"Do you have sangria?" I asked the waiter, ordering dinner after my test day in Tomar.
"Yes, of course," the waiter said.
"I'd like some of that too please," I said.
"Okay, half a liter?"
"HALF A LITER?!" I exclaimed, bug-eyed.
He gave a small smirk. "Quarter liter?"
I have a hard time gauging the metric system, but that sounded much more reasonable.
Turns out a quarter liter is about two glasses (bar glasses of 5oz, not at-home-pouring-it-out-of-a-box -while-the-world-burns glasses...see, I know some measurement systems). A local musician was busking nearby. Music, sangria, seafood I could digest, and a beautiful river. It was a peaceful evening.
The next day I ended up walking farther than intended because the trail split. My guidebook wasn't clear on which way to go. A nearby Canadian pilgrim's book told her to go to the right, so I went with her. The rest of the day I had no idea where I was on my map, but the yellow arrows were there, so I just kept walking. It was long, but beautiful.
I clocked a little over 21 miles by the time I arrived in Alvaiãzere. The hostels had been full, so I had booked a room at a residencial. It was a budget room, not much more expensive than a hostel. At dinner, there were three other pilgrims. A couple and a man eating solo. The waiter had placed my table right in between them.
"Hey, I recognize you!" The woman in the couple said.
I looked at her surprised, not recognizing her at all. "You do?"
"Yes, we met you the first day. You're near DC right?"
"Yes!" I said, feeling bad I couldn't remember them. My mind had been so preoccupied that first day, searching for arrows and dodging creeps. "You have a great memory, I'm sorry I don't remember. Where are you from?"
"California," her partner said. "You said you had lived in California for about a year too, right?"
Damn these people remember my whole life and I have no memory of sharing this with them...
"Yeah, I was in The Bay for 15 months, but it exactly aligned with California's 15 month quarantine." The instantly looked somber and nodded. "So I don't really know much about the area still."
"Right, how could you," the woman said. "Everything was closed."
I learned the couple was Steve and Nancy. We all chatted through dinner. The single man was John, and he was from the Florida Keys.
"Oh I'm originally from Florida," I said. "I did my PhD in Miami, so I've been to the Keys a couple of times."
"Wow, she's been everywhere," Steve laughed.
"All for work, little play," I said. (My first time in Key West had actually been a quick day trip to secure the last interview I needed for my thesis data. All of that driving around and moving is probably one of the many reasons I haven't had a proper vacation in five years.)
Dinner was DIVINE. The waiter brought out courses of food: soup, salad, bread, the main dish and...a half liter of wine.
"They're not joking around here, are they?" I asked the other pilgrims, pointing to the literal jug of wine on my table.
"I know right?" Nancy said, and laughed.
At some point, it clicked in my head where I had seen Steve and Nancy.
"Oh! You two were in the field, under a tree, when I talked to you, right?!"
"Yes!" Nancy said.
"We all had our hats and sunglasses on then. Sorry, I didn't recognize y'all all cleaned up. You look nice!" They laughed.
"Yeah, we saw you in the field, and then at that cafe where that guy was hitting on you," Nancy said.
I could feel my face fall with the memory and the embarrassment. This is why I couldn't remember them. All of my cognitive resources had been quickly redirected into survival mode after I met them. I did remember a couple at the cafe, that no one was bothering, and the woman giving me an empathetic look, like she understood. But my brain wasn't prioritizing scanning them for identification.
"God that was so annoying," I said. "Sorry I didn't recognize. I just got out of there as quickly as I could."
"Oh don't apologize, I saw it. That one guy in particular just would not leave you alone."
It has been hard to find accommodations, maybe they really were trying to help, I've thought.
But why then only me? Why not the other pilgrims there?
And why so in my face? When I didn't ask?
"I don't speak Portuguese, and I knew he was hitting on you. It was that obvious." Nancy said.
I'm not crazy. It was real.
"He was trying to get me to leave with him, on the translation app."
"Oh yuck!" Nancy said, her face disgusted. Steve looked appalled.
"Mhmm. I was like you're not getting me to any secondary location sir. I'm not stupid." Steve almost choked on his wine.
"I mean we clearly don't speak the same language, what do I think you want to do, talk? C'mon." Steve almost choked again.
"Well I'm sure you have pepper spray and you're not afraid to use it," Steve said. Probably trying to soothe his own cognitive dissonance about this situation.
"You can't get through airport security with pepper spray," I told him. "But these trekking poles...don't make me pop my caps off. They have a sharp point."
Steve said something that my brain interpreted to "skewer the bastard if you need to." But you know, more eloquently.
Steve and Nancy had walked the Camino Frances as well, so for most of dinner we swapped stories. This was John's first Camino, so he mostly listened. After Steve and Nancy said goodnight, John and I dutifully stayed to finish our half liters of wine. As Americans do, we talked about work. We couldn't help it. He actually knew what industrial organizational psychologists are and has worked with them. After getting our money's worth of wine (it's the redneck in me...can't be wasting anything), we said goodnight and went to our respective rooms.
Today is another Sunday which means NOTHING is open and Anna must grumpily walk without her caffeine. Boo. I didn't go far today. I've been alternating my long walks with short ones, where I can find places to stay.
I arrived in Ansião around noon, three hours before I could check into my hostel. So I dropped my backpack there and headed around the town, desperate for a hit of caffeine. (I know I have a problem. It's a symptom of the overworking. I drink lots of strong coffee to work as much as I do, and I'm dependent on it. Tie that in with the migraine issue from my brain injury and it's... painful.)
I found an open cafe, ordered two coffees, and FaceTimed my mom for Mother's Day. When I hung up, a man from a few tables away yelled, "I can't place your accent, where are you from?"
I laughed, "Europeans usually tell me I have a very stereotypically American accent," I said.
"Not to me," he said.
I told him I'm from the US. His name is Fred and he's half Portuguese and half English. He's not a pilgrim. He just travels a lot for work. I noticed John, from the night before, and Daniel, a Netherlands pilgrim I'd met before while walking, had also stopped at the cafe. Fred took up most of the conversation, inviting me to sit with him. I did for a bit. John and Daniel piped in every now and then.
"You're all walking hundreds of kilometers?" Fred said, lighting a cigarette. "That's absolutely crazy."
He could not get over it. He kept saying it. Insisting that he is indeed very active, but with fun things like surfing.
"It's not healthy to walk that much," he said.
"It's also not healthy to smoke," I quipped. "So maybe you just don't like walking." Daniel squelched a laugh.
He asked where I was in the States, and I said I was near the DC area.
"Oh that's why I can't place your accent, you're a DCer."
"Well I'm originally from North Florida, so I actually have a southern accent, not a DC one."
"I don't think you have a southern accent at all."
John laughed, "Oh yes she does!"
"I'm going to tell everyone when I get back that I don't have a southern accent," I told him.
"Yeah I don't think this guy is a credible source on that, so good luck," John said.
John returned to the trail. I chatted with Daniel briefly about the trail and where'd we'd found places to stay. He's refusing to make reservations. He wants his Camino to remain unplanned.
"Me too," I said. "But sometimes I have to make a safety decision so I'm not wondering around at night alone."
He looked surprised and concerned. "You don't feel safe on this trail?"
"I mean, not always. I'm a woman traveling alone, so..."
"Yeah, but you're..." he looked me up and down and stopped.
To be feared?
Sweaty and gross?
Smart enough to know to bring water on long hikes?
Covered in sunscreen?
Calloused everywhere after a week on the trail?
A goddess among women?
Intimidating to weak men?
Spit it out pilgrim.
"It will be ok," he ended up saying. Easy for a 40-year-old man to say, but I hope he's right.
I chatted with Fred until my hostel opened. He has homes in Portugal, Russia, and somewhere else I didn't recognize. He also sails. (Tell me you're rich without telling me you're rich...) His wife and five-year-old son travel with him.
"I thought about permanently settling in America, but then I went for a while and honestly couldn't stand it. Myself and the rest of the crew told the captain we could not bear one more day in America."
Oo, a real life mutiny.
"What got to you?" I asked him
"God the food is terrible," he said. "Even in the supermarkets, it's just not the same quality. You feel awful all the time, eating like that."
"Yeah, I can eat a lot here that I can't stomach back home."
"And the power of your police is wild." He told me a story of how he was driving behind a cop who was only going 5 mph so he passed him. The cop pulled him over and the cop and a few other policemen apparently pulled him over with their guns out.
"I was panicking. It was the first time I'd seen a gun in my life."
Holy shit.
"And they kept shouting at me to assume position, and I didn't know what position they were talking about! I just started yelling back, and they sure didn't like that."
The cafe started to close, but I didn't want to interrupt him. This was clearly a trauma for him.
"I didn't even do anything wrong. But by passing him, I guess he got offended. It ended up ok, obviously I'm here, but it didn't make me want to stay. It's not like that here."
"That sounds really scary," I said.
On that wonderful note we said our goodbyes and I checked into my room. I'm doing my laundry and trying to be lazy today...I keep being a busy body one way or another, by walking around this beautiful little town. I have another very long walk planned tomorrow...with more hills. Def gonna be needing a half liter after that...
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