We left our beautiful Casa Rurale in the rain this morning, and the track was muddy and full of puddles.

Everyone though was in good spirits after a wonderful meal last night, and the prospect today of a short walk – some 13kms or so.

After a short while, and a very pleasant walk, we came to a cafe that I remembered from my previous Portuguese Camino. On that occasion I had taken a photo of a young girl with purple glasses. Here is the photo I took two years ago –

The girl was there again, and so I took another photo of her –

The glasses have changed…

Inside the cafe were Bart and his daughter Merissa, and Laurie and her sister Marilyn. The four of them powered today.

We weren’t there long before Alistair and his wife Stella joined us –

After a coffee and a toasted ham and cheese sambo, I headed off with Alistair, Stella and Jennifer.

A couple more hours of walking and we came to a large market in a town called Cerdal. The market was a bit like the market in Barcelos, it was full of stalls that sold clothing, local produce, and live animals to eat.

I stumbled across a BBQ chicken stall, that at first I thought was just selling grilled chicken for takeaway.

The chicken and the grilled pork ribs looked yummy…

I then realised that there was a large marquee attached to it, and inside there were tables and chairs for a sit down meal.

So I sat down and ordered a meal.

I was soon joined by a group of young men and woman who it turned out came from Bolivia. They were fascinated to learn that I was walking to Santiago.

Their meal came before mine. I was starving, and they must have realised this, because they game me food from their plate – several pieces of yummy grilled chicken. It was so sweet and generous of them.

They put their chilli sauce on their chicken with a paint brush –

Later, when my meal came I repaid the gesture.

Today I walked a lot with Alistair and his wife Stella. Stella has worked as a counsellor for those with mental health issues. They are both High Anglicans, in Christchurch. I didn’t know what a High Anglican was until I met these two.

I thought it was an Anglican that was stoned.

I don’t think Alistair or Stella have been stoned in the time that I’ve spent with them. They are always very happy though so you never know.

And when Alistair breaks out into song at dinner time then I do wonder if he’s been sniffing the daisies a wee too much, as they say in New Zealand…

Here’s what my favourite reference guide – Wikipedia – says about High Anglicanism /

The term “high church” refers to beliefs and practices of ecclesiology, liturgy, and theology, generally with an emphasis on formality and resistance to “modernisation”. Although used in connection with various Christian traditions, the term originated in and has been principally associated with the Anglican/Episcopal tradition, where it describes Anglican churches using a number of ritual practices associated in the popular mind with Roman Catholicism.

We arrived at Valenca in the afternoon. The rain had stopped, and everyone skipped across to the old fort. Valence is the northern most part of Portugal won our Camino.

Jennifer and I met up with Marilyn first…

Then we bumped into Neville and Vivienne. We introduced them to the Spanish delights of Churros – which are like stick donuts covered in sugar.

Jennifer and I then wandered around and I took some photos of the fort. Soon I will be going to dinner with our group and no doubt they will show me their photos taken with their pissy little iPhone cameras, and I know it’s going to upset my digestion dreadfully because they’ll be way better than any of my shots…

Yes I know… that’s not exactly pilgrim talk…

Tomorrow we cross the river into Spain – and onwards to Santiago!

Today my full-sunshine reputation went totally down the toilet.

It rained.
Not a drizzle, but rain.

Well, at times it drizzled, but I guess when it drizzles constantly and in buckets, then you could arguably call it rain.

We left Ponte de Lima with threatening skies, walking over the magnificent Romanesque 22 span bridge.

We then made our way to the Last-Stop cafe before the big climb up to Rubiaes. Before I began the climb I had my requisite two Coke Zeros.

I remember last time I did that climb it was a struggle. It was hot, and I was knackered, and my mate Steve helped me along.

Today it was a breeze. I scampered up the climb no sweat. Probably because it was cooler, I was stronger from some solid training beforehand, and last year I did the Via de Francesco, which made today look like a cake walk.

I’m not sure what a cake walk is, but I suspect it’s a walk you do when you want to go get some cake…

Our group did well today.

Some jumped the hill climb, because they’ve developed injuries. The others did the climb without difficulty.

Bill the filmmaker was up top documenting it all.

I’m getting to know them.

The front mob consists of Jan, who is lithe and fit and clips along with her mate Marilyn at a solid pace. Vivienne walks with them too – and they natter as they walk, often chortling with laughter.

Walking with them for a bit, they reminded me of the three Witches of Eastwick –

Cher
Susan Sarandon
and Michelle Pfeiffer

(Ladies, you choose which one is which!) (or witch one is witch… haha)

Walking with them often is Ian, who walks without poles, wears shorts even when it’s bloody freezing, and makes walking 6kms per hour look effortless.

Today Bart was our front runner – and his daughter Merissa and Jennifer officially took the title of the back mob. The two of them had a lovely walk in the rain, Merissa taking photos which she showed me later. She took them on her smartphone and now I hate her too. She has a really good eye.

There are a lot of good photographers in this group. Maybe it’s a New Zealand thing.

Or rather, thung.

Today I walked up the mountain with a lady who is not with our group. Her name is Linda. She is in her 60s, although she looks younger, and her husband works for the UN.

I walked with her because yesterday she’d gotten talking to some in our group and she had expressed some nervousness about doing the climb today. She’s carrying some serious injuries from a broken neck sustained in a horse riding accident.

She can’t use poles, she can’t carry a backpack, and she was worried about the climb. So I thought it might be handy for someone to accompany her.

As we began the climb we chatted, and she told me that her husband works for the UN as an investigator. Like a detective. He chases down bad guys within the UN – at the moment those in the peace-keeping forces that are allegedly involved in illegal activities, such as rape, misappropriating funds, selling their firearms and weapons to the insurgents, etc.

He’s currently in a remote part of the Central African Republic, and she’s worried about him because she hasn’t heard from him for a while. I said that surely in his job, he would be a target. His life would be in constant jeopardy. She agreed, and said that he usually has security guards around him, but on this current assignment they didn’t show up, and so he called in for backup but because it’s so remote it’s taking a while.

Linda had a brief communication from him this morning before she set off – and said that she was a wee bit worried because he was worried. Later this evening she still hadn’t heard from him.

She handled the climb ok. It turned out she was a strong and accomplished walker.

At the point at which you cross into Agualonga, there is a large cross which has accumulated many more stones and mementos since I was last there…

I always find it a very emotional experience to think about the stories behind some of the photos left at these crosses.

We got to our Casa Rurale in the mid afternoon, and everyone was wet, cold, and bedraggled. We all had warm showers in rooms that are quite luxurious. Later we had a gorgeous home cooked meal which began with cod cakes and Padron peppers.

Towards the end of the dinner Neville, who is a supreme raconteur, told us a joke:

A man had to be an MC at a wedding, and so he went to a friend and said – Look, I have to be an MC at a wedding and I want a quick joke to break the ice. But I don’t know any jokes, and I don’t tell jokes particularly well, so can you help me out?

The friend said sure. Okay. Here is a quick and easy joke:

A Spanish fireman got married, and his wife bore him twin sons, so he called the first one Jose, and the second one Jos-b.

They both laughed, and the man said – Thank you, that’s perfect.

So the day of the wedding came, and the man stood in front of the assembled throng, and began by saying: I have a little joke for you. A Spanish fireman got married, and his wife bore him twin sons, so he called the first one A-hose, and the second one B-hose.

When Neville told this joke we all thought it was hilarious, but then again it could have been the White Port…

Knee Update: 

I’m sure there are many of you who follow this blog who are anxious to know how my knee is going. I decided not to bring my brace on this Camino – believing that if I took it, it would only set an intention for my knee to give me problems.

(A MRI taken a while ago showed that the cartilage in my right knee has completely left the building, and I am technically bone-on-bone. My orthopaedic surgeon told me I had to wear an elaborate brace when walking any distance, and said a knee replacement was not a matter of “if,” but “when.”)

Ha!

So I’ve been walking 5 days now, and done about 100kms, without the brace, and the knee is holding up ok. I’ve had some twinges, and today was a real test, going up that mountain, but particularly coming down the other side, which put a lot of stress on the knee.

I checked my knee this evening and noticed that it’s quite swollen. So I put some Voltaren cream on it.

I hope it gets me to Santiago ok. I don’t wish to go on Ibuprofen again…

Today it rained.

It finally destroyed  my record for rain-free days, but the farmers needed it.

That’s how I rationalised the crushing disappointment.

It was light rain, barely rain really, but given that I had to put on a rain jacket, I could no longer call it drizzle.

With mist hanging in the mountains, and glowering skies, it made for a very beautiful walk. Particularly with Spring flowers everywhere.

It was a longish day – more than 20kms – but everyone was in good spirits. The day remained cool, and after lunch the rain stopped – so it was wonderful walking weather.

Jennifer hung out as usual with the back mob, and they meandered in late – having had a relaxed and fun day.

Walking into Ponte de Lima is one of the highlights of this Camino. It has to be the most beautiful entrance to any town on this route.

This evening we all went into the historic centre to have dinner.

the town was all lit up for festivities…

Jose, the wonderful agent who has helped organise the tour, lives in Ponte de Lima and popped in to say hello – and connect up with Antonio.

After dinner, we walked over and looked at the Romanesque bridge and the church beyond… Tomorrow we will be crossing that bridge and heading up into the mountains for the toughest day of the tour.

Today wasn’t a particularly long day’s walk – 21kms – but it was hot (up to 38C), on cobblestones pretty much the whole way, and hard work.

The heat made it difficult for most of us. Radiating up off the cobblestones, it was enervating.

Before we started, I took some portraits.
This is Antonio.

Antonia is our driver / assistant / our helper / fixer. He is our Caterina. Some of the ladies think he’s good looking. Antonio isn’t just a pretty face. He’s an architect. Taking out time from a high powered internship to do this tour.

This is Merissa. Merissa has allergies, and so she has to walk with a mask.

Cool look.

This is Merissa’s father, Bart. Bart used to be in the US Navy. His specialty was electronics. Bart is handy when we get lost.

He’s out of the Forces now and works for Intel.

Bart and Merissa come from Portland Oregon – one of my favourite parts of the world – and they are a fascinating couple. At the age of 14 Bart pulled a car apart and reconstituted it.

This is Ian leaning on Bart.

Ian works for Air New Zealand and he’s fleet of foot. He’s a solid walker.

Bart and Ian and I walked together today. We were the front mob.

Jennifer had a languid breakfast with the back mob –

I have named them the Laggard Womens Breakfast Club.

Later Jennifer redeemed herself as a true pilgrim by walking into Barcelos –

We had dinner at my favourite grilled chicken joint – the Furna, in Barcelos.

This is one end of the table –

This is the other end of the table –

This is both ends of the table joined together…

This is the staff watching the Champions League semi-final between Real Madrid and Manchester City. (The tv in this exposure is blown out, however trust me there’s a footy match being played…)

Real Madrid won.

Meanwhile I was having an interesting conversation with Bart, being an American, about Donald Trump, seeing as how today he became the presumptive Republican party nominee.

This is Donald Trump –

Finally we broke the ice and started walking today.

We did a jump in the van, avoiding the messiness of leaving Porto, and began our Camino on the outskirts of the city – not before though taking a group shot outside our hotel.

Heading off –

This was our first official way marker –

The route took us through some small villages and across some medieval bridges – in all about 18kms of walking. It was sunny and a warmish day, and combined with lots of kms of cobblestones, it made for a tiring day for some.

As usual, I walked with the front mob, Jennifer with the back mob.

The back mob I suspect had more fun than the front mob. The back mob stopped in bars and drank beer. (They have yet to be introduced to the wicked delights of White Port.)

Note the use of capitals…

The journey is being documented by filmmaker Bill Brystock.

Jennifer and I stopped in at Vila d’Arcos and met up with Catarina and Belmira and Alfredo – three wonderful friends. Catarina is now a lawyer and is studying for her PhD and to become a judge.

Tomorrow we head to Barcelos, one of our favourite haunts on the Portuguese Camino. We will wake up on Thursday morning to the craziness of the famed Barcelos Markets.

All up it was a great start to the tour…

That’s shorthand for Portuguese Camino 2016 – Day Zero…

Meaning tomorrow on Day 1 we begin the walk.

This afternoon Jennifer and I met the group we’ll be spending the next two weeks with – wonderful people who each have a story – in fact, many stories. Each have come to this Camino for a particular reason – whether they know that reason right now or not.

During the next two weeks you will get to know these people – with their approval and sanction – and possibly you might also get to hear their story, or stories.

The Portuguese Camino is a short Camino – only 240kms or so from Porto – and yet it’s a very powerful pilgrimage. Several of those who accompanied us on our last tour found it to be extremely cathartic, and cleansing.

The Camino can wallop you when you least it expect it.

Tonight over dinner there was an undercurrent of nervousness. No one in this group has walked a Camino before, and so there was a level of anxiety amongst them as to whether they’ll make it or not.

They’ll make it.
And they will forge memories that will stay with them the rest of their lives.

Jennifer and I arrived in Fatima this afternoon, and did a scout for filming tomorrow.

Here are some images, taken on my compact Sony RX1OO MkIII…

Continuing on from the post yesterday, from famed psychic healer Michael Tamura – he sent me a 2nd email which detailed a remarkable story about how his intuition literally saved a woman’s life.

Here’s the story –

Michael Tamura – 

I was returning back to my hotel room in LA after a very long day of teaching all day followed by a series of meetings culminating with a late dinner meeting with a friend.  That friend dropped me off back at the hotel and I headed straight for the elevator to take me up to the floor my room was on.  

But, as I stepped into the elevator and before the doors closed, I had a vague thought that maybe I should go to the hotel gift store before going upstairs and get myself a couple of bottles of water and perhaps a magazine or two to read to unwind from a strenuous day.  That thought was like the proverbial cane in the vaudeville act hooking me around my neck to pull me off the stage – or in this case, the elevator before the doors closed me in.  

So, I went to the gift store to buy the water and magazines.  As soon as I got to the magazine rack, however, the young Chinese manager walked up to me – with no one else in the store – and asked me if I was the “spiritual healer” that everyone was talking about today who was teaching some kind of seminar on healing in the hotel.  He said a bunch of people talked about this teacher in his store this afternoon.  

I said that I was a spiritual healer and I was teaching seminars that weekend in the hotel so most likely that must be me.  Then, he asked if he could ask me a question.  At first, I thought, “Oh, no, there goes my desperately needed kick back and relax time before falling asleep.”  But, as I asked him what his question was, I was duly impressed with his sincerity and depth of interest.  

He pointed to a position on the countertop and said, “If this is our death, and…” pointing to another spot on the counter, “….this is our rebirth, then, what happens in between?” And, he indicated the space between the death point and the rebirth point on the imagined line.

Well, it was the beginning of another class session.  But, he quickly said, “I’ll be right back.” And then he disappeared into the back store room.  When he reappeared, he brought three plastic milk carton crates and put them down upside down on the floor and motioned me to please have a seat.  

I laughed, thinking, “Now, I’m a hostage in a hotel gift shop!”  To make that thought complete, the man went to the front door, reversed the “open” sign to “closed” and locked the door from the inside! Hahaha…. I was doomed.  Then, he ran back into the store room and this time emerged with a pretty, shy, young Chinese woman in tow.  They each took their place on the remaining crates. Now, I had a classroom with two willing students!

After talking about dying, the afterlife and rebirth for about an hour, I told the two of them that that was enough talk.  Would he like to experience a little healing?  Of course he would.  By this point, I was certain that this gathering was no accident and I was there to help him with some kind of deep struggle he was having.  

As I started to give him a healing, I immediately saw his mother, obviously in spirit, laughing and dancing around him in delight.  I described the woman and asked if that was his mother.  Before he could answer fully, the young woman sitting on the other crate jumped up and started practically shouting at him saying, “I told you! I told you! Your mother is laughing and dancing around you! I’ve seen her like that when I visit you in your apartment!”  It was getting quite interesting.

The man got a bit teary-eyed as he spoke of his mother’s death four years prior.  I thought, “So this was the healing he needed.” But, then, I saw a young Chinese boy around him as well after the mother went away.  I asked the man if he had also lost a brother when he was a child.  That’s when the damn broke.  

Between his sobs, I could tell the guilt he felt so I asked him how his brother died.  When the man was 12 years old and his brother was 8 or 9, he took his brother bike riding and they were having a great time.  But, when they were riding along a culvert, his brother lost control of his bike and fell into the water and drowned.  The man had lived with that guilt ever since and blamed himself almost on a daily basis.  

When I told him about where his brother was since that accident and that he held no animosity whatsoever, no blame, but had enormous love for him, he visibly changed from a stooped shouldered, troubled man into the kind, laughing, generous man that he was.  I thought, “Ah, so this was the real healing.”

Of course, I noticed the young woman wanting to have that kind of healing as well, so I asked her if she would like one and she literally teleported herself onto the healing crate the man stepped away from.  Her healing revealed that there was an impasse between her and her very traditional Chinese mother.  The young woman disclosed to me that she was deeply in love with the young man, the store manager, and they wish to marry, but her mother absolutely refuses to give her consent.  

I went into quite a bit of detail as to what her mother’s thinking about it all was and that it wasn’t that she was against her marrying this man, but that she was trying to protect her well being.  I told her that with communication and a little time, her mother was going to come around, especially after we worked on some past-life karmic issues between the two of them.  By the end of the healing, the young woman was smiling for the first time since I met her.

It was past 1 AM and I was finally going to be able to get some sleep! The manager realized that he intercepted me from doing what I was in his store in the first place for so he asked me what it was I came into the store to get.  When I told him that I just wanted to get some water and a couple of magazines to take back to my hotel room, he ran over to the magazine rack and grabbed a whole assortment of them along with two liter bottles of water and put them all in a big bag.  “On the house!” he announced and thanked me for giving the two of them all the communication and healing.

We all stepped out of the store into the darkened hallway as he fumbled with the lock to lock up the shop for the night.  Meanwhile, as he struggled with the key, the woman pulled me aside away from his earshot and whispered into my ear, “Thank you for saving my life tonight.”  

I took that as hyperbole coming from the afterglow of the healing she got, but, she reiterated it saying, “It is true. You saved my life tonight because if it weren’t for all that you said about my mother and the healing you gave us, I was going to go back to my apartment and kill myself.”  She then unfolded a piece of paper with her final love letter and suicide note that she had already written to her fiance!  She told me that because of what I told her she realized that she didn’t have to kill herself.

Three months later, the two of them got married with the full blessings of both families.  Six months later, they found and bought their first home.  A year later, she was pregnant.  The last I saw and heard of them, they were working on their third child and happily moving along their path.

Yes, intuition, when followed through, changes lives for the better.  I followed mine and they followed theirs.  All of our lives were enriched by our coming together.  And, intuition reveals itself in a variety of forms.  Rather than my PGS telling me, “Go to the hotel gift store and talk to the manager about life and death,” it suggested that I might want to get a bottle of water and a magazine or two to read before hitting the sack.