The morning had started out perfectly in our little hotel. We enjoyed the entertainment of the other breakfasting guests who were still swaying from the previous night at a wedding as we took advantage of the owner’s offer to make to go sandwiches for our camino. The coffee was hot and the bread was fresh. With our boots tied, backpacks balanced and shells dangling we were off into the blue skied morning. But, as we passed through the town towards the path along the sea we noticed the clouds rolling in and the wind picking up its pace. By the time we crossed paths with a heeding friend there was a calm that waded in before us and we knew his words were worth gold. “You can tell by the clouds that the storm is going to hit hard”.
There is no poncho that can stop a North Atlantic storm from soaking you to the core but we trudged ahead into the pouring rain like dedicated pilgrims should do. Those couple hours took my thoughts back to my other pilgrimage’s. First I recalled walking alone along the camino in Castilla y Leon back in 1996 where a thick fog swallowed my boots on the road and my hands before me just before a cold downpour soaked me to the bone. The sky opened up just as I arrived to the great Iron Cross, La Cruz de Ferro, where I unloaded one of my sacred rocks on the ever growing pile. Not long after I arrived to the albergue in Manjarin where I was greeted by Tomás, the last of the Templar Knights, who dedicates his life to caring for pilgrims. My Spanish Grandpa’s had already arrived and were seated around the fire which warmed our wet bodies as we enjoyed the coffee that Tomás served us. I remember the common snack of white bread and chocolate that we also shared. The second memory was from the Camino del Norte in 2005 on the downhill incline leading into Bilbao. It was pouring rain like it does often in the Basque Country and I slipped in the mud and literally flew with my feet in mid air and smacked down onto my side and backpack. I wore a fantastic black and blue tattoo on my left cheek and thigh for weeks after that. Rainy days along the camino can be rough but they also hold the best memories. So we weathered through the storm, laughing and defeated by the pelting rain. Other pilgrims took refuge in lighthouses and under random porches but we had a goal for that day. Sardines!!
Vila Praia de Ancora was a welcoming town. The sun had started to peek out from behind the clouds as we ventured in search of sardines for lunch. A few years ago we had sardines in the town of Espinho just south of Porto and they set the bar extremely high. We have enjoyed very good sardines since then in many places but that restaurant ruined us for life. You can read about those here.
We found the perfect restaurant with one empty table for two. We leaned our packs against the wall outside and settled in. We ordered two beers to go with our cheese and fresh bread. You can never get enough Broa. (see my last post). The cheese came from the same region as the Alvarinho wine that we ordered to accompany the sardines. The region of Melgaço and Monçao is only about 50 kilometres northeast from the coast. All three cheeses were cured goat cheese, one with paprika and Alvarinho wine. While we were killing our hunger with the “couvert” the owner came out and told us that we could move our packs out of the sun and into the restaurant. It was quite the spectacle.
The sardines arrived and all was well in the world. I loved the unique presentation which was different than anywhere else. The sardines were delicately placed around a pile of steamed potatoes that were dressed with a “pickle” of onions and peppers and garnished with a green salad and roast peppers. Three separate meals in one. We couldn’t have been happier.
The final part of our walk to the town of Caminha kept us entertained through a forest along the coast where we made friends with some goats. Finally in Caminha, after an extremely cold dip in the ocean, our family greeted us garbed in their Camino de Santiago t-shirts. We had our very own pep squad for dinner that night!