cheese toastie, lemon-infused water and a bottle of still water. My hosts were concerned that half the sandwich remained untouched but accepted that I was "muito cansado". After stamping my Credencial, the husband handed me a lovely Camino bookmark. Bless him.
The climbs and heat that followed were soul-destroying but I persevered.
I crossed the medieval Ponte de Barcelos - a centuries-old bridge declared a national monument in 1910, its five uneven arches spanning the Cávado River - but by then, I was so exhausted. Seeking refuge in a cafe-bar minutes away from my hotel, I had an ice-cold lemon water and 30 minutes to muster enough energy to move on.
Day 3- Barcelos to Balugães
I have tried to pause and pray at churches and chapels along the Way - managed it in Rates but most are locked and deserted.
That changed the next morning in Barcelos, where a vibrant morning Mass in Portuguese was taking place in the church in the town square I slipped inside, sat awhile to listen and then had a quiet hello with Our Lady, stepping out lighter in spirit.
A kind local directed me to the nearby tower, where I got two Credencial stamps. As I left, she met me again with a warm "Bom caminho". Two little words better than any elixir.
I drifted out of town slowly, meeting a young Tawanese pilgrim also walking alone, her pace slow and steady. I met her again hours later at a restaurant while I was enjoying an excellent corn soup. Watching her tortoise-like but unflinching stride, I realised pace does not matter. Perseverance does.
What should have been a gentle 3-4km walk to Balugães turned into a longer haul, when I had to leave the Way in search of my lodgings, a rural hotel more than 1km off the planned path. Not fun but Day 3 is done. I will recover and soldier on tomorrow.
Reflection: Every stretch tests me, gifts me and reveals what kind of pilgrim I am becoming.
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