Hi readers
How is it that some days the pack is light and some days I swear there are bricks in it! And how come the coffee breaks are such a long way in between. Some days I walk and listen to the birds song, I concentrate on the crunch of boots on gravel, the pain of cobbles on the soles of my feet through boot hour on hour with my poles getting caught in the small cracks. Then I fall into a thought pattern. Marvelling at the wonderful things that have happened to me in my life.
Of course it follows this is why I am walking the "Way of St James" to give thanks it is even better to have my dearest wife and daughter to be on this path together. And then there is you.
I do not know what you are thinking of this journal but I hope one day you can feel the wind and rain the warm sunshine, the steep hills, long valleys of corn, olives, eucalyptus forests, cork oak forests. The pungent smell of the piggeries, feed lots, chicken farms. Hear the peel of the church bells ringing out loud, some digitalised , others just good old fashioned bells giving the hour. Dogs bark frantically as we pass by their gates.
It is coming on winter.
We have walked 500 klms North from Lisbon through a Industrial complexes, busy roads, flooded bush tracks, medieval villages- locked and in disrepair resembling a war zone. Huge Quintas and manor houses falling down, we are in disbelief. This is Portugal.
Then there was Opporto. Home of Port wine, vibrant alive with huge block churches solid stone houses, streets narrow houses painted in vibrant colour, the rail station huge murals of a thousand tile-art work depicting battles, peasent scenes, rural harvests. Gives me the feeling this is a socialist country. Of course I am correct.
Oporto is a wonderful city built on the steep banks of the Douro River. Catherine bought us some time in a beautiful apartment right on the river as a gift for my 70th birthday we spent a couple of days loving this city.
Now we are a days walk from the Spanish border. The locals are finishing the olive harvest. The grape vines are turning red. Poplar, Elm, Oak leaves fall all around as we pass through the lanes copses and old roman roads. We have passed through the Douro giving the dark full blooded red wines we are now in the Vinho Verde region giving wines of pale colour with a texture that slides off the palate with slight fizzy taste. The country has changed from river flats to rolling hills making our progress slower. However our fitness is good.
Our physical condition has improved. Pam had blister on blister. These seem to be under control. Citt did well with no training, had niggles but held out. My back has progressively improved with assistance from modern antiinflammatory drugs. I would like to think my faith gave me strength.
I walk the way of St James with light heart. I go on my pilgrimage through this land filled with crosses churches (always locked). niches filled with effigy of people. These to me an era past. I feel the spirit of those in whose footsteps I tread. Those who have offered kindness, understanding and tolerance. This to me is the true spirit.
Buon Camino.
How is it that some days the pack is light and some days I swear there are bricks in it! And how come the coffee breaks are such a long way in between. Some days I walk and listen to the birds song, I concentrate on the crunch of boots on gravel, the pain of cobbles on the soles of my feet through boot hour on hour with my poles getting caught in the small cracks. Then I fall into a thought pattern. Marvelling at the wonderful things that have happened to me in my life.
Of course it follows this is why I am walking the "Way of St James" to give thanks it is even better to have my dearest wife and daughter to be on this path together. And then there is you.
I do not know what you are thinking of this journal but I hope one day you can feel the wind and rain the warm sunshine, the steep hills, long valleys of corn, olives, eucalyptus forests, cork oak forests. The pungent smell of the piggeries, feed lots, chicken farms. Hear the peel of the church bells ringing out loud, some digitalised , others just good old fashioned bells giving the hour. Dogs bark frantically as we pass by their gates.
It is coming on winter.
We have walked 500 klms North from Lisbon through a Industrial complexes, busy roads, flooded bush tracks, medieval villages- locked and in disrepair resembling a war zone. Huge Quintas and manor houses falling down, we are in disbelief. This is Portugal.
Then there was Opporto. Home of Port wine, vibrant alive with huge block churches solid stone houses, streets narrow houses painted in vibrant colour, the rail station huge murals of a thousand tile-art work depicting battles, peasent scenes, rural harvests. Gives me the feeling this is a socialist country. Of course I am correct.
Oporto is a wonderful city built on the steep banks of the Douro River. Catherine bought us some time in a beautiful apartment right on the river as a gift for my 70th birthday we spent a couple of days loving this city.
Now we are a days walk from the Spanish border. The locals are finishing the olive harvest. The grape vines are turning red. Poplar, Elm, Oak leaves fall all around as we pass through the lanes copses and old roman roads. We have passed through the Douro giving the dark full blooded red wines we are now in the Vinho Verde region giving wines of pale colour with a texture that slides off the palate with slight fizzy taste. The country has changed from river flats to rolling hills making our progress slower. However our fitness is good.
Our physical condition has improved. Pam had blister on blister. These seem to be under control. Citt did well with no training, had niggles but held out. My back has progressively improved with assistance from modern antiinflammatory drugs. I would like to think my faith gave me strength.
I walk the way of St James with light heart. I go on my pilgrimage through this land filled with crosses churches (always locked). niches filled with effigy of people. These to me an era past. I feel the spirit of those in whose footsteps I tread. Those who have offered kindness, understanding and tolerance. This to me is the true spirit.
Buon Camino.
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