Finding Serenity On The Less-Traveled Portuguese Camino

In the Douro Valley of Portugal, patches of reds, greens and browns on terraced vineyards thrived in the sun protected by distant mountains. I viewed the valley from a vista in Peso da Régua, longing to find my place in the sun.

Perhaps my husband and I would make new global friends. Maybe we would connect with our inner selves and dream new dreams. All while hiking a portion of the Portuguese Camino these next three days.

Late afternoon, Dan and I drove two and a half hours west by northwest to arrive at Valença. This would be our starting point on the Portuguese Central Camino. Aligning the river Minho on the Spanish border, Valença is proud of its double-walled fortress, protecting its people from Spanish and French invaders since the 13th century.

Upon arrival in this medieval town, we parked near the fort or Fortalez,a where a marching band rooted us on with bold rhythms.

Our boots clomped and echoed across cobbled roads, emphasizing the emptiness of our chosen way. However, two wire-haired Portuguese Podengos with large triangular ears launched a path in front of us. Each dog’s energetic gait and playful nature, nuzzling our hands periodically, fueled our pace and positivity.

No Passport Needed, As We Walked From Portugal Into Spain

After three or four miles, the Podengos trotted across the Valença – Tui International Bridge into Spain. We shadowed close behind.

I was surprised to walk into another country free of border control. No one checked passports or asked the purpose of our travel. It felt as carefree as crossing from one state into the next back home in the United States.

“Dorothy, quick, don’t miss this!” said Dan.

In a flurry of barks, the Podengos twirled about in a farewell-to-us spin. Before we could wave goodbye, they scurried back towards the bridge, their memory fading into oblivion.

In the distance, we glimpsed the Gothic architectural style of Tui Cathedral in San Fernando Square. This Roman Catholic landmark was built on a grandiose scale; the closer we got, the more impossible it was to get the whole church in our sights.

Bakery-Fresh Tarts Cast a Heady Orange Blossom Spell

The aroma of Catalonian custard tarts whisked us down the street to a pasteleria where a tray of tarts, hot out of the oven, cast a heady orange blossom spell. Entranced, Dan and I purchased two tarts with two espressos and drifted to the patio to watch the flow of streetlife and catch snippets of conversation.

A young couple strolled arm in arm; a father-son duo talked soccer; an elderly pair spoke passionately about paella; and a teenager juggled three balls while whirling a hula hoop around his waist.

This parade of humanity called to us, but our Camino waited. We savored the last bites of the orange-flavored delicacy, stretched our legs and strapped on our backpacks to tackle the next 10 miles to Porrino, where we’d stay the night.

Dan and I arrived dusty and spent, in need of showers and a substantial meal. Around the corner from our inn, we found a tapas restaurant where we shared seared scallops, a tomato, pepper, onion, and cucumber salad, and half a carafe of white wine. We walked back to our room at the inn, collapsing onto the canopied bed and falling into a sound sleep.

The next morning, we walked northwest towards Atlantic breezes, where the Portuguese Camino hugs the coast. Deep breaths of fresh, salty air kept us going as the first mile disappeared behind us.

Though we were free from the throngs of five years ago on the popular Camino Francés, I missed the vigor and camaraderie of pilgrims spurring me on to finish the last 100km to Santiago de Compostela.

On this peaceful route, however, I could declutter my mind and harmonize with nature and her surrounding seascape.

Bonding With Brown Velvet Crabs and Moon Jellyfish

Glowing streaks of yellow, purple and pink spread across the horizon, reviving my energy and determination to hike 12 to 15 miles daily. A seagull dancing on the waves laughed when I unraveled strands of seaweed from my sneaker.

Although we weren’t connecting with other pilgrims, I felt nature was reaching out and urging us to take notice: the glint of sunshine winking from swelling waves, the brown velvet crab rolling in with the tide, its bright red eyes shining between bits of broken shells; and two moon jellyfish, lifeless in the sand, their thin, wispy tentacles waving in the wind.

As we journeyed on, I thought of the words of poet Álvaro de Campos, quoted at a Porto light show at the Church of Clérigos: “…the best way of travelling is to feel. To feel everything in every way. To feel it all excessively…” I kicked off my trail runners to let the warm, soothing sand touch my toes in a more intimate way.

The Virgin of the Rock Blesses Sailors and Peregrinos

Beachfront hotels, restaurant patios and sparkly waves unfolded before us in Baiona at sunset. We’d hiked close to 20 miles that day.

A gentle wind fanned my sweaty brow. Dan stretched his weary leg muscles against a wooden post. As I glanced up at San Roque Hill, I glimpsed the Virgin of the Rock. Here was a 15-meter-tall granite statue overlooking the bay to bless sailors and steer them to safety.

Beams of light encircled the Virgin’s head like a halo. At that moment, I, too, felt a mysterious sense of protection from the nearly century-old Virgin.

Since we weren’t walking with fellow peregrinos and lacked safety in numbers, the Virgin of the Rock was a welcome substitute. Following my gaze, a young twosome in skimpy swim attire patted their hearts with respect. I smiled and did the same.

We could’ve slept on nails that night after walking five extra miles and snagged a hotel room just a stone’s throw from the harbor.

The next morning, we trailed a flock of sandpipers snacking on crumbs from a boardwalk while I grabbed a nearly empty water bottle from my backpack. I finished the last two sips. We’ll find a place soon to replenish supplies, I thought.

A Painting Come to Life

Ambling on, we passed fields of horses, sheep, cows and piles of fresh dung. I was struck by the figure of an elderly woman, yards away, in a red jacket with a cane and a blond labrador retriever leading her around a barnyard.

Surrounded by russet flowerpots, golden bales of hay and a flinty-colored cobblestone wall, she was center stage with her bright jacket in this Norman Rockwell-esque scene.

Cathedral-High Trees In an Eucalyptus Forest

A rickety bridge led us to the edge of a eucalyptus forest, exuding a minty, citrus scent. Light beams through tangled branches of blue-gray bark cast an otherworldly glow. I walked through the spiraling light in a dream-like state, the cooing of turtle doves above.

With cathedral-high trees in a hushed atmosphere, this felt like a sacred place to worship the eucalyptus, its oil and leaves revered for medicinal, pain-relieving and therapeutic benefits.

As we left this divine sanctuary, we tread through a field of hibiscus, jasmine, and honeysuckle. The calming scents alleviated my growing thirst, but upon reaching a residential neighborhood, I craved water.

The cream-colored stucco homes bordered wetlands with a few abandoned rowboats. We were in Nigran, a road sign read. A Mediterranean-style home with intricate tilework framing the front door posted a small sign, REFUGE, on its lawn.

“Look,” said Dan, pointing to the sign, “I’ll bet this is a guest house. Maybe we can use their restroom and get some bottled water.”

“I doubt it. This looks more like a private residence,” I said, feeling its home-sweet-home aura. “Many people in the States name their homes. Besides, a guest house wouldn’t have such a small driveway.”

“You could be wrong,” he said, marching up the front steps as I trailed a few paces behind.

He opened the unlocked door and boldly walked in. A middle-aged woman wearing a silk blue dress and matching heels asked if she could help us. We heard voices and laughter coming from a nearby room.

“We were hoping this might be a guest house,” said Dan.

Experiencing Goodwill Along The Way

“No, I’m sorry,” chuckled the woman, “though we do have plenty of family and friends here now. This is my home,” she said in fluent English. Noting our backpacks, she added, “I can direct you to a hostel about a mile away.

I felt mortified. Yet, I was surprised by how good-natured and gracious she was after we’d barged into her home, unaware whether it was a lodge or a private dwelling. We apologized for our intrusion and moved on.

Flavors of the Sea In Vigo

Twenty minutes later, Dan and I found the hostel suggested by the benevolent villager. We each guzzled a tall, bottled water as our feet pushed on to Vigo, a seafaring town dating back to the third century BC.

From beaches to eagle sightings and mountain views, travelers could immerse themselves in a maritime setting enriched by flavors of the sea. I was grateful for all this, but the coastal trail was deserted and strangely quiet without the call of fellow peregrinos and their spirit of adventure.

We’d hiked 15 ½ miles that day, feasted on shrimp and later roomed in the heart of Vigo. Since we’d driven ourselves to walk 50 miles in three days, we now wanted to go wherever the wind blew us.

The city of Pontevedra piqued my interest. A centuries-old coastal city in northwestern Spain, it was world-renowned as a key trade hub with its fishing and shipbuilding industries.

“The Best Way of Travelling” Is to Join the Dance

We took a 30-minute cab ride to Pontevedra and explored the historic quarter. In the distance, we heard folk music and heels clacking against cobblestones. As we neared the Church of the Pilgrim Virgin, we were dazzled by 20 young adults dressed in bright colors whirling in a circle.

Two female dancers coaxed us to join in by tossing me a tambourine and Dan, castanets. I thumped the tambourine on my hip, letting the jingles resonate around the ring. Dan clicked the castanets above his head like a flamenco dancer.

As others observed his spirited movements, he was pushed into the circle’s center, where a red cape was draped over his shoulders. He grabbed the cape and waved it tauntingly like a toreador luring a bull to his death.  

Without breaking stride, he passed the cape to a man who danced against the cobblestones with his heels and toes. I smiled as the rhythm of our circle blended into one.

Indeed, “the best way of travelling,” believed Álvaro de Campos, is to feel harmony with the outside world.

If You Go:

Meet new friends from around the world at a Port wine tasting, a vineyard tour, lunch, and a boat ride on the Douro River. View tour here.

 Stroll across the upper deck of Luis l Bridge from Porto to Gaia. Choose from a variety of riverside restaurants in Gaia featuring fresh seafood, salads, wine, and a custard tart pastry or Pastel de Nata. Once it’s dark, enjoy colorful lights illuminating Porto from across the river. The 50 best restaurants with a view in Vila Nova de Gaia

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Author’s Bio: Dorothy Maillet is a writer and adventurer from Irvington, NY. Her travels have taken her across Europe, Asia, Africa and North America. She has been a freelance feature writer for Gannett Newspapers, and her stories have appeared in the anthology, A Pink Suitcase: 22 Tales of Women’s Travel, Pembrokeshire Life (Wales), BootsnAll Travel, Westchester Life, and Go World Travel Magazine.

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