The seven miles to our lodgings, Quinta do Monteverde, was one of the toughest trails we have trodden on. Perhaps it was a precursor to similar trails in the next stages. From our Esposende hotel, we joined a crowd of boardwalk hikers northward. A handsome couple (German, maybe?) strolled past us at a good pace. Compared to our grubby hiking clothes and backpack, this couple looked smart—nice fitting dark shirt and shorts, small backpack, athletic knee bands, and new sports shoes. They thrust their trekking poles, arms in rhythmic precision, along with their ram-rod torsos. Pat and I stared at each other.
The crowd was on the beach for the last day of August. The restaurants were busy, but in one cafe we bought sandwiches and some nata pastries to squirrel away for lunch on the trail. It promised to be another one of those hot days. Until now, we arrived at each of our lodgings after some difficulty in locating it. Google Maps was also spotty in the villages. The English in the guidebook’s directions was short in precision. Did it mean turn left when it says, further down, a second left…? At one point, it misdirected us to the end of the road. The church we needed to get to was on the other side of the road on a different route. On our right was a cornfield, its stalks were taller than us. Should we take the footpath not knowing if it will take us to the church? What danger lurks in the cornfield? A guard dog, perhaps? Throwing caution to the wind, we trusted our instincts. We see a water well up ahead and found behind it, the path that led out of the cornfield towards the church.
With much relief, we entered the churchyard. Inside the church, on a table, a stamping seal was available for pilgrims. Pilgrims preferred church seals over the more readily available stamps in hotels and cafes. But some churches were not always open. Your next best option for a seal is the nearby cafe. A stamp seal is sine qua non for businesses along the Camino. They fulfill the customary role of assuring the pilgrims get at least two stamps on their passports for each stage of the Camino. Some cafes advertise they offered seals—a marketing ploy. Still, it speaks to the tradition of providing amenities in the community with pilgrims.
Large rocks and boulders laced with creeping roots dominated this forest trail. The fallen leaves gave a false sense of ground cushion. Any of these boulders could trip you up. Our trekking poles proved useful, helping us balance before hopping onto the next boulder. At the end of this trail, our guidebook directed us to look for a stone bridge. We could hear water flowing and could see the river Nieva and the stone bridge. The path leading to the bridge was not obvious. We went back and forth, searching in frustration for the path. A couple of young German women caught up with us, and we ask them if they knew where to turn. One pulled out a guidebook, and read some German words aloud, “Over there, look for an open space.” We walked a few paces forward. There it was! Why is it that their guidebook was more descriptive than ours? Pat and I asked each other.
After the bridge, we exited the forest onto the tarmac. A memorial to Santiago (in Peregrino attire), along the national highway, marks our path toward a village road that was our destination. The cafe in the corner offered a moment of respite for espresso and juice. Downhill, we stopped at a tall and heavy wooden gate and pondered how to get in. A voice from a loudspeaker welcomed us. There must have been a security cam somewhere. We identify ourselves, and the gates swing open to a hacienda-like vista of the Quinta do Monteverde.
Thankfully, our luggage had arrived earlier. We haul it up through a covered pergola laden with kiwi fruit to a 3-room lodge twenty feet away. Our lodge was the third. Our jaws drop as we enter. We have not seen, thus far, anything so opulent. In its day, the Quinta would have been a manor with its lord and a large complement of servants living within its thick stone walls. Today, the appearance is still there and exudes an old world wealthy charm of vineyards and water fountains.
Unfortunately, the Quinta does not serve dinner. We walked uphill again into town to scrounge for dinner. We found a bar (where a couple of old men watching Futbol stared at us as we enter). The waitress, seeing that we were foreign pilgrims at loss for words, kindly offered to put together a take-away dinner: chips, sausages, and battered shrimp. A quick walk back to the Quinta to enjoy our meal, and we settled down for a most peaceful night of sleep in our lovely lodgings.
The next morning, a hooting owl woke us up. After our morning ritual, we dragged our luggage back to the receiving office and checked out the breakfast. It was a grand room with an equally great fireplace but now transformed into a grand buffet. On the table was so much food for us and the five couples who came in. They even served scrambled eggs. We were tempted to linger, but our guidebook cautioned us that the next stage was going to be mountainous and may take more time to cross into the next town, Viana do Castelo.
