Erin, Thomas and Erin's work colleague Chris walked 117kms from Valenca, Portugal to Santiago De Compestella in Spain. El Camino, The Way of St James.
This is our story.
I have a reputation for booking flights. Last year, I arrived at the airport twice to find that I had booked it on the wrong day. Luckily, I sorted it out and managed to leave that day. I was able to laugh about it, but this trip, I took it to a new level. Our travelling companion, Chris, realised the day earlier that he's booked his flight on the wrong day. He was gutted but managed to find a flight 2 days later so arranged to meet us there. I didn't laugh when this happened, I totally got it and felt bad for the guy. Then, I arrive at the airport, the lady checks everyone in, gets to me and tells me that sorry, my flight was yesterday.
I dropped the f-bomb and then again when I realised that there weren’t any flights that day and the only one would cost me TRIPLE what I paid for the previous flight. Sadly, I waved them goodbye and headed back to Erin and Thomas' place. I made the best of it, though, I was tired so spent the day just chilling and catching up on sleep. Still. What an egg.
The next day I arrived on the right flight, at the right time (egg) to Porta. I took a bus that went through all of the small villages with windy roads. It took about an hour when it could have taken 10 mins. The bus was good though, good to take in the culture, seeing the tiled houses and countryside. The bus was full of coughing, hacking old people, the kind that sound like they've about to keel over and die. All of the men wore cheese cutters and wore giant glasses, the women solemn faced and serious, carrying groceries. It was very small town, one lady got on with a big bunch of hand-picked flowers, went a couple of stops, then got off.
I have a little Portuguese in my heritage. It's really not much, but I bring it up when I’m trying to sound exotic. My dad's second cousin also married a Maori, so we're a mixed bunch. Anyway, apparently it showed, because people would turn and ask me things. I knew a little Portuguese that I learned on the place, so could apologise that I couldn't communicate, which got me a calculated stare and an understanding nod. When I arrived into the city in Porto, it was much the same. I didn't have a sim card that worked so couldn't really contact the rest of the guys (that got the RIGHT flight). I wandered around, trying to use payphones and orient myself, then gave up and got a delicious custard doughnut. I went to the hostel and at that moment, Erin calls the hostel to ask for me. She really has excellent mind-reading skills. I left my stuff, jumped in a taxi and met the others at a famous Port distillery called Taylor's. We got free port, sat in the sun overlooking the river and it was pretty exciting.
We chilled out, ate more pastries, had a traditional Portuguese dish (codfish, wasn't the great), Sangria and walked around the town. I needed a towel to found a giant kitsch Portuguese flag. Which didn't really help in people thinking I was Portuguese.
The next day, we had breakfast (Portuguese espresso is very good), went up a high tower to overlook the town, ate more pastries (notice a theme) and bought a rosary of St Fatima to wear during my walk. Fatima is a place in Portugal where it is said that the Virgin Mary appeared a number of times to some Shepherd kids. It's pretty famous, we didn't go there but I wanted a rosary for my pilgrimage, so decided it would do. It has Jesus on the end, anyway.
From here, we took a bus to Valenca. It all looked a bit samey and we weren't really sure how to tell where to get off. We were told to get off at one stop which was pretty much a bus terminal at the edge of an industrial area. It was kind of funny because Erin spoke a little Spanish and we really were just wandering around. We finally walked up to a hill and saw an awesome fort, church and shops selling tea towels. We grabbed some food, got our passport stamped and were on our way.
The Camino is pretty much like a giant adult treasure hunt. If people disagree, they're lying. The whole way is marked with yellow arrows and scallop shells that you need to find and follow. Along the way you need to get your passport (we bought it from the church) stamped at churches, bars, shops; anywhere that has a stamp. You need at least 2 stamps every day to bring to the Monastery Albergue to prove that you've been walking the pilgrammage. You pay 5Euros (about $10 NZ) and stay in a giant dorm inside or near the church, previously used for the monks. Pretty freaking cool. Here's me looking exhausted and leaning on the scallop symbol.
As you walk, you meet walkers who are doing the same trip as you. You see them at stops, have a drink together and generally try to beat them to the next stop as often as possible.
It was super fun and we won at life because we're from NZ.
We walked across the Spanish border which was pretty non-eventful. They didn't even bother to dance for us or anything. We just crossed a bridge. Dumb. The first day was chilled because we couldn’t walk the whole way to the next Albergue, so we chilled in Tui, town of lights, toys and doughnuts. For real. I'm not kidding; there were literally 8 stands next to each other down the street, all selling toys and doughnuts. Even as we walked further into the carnival, people were selling churros....and toys and doughnuts. We carb-loaded on a special pilgrim's menu with our new German friends, sisters called Nora and Lea. You need to leave the hostel by 8am so we went out, got coffee and pastries and were on our way.
On our walk out of the town, there were gunshots. Lots of them, very close. We walked further to hear Nora and Lea ahead of us calling out and singing, realising they were trying to tell whoever had the gun to please not shoot us. We joined in, I flinched a couple of times, it gave me a fright. Not. I'm hard-core.
We walked through a beautiful forest; it was cold but not freezing and there was a little sun so it was very peaceful. We stopped along the way to lean against old stone crosses to mark the way and enjoying the fresh air. After a couple of hours we arrived at a cafe to grab a coffee. The area of Spain we were in was very...well, Spanish. It was rare to find someone that spoke English, and if they did it was usually quite broken. I learned the basics as we walked. It took me a while to find an equivalent of a piccolo/macchiato, but eventually (after some bad coffees) I found the cortada. Bliss.
We were sitting at the cafe when a man rode up on a horse. Erin pretty much wet her pants in excitement, nek minnit we look around and she's riding around on this horse. The owner is pretty chilled, goes inside for a coffee and leaves Erin to it. 5 mins later, a group of about 8 guys on horses ride up and do the same, leave their horses and grab a coffee. I was going to ride on them standing up in bare feet but decided not to show Erin up. I'm good like that. The family who owned the cafe were lovely, very understanding and eager to communicate with us. After we paid, someone came out and gave us their Traditional Easter cake (it was Easter Sunday) which was like a sweet bread with orange peel and white crunchy sugar on top. It was so sweet to have them share with us.
The Spanish are funny, they talk to you super-fast in Spanish, you reply 'no hablo espanol'...they nod and carry on talking to you. It was pretty much a game of charades to try to explain what we wanted every time, except when you want bacon, which is said the same. Phewf. When I was younger, I wrote a joke song in Spanish called 'no hablo espanol' which was about my friend giving me a sandwich, in Spanish. Ironically, it was remarkably helpful. Getting directions was always fun as generally the Spaniards we met were quite animated in their hand movements. Not being able to understand much, we picked up what we would and wondered what the rest meant. One time, it looked like a guy was imitating a bear. Another time, we picked up "up, down the hill, left, right" and figured he was saying go here, don't go here, do this, don't go this way" but we had no idea which. We laughed and kept an eye out for bears.
"La Quenta" in the bill. "Quanto tempo" is the time. We got these confused regularly, Thomas was confused when people would nod and point at the clock, while we waited ages for our bill.
There was such support for the pilgrims; most people would say hello and wish us 'buon camino', which is pretty much a 'good luck walking, God bless' thing. That's what I think, anyway. That or a comment on how hot I look. Yeah, probably that one.
Funny side story - In Spain, often they pronounce their S as a 'th'. We all said it with an S because it felt weird, Thomas was determined to do it properly, but instead he sounded like he had a lisp. "GRATHIATH", he would say. Nice one, Thomas!
And we walked, and we walked, and we sang. We jumped and clicked out heels together in the air, then we walked some more. We walked through towns full of farms, vines and bougainvilleas, saw men in pubs drinking wine from bowls, we walked in the sun and in the pouring rain, drank wine and shandy during siesta hour (where everything is closed except pubs) and ate a lot of tapas.
To be continued....
This is our story.
I have a reputation for booking flights. Last year, I arrived at the airport twice to find that I had booked it on the wrong day. Luckily, I sorted it out and managed to leave that day. I was able to laugh about it, but this trip, I took it to a new level. Our travelling companion, Chris, realised the day earlier that he's booked his flight on the wrong day. He was gutted but managed to find a flight 2 days later so arranged to meet us there. I didn't laugh when this happened, I totally got it and felt bad for the guy. Then, I arrive at the airport, the lady checks everyone in, gets to me and tells me that sorry, my flight was yesterday.
I dropped the f-bomb and then again when I realised that there weren’t any flights that day and the only one would cost me TRIPLE what I paid for the previous flight. Sadly, I waved them goodbye and headed back to Erin and Thomas' place. I made the best of it, though, I was tired so spent the day just chilling and catching up on sleep. Still. What an egg.
The next day I arrived on the right flight, at the right time (egg) to Porta. I took a bus that went through all of the small villages with windy roads. It took about an hour when it could have taken 10 mins. The bus was good though, good to take in the culture, seeing the tiled houses and countryside. The bus was full of coughing, hacking old people, the kind that sound like they've about to keel over and die. All of the men wore cheese cutters and wore giant glasses, the women solemn faced and serious, carrying groceries. It was very small town, one lady got on with a big bunch of hand-picked flowers, went a couple of stops, then got off.
I have a little Portuguese in my heritage. It's really not much, but I bring it up when I’m trying to sound exotic. My dad's second cousin also married a Maori, so we're a mixed bunch. Anyway, apparently it showed, because people would turn and ask me things. I knew a little Portuguese that I learned on the place, so could apologise that I couldn't communicate, which got me a calculated stare and an understanding nod. When I arrived into the city in Porto, it was much the same. I didn't have a sim card that worked so couldn't really contact the rest of the guys (that got the RIGHT flight). I wandered around, trying to use payphones and orient myself, then gave up and got a delicious custard doughnut. I went to the hostel and at that moment, Erin calls the hostel to ask for me. She really has excellent mind-reading skills. I left my stuff, jumped in a taxi and met the others at a famous Port distillery called Taylor's. We got free port, sat in the sun overlooking the river and it was pretty exciting.
We chilled out, ate more pastries, had a traditional Portuguese dish (codfish, wasn't the great), Sangria and walked around the town. I needed a towel to found a giant kitsch Portuguese flag. Which didn't really help in people thinking I was Portuguese.
The next day, we had breakfast (Portuguese espresso is very good), went up a high tower to overlook the town, ate more pastries (notice a theme) and bought a rosary of St Fatima to wear during my walk. Fatima is a place in Portugal where it is said that the Virgin Mary appeared a number of times to some Shepherd kids. It's pretty famous, we didn't go there but I wanted a rosary for my pilgrimage, so decided it would do. It has Jesus on the end, anyway.
From here, we took a bus to Valenca. It all looked a bit samey and we weren't really sure how to tell where to get off. We were told to get off at one stop which was pretty much a bus terminal at the edge of an industrial area. It was kind of funny because Erin spoke a little Spanish and we really were just wandering around. We finally walked up to a hill and saw an awesome fort, church and shops selling tea towels. We grabbed some food, got our passport stamped and were on our way.
The Camino is pretty much like a giant adult treasure hunt. If people disagree, they're lying. The whole way is marked with yellow arrows and scallop shells that you need to find and follow. Along the way you need to get your passport (we bought it from the church) stamped at churches, bars, shops; anywhere that has a stamp. You need at least 2 stamps every day to bring to the Monastery Albergue to prove that you've been walking the pilgrammage. You pay 5Euros (about $10 NZ) and stay in a giant dorm inside or near the church, previously used for the monks. Pretty freaking cool. Here's me looking exhausted and leaning on the scallop symbol.As you walk, you meet walkers who are doing the same trip as you. You see them at stops, have a drink together and generally try to beat them to the next stop as often as possible.
It was super fun and we won at life because we're from NZ.
We walked across the Spanish border which was pretty non-eventful. They didn't even bother to dance for us or anything. We just crossed a bridge. Dumb. The first day was chilled because we couldn’t walk the whole way to the next Albergue, so we chilled in Tui, town of lights, toys and doughnuts. For real. I'm not kidding; there were literally 8 stands next to each other down the street, all selling toys and doughnuts. Even as we walked further into the carnival, people were selling churros....and toys and doughnuts. We carb-loaded on a special pilgrim's menu with our new German friends, sisters called Nora and Lea. You need to leave the hostel by 8am so we went out, got coffee and pastries and were on our way.
On our walk out of the town, there were gunshots. Lots of them, very close. We walked further to hear Nora and Lea ahead of us calling out and singing, realising they were trying to tell whoever had the gun to please not shoot us. We joined in, I flinched a couple of times, it gave me a fright. Not. I'm hard-core.
We walked through a beautiful forest; it was cold but not freezing and there was a little sun so it was very peaceful. We stopped along the way to lean against old stone crosses to mark the way and enjoying the fresh air. After a couple of hours we arrived at a cafe to grab a coffee. The area of Spain we were in was very...well, Spanish. It was rare to find someone that spoke English, and if they did it was usually quite broken. I learned the basics as we walked. It took me a while to find an equivalent of a piccolo/macchiato, but eventually (after some bad coffees) I found the cortada. Bliss.
We were sitting at the cafe when a man rode up on a horse. Erin pretty much wet her pants in excitement, nek minnit we look around and she's riding around on this horse. The owner is pretty chilled, goes inside for a coffee and leaves Erin to it. 5 mins later, a group of about 8 guys on horses ride up and do the same, leave their horses and grab a coffee. I was going to ride on them standing up in bare feet but decided not to show Erin up. I'm good like that. The family who owned the cafe were lovely, very understanding and eager to communicate with us. After we paid, someone came out and gave us their Traditional Easter cake (it was Easter Sunday) which was like a sweet bread with orange peel and white crunchy sugar on top. It was so sweet to have them share with us.
The Spanish are funny, they talk to you super-fast in Spanish, you reply 'no hablo espanol'...they nod and carry on talking to you. It was pretty much a game of charades to try to explain what we wanted every time, except when you want bacon, which is said the same. Phewf. When I was younger, I wrote a joke song in Spanish called 'no hablo espanol' which was about my friend giving me a sandwich, in Spanish. Ironically, it was remarkably helpful. Getting directions was always fun as generally the Spaniards we met were quite animated in their hand movements. Not being able to understand much, we picked up what we would and wondered what the rest meant. One time, it looked like a guy was imitating a bear. Another time, we picked up "up, down the hill, left, right" and figured he was saying go here, don't go here, do this, don't go this way" but we had no idea which. We laughed and kept an eye out for bears.
"La Quenta" in the bill. "Quanto tempo" is the time. We got these confused regularly, Thomas was confused when people would nod and point at the clock, while we waited ages for our bill.
There was such support for the pilgrims; most people would say hello and wish us 'buon camino', which is pretty much a 'good luck walking, God bless' thing. That's what I think, anyway. That or a comment on how hot I look. Yeah, probably that one.
Funny side story - In Spain, often they pronounce their S as a 'th'. We all said it with an S because it felt weird, Thomas was determined to do it properly, but instead he sounded like he had a lisp. "GRATHIATH", he would say. Nice one, Thomas!
And we walked, and we walked, and we sang. We jumped and clicked out heels together in the air, then we walked some more. We walked through towns full of farms, vines and bougainvilleas, saw men in pubs drinking wine from bowls, we walked in the sun and in the pouring rain, drank wine and shandy during siesta hour (where everything is closed except pubs) and ate a lot of tapas.To be continued....
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