Chuck's News: Day 9 - Hiking the Fisherman Trail - Day 5 - “It’s a very blustery day, Pooh”

Where did our wintertime Portuguese sun go? Today was overcast most of the day. It rained during our last hour of walking. But, the most remarkable element of the weather today was the wind. It blew with a constant speed of around 20 mph and was mostly in our face all day. It determined where we stopped as we searched for places on the Lee side of objects to give us a respite from its constant force.

We knew we had a long day in front of us, about 12 miles. In spite of our comfortable bed, we set our alarms and rousted ourselves out of bed at 6:00am. The heat pump had run all night, trying to keep the room at a comfortable temperature. I slipped downstairs to fry two eggs for sandwiches and boil four eggs for breakfast. Why fried egg sandwiches? The lunch meat here is not very appetizing and eggs are cheap and good quality. With cheese added to the egg sandwich it makes a tasty and nutritious lunch.

We ate our breakfast in the hostel dining room, did our dishes and were out the door a little after 7:00am.

First move is drop off the bluff on the road exiting the town square to the beach level south of town, then climb up the opposing slope to the top of the bluff. The trail started out close to the cliffs with more gorgeous ocean and surf views. We passed a group of four somewhat rough looking men that appeared to be camping on the bluff. As it did yesterday, the trail left the shoreline and traversed on roads inland for a period. On this portion the four men caught and passed us. They were not very conversational at all and after they were some distance apart we began to jokingly refer to them as nazi skinheads.

When the trail again came close to the cliff edge it dropped off the edge steeply in a ravine, a piece of terrain that would have been difficult for Sally to traverse safely so we climbed back up and using our map found an alternate route on roads back a ways from the cliffs edge. It was about three quarters of a mile long, but on solid road surface that made for easy and quick walking. When we again intersected the trail we joined it just in front of the four men that passed us. Sally jokingly ribbed them about being too slow. This brought a smile to all their faces. They didn’t look like nazi skinheads anymore. They joked with us in broken English and again we’re in front of us.

The trail now stayed off the beach for a mile or two, then rejoined the bluffs. We elected to continue on the road rather than the trail and cliffs just to keep the walking easy. Both the road and trail intersected in a very small fishing town called Azenha, made up of about 7 or 8 houses, a restaurant and a fishing equipment store. We entered the restaurant keen on getting Sally a coke and the two of us a pastry. As we did, in walked our four German men, again a look of incredulity on their faces. Sally again ribbed them about being too slow and got them all to laughing again. They were staying for lunch. As we left before them Sally again joked with them about the trail ahead. We did not see them again.

From the “town” the trail led us down a road to their tiny harbor on this rocky, wave infested shore, then turned south, dropped to a bridge over a creek and then climbed steeply up the far side. As earlier in the day, we were on the cliff’s edge sometimes and back from its edge and out of view of the water at others. With about 3 miles to go to our destination town of Odeceixe we put the ocean to our backs and headed inland. From the top of the last seaside bluff we could look across the river to the south and see a massive beach and beach town. Decidedly very busy in the summer, it looked like a ghost town today. The trail followed the north bank of the river inland three miles to a bridge.We crossed, then backtracked down river a few hundred yards into town. It was about 3:00pm. My watch said we had covered 11.87 miles.

Our host’s instruction said that to enter our lodgings, the Bohemian Antique Guesthouse, we needed to walk across the square and get the key from the pizza restaurant. We got the key to our room, the “Moroccan Gypsy”. No room number, just a name. All went as instructed and soon we were in our room, a funky space that looked like something out of Moulin Rouge. The bed was a mattress on a sort of false ceiling. The couches and chairs were very close to the ground. The lamps were funky. But it had a great bathroom and amazing shower.

We rested, then walked to a grocery store for supplies and back to the pizza restaurant for dinner.

Sally spent a lot of time plotting and planning the next stages of our adventure. For some reason I was incredibly tired. She was trying to discuss plans with me and all I could do was mutter incoherently and nod off. Mercifully, we climbed the ladder into our bed that was the ceiling of our room, rejoiced at finding a super comfy bed, plugged in all electronic devices and was asleep in two heartbeats. Another amazing day.

Zambujeira from across the draw