STILL LISBON

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STILL LISBON



I left the Dormidas Silvina hostel in Alverca around noon; after my hand-washed clothes were dry. It was only a few blocks from a mall where I had a big lunch in a cafeteria. I found a Chinese import store on the lower level and bought an electrical adapter, and I got directions to the El Camino, still on the ’98 Expo walking path on the river. It was a beautiful day. I was still taking it easy. I found a café, ate a mouthwatering hamburger with homemade potato chips, and watched the people enjoying the park. Terrific. I called the hostel Vila Franca de Xira for a reservation. No answer. Just as I rose to leave, I got a callback. The man on the phone suggested I catch a train to Alhandra, bypassing the next industrial area.



Continuing on the boardwalk, I met Peppa and Tindmir from Bulgaria!! I was so excited. I spent three years in Bulgaria in the Peace Corps. They seemed to understand my broken Bulgarian and told me there was a large community of Bulgarians in Portugal. It was so much fun to share stories. Then I realized it was getting late and I had to hurry to the train station if I wanted to get to the hostel before dark.



I met my first pilgrims at the train station, a young couple going to the same Albergue. When I got off at Alhandra, I realized I got off the train too soon and still had another five miles to walk.



The boardwalk by the river became a red walking/biking track. A man jogged up beside me, fell into step, and started chatting. This was the incentive I needed to walk faster to keep up with him. The miles flew by. Finally, we arrived at Vila Franca on the lighted path, and the man diverted his workout to walk me to the hostel door. It was such a nice gesture and saved me a lot of time since I didn’t know the area. I was so tired I didn’t take any photos of the hostel. I just got my key, opened the door to my room, and fell into bed.



I took a refreshing cold shower in the morning, my only option, ate a few potato chips from yesterday's dinner, had a cup of tea, and chatted with the proprietor. While I waited for him to stamp my Camino passport he told me Portugal is the third safest country in the world and then told me to have safe travels. I wish I had photos of the antiques in the hostel, which included an English saddle balanced on the handrail and the top of a lovely glass lamp resting on the floor, acting as a night light.



Once again, I walked in an isolated area, with miles of train tracks on my left, tall, cultivated fields on my right, no cafes, and no people. After roughly five miles, I saw a house in the field, although it was an industrial area. Shortly I saw an older woman walking toward me with maybe three grocery bags, and I thought, “Oh! There is a market nearby.” I pantomimed food, and she pointed to a big building down the track. She said, “Cafeteria, bebidas,” and pointed again. I rushed forward and saw it was a train station. There was no cafeteria, but there was a tiny snack bar. Elation! A lovely well-dressed businesswoman translated for me. The menu was a cold ham and cheese sandwich with butter (no, thank you). I ordered a dry sandwich, a tiny pineapple pie, and bottled orange juice. I would never willingly order any of this but I was hungry and grateful. I had two cups of tea, then discovered that the toilet was locked due to vandalism. All I could do was hope to find another facility with a toilet, soon. Still, the silky polished granite floor suggested I do my Tai Chi exercises before returning to the trail.



The terrain gradually transformed from agricultural to industrial, and in another hour and a half, I discovered a bar for factory workers. I went inside, and there was a women’s restroom. Hallelujah! I still had half the sandwich, so I didn’t need food, but I could buy a drink. It was so hot I thought a margarita would be pleasant. It wasn’t meant to be. The bartender shook his head. I asked for Bailey’s, Kahlua, Tia Maria? Finally, Pedro, the bartender, said I know just what to get you. He brought a bottle of liqueur, poured a little into a shot glass, and sprinkled it with canela (cinnamon). The bar, sparsely filled with men from the factory, was watching us closely as I picked up the glass. An on-looker indicated for me to toss it back. I did. But it was so good I ordered another glass with a hot tea chaser and savored the flavor. This was so out of character and so much fun. While I was sitting there resting, I called to reserve a hotel room and started walking. I had chosen the closest lodging, the Hotel Ouro in Azambuja. Unfortunately, I saw a road sign meant for autos, not for pilgrims, and took the wrong route.

Now the hotel was no longer near. I wound up walking next to a freeway with lots of traffic, big trucks called veiculo longo (I had plenty of opportunity to memorize this phrase, as it was written on the tailgate of every big rig that passed me), traveling what seemed like 80 miles an hour. With only a narrow shoulder, this route was obviously not intended for pedestrians. I walked for a couple of hours in what I call “Truck Terror.”



Finally, I saw the hotel, and it was a relief to walk through the doors.



Wouldn’t you know the big, attached restaurant was closed; only the snack bar was still open. I needed real food. The receptionist said, “There is a good restaurant nearby (I rolled my eyes), but it closes at nine p.m.” It was just after 8. I hurried to my room for a shower and rushed back to the desk. There was good news. The restaurant is open till midnight: the bad news was the route meant more walking and more hills. I finally found the restaurant and ordered a daily special: pork, roasted potatoes, pickled veggies, tea, a big bottle of water, bread, and dessert. With the tip, it was 13 euros. Wow! What a deal.



The following day I took the train from Azambuja to Reguengo, 9km. But the walk from Reguengo to Valada was probably twice that distance. It was long and hot, a dusty dirt road, with intermittent trucks hauling produce. I walked the road from tree to tree, each offering a moment’s shade. When I finally got to a tiny village, I found a small corner café and asked for lunch. The woman showed me a can of sardines (never) and an egg. I pointed to the egg, and she held up two. I nodded. She asked, “Sandwich?” I shook my head no. I was expecting an omelet or scrambled eggs and was pleasantly surprised when she served me a large salad with fresh tomatoes and hardboiled eggs, bread, and water. I asked about an Albuerge, and she gave me a phone number. The man who answered said he would pick me up. My luck was improving.



Nuno is 45 years old and has walked the Camino several times. He was on the road walking to Fatima when he got a call telling him his hostel, Casal das Areias, would be listed in the Brierley guide for the El Camino in Portugal. He was so excited. Nuno is a musician with a degree in engineering and now teaches music to preschoolers. His face beams as he talks about the children. His home, on the Tejo Rio, exuded peace and serenity. We chatted, then watched the Championship Soccer game with his friend. (I never watch sports.) After two or three hours the game ended. Neither team scored! I excused myself, said good night, and went to bed. I had only a couple of saltines for dinner.



I slept well and toyed with staying another night but after a filling breakfast of hardboiled eggs, meat, cheese, and bread. I knew my time was growing short; I had to get to Porto and meet Lauren. I was hoping to find Quinta das Burras, a hostel I read about in an app on my phone. I never saw it, but I did pass an impressive horse ranch.



The road went on forever, hot and dusty and peaceful. I passed miles of grapes, both red and green. They dangled tantalizingly over the fences, but upon tasting a few I discovered they were wine grapes and were not sweet but dry. Red ripe tomatoes dotted the road I traveled, beautiful deep red tomatoes. As I grew hotter and hungrier, I could not resist; I picked up several, rinsed them with water from my camelback water carrier, and ate them gratefully.

From a great distance, I saw the city of Santarem, the first city since Lisbon. Relief filled me when I finally trudged up the hill toward it. I got to the main street and asked a woman where I could find a café. I was embarrassed when she pointed to the wall next to my shoulder; Taverna do Quinzena.



There was a restroom where I washed off some of the grime from the day, and there was excellent food. One of the staff members even charged my phone while I ate. After my meal, I wandered up and down the quiet streets looking for an open hostel. Finally, I called N-1, an Albuerge listed on my app. The man who answered told me to come at 11 p.m. It was only 8 p.m. I was so tired, but after even more searching for a hostel, with no results, I gave up. There was nothing else available. I went to a pizza place and bought a mojito to relax and wait for ten pm. Suddenly, I realized I had left my hiking sticks on the street corner while calling the Albuerge. The waitress sketched a map to N-1; I found my hiking sticks right where I had left them and arrived at the hostel 45 minutes later. I called the hostel again, and the man came from his party to let me in. His wife scolded me about arriving so late. I had had enough. I snarled that I was 79 years old and tired of waiting for a bed. Miguel asked me if I wanted water. I said I wanted to sleep. Then Maria saw my age on my passport and was suddenly friendly. Miguel gave me a tour of the facility... four-bed dorms, each with a beautiful modern bathroom. I was alone in my dorm but too weary to sleep, so I read awhile. And I was thirsty because I had turned down the water.



The following morning, I rushed to check out by 11 a.m., but I couldn’t find the refrigerator with my breakfast bag. I needed a map to find my way out. On the last turn, tucked in a corner near the exit I found the fridge, grabbed my food bag, and dropped my key in the designated box.





Next stop: TRAIN TO PORTO

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Photos

CAFE ON EXPO BOARDWALK
There was great food available...sometimes. It could be hours between cafes, often times called bars, where bathrooms, food and drink were available. These were the best homemade potato chips.

PEOPLE YOU MEET ON THE CAMINO
New friends from Bulgaria...I met them because I was practicing Bulgarian while I was walking.

TYPICAL EL CAMINO ROAD
Long and empty, miles and miles, looking for shade.

TOMATO FARMING
After harvest, dump trucks piled high with tomatoes would hit bumps in the road, or turn corners and fruit would spill onto the road.

AZAMBUJA
Statue on the roundabout on the way to the restaurant in Azambuja.

TILE FRONTED HOMES
In the little village near Casal das Areias

SURPRISE SALAD
Wonderful meal at a wee cafe where Nuno met me and took me to his albergue.

ENTRANCE TO CASAL DAS AREIAS, VALADA
Fun to see the animals.

THE CAMINO FOLLOWED THE TEJO RIVER
Unfortunately, you only see the river if you climb up to it.

THE VIEW FROM THE TOP
It wasn't possible to walk next to the river for long.

CAMINO SIGN
One of the reasons it is hard to walk the Camino in Portugal. It takes a sharp eye to see the yellow arrow.

N-1 HOSTEL IN SANTAREM
Quite plain dorm rooms, but clean and quiet.

MODERN BATHROOMS
Surprising beautiful new bathrooms.