I woke up early, looked out the window, this is what I saw –

Today would be the steepest gnarliest section of the Portuguese Camino.

For those of us who’ve walked the Camino Frances, it shouldn’t be a problem. I mean after all, it was only 450m, and we’d climbed much higher steeper mountains than that – like O Cebreiro, and the big mother of them all, the Pyrenees.

So this should be a breeze…

The Landers Express left the hotel in Ponte de Lima early, heading out over the old Roman bridge festooned with palm leaves for Palm Sunday, coming up. The Landers Express is the steam train that encompasses Peter and Julie Lander, and Ken and Angela Mitchell.

They click over in excess of 5km/hr, which is swift – particularly given that Ken and Angie have never walked a Camino before. If you stand by the track as they choof past you, your hair will be ruffled and your cheeks will turn pink…

Steve, Arlene and I decided to walk together this morning. Arlene did some exercises while Steve struck a pose.

The track went through some very beautiful countryside – the most beautiful so far – made more so by the wonderful sunny weather.

After about three and a half hours walking we decided to stop for our first break – at a small bar/restaurant in the township of Revolta, at the foothills of the mountains.

Revolta is how I felt abut the steep climb coming up.

Soon Jennifer and Marie the Basque had joined us. And very soon, the conversation had turned existential.

Marie the Basque kicked it off by saying boldly, and for no other reason than she felt strongly about it, that you could not “cheat” on the Camino. You could not pretend to be someone you weren’t if you walked the Camino.

She said the Camino revealed your true nature – and some couples who were considering marriage walked the Camino to test their suitability to each other. She said they reasoned that if they could survive the Camino together, then they could survive marriage.

Steve proffered that the Camino was not the real world –

I agreed – and said the Camino was a hermetically sealed biosphere where you have no status, no attachments – there’s nothing to indicate if you had a fancy car or a high powered job or you were a millionaire or on welfare – nothing to indicate your place in the world other than the way you related to other pilgrims.

Everything was pared back to the essentials, I argued – and so human failings and strengths could reveal themselves without the smoke screens of power or wealth – or the lack thereof.

Steve’s point was that you can only really test a marriage through the furnace of domestic routine – that walking the Camino was not a relevant test of a marriage partner.

I argued though that the Camino ultimately will reveal your true nature, your true character – getting back to Marie’s point that you can’t “cheat” the Camino – that it will show whether you’re empathetic, tolerant, patient, dutiful – whether you can hang in there and stick it out through the hard times, whether you buckle at the first obstacle.

Steve hurrumphed and grabbed his poles and set off up the hill. I called out to him, pointing out that he’d left his backpack behind. He stopped, realised his mistake, then yelled back that he expected Arlene to carry it for him.

Steve has a wicked sense of humour. Fortunately, so does Arlene.

We climbed – and it was a tough series of steep and rocky sections which challenged us all – expect for Steve, the older in the group, who skipped up the mountain like a teenager.

Steve takes testosterone weekly. He’s been doing this for twenty odd years – via injection. He believes this is what keeps his youthfulness, and he advocates it for every man over the age of 50.

Arlene argues that it’s not natural – that a man shouldn’t go injecting himself with something to keep himself virile. It’s against the laws of nature.

Steve laughs, and says: Hey, if I’ve got the capacity to keep myself young and lean and strong just by taking testosterone, why not do it? Why not make my life better?

Arlene says she can’t win a point against Steve – he has such an elemental view of life – he says: This is who I am. You can take it or leave it. I am not going to change. If you don’t like who I am, then it’s your problem not mine…

Steve takes a lot of photos of flowers. I tell him that’s girly. He says that’s why women find him attractive – because of the balance between the muscles and the flowers. He says women feel safe around him.

Arlene laughs, and keeps walking.

I found the climb tough today. I was getting very hurtful pain in my instep of my right foot. Steve explained that because I was wearing a brace for my right knee, it was throwing the biodynamics of my right leg completely out of whack.

On the uneven rocky surfaces, my knee was remaining rigid, and that was affecting the flexibility of my muscles around my ankle and foot.

It kind of made sense.

I did the climb slowly, and I did the climb down again even more slowly. Steve, being the gentleman that he is, hung back and guided me.

We finally made it to the Casa Rurale by about 5:30pm. The Landers Express had pulled into the station about three hours ahead of us. They were sitting out in the sun on a terrace outside the renovated farmhouse, drinking wine and beer and laughing at us for arriving so late.

Forty five minutes later, Jennifer and Marie came in. They were slow because Marie had convinced Jennifer that it was good for the muscles to go up the hills backwards.

Tomorrow we walk into Spain. And it’s Palm Sunday. Semana Santa – the Spanish celebrations for Easter, will begin to kick in. It should be a fascinating week…

It’s interesting for me to begin to reflect now on what’s different to the last Camino –

This time last year I walked the Camino Frances – 800+kms – and I did it alone.

Now I’m walking the Camino Portuguese – 240+kms – and I’m doing it with a group.

Not only am I doing it with a group, but I’m leading the group. People have paid to come on this tour, and I have certain responsibilities.

Last Camino I had knee pain from Day 1. And it only got worse from there. I did the whole pilgrimage on maximum dosages of pain killers.

This time I’m wearing an elaborate prosthetic knee brace and so far I’ve had no pain at all.

These are the simple superficial differences.

There are deeper differences.

I set off on the first day with a Garmin GPS watch and a chest strap monitor to record distances traveled, speed, heart rate, calories expended, etc…

Part way through that first day I realised that the GPS wasn’t working properly. It needed resetting. So did I.

At the end of the day I took off the watch, I took off the chest strap, I put them in a Ziplock bag, and I haven’t taken them out since. I felt strongly that I didn’t need to know that stuff.

I thought it would be important to me, but I quickly realised that I was trying to quantify something that couldn’t be quantified.

This was the first indication to me that I was wanting to let go.

That I was needing to let go.

On the second day I disappeared.

Yes, I got lost leaving Vila do Conde – horribly lost – and then It took me over four hours to walk 12 kms to Arcos. I was walking alone and suddenly I was no longer a tour leader, I was a pilgrim again.

It was glorious.

The others must have started to get worried about me – wondering where I was. My phone rang and rang, and I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. I needed to be alone.

And then I had a very strong desire to just walk straight past Villa d’Arcos – where Caterina’s mother had prepared a magnificent morning tea for us. I really didn’t want to spend time with anyone.

I was in another place.

But it would have been insulting to Caterina’s mum. And so I dropped in, but I found I was detached. I couldn’t really engage.

After spending a courteous amount of time there, I left and a few kilometres later, I went into the old Roman church in the next town.

I’d been pulled into the church, for some reason. I’d been in it before – I’d already seen it and photographed it – and because I’d started the day getting lost, I had to make up time.

But still I couldn’t walk past that church without stepping inside.

And then I had that transcendent experience where I put on my sunglasses, about to get up and leave, and my body-heat fogged up the glasses – and I was taken to another dimension. I can’t describe it with any greater lucidity than that.

It was ethereal.

This Camino is different. There aren’t nearly so many pilgrims as on the Camino Frances. And all the Portuguese people you meet are incredibly friendly and helpful – not that the Spanish aren’t on the CF – but the Portuguese have a lightness of spirit that is endearing.

They’re quick to laugh – and they will go out of their way to help you.

One of the other things I’m observing is that I am not referring to maps or to the guide book. I’m leaving in the morning and I’m walking outside my hotel and I’m allowing the Way to lead me. I’m allowing the day to unfold as it’s meant to – for me.

Yes I’ve got lost, and yes I’ve had to refer to the map to get me un-lost, but I never read up on what’s ahead the next day. I never know what’s coming up. And so I have no anxiety, I have no fear, and I’m finding the path is full of wonderful surprises.

Also, I never check on the weather. If it’s going to rain, there’s very little I can do to stop it. All I can do is alter my clothing. That’s ok. I’ve got wet weather gear. It’s simple – if it rains, I put on a rain jacket. And I make sure my backpack is covered.

I refuse to fret over what I can’t control.

I can’t control the weather. I can control my reaction to the weather, and so I leave it at that.

I’m not good walking with groups. This is because I can never keep up. I always want to stop and take photos. But yesterday for a period there, I walked with some of the others and we had a blast.

Yes we got a bit tipsy, but in quiet conversations with some of them as we walked, I learnt more about them as people – why they were doing this tour, this pilgrimage – and I began to get a deeper sense of who they were and what mattered to them.

They asked me questions too – and it required me to think about things on a more profound level. And to articulate those thoughts in an honest way.

A good teacher learns from his or her students, I’m learning from the folks on this tour.

There’s more to come – more to learn…

Today was always going to be a big day – 34kms. That’s a long way.

Some of us wanted to do the full distance, some opted for a shorter walking day –

Steve & Arlene & Angela – 14kms
Jennifer & Marie & Donna – 20kms
Peter & Julie, Ken & Greg, and myself – 34kms.

For those of us wanting to walk the full stage, it meant we had to return to Barcelos and pick up the Camino from where we left off.

We checked out of the hotel at Bom Jesus early – and by 7:30am we were back at Barcelos and on our way.

Peter and Julie are experienced walkers, and they set a cracking pace. Ken, walking his first Camino, had no problem keeping up. Greg and I hung back a bit but even so after an hour we’d walked 5.6kms, according to Peter’s Garmin GPS.

We stopped for coffee – meanwhile the others were back at the hotel having breakfast, and getting ready to head out – to pick up the Camino further up the track, closer to our final destination of Ponte de Lima.

I had a quick espresso at the roadside cafe and set off on my own – I got some fine shots of the quartet coming towards me –

And a trio going away…

Ken hung back to chat with me –

Around 11:30am and after having already walked about 20kms, we stopped again for a refresher – this time at a little bar. As we walked in Peter noticed a glass of white port on the counter – frosty cold.

Agreeing that a little cold white port might give us the zip we required to complete the walk, Peter dutifully ordered a round.

We stepped outside, chatted, and soon realised the port had gone.

I put it down to evaporation in the hot sun.

We all agreed that nature was grossly unfair, so we walked back into the bar and ordered another round – this time Ken shouted.

We chatted some more. And we laughed a lot.

We all agreed that you get fewer blisters when you walk in a relaxed manner, and we all agreed that the port was making us relaxed. So for the sake of our feet, we ordered another round. I think I paid. But from this point on, things got a little hazy.

I remember we agreed that it was grossly unfair that three people had shouted a round, and the other two hadn’t. We all agreed that this inequity should be redressed, so Greg ponied up the next round.

I do recall speaking to the bar lass – her name was Caterina, I remember that much. I remember that because of our Caterina. They both had the same name. I remember.

And I remember instructing her to fill my glass up right to the brim, because she’d left a tiny tiny sliver of the glass empty. I good naturally admonished her – then took her photograph to make her feel better about herself.

I don’t remember much more after that.

I do though remember Julie did the honourable thing and shouted the last round. By this stage we’d drunk nearly three bottles of white port between five of us. The issue of blisters was no longer relevant. We felt no pain.

We had another 14kms to walk.

It’s really hard walking when you’re legless.

I noticed that the standard of my photography had deteriorated somewhat.

I was having trouble with headroom…

We set off, and Julie killed a snake. At least that’s what she told me, and I was prepared to believe anything she told me. I was prepared to believe anything anyone told me.

At some further indeterminate place, at an indeterminate time, we stopped for another drink. I know this because I took some photos.

I don’t know who these people were. At the time, they seemed friendly enough – in retrospect though, they look like serial killers.

We were lucky to get out of there alive…

I don’t have much else to report on today. Other than the last few kilometres into Ponte de Lima were beautiful.

I met two young blokes walking in – Miguel and Pedro. Miguel is a pharmacist and Pedro is studying to become a psychologist. Smart young men. They’re walking their second Camino Portuguese –

I was the last one in, of course. Donna & Greg were laying in wait to ambush me with a photo of myself walking in through the avenue…

We’re staying at a magnificent boutique hotel – and we had a glorious meal made by the hotelier’s wife – all local specialities. We agreed it was the best meal of the tour so far.

Marta, who works for the hotel and organised our accommodation and meal, was a total gem, and she got a round of applause from everyone when she successfully took a group shot.

She was terrified she wouldn’t get the headroom right…

To complete the evening, Steve showed us a picture of himself on his 70th birthday. I told him I thought he should make this a feature of each meal in future…

Kind of like an after dinner mint…

Today was a rest day – and I think we all appreciated it.

Donna woke up with a burgeoning chest infection, and Caterina whisked her away to a doctor. By mid afternoon she was feeling much better.

The famous Barcelos markets were on – the hotel was situated right opposite – and so after breakfast we wandered over and explored.

Barcelos is famous for it’s chicken and poultry – the symbol of the district is the cock.

Whooosh –
That’s the sound of that one going through to the keeper….

The market sold all sorts of things –

Note to Barcelos Health Department – please ask this lady not to pick her nose while she’s holding a cock…

Caterina then began a shuttle in the Mercedes van, transporting the group over to Bom Jesus.

Just to explain – we’re leaving the Camino for one day to spend the afternoon/night at Bom Jesus, which is truly spectacular. It’s about 25km from Barcelos – a magnificent church on a mountain looking out over Braga. There are a couple of luxury hotels situated beside the church, and we’re staying in the best one.

There’s a beautiful terrace looking out over the view – which is where everyone convened for a late lunch and drinks.

While Caterina took Peter & Julie and Ken & Angie up to Bom Jesus, Jennifer and I had lunch with Steve and Arlene – a pilgrim’s lunch for €10 which was delicious – then we went for a wander into the old part of Barcelos, overlooking the river.

We had coffee overlooking the river – and Steve gave us a pose…

Marie the Basque, however, decided that she wanted to keep walking, and so she headed off this morning following the Camino. Her intention was to to walk a good way up the Camino towards Ponte de Lima – where we’re staying tomorrow tonight. She wanted to reduce her mileage tomorrow. Tomorrow’s walk is the longest of the trip – 34kms.

Marie later in the day phoned to say that she’d done about 17kms, and so we arranged for a cab to pick her up and bring her to our hotel.

I can’t believe that today is only day 3. It seems that we’ve experienced so much in such a short period of time. Everyone is getting on really well – and we’re spending a lot of time laughing.

Tomorrow is a big walk but some of the group will start part way up the Camino and cut their walk from 34kms to 20kms.

I want to do the full distance, and so do a few others.

There’s no macho stuff here, no competition – everyone respects everyone else’s personal approach to this Camino.

Whether they van it part of the way, or whether they walk the whole way, really it doesn’t matter. We’re all having a good time, enjoying each other’s company, eating wonderful food, staying in nice digs, and we’re all pilgrims.

Speaking of which, the hotel gave us a very romantic room with a double bed tonight…

Why do I make life so difficult?

 First, let me admit to a clerical typing error.

In the itinerary, I said today was going to be 18kms. An easy walk after yesterday’s 25-26kms.

Actually, I realised to my horror that today’s walk was going to be 30kms.

How did this happen? I can proffer numerous reasons – I’d prefer not to use the word “excuses” because that confers an element of liability – but needless to say when I announced this to the tour group last night, I was met with stunned silence.

Probably because I referred to it as a “data entry miscalculation.”

I’d timed my announcement after everyone had had at least two glasses of wine – hoping their slight inebriation would dull their senses – but they were onto me straight away, of course.

Angie asked cuttingly: Have you made any other “data entry misevaluations Bill?”

I told her evasively I’d get back to her on that one…

We decided to leave early the next morning, given that we had to walk such a long distance. I left at 7:30am, and went straight to the ATM machine to pull out some cash. This should have been my first warning.

Instead of using my cash-loaded Travel Card, I used my credit card by mistake. Which means I’m up fort a bucket load of bank fees. This should have alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t yet engaged my brain in meaningful and useful activity, like figuring out where to begin the day’s walk.

I checked the map of the route, which had me crossing the bridge, turning right, and following the river for several kilometres.

So that’s what I did – I crossed the bridge, I turned right, and I followed the river for several kilometres. I even had a bunch of yellow arrows to assure me that I was going the right way – even if some of them were on mobile garbage bins.

I was starting to feel good – even though I’d only had instant coffee from an urn in the hotel’s breakfast room before I left. In retrospect, I lay blame there…

I did though take some nice shots…

But then three things happened.

1. The yellow arrows disappeared.
2. The river disappeared. Or at least, it turned into a large puddle.
3. I saw a road sign to Porto.

I’d walked from Porto two days ago. I like the place a lot, but I didn’t want to walk back.

I was going the wrong way.

I looked again at the map. Yes, cross the bridge, turn right, and follow the river. That’s what I’d done.

But hold on a minute….

You were on the north side of the river, not the south side, you moron.

I turned the map upside down, and then it all made sense. Instead of crossing the bridge and turning right, I should have not crossed the bridge and turned left. 

The instant coffee from the urn had totally stuffed things up. I’d been walking for about 45 minutes, which means I’d walked about 3 kilometres. And now I had to walk 3 kilometres back again.

On a day when I had to walk 30 kms, to have to walk an extra 6 kms because I’d ingested bad coffee was not very uplifting. You’ll note here that I refuse to accept responsibility for my stupidity, I lay all the blame at the feet of Nescafe…

So I dutifully walked back, got to the bridge, crossed it, turned right, and headed off – now one and a half hours later, with a deficit of 6kms.

 After walking for a further 5kms or so, I found a coffee shop and went in and ordered a proper espresso coffee, along with a Coke Zero with ice.

There was a pretty girl sitting behind me. She was staring at me. Why would she stare at me, I wondered. She was young, and very pretty. Surely she was not trying to ht on me.

And then I noticed something akin to disapproval in her stare. Did she think drinking espresso and Coke Zero with ice was gross?

Actually, I realised that she wasn’t exactly staring at me, she was staring at my backpack, on which I’d affixed my Bonds Comfy Undies to get them dry. They were splayed out on the dirty floor…

i downed the drinks fast and headed back out again.

I saw a pilgrim up ahead. I caught up with her, and we chatted. Her name was Sandra, and she was from Germany.

She’d stayed at the fire station in Vila do Conde the previous night – because she was a pilgrim there was no charge, nor did they charge her for the meal they cooked, and the beer they provided.

I told her to drop in at Caterina’s mum’s house – Villa d’Arcos – about 7kms further up the Camino. We had arranged to have morning tea there, and she could join us.

She moved on ahead, and I stayed back and took some more shots.

Caterina’s mother, Belmira, put on a fabulous spread. She told me that most of the group had been and gone. Because I was running an hour and a half behind, there was no way I could catch up to them.

Little did I know that they would take a wrong turn not long after leaving Arcos, and they would – like me – get horribly lost.

I went into an old Roman church not far from Arcos, in part because I’d now walked about 21kms, and i was tired and sore. The church inside was very simple, but it had an energy, a power, that was palpable.

Sitting in a pew, I began to ask myself some questions:

• Why am I doing this tour?
• Was Jesus just a wise young man with a lot of charism?
• How come I say I’m not religious and yet I always come in and sit in churches and ask myself questions which can never be answered?

A strange thing happened. I put my sunglasses back on, about to leave, and the heat from my body fogged the lenses. Everything around me suddenly shifted into another dimension. It was ethereal.

Yes I was exhausted, yes I was merely looking at everything through fogged up sunnies, but it was more than that. I was somewhere else. Time stood still. I couldn’t see anything other than the cross against a sliver of light from a window behind. It was transcendent.

It freaked me out. I took off my sunnies and quickly left.

I’d left Arcos without a water bottle. I’d given mine to Jennifer, because she’d been vomiting and she needed hydration. But I was now three hours from Arcos, walking in the hot sun in the middle of the day, and I was getting thirsty.

No, I wasn’t getting thirsty, I was getting desperately thirsty.

I kept walking around bends in the track, hoping to see a store or a cafe – but there was nothing. I walked another hour – four hours now since I’d had a drink, and I was starting to feel very woozy.

There’d been no villages, no stores, not even any taps in someone’s front yard where i could sneak in and gulp down some water.

I was starting to get worried. I was walking through the heat of the day, and I was beginning to suffer from dehydration.

Then I saw, as if a mirage, a house in the woods. It was a modern house, and there were some men outside doing some painting.

I walked over, and asked if I could get some water.

They looked at me oddly, as if asking themselves: Why would this bloke who looks like a serious pilgrim not have any water?

One of the young painters gestured to me to follow him inside into the house. There he went to a refrigerator, and pulled out a cold bottle of water. I gulped it down, thankfully, then he gave me some more. And he refused payment.

I walked off with my newly acquired water bottle full to the brim.

Today’s walk was largely over cobblestones or on roads. Hard surfaces. I’d estimate 90% of today’s walk was on hard surfaces. My feet were getting very sore.

I got a call from Caterina – a few more of the group had got lost. They were going to use the van to go through to Barcelos, where we were due to spend the night.

I kept walking. I was taking some nice shots.

But when I saw a cafe I decided that after 7hrs walking without a break, other than that time in the church and the early coffee with the Comfy Undies moment, it was time to sit down for a while.

I ordered two Coke Zeros, with ice – and a large bottle of water. I was still dehydrated.

It turned out I’d stopped at a famous haunt – run by Antionio. There was a pilgrim sitting inside and we had a chat. Her name was Cathy and she was from America. Virginia.

As we talked I saw Jennifer walking past, and I yelled out to her.

She’d walked all the way from Arcos – some 15kms or so, and was feeling much better. We decided to walk together into Barcelos, which was still another 9kms away.

I then broached a subject which I’d been considering while walking alone –

Me: Sweetheart, I’ve decided that for the duration of this pilgrimage, I’m going to remain celibate. I think that’s what a pilgrim should do.

Jen: (dryly) Suits me.

Me: (hurt) That’s not exactly the kind of response I was wanting.

Jen: (indifferently) Exactly what kind of response were you wanting Bill?

Me: (pathetically) I was wanting something like – Gee Bill, do you really think that’s necessary? I mean, I think you should seriously rethink that one…

Jen: (says nothing, merely stares at me…)

Me; (quickly) Or words to that effect…

Jen: (again, dryly) This is why I like walking alone…

We walked into Barcelos – across the bridge and into the old part of town. I ended up walking 36kms – Jennifer 20kms. We were both tired and sore.

We went out to dinner at my favourite Barcelos chicken joint, and we all had a great feed.

Coming back into the room after dinner, I realised we’d been given twin beds.

Me: (grumbling) They should have given us a double…

Jen: (smiling) Pilgrim…

In the photo above, in last night’s post, I said Greg and Debbie got a little lost in a bar.

Actually it’s Greg and Donna.

I was very tired lat night, and didn’t end up publishing that post until just before midnight – so I apologise for the mistake. I’ve gone back and corrected it.

Also the comments you’re all making are fabulous, thank you – and we all read them avidly.

There will be times on this Camino when it might take me a few days to reply, but I will reply – it might just not be straight away, because the demands on my time are quite acute.

We’re all having a really great time. It’s a wonderful bunch of people. That’s what’s making this very special.

Also, for that bloke on the beach having sex – and thinking I’m a pervert – here’s a photo just for you mate…

We’ve just had dinner at one of the finest seafood restaurants in all of Porto – a small place right opposite the docks, where they cook your meal over hot coals on a grill out on the street.

And walking back to the hotel, it hit me hard that tomorrow morning we start walking the Portuguese Camino de Santiago.

With all the good eating and the swish hotels and the cabs here and the Mercedes van there, it’s easy to forget that we’re about to start a pilgrimage tomorrow. We’ll be setting off on the way of St. James.

St. James has a particular connection to Portugal which I’ll talk about during the coming days…

I reiterate here though that I’m not a Catholic, and I’m not even religious in the conventional sense. But I do feel keenly the significance of what we, or rather I, am about to undertake. I say “I” because I can’t speak for the others on this. Each will walk for their own reasons. Which is how it should be.

For me, this has been a difficult period leading up to the walk. I’ve had work commitments which have interrupted my training, and so I don’t feel as physically prepared as I was this time last year.

As well, I’ll be walking with a knee brace this time. I’m unsure how my knee will hold up doing long miles day after day.

Mentally – or spiritually – I don’t feel as well prepared either. The tour has taken an inordinate amount of organising – more than would be apparent if you just looked at the itinerary – and so it’s inhabited the space in my brain that by rights should have been set aside for initialising into the Way.

Tomorrow I begin a pilgrimage – tour leader or no – and so when I wake in the morning, I will be a pilgrim, setting off on The Way.

A few things about today:

• Catarina joined us, and brought a wonderful sunny clean energy into the group with her arrival.
• We picked up the van – a brand new Mercedes Benz eight seater. To be driven by Catarina, it will shadow us along the way.
• We moved into the Porto Mar Hotel, in Matosinhos down by the docks of Porto – and close to the start of the coastal route.
• 
• I held the first photo tutorial, and talked about the importance of ISO selection. The first fundamental decision you need to make before you take any photo, is deciding what your ISO setting should be.
• We had dinner at one of Porto’s finest seafood restaurants and Steve showed us pictures of himself as a champion body builder.
• Then he showed us pictures of Jill, his ex wife…
• We walked back to the hotel in a thin fog, and passed a wall covered in scallop shells.
• 
• Greg used his newly acquired knowledge from the first Photo tutorial, and took photos using high ISO.
• I was very proud of him…

We’re complete now.

Coming down into the lobby this morning, I heard – Bill! –and was greeted by Peter and his wife Julie, and their two friends Ken and Angie.

This now makes our complete group.

Peter and Julie started their Camino four days ago, from a town just north of Lisbon. So they’ve already walked a long way to get here. They looked super fit – and with their backpacks and poles and Camino shine, they looked like serious pilgrims.

I’d last seen them in Zubiri, on day two of the Camino Frances last year. It was wonderful to see them again. And great to meet Ken and Angie. This will be their first Camino, yet they’ve been doing some very serious training in preparation.

Ken has a sly sense of humour that coldcocks you from behind. I’ll have to be on my guard when I’m around him…

I stepped outside the hotel to take a phone call, and I noticed this young man who was obviously smacked out of his brain trying to scam a pretty young lady. I’d seen this girl earlier – she was a pilgrim on the Camino, and she was having trouble getting rid of this bloke.

I wandered over and gave him €5. He was effusive in his thanks to me. He thought that this was an act of chivalry so that I could hook up with the pretty girl. He asked where I was from – I told him Australia – and he then proceeded to tell me that Australia made the best party drugs in the world.

I asked if I could take his photo –

Then as he walked away he yelled back at me and posed for a second photo –

 I walked back into the hotel, met up with Peter & Julie, Ken & Angie, and we went out and had coffee.

The waiter offered to take our photo. I instructed him carefully – even pre-focused and took a preview test shot of him sitting in for me, to show him the correct composition with proper head room, but of course he made a complete botch of it.

Here is his first attempt.

 See? Too much head room. And I’d specifically told him about head room.

But he was trying to frame for the buildings in the background. He saw himself as something of an artist, it turned out. Big mistake. I told him that no-one was interested in the buildings behind, they were interested in the people in front – and he’d given us too much headroom. Wasted space in the frame.

He tried again.

Here is his second shot.

 Again, totally unacceptable…  Too LITTLE head room this time. Again I took a shot of him sitting in for me, and told him why I’d framed it the way I had.

This is the correct amount of headroom. How hard is that? Jeeeeees. I mean, ok, the guy is just serving us coffee – but, if you’re going to take a photo, take it properly. Please.

Here is his final attempt.

 This is ok. Not great, but ok. The framing is still a bit how’s-your-father, but it’s acceptable.

Meanwhile, my new pilgrims who have just joined the tour, and have just met me, think I’m a complete and utter dick. A total control freak.

Thing is, Greg – of Greg and Donna fame – Greg who runs a pool business in Brisbane – Greg is smart. Greg has got my measure. You see, we left the hotel to head off to dinner, and I took a slightly circuitous route. I went up the hill, round the corner, along a street, and down the hill. I’d forgotten which way to go…

We’re standing at the lights, and Greg taps me on the shoulder and says: Bill, we’ve just come a full circle. Why didn’t we just go down the hill and turn left. Instead of going all that way up the hill, turning right, turning right again, going down the hill, and turning left.

If we were in the army this would be deemed insubordination.

I explained to him that it was my surreptitious way of getting us in training for the Camino, going up the hill and walking around the block, and that in fact instead of him pinning me with an implied criticism, he should be thanking me for making him a little bit fitter.

But I suspect he didn’t buy it.

Like I said, Greg is smart. I can see that I can’t fool Greg. Damn. I’m going to have to watch him. He has the potential to be traitorous. I think he sees me as a Captain Queeg.

The thing about leadership, you have to do everything with bold intent.

Even if you’re wrong.

Even if you’re lost.

Even if you can’t add up.

We ate out tonight at Pedros dos Frangos, the famous Portuguese chicken joint. The bill came, and it was €112. The tour hasn’t officially started yet – it starts tomorrow – so we’d decided to split the bill evenly. Twelve of us, that makes €10 a head, leaving a tip.

Everyone chucked in €10 and I counted out the pile of cash and it came to €110. We were €10 short.

Someone hadn’t coughed up their €10. Perhaps they hadn’t heard, so I asked in a very commanding voice who hadn’t paid. I got these glares back from everyone thinking that I was accusing them of trying to shimmy out of coughing up €10.

And then Peter, who is a very successful accountant – a numbers guy – (and is unfortunately also a Hawthorne supporter but despite that, still a very nice bloke) – informed me that no-one had piked out on their €10, there were only 11 of us – so everyone had actually paid.

Then I remembered – Catarina wasn’t joining us till tomorrow.

If I hadn’t looked like a dick before, then I certainly did now.

We retired to the hotel bar and I ordered Port. I got the numbers wrong again and we got an extra glass. I shared it with Angie. It was arguable who needed it more, her or me.

( this was meant to be published last night, but the wifi went down in this hotel. It’s now 4:30am Sunday here… )!

This internet world is very seriously weird.

Today I met Steve and Arlene for the very first time, and yet I felt as though I’d known them for years – we’ve corresponded so often and so regularly on this blog…

I also met Greg and Donna, whom I HAVE met before, back in Brisbane Australia. And I also met Marie-Dominic, from the Basque Country. (she refers to herself as Marie the Basque!) Jennifer and I spent some time with her in Santiago late last year.

It was wonderful to finally all meet up – although as a group we’re still not complete.

Tomorrow we meet the remaining two couples – Peter & Julie and Ken & Angela.

Peter & Julie I met on the slopes of the Pyrenees this time last year, and we very quickly became friends, bonding in the shock of a shared experience. Ken and Angela I’ve not met before – yet we’ve spoken on the phone and they sound like a delightful couple.

Already there seems to be a very strong sense of camaraderie between us all.

Steve and Arlene arrived first – and literally bumped into Jennifer of the lobby of the hotel. I came down and met them both – and my first impression was that they both looked so damn fit and healthy!

Steve is a champion bodybuilder, as most of you already know, and I went to give him a hug and it was like hugging a bag of cement. This guy is early 70s and has the physique of a 26 year old.

Arlene shone like a shiny thing – beautiful and radiant.

We all went to a coffee shop and the first thing I did was challenge Steve to an arm wrestle.

Note his bicep compared to mine.

I let him win.

(That just goes to show what a good pilgrim I am…)

Later we met up with Marie Basque – who was as equally beautiful and shiny radiant as Arlene – (what is it about these Camino women??) – and then we went out to dinner – later joined for coffee by Greg and Donna, who’d eaten very well at a restaurant near the start of the Camino down by the river.

Even though they were tired from a long flight from Australia (with a one day stopover in London) nonetheless their weeks of training have paid handsome dividends – they both looked way younger and fitter than when I last saw them in Brisbane, before they’d taken the big plunge and decided to do this pilgrimage walk.

Well into the evening now, after dinner, and seven of us sitting around a table in a small cafe, talking with an ease and conviviality that completely belied the time we’d actually all spent together – perhaps all of two hours.

Tomorrow we meet up with Peter & Julie, and Angela and Ken. Then we’ll have a quorum. A  Camino quorum. Won’t that be cool!