Day 1: Porto to Vila do Conde

I awoke at 6am (via alarm) to make a 6:50 train from Tomar to Porto.

In my rush to get ready, I slammed a couple of espressos from the machine in the kitchen of the Artist hotel I was staying in. It may go without saying, but I didn’t sleep as much as I had wanted to. Neither length nor quality. So odd, as I had been an amazing fast and deep sleeper for all of my life, and it has only been recently that I’ve had any difficulty.

I think my fateful decision was to fill up the coffeemaker with tap water was the precursor, but it could have been something else. It was either water, the intensity of the coffee, or the smashed fig bar I brought from the US on the plane. You probably know where I’m going with this.

The ride to Encantomento was brilliant, but I started to feel like maybe the acid of the coffee needed a little softening, so I ate the package of fig bars (2) to give some balance to my stomach. However, about a half hour in, I began to feel queasy.

As an aside, here’s a photo of the bike nestled in its little cage on the train, just to show others that it is entirely possible, and as a reference to any conductor who doubts otherwise. This conductor (we each have our special peeves, don’t we?) demanded that I remove all of the bags on the bike during the ride. I removed a bunch, but not all, and he seemed to think that at least I made an effort and didn’t reprimand me when he checked my ticket (after checking out my bike).

I threw up on the train. Not anything substantial, as I hadn’t eaten really. But it hurt. As soon as I felt capable, I went back to my seat, but really ended up riding in the space above the junction of the cars, as there was more airflow there. Fresh air was what I needed. At each stop, I stuck my head out and took deep, stabilizing breaths.

I got into Porto and messaged my previous host who was storing my luggage and made my second fateful decision that day. I asked her if I could drop off another bag with my luggage so that I didn’t have to carry it. She agreed, damn it. So on my way to her place, I went by the Balhaõ market and, once again, gave up whatever remained of my minuscule breakfast on the sidewalk behind a delivery van.

Not my finest moment.

I met with my former host and dropped off my bag. I had planned it to be just some aux stuff, but it turns out that I wasn’t really thinking when I was repacking as I included all of my warm clothes, including any layers (merino or sun-shield) that I had packed specifically for this part of the trip as well as my towel, which I’d need if I stopped at the beach or (as we’ll see later) stayed at an albergue.

Porto when I arrived three days ago was magical. Porto redux, with my current state of body, was chaotic and I couldn’t wait to escape its bounds. I didn’t hurl any more, but I didn’t eat anything either. I tried to keep hydrated, but honestly even that was a chore. I headed off in what I thought might be the correct direction, and then I saw it.

My first Camino arrow! Somewhere in old town Porto. These pilgrim graffiti arrows guide you on the way. There are some more formal ones in either tile or iron, but these spray-painted ones are more plentiful.

I followed the tracks of a streetcar north along the beach. The seaside was beautiful. The weather was delicious and gentle. My legs were leaden and it was a wonderful struggle. I averaged a little more distance per hour than the walkers, but with the frequent breaks I saw the same groups several times that day.

Oddly enough, I covered the same amount of ground that I had planned on doing, though originally it was designed as an easy day.

I made it to Villa do Conde. Yay. I looked for a hotel to land and it turns out that they were all full. Fortunately, the kindness of a stranger pointed me to the Naval guesthouse and restaurant. They had a room. A nice king size bed room with a view to the river. It was tragically beautiful and I was almost in tears to get it. A bit overwrought, perhaps, but I was spent and it was beautiful and available and all mine.

I thought that I’d try to eat. I hadn’t eaten all day (other than the fig bars). Earlier I stopped to see if I could eat bread, but even that was enough to set me off. I went to a pharmacy to get something that might calm my stomach and stave off the retch reflex. Done.

So I tried to eat dinner at their fine restaurant. They made me vegetable soup (more like a cream of vegetable or bean soup… it was really thick and had long limp strips of onion stalks in it that kept getting in my throat. Delicious, but couldn’t really do it) and some bruschetta, which was delicious, but probably too much of a leap just yet. but it was beautifully prepared, with a pansy blossom, a marigold, and some queen Anne’s lace blossoms on top. Fresh tomatoes and great bread toasted just right.

What a shame to waste.

I wish I could say that I slept well, but I didn’t. But I did get some, maybe enough, and I woke the next day early-ish and went for a ride.

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