Camino De Santiago: Portuguese Way Episode 1

I don’t exactly remember what inspired me to walk the Camino. I’m not religious and it seemed to be a pointlessly strenuous activity. To what end? I don’t know. I heard about it from an acquaintance who walked the Camino Frances, and I may have encountered a YouTube video about it as well. I knew I enjoyed the typical solo travelling experience of staying in hostels and taking in life as a tourist with a backpack. But I wanted something a bit different, so I booked my flight to Porto, Portugal to start my journey there and walk the Camino Portugues, or the “Portuguese Way”. 

I landed in Porto in early September with the same jittery nerves I usually get whenever I arrive somewhere new. I spent two days exploring the orange-terracotta-roofed city, consuming good food and wine, and socializing with others at my hostel. Then Tuesday morning arrived and marked the beginning of my Camino. In the days leading up to this moment, I had felt a slight uneasiness—even a reluctance—to set out on this long, uncertain walk. I was worried about potentially being miserable and wasting my precious vacation days on a fruitless endeavour. However, my first steps into the journey immediately transformed my anxiety into excitement.

I purchased my Camino credential at around 9AM when the Porto Cathedral opened and I immediately walked down the steep stairs and further down the narrow alleys until I reached the Douro River. Taking the Coastal route for the first day, I continued west, making sure to keep the river to my left. 

The morning was grey with a dense fog covering the city. All was quiet as I passed many colourful and tiled buildings, men waiting at the end of their fishing lines, locals getting their morning exercise in, and even the occasional rower gliding silently on the water. Soon thereafter, I encountered fellow Camino pilgrims, identifiable by their large backpacks, their scallop shell tied to it, and their brisk pace of walking. Some were racing past me at such a furious speed that I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to find an open bed at one of the albergues in Vila Do Conde, which was the destination for the day. I had started later than I wanted to and still had a long way to go, so I became more deliberate with my steps and increased my pace.

I soon reached the point where the path turned north with the Atlantic Ocean on my left, and by now, the fog had lifted and revealed a brilliant blue sky with the sun high above. I arrived at the town of Matosinhos where a massive art installation of a red fishing net was suspended in the middle of a roundabout. I stopped in at the information centre to get a stamp on my credential, use the bathroom, fill up my water bottle, and chat with some fellow pilgrims. I purchased a small scallop shell so that I could also identify myself to the world. 

I endeavoured on, passing restaurants that were grilling freshly caught fish. The delicious perfume of the smoke wafted in the air as I walked by, so I obliged and stopped for seafood and rice and a plate of grilled fish. After getting back on the road, the concrete path eventually gave way to a wooden boardwalk, and I walked along the coast revelling in the scenery. I walked in and out of charming fishing villages such as Vila Cha and paused often to take photos. 

I continued, covering good distance. The sun was now lower and casting longer shadows. I had made it to a village called Mindelo and I wanted to take a break as I was getting hungry. I entered a random restaurant in the middle of town, clean and well lit, manned by a single proprietor, a middle-aged man perhaps in his forties. I ordered my food and slumped down in my seat, utterly exhausted and devoid of any will to proceed through the rest of my journey. The restaurant owner brought out a generous plate of fried fish, rice, and a side salad, along with a beer. The cold beer was life-giving in my current state, and it tasted as if it was the nectar of the gods. While shoveling the food into my mouth, I frantically searched online for accommodations in Vila Do Conde. Earlier, I had sent a message to one of the public albergues to see if they had a bed, but I hadn’t heard back yet. Luckily, I was able to find a decent and affordable room in a guesthouse.

                  The sun was now hugging the horizon as I continued, and it all but disappeared when I finally arrived at my accommodation. It was in an apartment complex, and I was buzzed in. I was greeted by the host, Murilo, a genial guy a bit older than myself, who showed me around the cozy apartment before finally leading me to my room. I unpacked and sat in silent exhaustion when there was a gentle rapping at my door. Murilo invited me to have some tea in the kitchen. Tired and sweaty, I contemplated declining the offer, but I ended up accepting, not only because I didn’t want to be rude, but also because these types of random social encounters were one of the reasons I loved travelling. I walked into the small kitchen and found Murilo’s cousin Pedro seated at the dining table and Murilo’s mother preparing the kettle. And so started a long conversation about where we were from, the peculiarities of our home countries, our dreams, and life in general. Their hospitable warmth and curiosity came through so evidently, and I enjoyed the conversation and their company so much that this night remained as one of my favourite moments of the entire trip. To me, it represented the best of travelling. Sharing stories with strangers and connecting on a human level generated a sense of optimism, and it was deeply fulfilling. That night, I fell in love with travelling all over again and was invigorated and motivated to continue my journey. The Camino de Santiago was going to be a lot more than just a trek – it would become a very personal introspective journey as well.