THIS AIN'T THE SAME CAMINO Y'ALL.
Not the same country. Not the same experience.
Remember, the trailhead is blocked by construction but the cathedral worker gave me a map. I swore she handed me one with road names the first time, but what I had today...barely did. I returned to the cathedral to start, but after walking past it, I had little sense of where to go.
My guidebook said I'd be walking by the river so I headed down to the river (cue Alison Kraus singing Down to the River to Pray).
There was a ton of construction, so the path was blocked sometimes. I couldn't see far ahead. I looked around constantly alert, looking for the few landmarks sketched on the map.
I didn't see them. I wondered into the streets, not right next to the river, since that's what it looked like I was supposed to do on the cathedral map. People I passed stared at me strangely. I know the Portuguese route is less popular, but why were they surprised to see a pilgrim?
The damn map had no scale though, so I wasn't sure how far I was supposed to walk before I saw these landmarks. I finally saw a bridge. It didn't look exactly like the one in the image, a little too small, but it's all I had. Two men were by the bridge "Santiago?" I asked them and pointed to the bridge. They nodded and pointed. The walking portion of the bridge was narrow, so my American ass crossed the street to start up the right side, so I wouldn't be going "against traffic" on a narrow route (aka so I could reduce the possibility of touching absolutely anybody).
I crossed and started up, one of the men I'd spoken to yelled in Portuguese from the ground. I looked at him, and he pointed to the other side of the bridge. The left side. I pointed to the other side, "that way?" I asked. He nodded. I was suspicious. Why did this man want me to cross the same bridge on the other side? The side he was on? He was on the ground, so he couldn't reach me. And I wasn't in a skirt, so there weren't any up-the-skirt viewing risks...so I gave it a shot (brief pause here to inform the fellas that this is how women are forced to think all the time, not just when traveling. Do something about your people please). I reached the top of the bridge unharmed. The right side did go a different direction. I could have crossed the street up here, but whatever.
I thought this must be the bridge on the map so I felt happy. Now I just have to find where the river intersects and then hopefully I'll find the yellow arrow (the symbol of the trail).
I kept the river in sight, but stayed a few streets in, as I thought the map was showing me. There was so much construction by the river anyway. But I didn't see any other pilgrims. This is very different from my start in St. Jean Pied de Port, where so many pilgrims being. You're not even really looking for arrows because you see groups of pilgrims walking together. I knew not many started the trail from Lisbon anymore, but there was NOBODY. I kept getting strange looks.
All this graffiti and y'all couldn't throw a yellow arrow up anywhere? I wondered.
I really didn't want to turn on my phone for Google Maps. I so want to disconnect from my constant phone use on this trip. I followed the river and looked for the river intersection I saw on my cathedral map. Eventually, I moved down to the river because the construction cleared and I thought it was so beautiful down there.
Still no yellow arrows, but I was enjoying the view. (Lisbon and this river walk remind me of the San Francisco Bay Area.) I eventually accepted that if I absolutely had to, I could ride to a camino stop somewhere, if I was completely lost and not on the trail. I didn't want to, but I could.
Finally, I reached a park with a sign that matched my guidebook. I was relieved and happy. The path became more crowded. There were lots of locals and probably tourists. I saw a little boy about two years old doing the universal "I want to be Spiderman so Im pretending to shoot webs out of my hands" move. There was also some kind of running race going on for a while, and I dodged the runners.
Every time I thought the path ended or there was a barrier, there was a clear route. Sometimes I even made my walk longer by going around the trail because I assumed it was closed, instead of straight forward.
There's always going to be a detour, just relax, I told myself. Finally, I saw...my old friend, the yellow arrow.
It will be coupled with a blue arrow for a few days, as both this Camino and the pilgrimage to Fatima start in the same place. As I followed the arrow, I realized how large the scale of the cathedral map was. Because only then did I see THE bridge that was on the map and acknowledged in the guidebook (in the background of the photo below)...about 10 km into my walk.
All of my street walking this morning....was in the wrong place. The map she gave me didn't start at the cathedral. It started...somewhere else (I swear she gave me two papers and I must have left one there on accident. I should have returned to ask for help but she seemed busy and I didn't want to bother her).
I was just happy to have my arrows, and I kept walking. About halfway through, I had a break from the city and walked through a green meadow for about 7.5 km. There were ruins throughout. This is where I saw two other couples of pilgrims. Finally!
"Una sola peregrina!" I heard one of the men say behind me. "A solo woman pilgrim." In the moment, I was just glad to hear Spanish and not Portuguese (sorry Portugal, I know you're very proud Spain couldn't colonize you.)
Near the end of the meadow, I ran out of water. I was starting to feel pretty sore at this point, and needed a break anyway. I just wanted to sit down, rehydrate, and maybe put some more sunscreen on.
I stopped at a cafe for just that. In the store I struggled a bit with ordering my waters. I am discovering I can read Portuguese and guess what it is because it's similar to Spanish, but the pronunciation is so different that it goes completely over my head when I hear it. The woman at the counter was nice and understanding.
I went outside to sit, and was instantly bombarded by this group of men. One in particular. They only spoke Portuguese, and I smiled apologetically and said "sorry I only speak English." They kept insisting on talking to me. I was re-arranging my pack, trying to fill up my water bladder. I had no idea if they were talking to me or to each other, since I didn't understand the words, except that they'd wave in my face to insist on my attention.
They were gesturing with their hands to their faces, as if they were asleep. They wanted to know where I was going to sleep that night. I shrugged. I didn't know, and I wouldn't tell them anyway. They kept asking. I kept shrugging and trying to refill my water. I thought it was odd. It wasn't unusual on my last Camino to just walk and not know where you'd stay. I get trying to help someone out. But...I didn't fucking ask? There was another couple there who were clearly pilgrims. Nobody seemed worried about their sleep.
The most aggressive man came over with his translate app on his iPhone.
"Where are you going to sleep tonight?" I read.
"I don't know, my guidebook will tell me," I wrote back.
"I can take you to the guest house," he wrote back.
I did my "I'm not interested but I'm smiling so you don't get angry and kill me" smile and said "no" (which I know is pronounced the same way in Portuguese).
He looked annoyed and stepped away with the phone. I returned to my pack. But he just kept going. Waving his hands, talking to me, demanding my attention. I waved goodbye while I sat still rearranging my pack. He seemed to get the message. I didn't feel safe there anymore though, so I didn't just rest and reapply sunscreen.
I quickly tried to lift my pack, water was leaking. The men all pointed it out. I opened it pack, fixed it, and walked away quickly, hoping they wouldn't follow.
They didn't, but I felt a darkness hit me. One I felt constantly when I lived by myself in Miami trailer parks. The constant male attention that comes with being labeled a vulnerable woman.
I wasn't getting stared at all day because people didn't know what pilgrims looked like. I was getting stared at all day because I was alone.
Una peregrina sola.
I didn't think I'd get this much attention this time around. On my first Camino, I was 18. I felt like I stood out due to my age. I didn’t expect so much attention this time, now that I’m a seemingly appropriate age to travel alone. Hell, I'm a thornback now!
But I’ll be damned. A solo woman still gets tons of attention. I don’t think I realized how many people do this as a couple or a group. And I didn't realize it in 2013 because while I came to Spain alone, I didn't start the Camino alone last time. The airport had lost my backpack and for reasons I've never understood, I started it with two men who took me under their wing. We walked mostly together, though not always, all the way to Santiago. We accumulated other friends as well, one of whom is my travel partner Katie. I do remember in the few days that Katie and I were without them, getting far more male attention. But that was such a short part of the trip that it didn't really stand out to me.
I realized that for most of that trip, I had the "You think I 'belong' to him" shield. You know, the one that is the reason women say "I have a boyfriend" instead of "I'm not interested?" Because a lot of men care more about violating another man's boundaries than listening to a woman's. (If that makes you uncomfortable, look it up. And talk to your woman friends.)
I was thinking about this as I tried to find the rest of the trail. Pain was kicking in and arrows were becoming sparse again. The trail shifted to a main, busy road. There were lots of roundabouts with NO YELLOW ARROWS to tell me anything. A man in a car drove by and pointed down one road for me.
Now that's how you help someone without being a creep, I thought.
I didn't have any markings for quite some time. I stopped to check with locals a couple times, but the language barrier was too difficult. I was also on edge about making myself look even more vulnerable. I stuck with old ladies and women with children. (I wasn't totally misandrist, in a moment of desperation I asked a man but he didn't speak English at all.) Once I arrived in the next town, I broke down and turned on my cellular. I needed to find a hotel. I had asked two locals and they looked shocked. They didn't know any hotels. They had to Google a hotel themselves. The only one was 3 miles away from the Camino. I was hurting badly at this point and had walked over 18 miles.
I'm not doing any fucking bonus miles St. James, sorry.
I called an Uber. The Uber driver was a man. I climbed in nervously, at least knowing that now I was using an app that would track my location and who the driver was. Fortunately, he was very friendly and gave me some tips for how to spot lodging in Portugal.
He dropped me off at the hotel, where a group of men were at the bar. Staring. I found one worker who spoke English and asked for a room. It took a while, and I ignored the stares.
Damn, y'all act like y'all don't have women in Portugal.
I hid the limp I'd developed over the last 18 miles as best I could (can't add to that vulnerability factor), then I shut my hotel door and collapsed on the floor, feet up. Today was tough.
Communing with other pilgrims in the alburgues at night was one of my favorite parts of the Camino. I'm disappointed I might not get to do that as much on this one. I know that it'll pick up after Porto, but that's still almost two weeks away.
Im exhausted and wondering how I'm going to do two more weeks of this. Am I going to need to dress like a man until then? Am I even technically dressed "as a woman" now? #dragcamino #gimpyindrag
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