March 4th BONUS POST (At Azambuja)

3 days into our pilgrimage, we have learnt a lot already.

The humble, village-pond mallard is called “poto real” in Portuguese, the “Royal Duck”. Guessing that it is related to the importance of blue/green enamel and tile-making…

The largest Portuguese supermarket chain is called “Pingo Doce”, which Carey, (of course), calls “Pingo Dingo”. As well as the pleasure of its whimsey, this enables the playing of “Pingo Dingo Bingo”: whenever we see a “Pingo Dingo” in a town/village on the trail, we can stop for a thick, syrupy coffee that requires sugar.

The Camino Portuguese is full of scary bridges: road bridges, rail bridges. The only way across the railway lines, which the route shadows, is to climb three stories (over the electrification wires) on slatted stairs that show you all the way down; totter over the tracks and then inch your way down exposed staircases (or risk the picture-window elevators). Generally, not a good place for a person with vertigo (me) to be. But, also, a lesson in going through: no other way but up (scary), across (scary) and down (slightly easier, but still scary). Carey, of course, has no issue, and finds my terror moderately to extremely amusing. As I “know” (with my rational brain) that it is perfectly fine, I, too, find it amusing, later…

It is important (as the 10-wheelers woosh past you, spraying you with oily rainwater, reminding you of your mortality) to remember that pilgrimage routes were always trade routes. That much of the way has been along busy autobahn-equivalents is authentic, if frightening.

Today, after kilometres of marsh, we passed through a village and stopped, damply, at the first café we passed. It was definitely local, full of stereotypically-Mediterranean older folks. We passed through the strip curtain, dripping on the floor despite not yet having stopped moving. The whole café looked up, then laughed. I said “em caminho de Santiago” and they laughed more, while we smiled and started unzipping. We had two “grande” thick coffees, with sugar, and felt the warmth of the local hospitality. I can say “preça” (please) and obrigada (thank you), but it’s enough. The clientele clearly had our backs. It was nice. We are all dependent on the kindness of strangers. It’s what makes society function. Sometimes, you have to see it in action to really remember that.

As we walked along the scary highway with the zooming lorries, a taxi pulled up. It was our driver from yesterday. He opened the trunk to show us our bags, nestled dryly therein, and got out, into the rain, to shake Carey’s hand and give us a thumbs up. It was a lovely moment: a shared joke, a moment of reassurance (that our bags, at least, would make it through the rain) and a time of shared humanity. About 25 minutes later, we saw him zoom past us on the way home. He honked. We waved and smiled. After all, we’re doing this for fun.