Ponte de Lima, 8th October 2023

Buen Camino,

I couldn’t find my shoes this morning. I was looking for those beautiful black ones with bright orange laces. And then I realised that mine were the stinky ones, dusted grey and sandy. I also keep discovering safety pins everywhere. On my towel, on my T-shirts, on my socks. I hang them on my backpack to dry in the morning, pack them away at lunch, and by evening I’m always surprised where they turn up.

Today was not my best day. Something in my head just didn’t click. I listened to four podcasts. And I was hungry. I forgot that almost everything would be closed on Sunday. I managed 23.4 kilometres on one pizza slice, two pastéis de nata, and a Kinder Bueno. At one point, I saw a plum on a tree and wanted to pick it. But I told myself I'd probably violate all the pilgrim principles. You shall not steal; you shall walk the hunger off. You shall not curse the Portuguese, even if you can smell Sunday fish on the grill and hear the clinking of wine glasses from every garden.

In the last few kilometres, one elderly man stopped me and launched into German. Then he was confused when I understood him but said I was Czech. I asked him where in Germany he was from, but he said he was Portuguese. So I knit my brows and asked why he was speaking German then. He explained that most Camino walkers were German, so he always tried their language first to impress. This time, he failed. But he was very sweet to offer me a glass of water. I resisted the urge to request schnitzel und kartoffeln instead.