Mototour 2007 - day 9 - 10

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MOTOTOUR 2007

Day 9-10: La Carridad to Porto
Distance: 455 km (of 8,667 km total)

It was difficult to wake up with damp and rain. Slugs left their slimy trails all over our new tent. We skipped breakfast, did what we had to do to leave and were off to Santiago de Compostelle!

There, the skies turned sunny again. We found our way through winding cobble-stoned streets in the old city, and parked the motorcycle in the old town right by the police station. When we enquired as to whether would be safe to leave the bike there with our luggage on it, some officers jested with us that they would personally guard our bike, and one stuck out his hand for a donation 😊 It would have been faus pas to offer them anything of course! When we got back though, none of them were standing by the entrance and no one was looking over the bike. But everything was there. Phew! That's the drawback to having an attractive bike and all your gear strapped onto it - you have to watch it all the time and you can't go anywhere - it's like a ball and chain.

We had a look at the square and cathedral. Lots of pilgrims were arriving on foot and by bicycle. Nothing exceptional in the cathedral. But then again, we're blase from having seen so many amazing ones. I guess you could say we're cathedraled-out. We watched as visitors went down into a crypt compartment to pray in front of Saint Jacques' remains. We have no idea what he represents in the great Catholic scheme of intercessory saints.

Following the Lonely Planet Guide recommendations, we went to Restaurante Casa Manolo, where all pilgrims go after finishing their pilgrimage. They are welcomed with a local menu: entrée, main dish, dessert, water and bread for the grand sum of (can't remember now, but maybe 9€?)

We are off for Portugal. Good weather ahead of us!

The border crossing was almost deserted - very few cars... As usual, once across the boundary, the landscape and the villages were immediately different. Funny how an imaginary man-made line makes such a difference, causing humans to leave their mark on the landscape in entirely different ways.

Portugal was a strange land of contrasts, from vineyards on rolling hills, to dense forest to desert roads. The highways were new, wide, modern, but as soon as you drove off of them to make a turn somewhere, there were potholes and dilapidated pavement at least four decades old.

One thing we noticed as soon as we pulled in to a gas-station restaurant for lunch: Portuguese drivers were all getting plastered on liters of beer, and then going back to their vehicles and getting on the rad again. Zak who is already very careful, drove extra-defensively from then on.

We used the Obitur map our Australian friends gave us in Mundaka to find a camping ground in Porto, by a fisherman's village. It was really crowded with Portuguese families - they use these camp sites as their summer homes. There were lots of permanently-parked summer caravans. Surrounding these were signs of long-term settlement: tiles on the floor, refrigerators, lamps, flower pots, satellite dishes, etc.

It's a Saturday afternoon and the Portuguese are busy preparing the dinner: the smell of fish is everywhere! The Portuguese seem to like nothing better than a simple unspiced fish on the coals. There is a less-friendly atmosphere since the “locals” don't seem to be willing to mix with us tourists. We went to the camping restaurant - which really is a tourist trap. The waiters were weird, playing out some kind of drama, and the prices were high, and the food so-so. We were having our first taste of the infamous Portuguese way: nobody really cares about service or quality, and they think you're uptight if you don't subscribe to their fuzzy logic of “Whatever! It's close nuff ain't it?”

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