Day 2: Vila do Conde to Viana do Costello

The Kindness of Strangers. Camino Angels. Those could subtitle any Camino. I hear it from multiple pilgrims I meet on the Camino and I got to experience it for a second time (housing-wise) later today. But it isn’t only for those major things, you notice it all the time when you pay attention. People want to help you. I believe that. People want you to succeed.

I woke up feeling fairly strong and it was a dewy morn with lots of moisture hanging in the air like politics on a thanksgiving dinner. Not really, more like the scent at the market near a table of strawberries and peaches. Soft and fresh.

I dressed and went for a ride. It was fun to explore the waterfront and the public artwork, the replica of a Portuguese bark from the 15^th century, and the rhythmic flow of the black and white cobblestones in the square. I stopped at a local café and had a cappuccino and pastel de nata and a sweet little conversation/interaction.

After I packed, my legs were still a little heavy. So I just kept up the rhythm of the cycle, round and round, to put down the miles.

It was really a magical ride. That underlying feeling of nausea was gone, replaced by a greed to breathe in the air, to drink the water, and to experience each sight that came my way.

There were hills. There were valleys. There were small narrow alleyways and always the cobblestones marking the time. I remember one sight that stopped me in my tracks was a flood of angel trumpets hanging over a wall with a tile sign indicating the Camino direction.

It started to rain some and I held out, kept riding until my glasses were so fogged that I couldn’t see. It wasn’t a cold rain, just a drizzle, like you were walking through a screen or a light gauze and it brushed against your skin.

But it was also past noon, near one, and so I looked for a place to eat. I found one that had a ton of Che Guevara paraphernalia, but they didn’t serve food. The owner recommended a place on the main road, so I went there to eat and wait out the rain.

I was interested in how I would feel or react to the smells, which in the past two days was decisive. But all seemed ok and so I ordered a half portion of grilled fish and a big bottle of water. The plate arrived with three breaded fish fillets, though they were fresh. I didn’t think they were grilled, not in the sense that we think of grilled. And they were just OK.

But the understudy of the potato salad really kicked it into high gear. I texted Julie that perhaps I was turning Idahoan. Seriously, this felt worthy of breaking that unspoken unrequested fast. Potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, peas, carrots, and mayo or some similar dressing. Simple, easy, earthy, thank you thank you thank you.

As good as it was, I couldn’t eat much of it, but I did my best. I’m never quite able to kick it with a full tummy, so I had a cup of mint tea while the last of the rain dissipated, and then I went back at it.

On this second part of the day I encounter a lot of mountain bikers. I had seen a few bike pilgrims (bicigrinos) mixed in with the lot, usually passing me. But this was different.

When I got to the top of one long, inglorious hill, there were fifteen to twenty of them resting in the area, with more joining them. After I got my pilgrim stamp at the chapel in that square, I continued on the way. Wrong move.

I should have waited for them. Instead, I had packs of three to five riders at a time either riding my ass or passing me as they did mountain biker shredding moves like kicking out the rear tires when they jumped over rocks. I stopped a few times to let them pass, but I felt for whatever walkers were in the middle of that narrow, twisted trail.

It was a challenging trail for my bike’s 20-inch tires. If I hit a rock with too steep a face, it would absolutely stop the bike. Which it did a few times, but I was not going fast enough to flip or otherwise wipe out. I wore my helmet, of course. I don’t normally like helmets and find them unnecessary for the kind of riding I do, but on unknown trails that show themselves to be wary of you, yes, please.

So I rode down what I could, walked many hundreds of meters, and made it down to the flats. Now all I had to do was cross the river to get to Viana do Costello.

I didn’t realize that you have to block traffic by riding in the lane as you cross the bridge. It doesn’t feel safe, but I have to say that I never felt too much at risk, as the drivers were either respectful or used to it, as every bike had to do it. Never felt too much at risk except for when my chain dropped mid-bridge with a string of cars behind me.

I had shifted from the small front chainring to the larger one to get more speed. Suddenly, nothing. Not only no power, but I couldn’t even rotate the crank. The chain was off the chainring, jammed somewhere in the gearing. Arg!

Fortunately, I had a little space behind me as the cars that were trailing me passed me when they had a chance. So I jumped off and hauled it up to the little two-foot walkway so that I could fix it. Crisis averted. Nothing to see here.

The old town was as beautiful and intriguing as pretty much every old Portuguese city that I’ve seen. What I didn’t know then, but what I’d find out that evening and especially the following, was that a big national holiday was this weekend (it’s Saturday night) and because the holiday (May 1st) was Monday, that meant a long weekend and the coasts were prime destination. Consequently, the hotels were booked. I tried and tried and tried.

I should say that T-Mobile says that they include unlimited internet in our plan. I should also say that I cannot open booking.com to book a hotel. It spins. Connection failed.

I hit the streets. Asking at this hotel or the other. Very old school of me. Nope, nope, nope, was their old school reply. I was resigned to riding to the next town (thank god I didn’t attempt that!) even though it was 7 o’clock and it was another 15 KM away. Straight up nasty hills, I will tell you tomorrow.

A nice man at the Rali hotel offered to call for me and he made quite a few and struck out until he arranged for me at the Hotel Jardim. 70 Euros, breakfast included. Yes, please. I am so thankful for that person and his parents who raised such a kind spirit. Thank you for not breaking his sweet nature. I realized too late that I hadn’t asked his name.

I rode down to the hotel and checked in. They, too, were super nice and gave me a king-size bed with a river view. I saw a hemp store on my way down to the hotel so after showering I ran up to the store in hopes of scoring some CBD sleep gummies. Those are the only ones that seem to help. They didn’t have any, but I did pick up some pastilles (for my sore throat) and cream for sore muscles.

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