Breakfast included today & everyone in there was heading out one way or the other on the Fisherman’s Trail, it seemed. Some of them we’d seen before & saw again later today. It was one of two times so far this trip when we’ve had a chance to slurp up coffee the way we’re used to at home. Thing is it’s shitty coffee. I quite like having an Americano the way they do it here.
The start today was down to the beach then steeply up & an elevation profile of the route shows that’s the story of the day.
But not the whole story. Here we went partway down, then crossed a wet place above a waterfall. That’s Meg descending some stairs to get a good angle for a photo. The waterfall is visible at the bottom of the photo.
This is the photo she took:
We stopped at a beachside coffee stand only a mile or two along.
The sign indicates we’d gone about four miles. In here, if I remember right, there’s a stretch where we turned inland and squeezed between a wire fence and the vegetation, getting bushwhacked all along the way & not sure if we were on the trail. It’s always been super clearly marked. Every time we were tempted by an alternative it went straight to a cliff. Revisiting the guide book later, I found there’d been a reroute here due to a landslide. Also, we encountered a couple English guys we’d see & speak with again & again during the day.
Over time we collected a few of these acquaintances. First a cheery young Polish guy now living in Norway (by the second day he had a female companion who spoke no English). Then a group of four young women, maybe French? One interested in engaging with us, another tolerant of it, two others indifferent at best. Finally, Rowena & Ian from Dorset. We didn’t see them along the way, but did in cafes multiple times. Bruce and Jan had some great conversations with them that Meg & I mostly witnessed rather than participating in. Come to think of it, non-English speaking folks might have perceived me as indifferent at best during our conversations.
There was a place where we went down & up & it was wet & slippery & sometimes you needed to use your hands. It was more like hiking in the White Mountains than anything else we’ve done in the Cotswolds, Scotland, or here.
Lots of cliff top walking, spectacular vistas, etc. I ran through my vocabulary of superlatives, exclamations, and intensifiers. Yesterday I used variations of “fuck” far too often. Today I opted for Jeezum Crow, Jeepers, Holy Cow & maybe more. When I topped out the dip with the mud and the hand holds, I went back to Bullwhip Griffin from my youth & exclaimed “Hoola Haw!” The English guys & the French gals, sitting to rest & enjoy the view, laughed at that one.
Eventually we came to a place, supposedly the midpoint of the day, a little village just out of sight in the next photo, where we stopped for lunch.
The first street is the street of fishermen. Photo mostly because my Dad is so on my mind.
I haven’t been blogging about meals or taking food pictures, but here’s one. It’s a part of the culture we’ve been enjoying though only partly committing to.
After eschewing photos of so many beautiful scenes I took this one because the islet looks like a cartoon dog to me.
Finished our coastal walk.
There was a long, somewhat switchbacky descent to a road beside the Ceixe River, then a long tedious walk into the town, though Jan found some cork oaks along the way.
Also this along the way. My map software & bad navigating caused us extra uphill steps to our BnB. Then we had to climb two flights of stairs.
Imagine how much I enjoyed a hot shower & clean clothes & then this view from our balcony:
I want to tell you more about the BnB tomorrow.
We went for drinks in the town square, found Rowena & Ian, drank a bottle of tinto (red wine, the house red) & more (Jan had West Coast IPA), Meg commented that I turned into a wino & more general fine evening activities & talk.
All day today this song was stuck in my head:
I awoke at 1:30 & realizing I wasn’t going back to sleep for a bit, went back to work on this post. This song is on repeat in my head:
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