Day 7 - May 4, 2017, Rubiaes to Tui

Breakfast just outside of Rubiaes

The albergue from we're about to disembark is 1.3 kilometres from the small town of Rubiaes. After we finally pack our stuff and close the door to our room, we discover the place to be completely deserted.  We'd assumed breakfast would be on offer. Instead, we're going to have to find a café for breakfast along the trail. We continue down the road outside our albergue until arrows indicate for us to follow a trail to the right and up the hill. I figure the town must be down the hill to our left. Without a population of any significance in sight, I wonder where we can find nourishment for the road 

The trail leads to a narrow country road and there, on our left, overlooking the valley is a café with floor to ceiling windows allowing a gorgeous view of the valley. The only other patrons are a familiar German couple finishing their coffees. We nod our recognition.

We order two cafés (espressos), croissants and yoghurt and find a table next to the window. I buy an El Camino ball cap emblazoned with the pilgrim's oyster shell that indicates direction all along the trail. It'll go with all the other ball caps I don't wear. A 40-something Irish guy arrives a few minutes later. He sits at the next table and complains that he’d had to walk 35 kilometres the previous day and this was as far as he was going to walk today. About a half hour down the trail from the cafe, he passes us never to be seen again. So much for resolutions. 

About 11:00 a.m., we reach the peak point of our journey this day where the cities of Valenca and Tui are visible in the distance. We've noticed that many of the nicer houses in Portugal are located on these higher elevations. Old farm houses and manors mix with architecturally-built, ultra-modern houses with flat roofs, floor-to-ceiling windows and immaculately sculpted shrubs and bushes. In one of the driveways, chest-deep in a hole, a young man scoops sewage out of a chest-deep ditch. He stops to wishes us “Bon Camino” as we pass.

Cork Tree with much of its bark removed

With lunchtime approaching, the search for a café begins. Food becomes a bit of an obsession on the trail so when we discover the only cafe in the town of Fortoura to be closed, we are deeply disappointed. Then, we notice a sign for another café that requires a 200-metre uphill detour. Now, in a car, 200-metres in nothing. On foot, it’s a little more consideration especially if we walk the 400-metres without the reward of a meal. Fortunately, that is not the case. We sit on the deck that overlooks the valley and order 2 Mini Super Bochs of just 200 ml. of beer each, the perfect amount for a break while walking on a hot day.

As we march ever closer to Valencia, we spot our first cork trees . Portugal is famous for them. Lower portions of the bark are removed and yet, the tree still lives. As we approach the city, vineyards and vegetable fields give way to tarmac. Fields left fallow have been taken over by ugly thorn bushes that grow so thick, nothing else can survive. Factory buildings are so deserted that we wonder the reason for the occasional passing car ‘cause nothing seems to be happening here.

Me in front of the tiny altar

After a kilometre or two, the tarmac gives way to cobblestone and we pass a combination of residential and retail area. About this time, Nicola wonders if the citizens of some countries take more pride in their property than others. I suggested it may have to do more with socio-economic background than nationality. Then, we pass an old guy trimming his immaculate rose hedge lining the road outside his very modest bungalow in this semi-industrial area. I think she might have a point. 

Further down the same road, the sudden sound of church music startles us both. The tinny sound originates from a small altar dedicated to the Virgin Mary. We spend a moment celebrating the distraction from this hot, boring and arduous plod.

Bus depot with yellow arrow.

Yellow arrows directing though a bus station surprise us but we follow it anyway. We're relieved that a street on the other side  leads us straight uphill to the castle and the ancient section of the city. Of course, our journey includes four or five hundred metres of misdirection uphill. 

Protective walls of the fort in Valenca

The fort at Valenca overlooks the Minho River, a perfect high point to defend against attackers both from land or river. We cross a moat and through a tunnel into the fort. In the central square, we spot a couple of cafés with tourists seated outside at tables protected from the sun by large umbrellas. We pass these in hopes of finding a less touristy location. A short distance to the far side of the fort, finds us atop a wall that overlooks a series of protective walls. One restaurant featuring a deck that overlooks the river would be perfect without the ever-present gale force winds.  

We return to the square where the waitress, obviously accustomed to pilgrims, doesn’t bat an eye as we lean our packs against the outside of her restaurant. We collapse in chairs and order tapas and beers. At the table next to us, a group of older ladies excitedly discuss their upcoming trek. Nicola pities the young good-looking guide they all faun over. Valencia and Tui are just far enough for someone to walk 100 kilometres, the distance required to receive receive a certificate of pilgrimage upon arrival at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. Nicola doesn't believe some of them will make it. They’re not only elderly but large. That said, I've discovered that age and size don't always determine the resolve of a pilgrim.

We follow the yellow arrows along a narrow street to the gate closest to the river. A little girl rides a tiny tricycle amusing her dad and other clerks standing outside their empty shops. The tourist busses from Porto have left for the day leaving all to appreciate the joy experienced by four-year-old. Nicola admires the embroidered quilts on display in the shop windows. She'd like to purchase one but can't envision carrying it on her back for 100 kilometres.

We exit the fort through a tunnel that's deeper and longer than the one we'd entered.  We follow a bridge across the river with barely space for passing cars and a pedestrian walkway. Nicola and I walk single-file and express outrage (to one another) as we witness a backpacker passing on the other side of the barrier in the car lane causing vehicles to pile up behind him. Weird.

Bridge with very narrow walkway

The last trek of the day requires an uphill walk to the Tui Cathedral strategically perched atop. Unfortunately, I insert the address of our hotel into Google Maps instead of the name of the hotel. Nicola says that it's supposed to be close to the cathedral but my map says no. We veer left away from the landmark and arrive at a house instead of a hotel. Nicola maintains her composure and I don't become the object of frustration and anger after already having walked 22 kilometres. When I enter the hotel’s name into Google Maps, it shows it to be exactly where Nicola said it should be and not far.

Tui Cathedral

The walls of the fort have been torn down however many of the medieval streets and buildings are still intact. Our hotel has been gutted and replace with modern interior. We climb steep three flights of stairs to the reception where a pleasant, middle-aged, well-groomed lady, stylishly dressed greets us cheerfully. We register and follow her down the narrow staircase to our room on the first floor. We drop our bags, collapse on the bed and take turns washing beneath a state-of-the-art marble and glass shower stall.  

The thirty-something guy dressed in black behind the Tui Cathedral ticket counter informs us that the entrance fee is  4€ and the cathedral closes in 20 minutes. He also asks if we would like our El Camino passports stamped. We nod and Nicola brings them out of her purse. 

Inside Tui Cathedral

A giant pipe organ with a cloister attached to the side dominates the centre of the huge, dimly lit cathedral space . We take the requisite photographs,  we leave. Despite the size and the awesomeness of its many altars, we feel that 20 minutes was enough. We've been awed and amazed and without a guide, or at least a guidebook, churches and cathedrals invoke more feelings than knowledge.

Where the medieval city ends, streets widen and the modernity begins. We find a bar to rest our weary bones and enjoy craft beers. I’d noticed a La Chouffe on tap so when the waitress doesn't include it among the selection of beers on offer, I make a request. She smiles and brings me a glass.

We face a wide avenue where the children of patrons are playing soccer on a very wide sidewalk. They belong to a group of four women seated at another table gabbing while one of their husbands plays with the youngsters. Not a scene we’re likely to see in Slave Lake or anywhere in Canada considering our prehistoric liquor laws. Although, I hear they're changing.

After a disappointing dinner of mediocre tapas, we returned to our hotel to sleep like we’d spent an entire day walking.

Potatoes with cheese and tomato drizzle