Blog Update – 31 May 2022 – Home and miserable!

 

All the smart literature (i.e. the Brierley Guides) on the Camino make a strong point about how hard it is to land after doing a Camino. How hard it can be to adopt back to normal life. And of course, they’re right. Last time was a bit of a bump; but I had two Courier trips within the following week to look forward to. This time we adopted the approach of having a few days R & R in Porto to attempt to acclimatise to crowds of people etc. 

We booked ourselves onto the Alsa Bus that makes the 4.5 hour journey from Santiago down to Portugal’s second city. Leaving at 10am, we’d be there in time for most of the afternoon and the evening. The journey was uneventful, the Galician countryside remained lush, green and hilly. The area near Pontevedre was particularly beautiful; Vigo much less so. We crossed the border into Portugal over the Rio Minho and stopped briefly to drop of some people at Valenca. It was a bit weird as we were driving directly south, but moved back an hour to align with BST. The immediate change in language as you cross a road border is always disconcerting. Portuguese always sounds like an odd language. Although in written form it looks a bit similar to Spanish, but the sound is so difficult – a sort of cross between a drunken Dutchman and Russian….more Schhhhh’s than a Schweppes advert.

Most of the passengers left the coach at Porto airport, but we carried on to the final stop at the Central Bus Station at Campo 24 da Agosta. What a dark unwelcoming and badly designed dump. Worse than Wycombe’s old bus station! Fifty cents to use the loo – Welcome to Portugal.

 

We walked the two kilometres to our hotel. It was unpleasantly hot, and crowded. Back to big city life with a bump as we battled to stay on the narrow pavements. Everyone for themselves!

The hotel is down amongst the Port Houses on the southern side of the river. It’s posh by any standards, but more so compared to the places we’ve stayed in for the last month. I find the fawning reception staff frankly uncomfortable. Especially, as by their standards, we probably look like a pair of vagrants with our backpacks and over-sized looking walking boots. They seem desperate to relieve us of our backpacks – a nice sentiment, but having carried them nearly 300 miles I think we can manage to get them up to our room! The room is lovely, but the pool is surrounded by what I consider to be self-indulgent, “look at me, aren’t I great types”. I have a brief swim and that is the only time I use the pool in 3 days. Cut your nose off to spite your face you stupid fool!

We wander the quayside, have some Port Cocktails at Sandeman’s and then get something to eat. It is just so lovely there. Vibrant but chilled, with awesome views of the north bank and Ponte Luis I Bridge. The only negative is booming music appearing to come from one of the River Cruise Ships on the north side.

 

The following morning, we were aiming to hire bikes to ride up the beaches beyond the mouth of the Douro. Something we’d done a few years earlier, only to get within a mile of the sea and be completely enveloped in a thick sea mist! However, all the bike hire places seemed to be fully booked. So, for a nice change we decided to walk the 5 kilometres there. We set off at about 10.30am and there was another unfathomable din coming from the same boat again. I start to grizzle saying how disgraceful it was, and how awful it must be for the local residents. After about 20 minutes walking the racket becomes more discernible – it sounds like a band doing a sound check. Lo and behold we draw level with where the noise is emanating from, and there’s a massive outdoor stage right next to the Douro. Ah ha, it must be a festival.

 

We crack on along the river. It’s a superb sunny morning, and we need to get in the water. Curiosity, however, gets the better of me, and I google “festival Porto”. Yes there’s a festival, and a whole load of unknown Portuguese artists listed plus a couple of more anglicised named outfits. One of them leaps out at me, almost smashing me in the forehead…”The Waterboys”. One of my favourite bands – certainly in the top 3 with Thin Lizzy and The Levellers. My first reaction is “bugger, I bet they played last night or the day before”. I’m now almost frantic. Surely, they cannot be playing today? They just can’t be? We’ve already had 2 layers of icing on the cake!

But there it is “Saturday 28^th May – Jesus & Mary Chain, The Waterboys”. “It’ll be sold out; but we can walk along to where we are now and just listen to it from across the river”.

We walked past an area of lovely old restaurants and bars frequented by fishermen, that our hotel receptionist had told us about. Somewhere to look at on the way back. Sooner than expected we found a beach right at the end of the river; just before the headland. Jeez, the water looked so inviting. In no time at all I was wading in. Oh my lord, it was freezing cold. With no warming gulf stream currents, and no wetsuits to help us, it had to be the full Wim Hof treatment. “think about breathing, control your breathing, it’ll be fine” etc etc, “roar a bit”. It worked, but we could only stand about 5 minutes in there. This was, by far and away, the coldest swim of the past year – much colder than in Brighton in Dec/Jan/Feb/March or April! Nevertheless, I went in for a second bite at the apple – same result.

 

We sat in the beautiful warm sunshine and dried off quickly; and then Cate pipes up…”I’ve got tickets”. Bloody hell we’re seeing the Waterboys tonight! We’d had our cake in Santiago, put the icing on the top arriving into Muxia, and then eaten all the decorations on the top, by swimming in the Atlantic there. And now, somehow, we’d got Champagne to wash it down with!

Better than champagne!

We did visit the fishing area on the way back. All very charming in a very down at heel way. Lots of fish being cooked on pavement barbecues outside the bars and restaurants.

 

The afternoon and early evening were just a blur. At about 7.30pm we walked back over the famous Ponte Luis I bridge and back along the north side past all the bars and restaurants teeming with weekend visitors and revelers. And then we were in! A big stage and arena built on a surface car park. A bit odd! Note to self, “don’t get carried away and fall over; it'll hurt severely”. I was a bit edgy about the Waterboys as they are a bit notorious for doing somewhat esoteric set lists at festivals – now that wouldn’t bother me too much, but to the casual viewer, it might be less entertaining and impact the atmosphere. Furthermore, their magnificent fiddle player, Steve Wickham, had stepped down from touring duties. That, too, could be cause for disappointment.

Silly old me! They played a raucous full-on set of classics, plus a couple of new songs. The rousing finale was Fisherman’s Blues, followed by The Long Strange Golden Road. The old body defied its years and I leapt about in a frenzy of joy; fortunately avoiding injury to myself and others nearby. I just couldn’t help myself; possessed by the gods of music, I roared at the top of my voice, the final line of the latter of those 2 songs…. ”I’m just a bunch of words in pants….most of them are fiction”. How fitting.

 

And that was it really. The following day it was distinctly overcast, so we wandered around both sides of the Douro; did some Port tasting at a lovely local market hall, and generally just played at being tourists. A great city – visit it if you can!

 

Me sad!                                                               Me happier

On Monday we flew back. We had one last really heavy slog with our backpacks to get up the steep 250ft climb (mainly steps) to the nearest metro station. It was tough, but also an indication of how much fitter we were after 4 weeks of walking. There was one final pinch point to overcome. Flying home to Heathrow, via Lisbon with a 70 minute lay over. The inbound plane to Porto was late. The challenge was on!

The challenge stakes rose again, as the plane pulled onto an open stand – a bus journey to the terminal! This was going to require “double airport speed plus”. If you’ve ever been in an airport with me, you’ll know how fast “airport speed” is! And so it was to be……”double airport speed plus” became running, but we made it; only to find that they hadn’t even started boarding. As we stood in the queue to board I remarked that the potential of our luggage not making it was fifty fifty! (if a certain friend, who goes to Fulham with me, had been there, she'd have said "you've jinxed it now!")

 

We landed 15 minutes early, and emerged from the plane 15 minutes late. I played the traditional routine of trying to get my passport to work on the electronic scanners. For about the 30^th time in its 6 year life the passport failed at Heathrow. But the Camino had worked its magic on me; there was no Muttley style grizzly rant at the customs officer. 

The traditional warm Heathrow welcome!

Cate’s bag emerged quickly and triumphantly onto the carousel. However, after half an hour the sign changed to “Bags delivered”. Here we go! Cate was dispatched through to Arrivals to meet our friends who were picking us up (massive thanks!). I queued at the baggage queries desk. About 7 people had their tags scanned by the man there; each getting the same statement – “it’s on the carousel; I guarantee you it is”. I step up and say “I know what you’re going to say”. He scans the tag. "No, it’s not on the carousel; it’s in Lisbon". Clear and unequivocal! I fill in the necessary online form, and he says “it’ll be delivered to your house tomorrow”. He was so assured, that I was putty in his hand. “lovely, thanks for your help”. Calm, rational and chirpy I emerged into the arrivals hall. “Oh well shit happens”. I think I’ve been possessed by mellow dope smoking hippy aliens, man!

 

Did the bag arrive the following day? Nope! Was the weather lousy? Yes. The Aliens have been exorcised well and truly; the ire is rising! I'm hearing a voice in my head - a gentle Welsh accent saying "I told you you'd jinxed it!!"

 

The TAP airline tracking system keeps showing “bag still being traced”. I am despondent. I create a list of what’s in the bag, and the replacement costs. It’s not pretty. But it’s the irreplaceable items that really irritate – in particular, our 4 certificates proving completion of the Camino Frances, and Muxia Camino!

The mood is darkening! 

 

Seen in Santiago.......hmmmmm!

PS I’ve just received an email saying that the bag has been located, and will be delivered later today. I remain very cautiously optimistic. But is the glass now half empty or half full?