Day 6 - May 3 2017, Ponte Lima to Rubiaes

We have been hesitant about the walk on which we are about to embark. The distance is a modest 16 kilometres however the climb is a brutal 410 metres. And, today will be the hottest on our walk. Good timing. 

On the way out of town

We rise early to take advantage of the cooler temperatures. Very little movement on the street concerns me about finding a place for breakfast. Fortunately, a coffee and pastry shop just opened up across the street. A very elderly man serves us our pastry while his daughter, about our age, makes our espressos. I'm retired and this guy who looks older than my father if he was still alive, is still working.

The trail begins around the corner from the albergue on the other side of the river. We follow a rock wall that we're forced to walk atop as water has pooled on the trail. A German girl who seems to be walking at our speed and who we'dalready seen a couple of times the previous day attempts to help Nicola onto the ledge. At first, Nicola rejects the help and then accepts it. Apparently, Nicola had been the topic of conversation at the albergue in Rates. Nobody thinks she's going to make. Fortunately, we only have to tightrope the rock wall about a hundred metres.

Fox glove

We pass fields of purple flowers Nicola identifies as fox glove which glow like they're reflecting a purple light from the 70s. Where the trail meets a road and we begin the long climb into hills beyond. Our slow, steady progress begins to plod at 10:30, we begin looking for a café to purchase a drink and sit down to rest. A vineyard enclosed within a gate advertises a café that will open in September. We decide not to wait.

Another hour's slog finds us in front of pilgrims lounging on chairs outside a lone café perched on the side of a hill at the entrance to a small village. The outside chairs benefit from the cool breeze. Of course, these are all occupied so we go inside to enjoy the stagnant air and sweltering heat. I order two ham and cheese sandwiches from a squat, grey-haired old lady who makes them in the darkened recesses of the café. They're good as are the sugared watery sustenance of our Cokes.

Village we passed on our climb

Paying a restaurant bill in Portugal and now, Spain can be an onerous task at the best of times. My sense was the clerk understood some English however, when I tell the old lady that I want to pay for our sandwiches, she proceeds to make two more. I don't realize the misunderstanding until she's almost finished one of the two and I'm able to stop her from the second. I’m not sure whether I paid for one or two sandwiches.

As we pass through the tiny village, we begin our long ascent to the pass. The paved road gives way to a dirt one through the forest and we're grateful for the shade on this, our hottest day so far. Yellow arrows that point up a narrow, rock strewn path straight up the hill. I figured the path must turn into a stream during periods of rain and remind me of the short-cuts between switch-backs in the National Parks that the rangers block off with pieces of wood.

Part path, mostly creek bottom

The forest turns from deciduous to pine and has been cleared of underbrush like that done for the Fire Smart program back at home.  After an hour's climb, we take a welcome, cool-down break. The backpack strap on the my right shoulder causes a sharp, nagging pain. The culprit is my camera bag but I don't put it away for fear of missing a shot.

Taps had been placed in pine trees where we sit.  Clear plastic bags collect the sap, so I stick my fingers in the hanging bag for a taste. Stupid. It doesn't taste sweet or tasty and, being sap, is extremely sticky. In the middle of this forest, there's no running water for rinsing or wetones for wiping. What to do, what to do. Much to my relief, I discover the stickiness wears off within a half hour. 

Nicola’s ankle is holding surprisingly well. That said, a very heavy woman and her middle-aged husband catches up to us and passes during our break. I didn’t think she could climb that incline with a pack and in that heat let alone pass us. Hmm. 

Nicola at top of pass

Shortly after we resume our climb, the image of sky through the lower branches of uphill trees brings an expectation of an imminent end to our climb. I'm surprised to be right. A cleared patch of ground around a crude forestry building allows for a nice view a pot for lunch. The heavy lady and her husband share a bench with another couple with whom they share lunch. I guess their country of origin to be Slavic. Nicola and I drink our ration of our water and search for a reliable source of drinking water to replenish our stock. No such luck. Instead, I photograph Nicola with Lima valley in the background.

Path down from the "peak"

Our guidebook warned us about precarious footing on the way down. This proves less a problem than I guessed. We make good time downhill eventually connecting to a narrow road and leaving the rocky path forever. We trek through dense, cool forest, a pleasant relief from our hot climb. I pass by an ancient stone structure opening over a stream. Nicola stops me and points to an ancient water mill that has long since stopped functioning yet evokes images of a life centuries past. 

The forest gives way to recently tilled farmers’ fields with adjoining vineyards. Scarecrows stand in a number fields looking nothing like humans but, evidently, guarding a mystery crop from an apparent bird problem. 

A waterfall we passed on the way

Just before arriving at our hotel, we stop where practically every pilgrim we've seen on trail has stopped for a drink. Nicola finds a seat in the shade and I line up at the open-air bar attached to the side of a house. Nicola figures it would be a pretty easy way to make money with very little investment. 

As I stand in line, I savour the idea of a nice, cold beer until I noticed the fellow in front of me has ordered a Super Bock lemonade beer. I decide that we would try the same. It proves delicious and, with low alcohol per volume, very thirst quenching. The Slavic couple sits at the bar's best table in the shade next to the bar and we find a nice spot of our own at a table under a tree. Then, a group of six Italian trekkers decide to join us where there really isn’t room for them all but they squeeze in anyway. We drink up and leave.

Nicola poses next broom on trail

Our hotel is actually a hostel. Between the stairwell and the common room, a young girl with long black hair sits behind the reception desk busy looking at her phone. She greets us and then continues with her phone until Nicola explains that we have reservations. She proceed with the formalities while I explore the common area. An ancient couch provides seating in front of an equally ancient television. Movies can be played on the VHS machine beneath. The road can be seen through a large window in front. On a bookshelf off to the side, a couple of English novels catch my attention however I immediatlely dismiss the idea of carrying another ounce of weight unless absolutely necessary.

Nicola calls and the girl escorts us to a second-floor room with two double beds and a large blank white wall that we can use as a screen for watching a movie that night. We shower in a tiny stall contained within a large, black, ceramic tiled bathroom. True to form, I spill water on the floor through an inadequately closed shower curtain. (Hopefully, it doesn't drip through the ceiling below.) We wash all our dirty laundry and hang our clothes on the narrow balcony to dry in warm breeze. At 7:00 p.m., a car and driver take us to an affiliated restaurant for dinner. It's the first time we've been in a motorized vehicle in six days. 

Like many of the restaurants we’ve visited on our journey, this is large with lots of tables and very few customers. Tonight, there is only us and the two Slavic couples with the large, surprisingly fit middle-aged fat lady. I make innocuous comments about the trail and they return with ones of their own and then return their attention to those at their table. On a flat-screen television above my head, a jolly, fat man picks random people from an audience to complete silly tasks for a prize. Then, our waiter switches channels to a soccer game. The television must have been the brunt of someone’s anger because a long horizontal crack runs the length of it.

We are given a choice of meats with the pilgrim’s menu, pan fried trout or chicken. The trout is fantastic and reminds me of the fresh trout meals I’d enjoyed in Peru. We're also served a big pile of fries and rice. They always serve rice in Portugal. I probably don't finish half my carbohydrates. 

Back at the hotel, I set-up my teeny projector to watch the movie, “The Way.” It’s about a father whose son died in a freak storm on his first day of the French el Camino. The grieving father, played by Martin Sheen, decides to complete the pilgrimage in his son’s place. We feel a camaraderie with these actors playing pilgrims on a similar grueling journey.  Watching the movie projected on the wall, is like being at the movies. Really fun.