Day 7 - 13 May - Vila Praia de Ancora to Vila Nova de Cerveira

As Baron Bomburst and Baroness Bomburst famously sang in the film Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

You're my little chu-chi face
My coo-chi, coo-chi, woo-chi little chu-chi face
Every time I look at you I sigh
And you're my little teddy bear
My lovey lovey dovey little teddy bear
You're the apfel strudel of mine eye

It is usually advisable to start a tale at the beginning, particularly a bit of a fairy tale. But hey, I’ve had a couple and Mrs C was amused so I will start today’s blog at the end.

Tonight, we are staying at the most delightful guest house with even more delightful hosts. The four of us (that’s me, Mrs C, Mick and Andrea - not the hosts) have been out for several hours and as the beer, wine and port has flowed, the speculation about the German couple in the room between the four of us - not having arrived by the time we went out - had gotten a bit out of hand and politically incorrect. 

Simple things and all that but, on returning from our night out and as we fell up the stairs to our first floor rooms, one half of the German couple appeared - obviously now having arrived - on the landing en route to the shared bathroom wearing a tee-shirt and I’m not sure what, if anything, else. Childish I know but cue hysterical reaction. It probably won’t sound funny in the morning, or indeed seem particularly funny to anyone reading this, but it was a splendid end to a splendid day which had started fifteen hours earlier.

We departed our hotel Albergaria Quim Barreiros, chosen primarily because it had the word Quim in its name, at eight o’clock. We walked out of Ancona, and its magnificent beach, along the coastline for two miles before the route took us into the small town of Moleda where we stopped for breakfast. After yesterday’s hard, hard day on the feet, the absence of cobbles was indeed very welcome. We continued on and through the beautiful town of Caminha, situated at the mouth of the River Minho and on the other side of which lies Spain. Many pilgrims take a ferry boat into Spain from here and continue on to Santiago from the other side. We however had decided to follow the river towards Valenca where we will cross into Spain tomorrow. 

We passed through the village of Seixas (cue the first of today’s childish sniggering) and then on to Lanhelas where we stopped for lunch at Bar Casulo where the nice lady looked after us admirably, including the supply of 1906 bottled beer (6.5%), a very tasty little number by brewer Estella Galicia.

The route had brought us away from the coast and brought with it a few cobbles which we didn’t like so we came off-route by dropping down to the river and following a cycle & walking path for the final five miles (of twelve in total) into Cerveira. The town itself was very lively with a large riverside park, lovely town centre square and huge market going on. This all augured very well. Our accommodation for the night, Casa do Artesanato, is lovely and the welcome we were afforded by the mother and son combination who run it could not have been warmer or friendlier. Mama doesn’t speak a word of English (why would she?) but appears to want to make up for that by doing our washing, making us breakfast in the morning and sending us off with a packed lunch. So kind.

We ventured off into town, enjoying a couple of beers in one of the town square bars before moving on to a small corner-site bar on a side road which had the advantage of being in the evening sunshine. They were obviously getting ready to close so we moved on after a couple of beers there and started looking for food. An urgent toilet call saw us make a quick decision in this respect which was later reversed, following said toilet call and a beer because the girls didn’t fancy the menu. Mrs C pulled the lock off the toilet door to emphasise her rejection of this particular venue. 

We found another restaurant venue, just off the main square, which did indeed get the girls’ approval and splendid it was too. We had seen and chatted to (who turned out to be) the main man earlier in the evening when passing a Benfica supporters bar where the occupants were all glued to the TV watching their team in a live match. Benfica won the match 5-1 so he was in a good mood when we recognised each other in the restaurant later. To help us wash down the beer and wine which accompanied the meal, he brought a decanter of port to the table. By the time we were ready to leave, all four of us were on the wibbly wobbly side of life.

And so back to Casa do Artesanato where on arriving, our tee-shirt clad German friend strolled past us on his way to the loo. We retired to our room and hit the sack but strange noises seemed to be emanating from the room next door just a couple of minutes later. Was that someone wailing and moaning? A bit of Hands Knees and Boomps a Daisy occurring? Hand cuffs chinking perhaps? Was it my imagination when I thought I heard the words apfel strudel?

Who knows. Maybe we will be wiser in the morning. Maybe we won’t. Maybe we won’t want to be? Either way, another wonderful day on the Camino. 

Day 6 - 12 May - Viana do Castelo to Vila Praia de Âncora

As The Beatles famously sang:

It’s been a hard day’s night….

As it turns out, we were the youth in the youth hostel last night, as confirmed by our fellow punters at a very poor effort breakfast buffet which started at eight o’clock. Personally I can’t abide queuing at buffets of any sort so I grabbed anything I could that didn’t involve the “q” word and sat down at the table to devour two bread rolls, smug in the knowledge that I’d just saved five minutes of my life.

Mrs C and I were taking a detour from the official Camino route this morning as we wanted to visit the Santuário de Santa Luzia, a mausoleum-esque church situated at the top of Monte de Santa Luzia which looks down on Viana and provides panoramic views up and down the coast.

The views were indeed spectacular, well worth the 622 steps and near-cardiac to get there. 

We had previously heard that you can have your photograph taken, at the church, by an old boy (probably one of the youth hostel regulars?) using an old box camera. Note use of the word “old” in that sentence. I’m not sure what was older, the chap himself or his camera. He was sat up, asleep, when we first got there so we waited for him to awake from his early morning slumbers before doing the deed. He could barely walk bless him, more of a shuffle than a walk, and he looked like he might be a bit blind but he got on with the business and charged us ten euros for two exquisite little images that look like they come from the year he was born.

I was left pondering how he gets to work every day. Hopefully not via the 622 steps.

From the church, we took a path down the hill/ mountain to join up, once again, with the official Camino route and we caught up with Mick and Andrea in the village of Carreço where we enjoyed coffee and a pastry. This was only around five miles in to today’s planned twelve miles and, once on the official route, it had been hard going underfoot. Cobbles. It’s true I tell you.

The route kept us off the main road and out of any towns or villages, instead taking us along country roads and paths, all of which laid in cobbles. It makes for an attractive visual effect but it is hard, so hard on the feet. No quaint little rundown villages in this attractive part of the world but rather lots of expensive second homes.

From Carreço, nothing in the way of facilities until we were almost at our destination. Unless you like cobbles of course. Great views. Great weather. And cobbles.

As we entered Vila Praia de Âncora, a small grubby bar came into sight and we sat in the sunshine with a beer before heading to our hotel, around one further mile away. Hotel room - lovely. Bath - potential life saver.

We were at least partly recovered by the time we set out looking for a beer in the sunshine some ninety minutes later. That quest was successfully accomplished, albeit bottles of Super Bock was all that the town appeared to offer. Thereafter, it was off to find somewhere to eat and then back to the hotel to follow Sheffield Wednesday’s progress, via Twitter, in the League 1 play-off semi-final first leg away at Peterborough. As it transpires, “progress” is the opposite of what happened as a four-nil defeat leaves us buggered. Cobbles. It’s been a hard day’s night.

Day 5 - 11 May - Esposende to Viana do Castelo

As The Rembrandts famously sang:

So no one told you walking fifteen miles each day
Calls for some discipline whilst you are on the way
You can’t be always stuck in second gear
Head down and best foot forward, time
for only one beer

Day 5 on our Portuguese Camino and it has been the best day so far. The Coastal Route, which we have been following, has moved inland a little. Not by much. Maybe no more than a mile or so but rather than closely tracking the coastline, the route now sees us at a modestly higher altitude passing through villages, taking country paths and hill routes through forests, all of which with the Atlantic ocean still relatively close and visible to our left. Whilst I have loved walking the spectacular coastline over the previous three days, today felt more like the Camino we fell in love with last year. There remains, however, one big difference.

The song above is of course best known for being the theme song for American sitcom Friends. Mrs C and I are lucky enough to be walking this Camino with our good friends Mick and Andrea but, as a generalisation, it is noticeable that this Camino hasn’t thus far felt the same as last year in terms of camaraderie. That’s not to say that people aren’t friendly, because they are, and there are plenty of Bom Caminho’s flying about but it’s still noticeably different. 

We hit the road at eight o’clock this morning and stopped at the supermarket in the next town of Marinhas for coffee and a croissant. We took opportunity also to buy in some provisions for later in the day as our planned fifteen miles included a long stretch without the prospect of any refreshment stops. We stopped, around eleven o’clock, to consume said provisions whilst sat outside the picturesque church of Santiago de Castelo do Neiva IX at the highest point of the day, around 140m above sea level. It doesn’t sound much but the climb reminded me why I used to prefer driving everywhere. 

Our team walking discipline was good today. Can you believe that it was another two hours before the first beer of the day passed my lips? I’m not sure if this means I’m hardening up or going soft. Nonetheless, the Leffe Blond I enjoyed at Café/Pastelaria S.Sebastião in Chafé was not only welcome but very tasty and provided the filip needed for the final five miles. A final five miles, I might add, which included a long uphill slog before we peaked and enjoyed the views down to the Rio Lima and across which lay the city of Viana do Castelo, our destination for the night.

We descended from this high point and crossed the river over the Ponte Eiffel, a six hundred metre long bridge designed by some guy who also had a hand in a big tower in Paris.

Tonight we are staying in - don’t laugh - a youth hostel. To be honest we weren’t sure if they would let us in but they did and our private apartment ensures that we should remain well out of sight of the younger clientele.

Viana is a beautiful city and as the boys were ready before the girls, Mick and I formed the advance guard and duly set out on our important reconnaissance mission. We first of all reconnoitred bar La Familiar, just up from the cathedral, and then carried on with this important work at bar Boa Vista where the girls then joined us. Then it was on to Ribeiro's Brewers where they had a great selection of craft and bottled beers but at silly prices so we only had the one there. We were getting hungry now so we found a little restaurant which turned out to be a great little find and where, to wash down the meal, I treated myself to two bottles of Sagres Bohemia Original, a 6.2% ruby beer.

Whilst at bar La Familiar and later at Ribeiro's Brewers, we got talking to Reece and Sabrina from California. Or I thought it was Reece until he told me he was Dennis Beech from California. I was a bit confused but I had got a few beers inside me by now. They have been on the road for days if not weeks, having started their Portuguese Camino in Lisbon. To be honest, I haven’t heard good things about the Lisbon to Porto route and Dennis (or Reece?) confirmed “it sucks”. For them, the scenery and route is much more enjoyable from Porto onwards but they are also missing the camaraderie and fellowship previously enjoyed on the main Camino Frances route. Fortunately, we have Mick and Andrea to keep us amused/ occupied/ sane/ insane (delete as appropriate). At least they now have four friends on Camino (i.e. us) which is one more than we have managed as we have only made friends with them and Bruce. Anyway, it transpired that it was definitely Reece and Sabrina we were talking to. 

They live in Venice Beach, California.  

Hopefully our planned twelve miles tomorrow should mean slightly less discipline required than today.

Day 4 - 10 May - Póvoa de Varzim to Esposende

As Men at Work famously sang:

I come from a land down under
Where beer does flow and men chunder
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
I may be called Bruce, but I only drink juice, yeah

Following yesterday’s tardy progress over ten miles, a bit more discipline was called for today and we had early alarms set to ensure that we were on the road by half past eight. We departed Póvoa along the sea front passing multiple beach bars along the way, none of which were open for a breakfast coffee or anything else. 

It was ten o’clock by the time we reached the small seaside town of Aguçadoura and sat down for coffee, toast and cake at bar Flor do Trigo. We sat outside, not wishing to expose the punters inside the bar to the spectacle of Mick’s sore little toe being aired. 

As was the case yesterday, much of the coastal path was along boardwalks and the beach scenery remained spectacular. Beyond Aguçadoura however, the path began to track inland which provided a welcome change with the gusty sea breeze beginning to pick up again.

It was another four miles before we reached the town of Apúlia and it was here that we got chatting to 86 year old Bruce from Australia (not joking). Bruce is walking the Porto route on his own, having already walked the latter stages of the main Camino Frances route from Trabadelo to Santiago prior to travelling to Portugal. What a guy! A real life Aussie bloke called Bruce. This called for a beer so we invited Bruce to join us as we stopped for refreshment at Cafetaria Pão Quente Feliz in Apúlia.

Can I buy you a beer Bruce?

I’ll just have an orange juice thank you. I don’t drink beer.

I was flabbergasted. An Australian, called Bruce, that doesn’t drink beer. Is that even allowed? 

We had left the boardwalks behind us. The path took us along quiet roads, past fields and through woodland. Mrs C cannot walk past anything resembling bamboo without breaking into a Dick Van Dyke rendition of Me 'ol Bam-Boo and the roadsides were full of the stuff. It wouldn’t be so bad if her knowledge of the lyrics amounted to more than Me 'ol Bam-Boo, Me 'ol Bam-Boo, diddly diddly diddly diddly 'ol Bam-Boo. But it doesn’t.

We also got our first sight, and aromas, of the eucalyptus trees which we know will increasingly feature as we get closer to Santiago. These trees were actually named after the twingy twangy banjo-type instrument, constructed from the tree’s wood, made famous in the 1930’s/40’s by English actor, song writer and comedian George Formby who specialised in playing the instrument whilst leaning against lamp posts. Probably.

Winner of the quaint-little-town-of-the-day award was Fão, on the south banks of the Cávado River, south of Estopende. We stopped here at pastry shop Pastelaria Clarinhas, which also did an excellent impression of a bar. We all had one of their pastries, some washed it down with coffee and one of us had a beer.

We departed Fão, each with a mint imperial sized, hand-painted pebble that some jolly restaurant owner was handing out to all and sundry. The pebbles were painted blue with a yellow arrow or shell above letters spelling out the town’s name Fão. I bet that whoever was painting these pebbles was glad they didn’t live in Esposende.

Thereafter, we crossed the river and headed into Esposende itself and on to our accommodation situated at the north end of the town. Once sorted, we ventured out looking for something close-by as stiff limbs and Mick’s sore toe had dampened any desire to walk half an hour back into town.

Finding decent beer in Portugal is a challenge. The standard Super Bock offering is pretty tasteless although we have discovered a couple of interesting options under the same banner. Super Bock Black is a stout with taste and, of more interest, they have a premium range of bottled beers Selecção 1927 which includes a 6% Bengal Amber IPA. Our first port of call tonight was Peppermint Brunch bar and restaurant where we had a couple of draught Stella Artois whilst overlooking the spectacular beach scene from up high. Then it was on to Marine Lounge which sounds like a cheesy piano bar but which, in reality, was a splendid establishment with a great selection of bottled beers including the IPA mentioned above. Needless to say, it was sampled and excellent it was too. 

But the star of the day was undoubtedly our Antipodean friend Bruce. Without going in to detail, Bruce is walking the Camino on his own for a reason, and he is doing so with great spirit and humour. It was a pleasure to meet this old chap, from the other side of the world, whilst walking through a small town in Portugal. What are the chances eh? Here’s to Bruce.

Day 3 - 9 May - Angeiras to Póvoa de Varzim

As The Drifters famously sang:

Oh, when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof
And your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fire proof
Walking the boardwalks, down by the sea, yeah
In a bar with my buds and a Super Bock is where I'll be

Today we had one of those days where, had you plotted it on a graph, it would have started with a very obvious trend in the right direction and continued in similar vein, throughout the day, with only the occasional blip every now and then. 

I awoke at seven o’clock to the sound of intermittent rain drops on the roof of Clampett cabin albeit the rain clouds were already dissipating, soon to be replaced by hints of the blue sky to follow. With only a modest ten mile day ahead of us, there was no need for urgency and it was gone ten o’clock by the time we meandered away from the camp site. We strolled back down to the coastal path, turned right and then stopped for coffee and egg & cheese on toast at the first bar we came to in Labrugue.

The Atlantic coastline is simply spectacular with soft sand beaches, more rocky structures than you can shake a stick at and the ocean surf pounding everything that gets in its way. All of this is viewed from the boardwalk pathways which accounted for, I would guess, around eighty percent (?) of today’s total ten miles. 

Spectacular or not, all this walking is thirsty work and not much more than a mile beyond our breakfast venue, the need for rehydration was met in Vila Chã at Bar Terra Nova with a cold bottle of Super Bock. Decent beer in Portugal is proving to be a bit of a challenge and there could be a case to answer with the trading standards people insofar as use of the word “super” is concerned but needs must. 

One of the blips I mentioned above occurred here. 

We weren’t making the best of progress. We carried on along the boardwalks for another three miles and stopped for more refreshment at Bar Areal, just south of Azurara. “Mick, did we pay for that last round at Terra Nova”? Oh bugger. We hadn’t done. What we had done was an inadvertent runner. We made doubly sure we paid up at Areal and will now have to see how we can make good our bad with Terra Nova.

We progressed on to Vila do Conde, a beautiful town, hugging the river back to the coastal path instead of taking the more direct route to Póvoa de Varzim. The weather, still blue sky and sunny, was nonetheless now accompanied by a strong wind off the sea which began to batter us a bit and restricted our ability to get anywhere fast. You often hear it on weather forecasts when they say “the temperature will be 20 degrees but it will feel like 15”. Today, it was a case of the mileage will be 10 but it will feel like 15. With only one mile left to Póvoa, we stopped at Café Lagoas for more refreshment and an opportunity to discuss what could be behind this strange phenomenon. 

One final push saw us eventually arrive at our destination, in the heart of Póvoa, and very nice it was too. It was five o’clock. How could ten miles take us six and a half hours? It’s a mystery to be sure.

Having checked-in to our accommodation and freshened up all necessary bits and pieces, we were out again by six thirty and found a little town centre bar, in the sunshine, where we discussed plans for the following day. Andrea was flagging a bit although she is a borderline narcoleptic in my opinion. Anyway, the sun disappeared behind the town centre buildings so we moved on to find our next place-in-the-sun venue which turned out to be a little bar, right opposite Póvoa‘s very own little fortress, called A Taskinha. I very nearly missed it but this little bar was serving draught Cerveza Alhambra which just happens to be my favourite draught beer when in Spain. Sorted!

What more could you want? Well, actually, food would be nice as we were all very hungry. Mrs C and I may have been on the Alhambra beer but Andrea, our little narcoleptic companion who rarely touches alcohol, had discovered an antidote to her condition in the shape of a glass of white wine. The sun went down. Taskinha had Alhambra beer, white wine……….. and a restaurant! 

It would have been rude not to.

On the rare occasions when Andrea does indulge in a drop of the hard stuff, the transformation is akin to watching Dr Bruce Banner get angry and turn into the incredible Hulk. Except with Andrea she doesn’t go green or burst out of her trousers. Instead she turns into the world’s most animated impressionist and a wickedly good one at that. I will say no more other than I love it when Andrea gets on the wine. 

After a splendid three-course meal (not a pilgrim offering) for all of forty five euros per couple (including our initial beers when sat outside), the proprietor treated us to a cold liqueur made from honey, white brandy and lemon which tasted a bit like grappa. And then he treated us to another one. I don’t think he realised that plying Andrea with this stuff was akin to playing with fire but fortunately the narcolepsy was kicking in and we managed to get her out before she managed to assail any passing dwarves.

This was a very definite high on which to end another splendid day on Camino. What may tomorrow bring? We’ll have to see.

Day 2 - 8 May - Porto to Angeiras

As Musical Youth famously sang:

Pass the Douro ‘pon the left hand side.

It was a typical first night away from home in a strange room (dormitory) in a strange bed (bunk) with a strange pillow (breeze block). One room. Six people. Add in a bit of snoring, stomach gurgling and farting (just me) and it all made for a night of not much sleep. Oscar and Annie vacated the room at just before four in the morning, probably to get away from me to be honest, which at least meant that the four of us now had the room to ourselves by the time we were stirring around two hours later.

We were out of the place shortly after seven and grabbed a coffee and toast at the nearby Snack Bar O Banquinho before taking the metro into Porto. From Trinidade station we walked to Porto Cathedral, the official starting point of the (Porto) Portuguese Camino. 

The weather forecast had promised us a cloudy day but cloudy in Porto bears little resemblance to cloudy in Burnley. In fact, cloudy in Porto equates to summer in Burnley. Lovely.

Having collected our Credencials (pilgrim passport) from the cathedral, we walked the steps and narrow passages down to the banks of the River Douro and headed West towards the Atlantic. The high banks on both sides of the river and the road bridges they carry make for some spectacular scenery, so much so that we stopped to admire the view at the small Bar Douro Chique where the first beer of the day went down splendidly. Chique (as in chic) by name but not by nature unfortunately as the toilets set the lowest bar of lowest bars with a score of “nil points” in the how-nice-are-the-toilets stakes. 

Bar Douro Chique toilets aside, Porto is an attractive city and the four mile walk along the river was delightful, as were the next three miles tracking the Atlantic whilst we still remained in Porto’s outer reaches. The town of Matosinhos marks a temporary change of scenery with its fishing industry infrastructure and numerous fish restaurants. A bit tatty in appearance but it smells great.

Once out of Matosinhos, the spectacular seascape and beaches take over and the whole effect is enhanced by the fact that your are walking on boardwalks, so much so that you hardly even notice the huge oil refinery on your right hand side. 

Porto’s cloudy weather continued to delight, leading to two more refreshment stops having been taken by the time we arrived at the Angeiras camp site, it being our destination for the night and where we had booked a holiday cabin. After a long, long time waiting to check-in to the site, we were provided with the key to cabin no. 230. After a long, long time trying to locate the bloody thing amongst all the nice white cabins, it turned out that our cabin is in fact a candidate for a blue plaque having previously belonged to the Clampett family of Beverly Hillbillies fame.

No matter. The camp site itself has facilities including a large swimming pool, bar and restaurant, albeit only two of which we made use of. We enjoyed a very passable meal from the restaurant’s pilgrim-menu offering with entertainment provided by the small, elderly Portuguese waiter who appeared to have learnt his trade from Mrs Overall or perhaps Manuel from Fawlty Towers. Delivery of four bowls of soup on one tray was a particularly fraught moment but we survived without mishap although his juggling skills later proved rusty when attempting the difficult challenge of removing my empty bowl and spoon.

Over final cocktails in the bar, a discussion ensued around the most appropriate undercarriage wear for blokes whilst on Camino. I am firmly (pun intended) in the boxer shorts camp but I acknowledge that they might come up short in the emergency swimming trunks category. Perhaps the next day or so will provide opportunity for further research and discussion in this respect.

We departed the bar at around nine o’clock and Mrs C entertained us with her impression of falling off a chair. It had been a long day.

In other news, Ashley has had a quiet day albeit his owner (no names remember - confidentiality is key) is now also the proud owner of a new set of panda eyes. Remember, always apply Factor 50 to your face when walking in the Porto cloud.

All in all, it has been a wonderful first full day on our Portuguese Camino. Time for bed.

Day 1 - 7 May - Burnley to Porto

As The Four Seasons famously sang:

Walk like a man, talk like a man. Walk like a man my son. We hope it isn’t long, ‘til Ashley’s been and gone. So walk like a man my son.

Fail to prepare, then prepare to fail. This auspicious weekend of the King’s coronation saw the culmination of seventy plus years of preparation on the part of Prince Charles, monarch-in-waiting, to fulfil his destiny to become King. He may be the winner of the longevity-in-preparation award but anyone who has embarked upon the Camino de Santiago will know a thing or two about preparation also. And I’d bet that Charles has never had to pack his own rucksack, certainly not with the often conflicting objectives that it pass through airport security, fit into a space not more than 45 x 30 x 20cm and hold your worldly belongings for whatever period of time your Camino adventure demands. So stick that in your royal pipe with your sausage fingers and smoke it Charlie-boy.

Having met up with Mick and Andrea at Manchester airport this afternoon, we spent a fun half an hour endeavouring to prove that our respective rucksacks would indeed fit into one of EasyJet's bag-sizer contraptions, our having located a redundant one in a quieter part of the airport. And they all did, just about, courtesy of my wearing-extra-clothes-expertise and Mick’s ability to wear two pairs of trousers.

In the event, once the departure gate was called, all passengers were efficiently herded onto the plane without any baggage sizing taking place and, by the time our seat belts were buckled, my Michelin Man costume was safely back in the rucksack.

Preparation is the key but not everything goes to plan, even when one has prepared well. When you book your flights and make various arrangements several months ahead, you have no way of knowing exactly the state of health that you, or indeed ones fellow travellers, may be experiencing at the time of travel. One may have a bit of a sniffle, or a bad case of conjunctivitis, or even an Ashley (as in Ashley Giles). Or a Nobby (as in Nobby Stiles). Rhymes with Giles. Or Stiles. Yes, one of our party has an Ashley. And when you have an Ashley, then the real challenge comes after you have passed through airport security. With only one, see-through plastic bag allowed for toiletries, the challenge is to make very sure that you don’t inadvertently, later in the day, confuse your tube of Preparation H with the Ralgex Deep Heat in the same bag. Do not fail to prepare.

Far be it from me to divulge the identity of Ashley’s owner but it isn’t me and if it had been one of the girls they probably wouldn’t have told me anyway. Anyway, we can but hope that Ashley behaves himself on tomorrow’s fifteen miles.

Is there anything more symbolic of the British elite than cucumber sandwiches? Personally, I can’t abide cucumber. What is it good for, absolutely nothing. What is it good for, absolutely nothing. It repeats on me, you see. So I avoid it at all costs. With a landing time at Porto scheduled for half past eight, I wasn’t confident that we would find anything to eat anywhere close to our near-to-the-airport hostel, so I opted for an EasyJet meal deal consisting sandwich, cup of tea and pan-au-chocolate for a not unreasonable price of £8.95. And with it being the coronation weekend, what more appropriate sandwich offering than the coronation chicken? 

Probably something without cucumber in it, as it happens. 

Bloody hell, why do sandwich-makers insist on putting cucumber in their sarnies? I’m not part of the British elite. I am one of the great un-washed and if I wanted cucumber in my sandwich I would choose something “with cucumber” in the description. It became necessary therefore to inspect the remaining, one-bite-gone, sandwich for more of the offending article which also, as it transpired, offered opportunity to play the find-the-pieces-of-chicken game. Hmmm. 

A cup of tea (?) you might also ask. Yes, after consecutive nights on the ale, I felt it best to be circumspect on the beer front, hence no beer at the airport or on the plane.

Once landed and safely through customs, the four of us walked the half mile or so to our pre-booked hostel, arriving at around nine o’clock. Two fellow travellers were sat in the reception area drinking bottles of beer which augured well for a modest nightcap once we were settled in. The nice young chap at reception showed us to the three bunk-bed (six-bed) dorm and gave me the key code for the dorm door which was #90000. I don’t have the best of track records with door entry codes so I felt it best to have a little practice whilst Mrs C and the others were in the dorm. Nope. Six attempts. Six fails. Our two dorm-buddies appeared, a nice young Spanish couple called Oscar and Annie, both of whom spoke good English. I introduced myself and told them that the door entry code wasn’t working, showing them the little slip of paper on which #90000 was written. Annie took the slip of paper from my hand, turned it through one hundred and eighty degrees and returned it to me. As it turned out I had a lot more success with 00006#. Oh, how we all laughed.

A quick sort-out of respective rucksacks and we then popped back downstairs for a well-deserved………….cup of tea. Yes, they had beer. Yes, only of the non-alcoholic variety. What’s the point of that?

Back in the dorm by ten o’clock as we had promised Oscar and Annie we would be, because they had an early flight back to northern Spain in the morning. We won’t see them again but if everyone we meet, going forward, is as nice as them then we won’t go far wrong. Tomorrow, the adventure starts for real. Boa noite and Bom Caminho! Let’s hope we’re prepared.

Hostel life.