A small update before we before we get in to the day that was yesterday.
A small snafu in booking accommodation has resulted in me staying in Vila Franca de Xira for two days. More on this later in the post.
Progress: [=> ] 6%
Distance: 35km (46315 steps)
Cost: One small blister (non-critial)
This won’t be a long post (I think)… I thought wrong, but unforeseen events made it longer. You know, like when you start a quick snack and suddenly it’s a five-course meal?
One minute you’re jotting down a grocery list, and the next you’re planning a family reunion.
Turns out, “short and sweet” is just a suggestion. Life is like a box of chocolates, as someone once said—just when you think you’ve tried them all, you discover one tucked away at the bottom with flavors you didn’t expect, tempting you to indulge once more..
So here we are, longer than expected, with more words than I intended, like an awkward family photo where everyone is still posing for the camera.
But hey, at least now you’ve got a solid reason to procrastinate on that laundry. So grab your snack and buckle up—this ride just got interesting! (I did mine yesterday)
So onwards to the events of the day that was yesterday, in more or less in the order they occurred…
I had an epic hotel breakfast (including camino staples; like pain au chocolate, and coffee)…
then I took a Bolt back to the cathedral since it is the official starting point. I could have saved myself about an hour of walking if I had started from my hotel. But let's face it: I walked the mind-numbing Meseta on the Frances. Days and days of straight trails and sunflower fields or, for some “variety,” grass fields. I did not 'cheat' then, and I won’t cheat now.
Besides, who doesn’t love a little extra mileage to justify that extra slice of cake later? The cathedral's calling—one Bolt trip later, I can officially say I’ve taken the scenic route to my start line.
If given the choice, I’d trade my city strolls for the Meseta any day. Sure, the views along the seafront were Instagram-worthy, and there were delightful spots to break for a snack. Not that I did, more on that later… But let’s be honest—sometimes it felt like I was training for a new sport: "Extreme Nose Endurance." Picture this: a light breeze wafts in, only to reveal that it smells like yesterday’s leftovers left out of the fridge at a sewage treatment plant.
To add to the ambiance, low tide was generously contributing its own bouquet of scents—nothing like the aroma of sunbaked mysteries to keep you company!
The actual walking was more a game of urban hopscotch, dodging concrete and industrial traffic, as I wondered if the village I was seeking had gone on vacation.
Perhaps it wasn’t the worst experience ever, but let’s be honest—it certainly didn’t match the "refreshing sea breeze" hype. After a couple of hours, a breeze finally decided to join the party, rolling in from the river like it had a prior engagement and was late to the scene. Or maybe my nose had just thrown in the towel and called it quits.
Then there was the 20km of boardwalks... Sure, the views were nice, but after nearly three hours of the same scenery (and odor), I felt like I had reached peak saturation. By the time I finished the 20km stretch, I can confidently say I was the least smelly thing for miles. Who knew walking could turn into a nose-holding contest?
Not sure if that held up by the end of the day, but by then my nose was so far gone it probably thought it was on vacation in another dimension.…
The first boardwalk
But before I make it sound like I spiralled into a pit of despair, I’ve actually had some good moments on the first day. I’ve met three other brave souls navigating this pilgrimage alongside me. And guess what? Some locals have taken time out of their busy lives to thank me for... walking. Yes, walking. It’s a real nail-biter of an activity. One local even staged a mini traffic jam just to yell “Good job!” while giving me a thumbs up. Just picture it: a driver swerving around the road, arms flailing, as if spotting a celebrity. Apparently, a shell on my backpack qualifies me for fanfare. Who knew a ‘simple’ hike would make me such a roadside attraction?
Remember when I said I’d swap city strolling for the Meseta? Well, sometimes the universe really listens — just not in the way you'd expect. I like to call it ‘the mini Meseta,’ but without the aromatic allure of fresh-cut grass or sunflowers. Instead, I was greeted by an olfactory delight I can only describe as the scent of sewage-light. A small improvement.
As the sun beat down like it was auditioning for a role in a heatwave, I couldn’t help but wish that people from 80 years ago had the same foresight Napoleon did, who wisely planted trees all over France, so French soldiers could march in the shade in the future.
Instead, I was left to bake in my own mini Meseta, playing the role of a sun-toasted marshmallow. My sunscreen reserves held, so no burns.
By the time I reached Alhenda, the second-to-last town of the day, I suddenly grasped the gravity of my snackless journey.
Aside from a forlorn burger, and a bag of crisis crisps I had not eaten before arriving in Alhandra, and the burger in question seemed to have been stampeded by a gang of angry cows protesting the sheer humiliation of one of their own becoming whatever this was.
The menu at the at this place offered little more than a parade of uninspired options. So the burger had seemed the better choice, perhaps the toast would have fared better—after all, it’s hard to mess up bread unless you’re trying to create the ultimate burnt offering, which seemed to be their specialty here.
So, after that, there I was at the cafe in Alhandra when the server informed me that the kitchen was closed. But, oh joy, they could whip up some toast! I thought, "Sure, why not? It’s practically a five-star meal at this point." After demolishing those glorious slices of bread, my day took a wild turn for the better—like winning the lottery with a single toast!
Let me tell you, those hours without snacks had transformed me into a hangry beast—when the smell of that toast hit my nose, I was ready to pounce. I had been convinced that my grumpiness was due to the intense exhaustion from all that walking, when really, it was mostly due to my stomach staging a protest. Who knew a little toast could save a day?
Only after said toast had been devoured, did I realize, the lack of snacks might have had something to do with my mood during those endless hours. I vow to never skip snacks again; it's a cruel fate I wouldn’t even wish on my worst enemy. No one deserves to suffer like that—grin!
But wait, there is more…
Arrival and Snafu: When the Universe Has Other Plans
Arriving at the hostel, the receptionist glanced at my noticeably oversized Nikon D850 hanging from my shoulder and asked if I was a photographer. I chuckled and said, “What gave it away?” … “but I need a shower first and then we can talk photography, though by the end of it, you may have wished you’d never asked”
He turned out to be a budding photographer, and we had the pleasure of discussing the ins and outs of photography—after I freshened up, of course.
During our chat, we delved into the Camino Portuguese and the not-so-fun game of booking accommodation ahead of time.
I was aware that the majority of hikers start from Porto, leaving fewer options for places to stay between Lisbon and Porto. Based on that wisdom, I thought I'd secure another night here and book accommodation for my next stop. Since the next stop was fully booked for the upcoming day.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t just book the wrong night; I practically invented a new level of chaos. My next reservation was hilariously not for the day I thought, and with the place fully booked now, I ended up stuck here in Vila Franca de Xira for an extra day on top of the extra day I spontaneously planned.
However, there’s a petite mountain nearby that calls my name! I can hike back to Alhenda—just a leisurely round trip of 10 km—and relive the most pleasant 5km of the trail.
There’s always something to do, right?
The next leg of my adventure is a cozy 18 km stroll followed by an impressive 31 km trek that ends with an incline of 80 meters. Normally, that’s a warm-up for me, but who knows? At this point, I might just reconsider my life choices. Oh, and wouldn’t you know it? The weather forecast is calling for rain that day. Because why not throw in a little extra challenge?
But there’s a reason my backpack weighs over 25kg (55 pounds for the metrically challenged)... I’m prepared. Heaven forbid, says I, the atheist, that someone from western Norway gets caught without rain gear. I might as well just hand in my citizenship before it gets revoked. I’m already on shaky ground as a non-skier that talks to strangers!
Next update whenever something interesting happens in the next two days here in Vila Franca de Xira…
-Sindre, the temporarily stuck pilgrim.