We woke up our hostess at her house to pick up our bikes from her front yard, and under a drizzle we got ready to start the next leg of our trip at a good time, but after biking for five minutes I got a call. It was Chrissy, still at Esposende. Her chain had jammed on the sprockets of the front gear. I turned around and found, much to my relief, that it was a simple case of jumping the chain back to the sprockets, with little more damage than me ending with grease in my hands. OK, here we go again, following the northern shore of the estuary of the Cávado River, and eventually joining the coastal path with its many rocky tidal pools, now exposed because of the low tide. Interestingly, the folks here have built "pools" in the tidal flat, through the simple expedient of blocking with a masonry wall the low points. The high tide fills the pool, and the kids have a place to go swimming during the low tide. I saw similar recreational structures in the Azores.
After less than 10 kilometers of coastal riding we took to the hills, which were an explosion of green, and half way between biking and walking dutifully followed the yellow arrows that peregrinos know so well. Some of the stretches were difficult with the heavy bikes, but with a little help from our Camino friends we made it through, until high on a hill, we reached Castelo do Neiva and the Iglesia de Santiago. This church was renovated recently and is, of course, an important stopping point for peregrinos, both for devotion and because it is the oldest known church of Santiago. During the renovations an inscription was found on one of the stone walls, which dates its construction to the 8th century, probably a few years following the discovery of the burial of Santiago in Compostela. I learnt a little more about the history of that discovery. First, Santiago comes to spread the Gospel in, say 40 AD, and dies somewhere in the Iberian Peninsula, without anyone knowing where. Then, in the early 800's AD, a missionary still spreading the faith to the heathen Iberians has an apparition of Our Mother Mary, surrounded by stars, who guides this missionary to Compostela, to the place where the saint rests, at which point the remains are recovered, a cathedral is built, and the saint is laid down to rest in the crypt of the new church. Apparently it is at this time that the veneration of the apostle becomes very important, and new churches, like the one we were visiting, get built. The church has very pleasant grounds where peregrinos can use their shells--like we did--to scoop water out of the spring, and rest under the welcoming trees.
All this had taken time, and by 11 am we had advanced maybe 10 km of our 60 km stretch. But we couldn't move along, both because we were still crossing forest with alternating muddy and steep rocky trails, and because our paparazzi Christine had to stop and take a picture of every flower, every rock, and every cute stretch in the road. It would not be a big deal if she took a shot and moved along. Oh, no. She has to set her shot, stopping us all for a couple of minutes while she takes 10 or 15 frames of exactly the same thing! I love this girl, and I could repeat Lady Gaga's words I'm your biggest fan ... I'll follow you where I can ... Papa-paparazzi, but at that point I was ready to take away her phone and throw it into the river--which we crossed along a very handsome walk bridge made of big blocks of granite, unsurprisingly called Puente de Granito.
While we were negotiating the rough trails, a woman helping us told me quite seriously: "You know, this trail may not be for bicycles". Thank you, Captain Obvious. But all roads come to an end, so we finally made it to a paved road, hopelessly behind schedule. And then my beloved paparazzi had the cheek to remind me that it was getting late and she was getting hungry. Could we stop for a coffee and a snack? Breath, breath, breath. Sure, no problem, will stop in Chafé for our elevenses (at 1 pm), but of course one thing led to the other and, after a couple of glasses of excellent Vinho Verde, we finally got under way.
We pushed hard for the next couple of hours but, alas, it was time to stop again for a proper lunch. Margarita had a yummy salad with goat cheese, and we three had a nice "hot dog", which was about a foot long, had a "salchicha" but also generous layers of ham, chorizo, and cheese, all floating in a deep dish the length of a boat that had been filled with Francesinha sauce! It was a mighty dish, and after that we felt we were going to roll the rest of the way to La Guardia.
But before we could get there we had to cross the Limia River at Caminhá, which forms the border between Portugal and Spain. We were told there would be a ferry, but much to the anguish of Raimund and Christine, all that was available to cross the very wide estuary of the Limia were motor launches. They were terrified at the idea of crossing on those flimsy cockleshells and the guy in charge, seeing their faces, immediately started talking to me about how the ferry had been beached for three years now, walked me to where I could see the beached Santa Rita de Cassia (who, if I remember correctly, is the patron saint of impossible causes), and basically made it clear that they could carry all of us, plus our very heavy bikes, in one trip. So we did, and Chrissy had the best moment of the day (but, alas, when she wanted to start her paparazzi stunt again she was asked to stay seated so the boat would not flip on its side). Great fun had by one and all, and we were welcome to Spain with lots of laughter and best wishes for a Buen Camino!
The 5 km left to La
Guardia were beautiful, along a wild granite coast battered by the high tide
waves. La Guardia is a port town, and our hotel was high on the slopes, but we
navigated there without problem, and seeing the open underground parking garage
of the hotel we drove straight into it. The only snag was that it was not that
of our hotel, but the classier hotel next door. Once the mistake was discovered
we beat a retreat and lodged our vehicles in a much more humble shed by our
2-star hotel. The folks at the hotel were very sweet, however, so we felt that
once again we had landed in a good place.
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