Scenes From a Camino Pilgrimage (Part Two) – From the Portugal Border to Santiago de Compostela

This is the second part of a three-part post about our 200 mile Portugal and Spain Camino pilgrimage trek. In this post, we walk the 75 miles along the Portuguese Camino from the Spain/Portugal border to the city of Santiago de Compostela. For Part One,  click here. For Part Three, click here.

Tui to Porrino – 11.6 miles

We left Tui under clear, cloudless skies and upper 50-degree temperatures, perfect weather for hiking. The path took us past the Cathedral, where we stamped our credencials, and wound its way through tunnels and around ancient twisting and turning lanes. One such lane, which led all the way down to the river, was a former sluice-way used by the tripe processing industry from way back in the day. Now, it is a trendy street lined with shops and pensions.

The Tui Cathedral.

The church's organ is enormous and ornate.

This lane once was a sluice to rid the town of tripe and offal waste.

The path was noticeably more crowded with other pilgrims since many start their Camino here. This is due to the rules of the Camino that state one must walk at least the last 100 kilometers (62 miles) before reaching Santiago in order to receive a Compostela, the certificate of completion that all pilgrims covet and will treasure in the years to come. The town of Tui, just north of the Spain/Portugal border is the largest city that lies close to this marker and is therefore a popular starting point for those pilgrims short on time or those that do not have the wherewithal to walk farther.

Among these pilgrims are those we are seeing for the first time as well as those we have seen and met from earlier in our trek. For some, MK and I have resorted to giving them nicknames due to their distinguishing characteristics and, well, because it was a fun thing to do.

There is the “smoking man,” a guy from the Netherlands who was walking solo and who is always smoking a cigarette off of the side of the trail when on a break. “Pretty Girl” is the very cute twenty-something from the UK whom we first met back in Pont de Lima. The “Sock People” are an older couple from Germany with cool looking socks that are emblazoned with the yellow scalloped-shell logo, the symbol of the Camino. A couple from Brighton, England have been given the nickname “Jackrabbits” for their walking pace is speedier than most others. “Halting Man” is the young fellow who must constantly stop and wait for his parent to catch up to him.

Then there was the “Tulsa” crowd, two couples from Oklahoma, and the “West Coast Ladies,” five sisters and a sister-in-law from California and Oregan all walking the Camino together. There was a young lady we nicknamed “Short Shorts” because, well, she was wearing very short shorts (for some reason, I don’t remember what her boyfriend looked like, or even if she was with a boyfriend). Another young lady was wearing short shorts as well but we nicknamed her “Ribbons and Bows” given that she had tattoos high up (I mean, very high up) on the back of her thighs, one being a tattoo of a ribbon, the other a tattoo of a bow.

One couple, he from Italy, her from Ecuador, earned the nickname “World Bank” since they shared with us at one morning’s breakfast that they used to work for the World Bank. Then there was “Greyhound Girl,” the nickname we gave to a solo woman hiker who walked with her pet greyhound dog, most of the times on a leash. The “Barking Dogs” were a couple who walked with a mangy and scrawny mutt that would bark and yap at anything that was of the slightest noise or provocation. In fact, they were in the room next to us at one of our night’s stays and the beast Never. Shut. Up.

“I wonder what nickname others may have given us?” I asked MaryKay as we continued down the trail.

“Who knows. I hope it’s something cool.”

“Or maybe it’s something demeaning, like the nicknames we’ve given to some.”

“If so, we would deserve it, I suppose,” MK said.

 “I have a nickname for you.”

 “Yeah?”

“Road Runner.” I offered. “You are always speeding down the trail. It’s often hard to keep up with you!”

Later in the morning, we came upon two Camino directional markers pointing in opposite directions. We were prepared for this after reading one of our guidebooks. In one of them, it was encouraged that pilgrims follow the route to the left and along the quiet forest-lined roads and paths rather than the route the right which would lead one “on a slog through the soulless industrial areas” of the region.

The noon hour arrived as we continued northward. We took a lunch break at a quiet picnic area where we hadn’t seen a car for a good 20 to 30 minutes. Given the solitude, MK decided to “drop trou” right on the side of the road. And wouldn’t you know it, along came a car that passed her right in mid-stream. The driver and passenger in the car didn’t seem to care and continued on their way as if what they saw was a common occurrence.

We laughed about it as we finished lunch and continued our walk.

“I think I have a new nickname for you,” I mentioned.

“Yeah? What is it?’

“How about “Mid-Stream?’” I suggested.

“Um, that would be a hard ‘no’”.

We didn’t expect much from Porriño but upon our arrival we ended up being pleasantly surprised. The Festas do Cristo was underway with the Main Street teeming with people of all ages eating, drinking, dancing, listening to music, watching fanciful characters, and just having overall fun.

At our pension, we met José the proprietor. I saw some children’s drawing on the bar fridge and asked if that was from his grandchild. And with that simple inquiry began a string of stories about Jose’s life and background.

He got to talking about his father, who fought against Franco in the 1930s during the Spanish Civil War. After being arrested and eventually released from a concentration camp, his father fled to Venezuela in the 1950s where he met his wife and where, in a small village at the headwaters of the Amazon River, Jose was born.

Jose spoke with pride about his parents, bringing tears to his eyes as he talked. We had some tears ourselves listening to his fascinating stories well into the evening.

Jose, our proprietor.

With his wife and son.

Porrino to Redondela – 10.7 miles

It was a foggy and chilly start to our morning. In the murk, something kick-started a cacophony of barking dogs that could be heard from behind stone walls. We looked at other nearby pilgrims. All agreed that it was kind of spooky given the fog, mist, and now, the baying of hounds in this remote part of the trail.

We later came upon one of the many stone markers indicating the remaining kilometers to go before reaching Santiago de Compostela. This one was the 100 km marker. On other Caminos, such a notable marker is festooned with flags, banners, trinkets, photos, and a variety of small possessions and baubles worthy of being left behind at such a milestone. But, not this one. It was all by itself on the side of the road, just chillin’, and decorated with nothing but a lone, half-eaten Twinkie sitting on the top.

Nearby, three people sat right on the road, having a smoke break while the other two snacked on their breakfast croissants. “That’s got to be the most unique rest stop I’ve ever seen,” I said as we walked past. They giggled and laughed, probably not because of my attempt at humor but instead at their lack of understanding my English.

Near where they were sitting was an ancient mile marker placed by the Romans many centuries ago. The portion of the route we have been on for past several days was also the Via XIX Roman road, one of many roads established within the lands encompassed by their empire.

We passed through a town with a rather interesting name: O Castrado. Of course, I couldn't pass this up without comment. 

"Hey, MK, wanna hear a joke?" 

"Sure," she sighed. 

"Two virile bulls are riding in a trailer when one of them peers into the back window of the pick-up truck and asks the rancher who is driving, 'Hey, this looks like a lovely village. Is this where we're staying?' 'Sure is,' says the rancher. 'What's the name of this town?' the bull asks. 'O Castrado,' says the rancher. 'Cool,' says the bull, then adds, 'Wait, What?'" 

You're taxing, you know that?" MK said, walking ahead without laughing.

The rest of the day’s walk was otherwise unremarkable. We called it a “keep your head down and your feet moving” kind of day - one foot in front of the other, each step is on a spot that we will never set foot on again. We were putting in the miles to finally reach Santiago de Compostela and the completion of the second of our three phases of our trip.

Our pace is consistent. We walk at about 3 to 3.5 miles per hour. After factoring in potty stops, coffee breaks, and lunch time, we end up with an overall 2 miles an hour pace. We leave our hotel around 9 a.m. Given that we are averaging 11 to 13 miles a day, we always arrive at our night’s lodging 6 or so hours later at around 3 to 3:30 p.m.

But to keep pace and make the miles, special care must be taken with one’s feet to avoid blisters and other maladies. Unfortunately, during our training walks back home, I had overdone it and developed a case of metatarsalgia (yeah, I had to look it up too). So, I often use duct tape for blister control, keep my toenails trimmed, use after-market sole inserts for my shoes, and use specially placed metatarsal pads all to keep my tootsies in good order.

Rendodela to Pontevedra – 12.2 miles (13 miles with alt route)

We were among a parade of fellow pilgrims as we left town. And I mean a parade. Dozens of us apparently all decided to leave town at the same time. At crosswalks and road crossings, it was a veritable traffic jam of pilgrims!

And the locals are prepared for us. Down the trail, they set up their stands at what they know to be strategic spots in town or in the adjacent forest to cater to the teeming numbers of passing pilgrims. Their stands with refreshments and other assorted items for sale are welcomed for we walk up on them just when we need them.

Passing autos and farm vehicles maneuver their way around and within us. Notable was the “bread man,” who drove his van from the local panaderia to drop off fresh, oven-baked bread in specially designed drop boxes, right next to their normal mailslots, on the gates in front of people’s homes.

We were pleasantly surprised with the beautiful Arcade, a lovely little village half-way along the day’s walk. We thought there wouldn't be anything noteworthy and that it would be just another town without any special renown. Instead, it sits in an attractive valley with an old roman bridge spanning the Verdugo River, right at its mouth as it enters the Atlantic Ocean. We lingered here for a while, enjoying a proper cuppa and a tasty pastry or two. 

We were putting in big miles for the day and were getting tired. An otherwise obscure little root that stood up from the trail was enough to trip MK and send her sailing. She ended up only a little banged up with skinned knees and sore wrists from breaking her fall.

Dead tired and stupid with fatigue, we staggered into town looking for our apartment. Once there, we were quick to take off our boots, lay out our bedrolls, and water the horses. It was time to go to bed.

We took the following day off, a "zero" day as we like to call it. And what does one do on their day off from walking for six hours everyday for four to five days straight? We walk some more, of course. This time it was through the town of Pontevedra, a spot we chose to linger for an extra day to have a look around. 

Pontevedra to Caldas De Reis – 13.8 miles

It was still dark. The city was just now awakening. I was waiting in the plaza below our apartment’s second story window. The company I hired to transfer our luggage was late. So, I lingered and observed the early morning goings-on in this small corner of Pontevedra.

People were out walking their dogs. Most were on a leash. A few roamed freely. I always wondered if dog owners feel a certain sense of humiliation and indignity walking around with little plastic bags of dog feces. A black cat, waiting for the dogs to pass by, came out of the shadows and scurried along in front of me.

The skies brightened and the street lights turned off. Other pilgrims passed by, beginning their day’s walk early. Café employees arrived to set up chairs and tables in the plaza next to their store front. They refused my help when I began to carry some of the chairs for them. Van drivers arrived to deliver freshly baked bread and produce to later be part of the café’s offerings.

Our luggage was eventually taken allowing us to get our own day’s hike underway. 

At a busy crossroads several miles from our start, many fellow pilgrims had gathered at the two cafes located there. Lines for coffee, snacks, and the bathrooms were long. We decided to linger only briefly figuring there would be other, less crowded, stops later on. We noticed a lady pilgrim wander about and up the stairs toward the open door of a local’s personal residence. The owner looked horrified at this intrusion into her domicile. As we passed, we heard the pilgrim ask where the bathroom was, totally lacking self-awareness as to what she was doing.

Morning turned to afternoon. MK decided it was time to pull out her music and headphones. I wondered if she was growing weary of listening to me drone on about what she felt might be useless topics and boring anecdotes (but what to me are pithy quips and nuggets of wisdom). Having no one now to talk to, I instead marveled at the endless groves of grapevines bordering the trail. Many are suspended over the trail itself.

We have put in nearly 14 miles today. We are feeling strong for we have hit our stride and are just that much closer to Santiago de Compostela.  

I thought we might have ingested some magic mushrooms after we learned that this is a perfectly flat paved surface. 

Caldas de Reis to Padron – 11.2 miles

The forecast called for cloudy, yet rain-free skies. The weatherman underestimated the rain-free part for the mist, rain, fog, and damp was with us the entire day.

As the wet came on stronger, many pilgrims stopped to don their raingear and backpack covers or employ their umbrellas. All are colorful, yellows, reds, and bright greens. MK has purple, her favorite color. Me? Black, grey, and drab. Some may say, “Of course! Just like your personality!”

In the cafes and bars, competition for an empty, covered, and sheltered table was fierce. We luckily walked up just as another group was about to leave. We had a Coke and a cup of coffee, then ate the lunch we made earlier back in our hotel room before we set out for the day. Others who walked in looked at us enviously, not so much because of our meal, but because we had a coveted covered and dry spot to sit. But when we finally left, those who walked up were as lucky as we were when we got up from our seats to leave.

We continued down the trail. For many miles, the path was a roller coaster through the quiet forest scented with its endless groves of pine and eucalyptus trees. We made a game of it, walking faster than the dozens of other pilgrims that are walking with us.  We weaved in and out as we passed them, one after another, like a fast car on a crowded interstate back home, only we did so much more respectfully, paying attention to proper separation and distance than what those jerks do in their BMWs and Audis back home. 

When we reached the town of Pontecesures, we concluded it is one of those places that every area must have, but no one wants to have it. It is here that a lot of the area’s heavy industry seems to have located. No one promises that the Camino must pass through only lovely and bucolic settings. To get a full picture of a country, you must see everything, warts and all.

There were important sights to see when we arrived in Padron. But with the rain, mist, and chill, we were in no mood to walk further to see them. They would have to wait until tomorrow.

 Padron to Milladoiro – 11.2 miles

The sun had barely risen when we checked out of our hostel. We stopped at the nearest café. The meager offerings we had left in our backpacks weren’t going to cut it. More coffee - proper coffee - and some tasty pastries were in order.

Fortified, we headed to the historic sights we were too tired to see yesterday when we arrived. Padron is located on the upper reaches of the Sar River, a tributary of the Ulla River which empties into the Atlantic Ocean. Legend has it that it is on the banks of the Sar that St. James’ body, after being brought back from the holy land after his beheading by King Herod, was transferred from boat and carted northwards to Santiago to be buried under the Cathedral.

Carved into this wall is the boat with St. James's body, ready to be transfered to Santiago. 

As we left town, The remaining clouds and rain from yesterday gave way to a beautiful morning. Pictures often tell the story better than words can. 

We would often see these old plastic bottles filled with water placed along the outsides of  the walls and gates of people's homes. I later read that they are supposed to be a deterrent from dogs peeing on their property, flowers, shrubs, etc.

These horreos are seen everywhere in this Galician region of Spain. Once used as raised grain bins to keep out rodents, they are now architecural adornements in many people's properties. 

By mid-afternoon, we and our fellow pilgrims were worn out. For most, we all were nearing the end of our pilgrimage. The wear and tear of long days and long miles were taking their toll. We passed a lady holding her rosary as she walked. She was softly crying as we passed her, noting that she was slowly moving her fingers from one bead to the next as she said her Hail Marys and Our Fathers.

Another girl, walking with her friend, was badly limping, apparently from problems with her knee. She was barely able to keep pace. But with the determination that she had on her face, we had no doubt that she was going to make it to Santiago. Similarly, a very large man with a very large backpack lumbered up one of the day's long hills. He had braces on his knees and seemed to be walking in a lot of pain. But, we were sure that he, too, was going to make it. 

At a nearby crossroads, a young lady was using a needle to pierce a large blister on her boyfriend’s heel. He squealed when it oozed bloody looking fluid. We later saw him walking north with his fellow pilgrims, fighting through the pain. 

We are also foot sore with some ailments that we will attend to tonight. We, too, are determined to make it. We only have a short day tomorrow until we reach St. James Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela and the end of the Portuguese Camino portion of our trek.

It's a good bet we'll reach Santiago before he does!

Milladoiro to Santiago de Compostela –  4.5 miles

We were teased with sights that we were close. Glimpses of the Cathedral peaked through the closed-in buildings bordering narrow medieval lanes. We don't have much further to go. The excitement builds until, at last, the St. James Cathedral, our long, sought after destination, boldly stood before us. 

The Portuguese Camino ends here in the Obradoiro Plaza, at the foot of the St. James Caathedral. 

All pilgrims, after completing one of the many Caminos from across Europe, all end up at this central spot in the plaza in front of the Cathedral.

We posed for pictures, as do most of our fellow pilgrims. We all want to memorialize the completion of our own personal Camino. 

Our well-earned Compostelas. 

On Sunday, at high noon, we attended the Pilgrim Mass held in the Cathedral. In fact, we arrived an hour early and were lucky to find seats as there were only a few left. We were also lucky that the botafumeiro, the large incense burner suspended from the ceiling, was used during the ceremony.

We witnessed this nine years ago when on our last Camino. And still, all these years later, this ceremony choked us up and made us misty-eyed. The deep baritone of the cantor. The crescendo of the thundering organ. The ceremony of it all. It was very emotional. Here is a two minute video of the experience:

A shorter, 30 second version is here: 

Every long term extended vacation requires one to do the mundane chores otherwise saved for home. In our case, this meant laundry. While things were agitating, rinsing, and spinning, we stopped at a nearby cafe for a delicious lunch of prawns and pulpo (octupus). Yummy! (really, it is!)

The following day we ambled about town and back into the Cathedral for a last look. 

St. James's tomb, underneath the altar in the crypt. 

For most pilgrims, they will finish here in Santiago de Compostela and head home. For others, like us, they will continue their trek. After a couple of days rest and exploration of this wonderful city, we will continue along the Finisterre Camino and our quest to finish at the Atlantic Ocean. 

For Part One of this three part post, please click here.

For Part Three, please click here.

If you would you like to read more about our other adventures and travels from around the world, please go to our homepage by clicking here.