[Camino Portuguese Day 2] Golegā to Tomar

Eucalyptus forests. And walking fully drenched.

Apr 22, 2023

video coming soon

At 6 am, I woke up to Karl and Aiseya getting ready. They had prepackaged their bags the night before, whereas my stuff was in piles still to be packed. Garmin happily reported that I “slept” for 5 hours and 38 minutes. Did it know I was wide awake the entire night, trying to find a warm pocket in my silk sleeping liner and too cold to get up to grab another layer?

I should have been grateful that breakfast was included at this albergue yada yada, but honestly I was underwhelmed. I had hoped for a hot breakfast, like an egg and cheese sandwich with tea or something. Instead, the hospitalero Fernando came in the middle of the night to leave us: marmalade, two hard bread rolls each, snack-sized box of milk. I had a difficult time eating through the first bread roll and pocketed the second (for emergency use). Then I polished off last night’s groceries: strawberries, a banana, and chocolate milk.

With Karl leading the way, the three of us navigated out of Golegā together. There were bags of bread hanging on people's front doors — possibly bread delivery?! How cool is that?

Fresh bread delivered daily to your front door!

Karl booked it across the street whereas I let the car pass. His hiking poles clicked against the cobblestone and he was gone. No farewell. No wave. No look behind. We completely lost him. I asked Aiseya if that’s how it is on the Camino, because everything I read was that it’s a chummy experience. He shrugged and said we just each go at our own pace. Yeesh. Karl is wicked fast. I want to be fit like that when I’m in my 70s!

Leaving Golegā with Aiseya from the Netherlands and Karl from Germany

Aiseya looked like he was going to chase Karl. I was prepared to wave, but then he slowed down to match my pace. I was soaking it all in. The air was crisp. The sun rose over speckled fields of purple and yellow.

We were on a dirt path between fields and fields of wildflowers, isolated from cars and tractors. I’m so happy I am walking the Camino in April — there are so many beautiful flowers in bloom. Roses, lilacs, and many more I don’t know.

Aiseya pointed out slug trails and boy there were a lots of slugs and snails.

They’re guiding us to Santiago. Maybe implying it’s ok to go slow.

Baby lambs and goats!

We passed a small town with a really old church ruins in São Caetano. Topic of conversation dips into more existential stuff. What is the meaning of love? Why aren’t there more artists in the world?

Time certainly passed a lot faster when you’re walking and talking with a person. By 9 miles in, I had recorded a podcast episode with him [link to YouTube] using my GoPro about his 6-month study in Taiwan. That’s also when I learned something unexpected: he’s half Indonesian! Both his grandfathers are from Indonesia. But he looks completely white. He showed me a picture of his brother, who looks half or mixed.

Here’s our interview:

Much of the late morning was uphill through eucalyptus forests. We meandered along, keeping an eye on the Camino arrows. Chatting about life.

This section was hilly. All hills look steep from the bottom. And maybe it burns in the thighs and calves a little while you’re climbing. But once you crest it, it’s a pat on the back and onward!

Photo courtesy of Aiseya. Mom wanted a picture of me walking (not a selfie). I sent her this one and she said it made her heart ache.

I stop for photos frequently. Aiseya stops occasionally to roll and smoke a cigarette. And that’s the way roll today. He worked as a florist at one point, and told me to stop and smell the different roses. And wow, they’re fragrant!!

At the top of another hill, we hit a highway. Maybe we’re supposed to cross it? Maybe we’re supposed to walk along it? I pulled out Google Maps. Aiseya consulted his Buen Camino app. Oops, we missed a turn in the forest somewhere and retraced our steps. This is why following the arrows is so important! Par for course.

My backpack is not set correctly. I need to adjust but don’t know how. The shoulder straps are eating in my collar bone. And now it’s also hurting my hips. Arg.

Today, I’m drinking Compal pear nectar juice. It’s pretty good. My goal is now to drink all the flavors before I finish the Camino.

We arrive in Atalaia and Vila Nova da Barquinha when the school day is starting and we see kids getting dropped off at school. We’re in the fancy suburbs with newer houses. All red roofed and nice yards. Felt a smidge like California! Quite a contrast to the much older houses I’ve seen on the way thus far.

There are oodles of free range hens and roosters, and they look just like ones my dad has. I still think chickens are adorable creatures.

Public water fountains, though unclear if they're potable. Some have signs saying “não” and others have nothing. Aiseya fills up his bottle and survives, so if I get super dehydrated, I just need to find a fountain. Noted.

Asseiceira approached faster than I expected. Having a walking and talking friend definitely lessens the drudgery of counting down miles or counting steps or giving myself encouragement. It was definitely nice trading stories and talking about bigger questions relating to society and love, rather than the mundane.

Aiseya had actually been peeing all along the walk all day. Whereas I was holding in #2 until we saw a cafe. TMI? All part of the Camino. Lucky for me, we came upon a public bathroom! The first and only that we’ll see and never again. It’s open all day. Unmanned. Cleaner than any public toilet in the US, thought definitely old. Had to turn on a water valve to fill the tank. Old school skeleton key to open the doors! So classy. I wonder if the toilet is older than my 1922 two-piece toilet at home.

And now that we are in Asseiceira, there are cafes! That means food!!!!!

Surprise! We run into Mathilda, the Norwegian girl! She just finished lunch at the cafe and was walking back towards us in search of the only hostel/albergue in this tiny town. It’s a few hours until check-in opens, so she decided to join us for our lunch.

two decades of age spread across the three of us

It was a super local joint. One bar staff, local TV, an elderly gentleman who looked like a regular, a cat, and us. For 2.10 euros, I got a package of 4 slices of prosciutto. I thought it would be half meat and half cheese. Oops. Oh well. I ate it on my breakfast bread roll. Protein is protein, even though I’m not a huge fan of prosciutto. And definitely 4 slices is 3 too many.

We sat and debated if we wanted to continue another 11 km to Tomar. It was supposed to rain at 1 pm. Aiseya’s feet hurt. Mathilda’s feet are full of blisters. They both started from Lisbon and had several long days, whereas it was only my day 2. I was tired and my body was achy, but overall still feeling ok to go a tiny bit further in homes of real dinner. I planned to continue, and made amends with myself that I’m ok getting wet. It’d be nice to get the rainy Camino experience out of the way. Check the box, if you will.

I finished my sad sandwich and it was still only overcast. We decided to continue onward together — maybe even beat the rain. And it was a delight! I find out later that had we stayed at the local albergue in Asseiceira, we would have met some locals and helped them prepare for a town party!

The path to Tomar was mostly roads and rotaries. Rain came in spurs. Out came the rain gear. The 11 km ended up feeling a bit longer than expected, but were booed by the many signs pointing towards Tomar. Inching closer.

Between the three of us, we spanned two decades. Crazy. I thought they were both much more mature, worldly and brave than I was at their age. They thought there’s no way I’m as old as I am. I no longer know how to feel about this. Most people take it as a compliment, but “looking younger” has not worked in my favor in the workplace. But in a social context like this, does it mean I act immaturely? I’ll never know because I’m scared to ask.

Aiseya’s full of funny conversation starters. He asked Mathilda the questions he asked me yesterday: “What’s your favorite cheese? If you could smell like any scent, what would you pick?”

While we walk single file up a narrow path by the side of a highway, he throws out another question: “Would you do this again if I paid you $1000? How about a million?” I said, “Absolutely not. That 10k road section yesterday was awful. You can’t pay me to do this again!”

It’s refreshing to be among people from other cultures and who speak multiple languages. We traded “How do you say this __” in Norwegian, Dutch and Chinese. I’m always stunned by how good non-native English speakers speak English, especially when it’s their second, third, or fourth language! And to hear what cultural norms are in their country is endlessly fascinating.

For example, Mathilda speaks four languages: German mom, Swedish dad, born in Norway, and English is part of the Norwegian school curriculum. Norway values dialects, so it’s actually encouraged for people not to speak “standard” Norwegian. She’s from a city where seeing the aurora borealis is normal. I would love to see the green prettiness someday. Families in Norway often go to their remote cabins that is only accessible by skis, and requires packing everything in and out. How cool! She’s off to a Norwegian uni next fall, but since her program is in Development, she’ll actually get to spend good chunks of time in Vietnam, Ghana, Costa Rica and Argentina. How sweet!!!

We arrived in Tomar at 3:10 pm, drenched. We check in at the first albergue we come upon, thankful to be out of the rain. While we waited, the hospitalero was in the middle of checking in two British women. They both speak Portuguese and have been friends for ages. One was a recently retired tour guide; she and her husband picked Portugal because it has lower cost of living compared to the UK and has nicer weather. Her friend was visiting and they are planning to visit the Matchbox Museum. How cool is it to have friends you can travel with on girls trips, and to be able to pick up and move to a different part of Europe!

We got a private room for 25 euros each, which felt high. Mathilda pointed out that Gronze advertised 15 euros. She’s got a point! Is it because it’s a private rather than municipal albergue, or is this guy ripping us off? Aiseya said, “It’s ok to splurge one night. It’s wet out.” Reasonable sentiment. I was too hungry and tired to argue (as I would have usually done) and forked over the money. I have resigned to this trip being more expensive than I budgeted.

The hospitalero was chatty. Very chatty. Overly chatty. He pulled out an area map and told us all (the three of us and the two British ladies) to gather around for a brief introduction to Tomar. He proceeded to talk without taking a breath. Era 1160. Sephardic Jews. Built like Jerusalem. Knights of Templar. He looked at me when he said the eight-point chapel in the church here is similar to one in Newport (Rhode Island?).

Then he and the British ladies talked about “back in the day” (1980s), the cinemas had several intermissions in one movie. Portugal was still under dictatorship, so every cinema head (town guy) had veto rights on scenes that he deemed unsavory. “Cut here” and “here.” As such, they could add in movie shorts, trailers, and propaganda. How did people know what’s playing? Outside the theater, there’d be posters with a list of actors and clips of pictures, so people could decide if they want to watch or not.

He then went on to share that Portugal played England and Germany in World War II (or I?). Lots of debt accrued. Accepted payment for food in gold bars (held in Fort Knox). Had 100 years to repay from 1911 to 2011.

I wonder if the hospitalero is Jewish himself, and using this as an opportunity to share his wisdom and passion for history. Or maybe he’s lonely and excited to get to talk to everyone! It’s all fascinating and interesting factoids worthy of my attention, but I was cold, wet, and hungry. Afraid to come off as a rude American, I continued to sit and listen, trying to stay engaged but ready to change into warm clothes and eat hot food.

Aiseya needed to pee badly. Mathilda looked like she would really benefit from getting out of her wet clothes. She had prioritized keeping her sleeping bag dry by draping her backpack with her Goretex shell rather than wearing it, so she is more wet and cold than I was. But she didn’t make a peep. Finally, we were able to excuse ourselves and request we be shown our room. The British ladies also looked relieved.

Our room is on the third floor and overlooks the sunroom/check-in/dining/kitchen area. We insisted that Mathilda shower first since she’s the wettest and youngest. The shower was lovely; it was a newer bathroom than yesterday, so it just naturally looked cleaner. Our room had two twin beds and a bunk. I took the bed on the far right, Aiseya took the middle bed, Mathilda took the bottom bunk. Perk of a 25 euro room is that we have duvets, rather than a simple mattress! And towels! What. A. Luxury. It’s going to be a comfy night.

We commence with taking turns doing our respective chores and chilling/elevating tired feet. My hips and calves need serious stretching. We had no idea if there was a laundry room or drying lines, and didn’t bother asking. Our room had a rolling rack with barely enough hangers where we hung our wet clothes. I turned on the portable room heater and propped my shoes nearby. If only we had newspapers to stuff into the toebox.

I pick a table in the dining room to journal and eat my stash of stacks, and am joined by Mathilda doing the same. It’s almost 6 pm when I finish, and we decide it’s time to make a move on dinner. And plan the distance for tomorrow. Fingers crossed that our wet clothes dry. And if not the clothes, at least the shoes. Need to continue elevating legs. All the To Do’s.

We walked to Spar for groceries. I got frozen broccoli and frozen chicken nuggets. And chocolate milk and a pear. Aiseya got pasta and boxed sauce. Matheilad is vegetarian and got cup noodles and canned peas. It’s so hard to know if we’re consuming enough calories to replace what we’re burning each day. We waited our turn in the hostel kitchen, and learned we are the only pilgrims here. I had heard about pilgrim menus and group dinners, but maybe that’s more on the French route. I loved that Mathilda, Aiseya, and I got to cook and share our own semi-group dinner together.

Everyone else is visiting this city of Knights of Templar. A Chinese-American lady (she owns some Korean restaurants in Las Vegas) bringing her dad from China on a very fast driving tour of Europe. She cooked a nice looking Chinese meal. I wanted to ask where she got all the ingredients, but didn’t. It’s not like I’m going to carry it with me on this walk to Santiago. Very sweet of her to take her dad on a fancy vacation! There was a mom and son from Germany; he tried practicing his English with us. Props to him! I wasn’t very much in a talkative mood. Hanger had taken over. Mathilda talked to him a little in German. She’s a savvy multi linguist!

I’m so happy the three of us got to share a meal

Tomorrow morning, we’ll visit the castle. Then I’m going to walk 10k to Calvinos and stay at the municipal albergue for 7 euros. Mathilda reminded us that we need to get groceries tomorrow because the following day is Sunday, and things will likely be closed. Iberian life.

Cheers to a successful second 20-mile day on the Camino, from Golegā to Tomar!

I’m reminded of adulting matters when I check my email. More HOA drama. Eyerolling doesn’t make it go away. Anxiety returns about if the building is collectively making spending decisions wisely and transparently. I don’t have the energy to fight this one, and decide to lay low.