March 3 - 4: Getting into the swing (Vila Franca de Xira & Azambuja)

Today had the first real feel of spring: an interesting blue sky that eventually turned into torrential rain, but not until we were safely at our hotel, looking out at the downpour from the bar… a real vibrancy of grass and weed-flowers - no doubt reflecting all the rain.

We walked through kilometres of wetland on a fabulous boardwalk that turned into a running track/bicycle path for even more kilometres, until it turned into a splendid “seaside” promenade, along the tidal Tegus river estuary, which smells of salt and is an important resource for migrating birds. The mudflats and reed beds go on for miles – full of bird song and rustling.

We huddled with our taxi driver (who missed us yesterday) and the hotel staff (who speak English) this morning. We agreeably determined the fault (but not blame) lies with the American tour company. Google translate is such an essential in these situations and our driver was a sweetie. Everything worked today – he dropped us where we (not he) left off yesterday and our bags were waiting when we arrived, some 22km later, and ahead of the rain, at this hotel. In between was a glorious, breezy, sunny, but clouding over, day, which we completed dry-shod and unfallen.

We are starting to acquire the bites and scratches of a camino, but, these come with open spaces and untended walkways. We have left metro-Lisbon behind and moved, for a while, into more rural, open country. It feels the way it should.

The wind is in from Africa today. It brought with it a flock of ibis, fishing the flooded fields; storks, renewing their bonds with clattering beaks and necking – and rain. Much. Cold. Rain.

Not our first rainy day, and a short one (19km). It’s 13:25 right now. We are in our accommodation, showered, clothes washed and sharing a glass of port. Plus, the sun is coming out. All good.

The first line of today’s post is also the first line of one of my all-time favourite Joni Mitchell songs, that I first heard at University in the 1980s, from my favourite album, “Blue”. It speaks of the life I wanted and, as it turns out, of the life I had. “Maybe I’ll go to Amsterdam, or, maybe, I’ll go to Rome. And rent me a grand piano and put flowers round my room”.

The title of this song? “Carey”. The refrain goes “Oo, you’re a mean old daddy, but I like you.” Only the last half turned out to be true. Life can be spooky sometimes.

It has a great walking pace beat. I’ve been singing it to myself all day, marveling at time and fate.

So, here we are, me and Carey, in a casement room in a small Residençia in rural Portugal, on pilgrimage, with a glass of ruby port, the sun starting to dry the street… I have done very little to deserve any of this and give joyful thanks for the blessings.