The last two stages into Porto.

The last two stages into Porto were either, two comfortably shorter days, or a long, more difficult stage.  The biggest difficulty being that accomodation is scarce for dividing it into stages. 

An interesting sculpture on the outskirts of São João 

In the industrial area, leaving São João 

An impressive church on the outskirts of São João.  Saw George for the first time on this day.

I have been thwarted taking a photo of the public labour (laundry) as a couple of good ones had people actually doing the washing in them, and I thought that wasn't very polite.   Someone has obviously been washing here at this one.

This is what, I assume, is the Portuguese equivalent of the Galician horreo.  Starting to see a lot of them.

Over the past few days I bumped into George on a number of occasions.   He is an 82 year old Brisbane man who sets a pretty good pace, and because I frequently stop to take photos he invariably passes me and I find that I am unlikely to be able to close the gap.

I was scouting around to find accomodation in the village of Grijo.  I didn't really want to stay in the albergue and so I decided to stay in the same place as George, a motel, and basically the only option in the area.  It transpired that this was a VERY discreet motel, so discreet that one would drive a car into the garage, lock the door and no-one would know it was there!  No - one greeted me at reception (or rather it was a faceless voice over the intercom),  and the Key card was posted out in a drawer.  Then, once I had figured out how to turn the raucous music off, I rang reception and asked how I could go out and then come back in.  Seeing the person I was talking to spoke very good English I quizzed her on how I was to leave the next morning, and felt comfortable with the arrangements.  I asked her to unlock the gate so I could leave, and headed off to the bar up the road.  I was still smiling at the situation I found myself in (I haven't told you about my room yet), when I spied George, with as big a grin as mine, and greeting me with the comment "it's a motel with a difference!".

This little Capella was just a few hundred behind the motel.

An old building across the road from the Capella 

We then set about comparing rooms and experiences.  He had a heart shaped bed, mine was normal shape, but the sheet was in a fan shape, a red rose on it and red heart shaped cushions, red wall paper and lighting.  There was a LOT more, but I won't go into it all.

my room

on our way in after our evening "out"

The gate firmly shut, after I had made my escape!

George and I killed time sitting on the verandah, yarning with "Swedish Roger" who couldn't believe we were in the "love motel"!  Eventually we had to head back to our abode.  We knew that we wouldn't be able to stay in the grounds and yarn, otherwise we could both end up being locked out of our rooms.  

I am assuming that George escaped the next morning because it wasn't easy!  I rang reception and got a man who kept saying "ne pas comprendre" to my queries - not sure why my English made him reply in French!  He would then speak to me in Portuguese, and I gave the same response "ne pas comprendre"!  Eventually we both hung up, reaching a stalemate.  This man eventually arriving at my door, dressed in pink trousers, and me assuring him, with strenuous gestures that I didn't need "company", but needed to leave the premises!  15 - 20 minutes later the gate was eventually opened and I set off, later making the day for my pilgrim friends when I relayed my story.  All I can say is, that in all the kilometres I have walked, I have never had an experience quite like this before.

There were times when the path went through semi industrial areas, a lot of urban areas, but there were also times when we were out "in nature".  I even followed a Roman Road for a few kilometres, with its great big stones, making a gently undulating surface to walk on, and, of course, there were always cobbles to negotiate.

Restoration in progress 

sometimes, instead of the usual symmetrical cobbles, there are patches of random shaped cobbles.

Somehow, I ended up being a day ahead of myself, and so I was able to arrive in Porto soon after Julie arrived,  instead of the following day as planned.  I did try hard to get there before her, but was thwarted by a number of things, not least of which was actually being able to escape from my abode in the morning. 

Crossing this bridge, Ponte de D Luis 1, is the way we enter Porto pedestrians and the metro share it!

A steep climb up to meet Julie.