The days are counted from the starting town of this post, not the grand total of steps I’ve taken so far. Honestly, I’m currently grappling with existential questions like “What is time?” and “When did I last see a town or remember what day, week, or month it is?” Keeping track of time on the Camino is about as useful as teaching a fish to ride a bicycle. It’s a delightful chaos, really.
As I made my way through the Camino Portuguese, from Lisbon to Porto, every step revealed something new—about the landscape, the people, and myself. My five-day walk from Serandelo to Porto was just a small part of this much larger journey, but it was packed with moments of connection, reflection, and surprises. From the colorful streets of Águeda to emotional goodbyes with fellow pilgrims, each day brought its own story.
Day 1: Serandelo to Águeda – A Kaleidoscope of Colour
Leaving Serandelo, I was the lone ranger on the road, basking in the glory of solitude until lunchtime rolled around. Just as I was about to pull out my gourmet ‘snack of the century,’ ‘the group’ finally caught up with me, and I decided to indulge in an extended lunch break with them. We walked together for a bit, but soon I found my rhythm and zoomed ahead, leaving them in the dust. We were all bound for the same albergue, so I wasn’t worried about losing them forever.
About an hour and a half before my grand entrance into Águeda, I figured it was prime time for some sunscreen action, given that the sun had decided to unleash its full power on me. But to my horror, I discovered that my sunscreen was MIA. After a moment of reflection, it dawned on me that it likely took a tumble from my backpack’s exterior pocket during my fancy footwork. Thus began my participation in the Olympic event of “shade-seeking”: an intense, 8km trek filled with strategic maneuvers to dodge the relentless sun.
Arriving in Águeda was like stepping into a lively cartoon where the sun took a vacation and left behind a colorful mess. The Umbrella Sky Project, which I’d heard whispers about before tackling the Camino, turned out to be a spectacular visual slap in the face.
The streets danced with a riot of colors as bright umbrellas floated overhead, dropping cheeky shadows on the ground below. After days of trekking through dull hues that made me feel like I was in a black-and-white film, this colorful explosion was like a party for my eyes.
But before I could fully appreciate the beauty, my priority was to seek refuge from the sun—cue emergency sunscreen mode. A pharmacy was right around the corner, the street covered by umbrellas overhead was at this point appreciated for its more practical aspects of providing shade, rather than the beautiful display of colour, I hopped in and acquired two tubes of SPF goodness.
After stashing my newly acquired SPF goodness, I plopped down at a café. I took a much-needed breather and finally let the full spectacle of the Umbrella Project wash over me like a refreshing lemonade on a hot day… after some internal debate, I finally left the chair and trudged 30 minutes to the albergue, like a reluctant reality show contestant vying for a bed and snacks as the main prize.. that and a much needed shower.
I was the first to check in at the albergue, and the receptionist greeted me with a brilliantly friendly smile, expertly navigating that awkward space between strangers and old friends. It was just the right amount of familiarity without crossing into over-familiar territory.
I got to pick my bed and chose the room with a single bunk bed. By the end of the day, the top bunk was still empty, so I basically gave myself an upgrade to a private room. I enjoyed a peaceful night in the albergue, complete with a lovely garden where I could kick back and ponder the day’s adventures when and if time allowed.
Soon enough, the rest of the group trickled in, and more folks joined the fray. Conversations erupted like popcorn, after a while I begrudgingly left what seemed like the social event of te year on the camino, on a mission to find some food. On my way back to town, a trek that felt longer than it was, in search of food. I found a local bar that perfectly captured the town’s essence. There, I had an epic meal and shared a beer with Oana and Stewart, the Romanian pilgrim and her boyfriend.
On the way back, I deliberately selected the scenic route, snapping a few photos along the way.
By the time I returned to the albergue, the evening was gradually winding down. We reminisced about the day’s walk while munching on snacks and sipping beer.
Knowing that the next day's hike would be a breeze for me, having opted for a short 18-ish km stage, I decided to relish a slow, late start. The Camino has a way of teaching patience, nudging us to cherish the present instead of stressing about the future. (It is an ongoing lesson…)
Day 2: Águeda to Albergaria-a-Velha – Farewells and Familiar Faces
The next stretch took me to Albergaria-a-Velha, a charming little town that offered both a sense of home and the bittersweet feeling of goodbyes. The group started the day somewhat staggered as usual but before long we coalesed back to a group. As we arrived in Albergaria-a-Velha, they were preparing for a longer stretch that day, pushing further on their journey while I was settling in for the night. There’s something emotional about these farewells. You share a part of the road with someone, get to know them a little, and then you part ways, knowing that your paths may never cross again.
Among them were two Austrian pilgrims, Gunther and Ullie, who had already walked the Camino from Porto to Santiago and were now wrapping up their adventure back in Porto.
Their humor was so infectious that I half-wondered if they were secretly stand-up comedians in training. Each day with them felt like a lighthearted comedy show, and I’d definitely miss their witty banter. We shared one last conversation wishing each other a bom caminho and good luck, I took a little rest at a food court and had some lunch, and was joined by some other pilgrims, and as the evening came I settled in for the night in the charming Albergaria-a-Velha.
It served as a reminder that the Camino is a revolving door of temporary companions, each adding their own quirky flavor to your journey, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. Lia and Mahmud were also moving on, marking this bittersweet moment as a farewell from our little band of misfits that had been bumping into each other since the beginning. It was just me and my memories now—a bit lonely, but I had scores of remarkable moments to hold onto.
As I waved goodbye to Ullie, Gunther, Lia and Mahamod, I encountered new travel companions: Stephan, who would soon become a constant presence on my journey for some days, and two Norwegian pilgrims. That’s right—my first Norwegians on any of my caminos! They hailed from Trondheim, a place I’ll choose to regard as civilized, despite its reputation as one of the quirkiest cities in Norway.
Conversations wound down and before soon it was time to get some needed rest.
Day 3: Albergaria-a-Velha to Oliveira de Azeméis – A Four-Star Indulgence
Authors Note: No photographic evidence exists; torrential rain and cameras are a disaster waiting to happen. Other than a handful of Instagram stories that have already vanished into the abyss, you’ll just have to conjure this scene in your mind. Picture it: a downpour so fierce that umbrellas turned inside out became the latest fashion statement, and every puddle was a mini ocean. People resembled soggy cats, flailing as they navigated the chaos, while the bravest souls splashed through puddles like they were auditioning for a wet T-shirt contest. So go ahead, let your imagination paint the picture!
The walk to Oliveira de Azeméis had all the makings of a scenic adventure—if only torrential rain wasn't crashing the party. Sure, the small hills and charming villages had their appeal, but fighting off raindrops and staying dry was more of a challenge than I anticipated.
Upon arrival in town, I was met with a shocking surprise: a four-star hotel "This can't be right," I thought, feeling a bit like I’d stumbled into a fancy dinner party dressed in hiking boots and a rain-soaked poncho. It was definitely a bit over the top for a pilgrim’s checklist, but hey, it was the only game in town.
As I checked in, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of swapping an albergue bunk bed for a luxurious room with crisp sheets and plush pillows. After weeks of squeaking bunk beds, this felt equal parts indulgent and surreal—like winning the lottery on a rainy day. But who was I to complain? The Camino has a funny way of handing you exactly what you never knew you needed, even if it comes wrapped in a fluffy robe and hotel slippers.
As the rain continued to drown everything in sight, I decided it was a clear sign to waltz into the hotel restaurant for dinner. With my budget already scattered like confetti at a parade, I thought, why not treat myself? I ordered both a starter, a main, and a dessert—things I will never regret. They were so delicious that if they had arms, they would have hugged me.
What made it even sweeter was the thought that the final bill for this culinary extravaganza would barely cover three beers back home. Suddenly, my little dinner adventure felt more like a savvy investment than a splurge. All in all, it was a delightful way to cap off a rainy day… but there was one more thing, as a famous TV personality once said… a warm bath.
In the morning I would head out again, but for now I was warm, comfy, and dry…
Day 4: Oliveira de Azeméis to Grijó – Conversations, Coincidences, and New Friends
The road from Oliveira de Azeméis to Grijó brought more than just a scenic walk; it also brought people who made the journey feel richer. The albergue in Grijó was welcoming, and the hospitalera greeted me with such warmth that I immediately felt at home. We talked for hours about the Camino, life, and the lessons learned on the road. These deep, impromptu conversations are part of what makes the Camino so special—everyone has a story, and the Camino brings those stories to the surface.
It was in Grijó that I once again ran into Mahmod, a 79-year-old British pilgrim, and part of the group, somehow we’d ended up in the same place again. At his age, walking the Camino was no small feat, but he was more than up to the task keeping pace or outpacing us younglings. We caught up over dinner, marveling at how the Camino keeps pulling us together, as if some invisible thread is weaving our paths into a shared tapestry.
Later, I a Dutch pilgrim arrived, who told me about her hiking attempts in Voss, a town in Norway, my hometown no less. By chance, she had tried to hike Vola, one of my favorite local trails, but had chosen the most difficult route—a steep, almost vertical path starting right from the train station. I understood her decision to turn back and shared with her that there’s a more forgiving path on the other side of the mountain. It was a funny coincidence, one of those random connections that make you realize how small the world can be.
Day 5: Grijó to Porto – Sun, Shopping, and Serendipity
Porto, the legendary two-thirds mark—or as I prefer to call it, the "wheeze-inducing 30 minutes from a my bed" point—seemed to be rolling out the red carpet for my arrival. As I strolled in, the clouds parted, and the sun made a grand entrance like it was auditioning for a weather-themed reality show. Naturally, I had checked the forecast, and soon enoughit would be over, so seizing the moment I took a tiny detour to a lookout before the famous bridge. It was as if the city wanted to remind me that sunshine is temporary, and before I could say “another photo,” the clouds reasserted their dominance.
However, it was here that I said my goodbye to Mahmod. He was eager to continue on, seeking his next adventure in finding a hostel. This farewell felt different, more permanent somehow. I’ll hold onto the memories of our conversations and his captivating stories for a long time to come.
We both had watched classic British TV shows like 'Allo 'Allo, Fawlty Towers, and Yes Minister. And in our conversations we constantly found our way back to referencing something from those shows.
As he walked away, I took a moment to absorb the stunning sights of Porto from across the river. The view before me was a tapestry of colorful buildings and bustling streets, a stark contrast to the bittersweet feeling of our parting. I stepped forward into the city, carrying those memories and the warmth of shared laughter with me.
Then Porto grabbed me and shook off any traces of melancholy our parting had left me with like a dog shaking off water. With its terracotta rooftops and winding streets, the city was a cheerful nudge, reminding me that new adventures were right around the corner. The Douro River sparkled as if it had just heard the world’s best punchline. Filled with a burst of energy, I set off to snap photos—until I realized my accommodation was a hearty 30-minute trek away from where I had plopped down. And just for fun, the route was uphill, both ways—because who doesn't love a little uphill cardio to spice up their journey?
But I persevered, checked in, and, after all that effort, was met with the most comfortable bunk beds on this camino. Sure, the Primitivo still has the record for the most cosiest, but let’s just say I properly settled into my new “temporary home” with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store.
Taking a rest day in Porto, I found myself sitting down to breakfast with a group of American pilgrims. What started as a casual conversation soon became an engaging discussion about the Camino, Burning Man, and life on the road.
What began as a casual chat quickly transformed into an engaging debate about the Camino, Burning Man, and living life on the move. We laughed and swapped stories, the kind of spontaneous connection that makes the Camino truly special.
They insisted I needed to attend Burning Man, claiming I would fit right in, promising to “sponsor” me—basically take on the roles of guides and godparents, prepping me for the essentials and what to expect. Burning Man had always lingered on my to-do list, but maybe it’s time to bump it up a few spots. Oh, and they had a mascot—Kevin the Penguin (I hope I nailed the name). Who knew I’d be making plans with a flightless bird?
Before they set off for Vigo to kickstart their Camino adventure, we hit the shops together—socks and ponchos for them, while I snagged some water repellent for my trusty Gore-Tex outfit. Porto had welcomed me with rays of sunshine, but I wasn't about to roll the dice on the next leg of the trip! The weather forecast looked like a parade of emoji warning labels for rain, but as a native of West Norway, I was more than equipped to face what others call "bad" weather; to me, is just another "mildly moist day!" to me or anyone anyone else from western Norway.
As I sit here days later editing, I can assure you that this was in no way a clever hint at what was to come. Nope, not even a little. Just a regular old coincidence, like putting on socks that don’t match—perfectly innocent and absolutely not a forecast for disaster!
The Road Ahead
As I said goodbye to Porto tomorrow (as I write this, and much later as I am editing this), I can't help but reflect on the past five days—the bright colors of Águeda, the farewells in Albergaria-a-Velha, the luxury detour in Oliveira de Azeméis, and the deep conversations in Grijó. Every day on the Camino brings its own story, its own lesson, and its own characters.
Now that Porto is firmly in my rearview mirror, I’m bracing myself for the delightful chaos of the Camino. Whether I’m soaking up the sun like a lizard on a rock or dodging rain showers like a cat on a hot tin roof, this journey is guaranteed to throw me some curveballs. I'm saying goodbye to folks and making new pals faster than I can shout "buen camino!" One thing’s for sure—the Camino is a master of keeping me on my toes. So, buckle up; I’m ready to see what kind of shenanigans my next steps will get me into!
