GPX - Criss-Crossing Caminos - Spain & Portugal
- Thread starter G&T
- Start date
People eating outdoors in Asturias in December had me guessing ...I was wondering much the same thing.
Hello Deer
Oviedo (the capital city of the Asturias) bound and the trip starts in earnest.
Through the Picos, past the Deer and twist after twist of road. In the canyons I sneak up to the front of the road reinforcement traffic light queues to sit and wait for green. Past the van lifers, deliverers and day-trippers, then it’s just me echoing along.
Slowly the mountains change to buildings and snap I’m in Oviedo. This is where the money is, I’ve often wondered where it goes. Beautiful people, beautiful clothes and children that have just come out of ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.’
Plaza Mayor’s; we all need a Plaza Mayor in our lives.
At the hotel Nap, Oviedo, D’WFR is parked outside on the street, but visible from my room. I have to admit to putting a Klingon cloaking device on her when she is on holiday. This little parking spot is free for bikes but I keep watching cars come and go reversing into the tight spot. But at 2am and 3am and 4am the local refuse truck parks up to pick the boxes, then the plastics, then the rubbish that’s been left around her. It’s the local dump spot it seems – I’m up all night!
Hotel breakfasts in a city – why would you? Rip-off at best. So it’s down to the local Panaderia/café to watch the world wake-up and go to work. Yummy mummy Alexandra is rubbing shoulders with burly builder Jose - it’s all here and I love the chatter, “Oright darlin” well, the Spanish equivalent.
Oviedo (the capital city of the Asturias) bound and the trip starts in earnest.
Through the Picos, past the Deer and twist after twist of road. In the canyons I sneak up to the front of the road reinforcement traffic light queues to sit and wait for green. Past the van lifers, deliverers and day-trippers, then it’s just me echoing along.
Slowly the mountains change to buildings and snap I’m in Oviedo. This is where the money is, I’ve often wondered where it goes. Beautiful people, beautiful clothes and children that have just come out of ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.’
Plaza Mayor’s; we all need a Plaza Mayor in our lives.
At the hotel Nap, Oviedo, D’WFR is parked outside on the street, but visible from my room. I have to admit to putting a Klingon cloaking device on her when she is on holiday. This little parking spot is free for bikes but I keep watching cars come and go reversing into the tight spot. But at 2am and 3am and 4am the local refuse truck parks up to pick the boxes, then the plastics, then the rubbish that’s been left around her. It’s the local dump spot it seems – I’m up all night!
Hotel breakfasts in a city – why would you? Rip-off at best. So it’s down to the local Panaderia/café to watch the world wake-up and go to work. Yummy mummy Alexandra is rubbing shoulders with burly builder Jose - it’s all here and I love the chatter, “Oright darlin” well, the Spanish equivalent.
I’m still not sure about the name of this restaurant!
Oh goody, a ride report 
I feel your pain about the map update. I learned, the hard way too, years ago not to, ever, update anything Garmin related within a month of departing on any sort of run or trip
I feel your pain about the map update. I learned, the hard way too, years ago not to, ever, update anything Garmin related within a month of departing on any sort of run or trip
We live and learn Jockser. It was a near melt down momentOh goody, a ride report
I feel your pain about the map update. I learned, the hard way too, years ago not to, ever, update anything Garmin related within a month of departing on any sort of run or trip
I'm enjoying this yip an update will get ya 
Kiss me quick
Lugo (Roman walled city of Lugo province Galicia) beckons today as I keep heading West across small paved lanes, but all that comes to a halt when I see it. ‘Camino de Santiago’ - it looks rough.
Decision?
Do I go on and risk damaging me and D’WFR with no mates to help, or bail and live to fight another day? I choose the latter – I know, I hear you!
Problem is, I’m now on the other side of the valley from where I need to be with no bridges for miles. I finally end up in a little hamlet of 2 houses called La Fexa, a dead end, and lost again. I can tell not many people come here – you know what I mean!
In my best Spanish I ask for directions. “Over the mountain for 8k and right at La Cruz,” came the reply. The alarm is ringing at this point, because I know La Cruz means ‘cross’ and if that’s on the top of a mountain I’m stuffed.
Remember my ‘Tranquillo?’ I follow the directions and keep an eye on my original magenta line route way-off in the other valley. No way I’m going to click ‘re-calculate’ on the SatNav. No way Garmin, I’ve been in that predicament before. In the end, it turns out that the tracks I took were quite incredible and I rejoined my magenta line later in the day.
I’d figured out that is was way cheaper to fill up outside of the cities so after an eventful day go for a top up just before Lugo. It’s a slight downward facing forecourt and just as I heave D’WFR up, fixating on a big patch of grease, a beaten up old Jimmny parks right up close. In slow motion, I feel the bike going, going, going, going and next….
.....I’m kissing the petrol pump in a full-on face plant. Not quite the intimacy on a trip I had in mind – but it happens.
It’s at this point I should add that the lovely Sally, aka Mrs G&T, is at home and acting as basecamp manager. She has taken control of where I stay based on where I am. Depending on Sally’s mood depends on what I get...
.
Lugo (Roman walled city of Lugo province Galicia) beckons today as I keep heading West across small paved lanes, but all that comes to a halt when I see it. ‘Camino de Santiago’ - it looks rough.
Decision?
Do I go on and risk damaging me and D’WFR with no mates to help, or bail and live to fight another day? I choose the latter – I know, I hear you!
Problem is, I’m now on the other side of the valley from where I need to be with no bridges for miles. I finally end up in a little hamlet of 2 houses called La Fexa, a dead end, and lost again. I can tell not many people come here – you know what I mean!
In my best Spanish I ask for directions. “Over the mountain for 8k and right at La Cruz,” came the reply. The alarm is ringing at this point, because I know La Cruz means ‘cross’ and if that’s on the top of a mountain I’m stuffed.
Remember my ‘Tranquillo?’ I follow the directions and keep an eye on my original magenta line route way-off in the other valley. No way I’m going to click ‘re-calculate’ on the SatNav. No way Garmin, I’ve been in that predicament before. In the end, it turns out that the tracks I took were quite incredible and I rejoined my magenta line later in the day.
I’d figured out that is was way cheaper to fill up outside of the cities so after an eventful day go for a top up just before Lugo. It’s a slight downward facing forecourt and just as I heave D’WFR up, fixating on a big patch of grease, a beaten up old Jimmny parks right up close. In slow motion, I feel the bike going, going, going, going and next….
.....I’m kissing the petrol pump in a full-on face plant. Not quite the intimacy on a trip I had in mind – but it happens.
It’s at this point I should add that the lovely Sally, aka Mrs G&T, is at home and acting as basecamp manager. She has taken control of where I stay based on where I am. Depending on Sally’s mood depends on what I get...
.
Unchained Melody
Santiago de Compostela & Combarro. Off to a local café again this morning. I mentioned before how I love the interactions of people, particularly the lady behind the counter shouting “Digame,” literally translated as ‘speak to me’ at deafening levels, or the little old dear who wishes everyone, “Bon proveche,” ‘enjoy your meal’ to complete strangers as she finds a table. I’ll miss this generation.
At the Hotel Darrio in Lugo, D’WFR had the pleasure of a night in the basement parking. Of course she had her cloaking device on as well as a disc lock and an Oxford chain lock. The chain lock has history though (it’s a bitch to me).
I’m quite superstitious, but last night I locked the chain on the right of the wheel, not the normal left and guess what, that mother of a thing won’t open this morning!
Picture this: The garage has a timer light activated by movement which stays on for about a minute. Other than that it’s as black as a coal mine. There I am flailing around trying to open the lock with spit and brute force to then have to prance around the garage, waving my arms, to get the light on again. Repeat and repeat and repeat.
Oh how security must have laughed.
After 20 minutes the lock is off and for bad behaviour will stay in the pannier – that’ll teach it! But, again I say to myself, ‘Tranquillo.”
I’ve been criss-crossing the Camino de Santiago since I left the ferry, watching pilgrims slog their way to Santiago. Many a time I’ve chatted and offered a ‘Tuck biscuit’ when I stop by their track. I must admit to wanting to do this myself. I do have a strong personal faith and it’s not unusual for me to be found in a church, Christian, Catholic or other.
I’m intrigued by the motivations of the pilgrims of all ages too. On reaching Santiago de Compostela’s cathedral square I got talking to Alan and Kenny, two pilgrims in their 70’s from Albuquerque who had walked all the way from Cadiz - crikey! For them it was about life’s gratitudes. At the other end of the age scale there are girls jumping in delight for their ‘done’ Instagram picture. I don’t know how they have the energy to be honest.
I’m curious about the whole mass thing here too and it seems the cathedral has it several times a day for pilgrims, but only at special times of the year for the big swinging incense burner (Botafumeiro) or for yours privately at €500 euros.
Well, I’m on a budget so not today.
Off to Combarro now, a beautiful little fishing village in Portugal. But best of all I have a bath to look forward too – thanks Sal.
Santiago de Compostela & Combarro. Off to a local café again this morning. I mentioned before how I love the interactions of people, particularly the lady behind the counter shouting “Digame,” literally translated as ‘speak to me’ at deafening levels, or the little old dear who wishes everyone, “Bon proveche,” ‘enjoy your meal’ to complete strangers as she finds a table. I’ll miss this generation.
At the Hotel Darrio in Lugo, D’WFR had the pleasure of a night in the basement parking. Of course she had her cloaking device on as well as a disc lock and an Oxford chain lock. The chain lock has history though (it’s a bitch to me).
I’m quite superstitious, but last night I locked the chain on the right of the wheel, not the normal left and guess what, that mother of a thing won’t open this morning!
Picture this: The garage has a timer light activated by movement which stays on for about a minute. Other than that it’s as black as a coal mine. There I am flailing around trying to open the lock with spit and brute force to then have to prance around the garage, waving my arms, to get the light on again. Repeat and repeat and repeat.
Oh how security must have laughed.
After 20 minutes the lock is off and for bad behaviour will stay in the pannier – that’ll teach it! But, again I say to myself, ‘Tranquillo.”
I’ve been criss-crossing the Camino de Santiago since I left the ferry, watching pilgrims slog their way to Santiago. Many a time I’ve chatted and offered a ‘Tuck biscuit’ when I stop by their track. I must admit to wanting to do this myself. I do have a strong personal faith and it’s not unusual for me to be found in a church, Christian, Catholic or other.
I’m intrigued by the motivations of the pilgrims of all ages too. On reaching Santiago de Compostela’s cathedral square I got talking to Alan and Kenny, two pilgrims in their 70’s from Albuquerque who had walked all the way from Cadiz - crikey! For them it was about life’s gratitudes. At the other end of the age scale there are girls jumping in delight for their ‘done’ Instagram picture. I don’t know how they have the energy to be honest.
I’m curious about the whole mass thing here too and it seems the cathedral has it several times a day for pilgrims, but only at special times of the year for the big swinging incense burner (Botafumeiro) or for yours privately at €500 euros.
Well, I’m on a budget so not today.
Off to Combarro now, a beautiful little fishing village in Portugal. But best of all I have a bath to look forward too – thanks Sal.
There was real respect in the cafe that morning Simon. Little things that matterNothing to do with generations matey - both of these are totally current, even with moody Gen Z's! although 'Digame' is often just 'Diga' but that¡s ancient too ...
Mind the gap
Porto. I’ve been looking forward to this city for a while and I’ve a ‘two-nighter’ to explore it. But first breakfast in Combarro. Joining me is a fantastic bunch of Indian pilgrims walking up from Porto (the route of St. James’ coffin). We share stories, as you do, and having lived in Dubai, they ask when I was there? “2011 onwards,” I reply, to which their loud and giggling response is, “You’re such a baby, we were there in the 70’s.” It’s then they give me a big Indian family hug and a beautiful reminder that I might be on this trip by myself, but I’m certainly not alone.
Off into the country now and practically no cars on the road, especially through the national park of Penada Geres. What a place!
Making good time too and with just 4hr 25m to go I stop and do something I’ve been meaning to for years – start sketching. I bought a little notebook and pen in Lugo to just scribble my thoughts and pen a few memories. To just slow down really. I want to soak this time in, to really look at what I’m seeing, to listen, to smell and ‘be calm’.
Turns out that somehow I didn’t quite have as much time as I thought as between the Nav (Arrival time) and the time I still had to travel something was out. Maybe time zones, maybe Garmin – who knows. As a result, I was now about to hit Porto in rush hour and at 36C – this is going to be a cooker!
On D’WFR, I have 2x 30ltr soft panniers, which as it happens turn out to be quite helpful in rush hour. Squeezing through the traffic is not easy at any time, but with panniers - dicey. I must apologise to the Portuguese driver who I bounced off as no matter how much I sucked in air I couldn’t quite make the gap. But with a cheery tap of my bag (no damage done mate) and a wave in the air whilst looking behind at his startled face, I continue on.
Sweaty and tired, it’s time for the pleasure of the Moov Hotel Porto Norte. To be honest it is a soulless trendy student looking dorm and like any city place expensive at over €100 a night. Add to that €6 each day for basement parking, but I want D’WFR off the street. The young lady described how to enter the garage with a keypad code. So down the steep ramp and no keypad? Over my shoulder I look back to see it at the top! I’m committed now, no way up, no way down and no way of parking without D’WFR falling over. In God we trust, a car came by to the rescue. I’ve never been so happy.
This busker seemed to catch my mood after the ramp incident....
Porto is a wonderful place but hordes of tourists – just like me. Hot again, so its doodle time in the shade.
Dom Luis bridge over the Douro River
Porto. I’ve been looking forward to this city for a while and I’ve a ‘two-nighter’ to explore it. But first breakfast in Combarro. Joining me is a fantastic bunch of Indian pilgrims walking up from Porto (the route of St. James’ coffin). We share stories, as you do, and having lived in Dubai, they ask when I was there? “2011 onwards,” I reply, to which their loud and giggling response is, “You’re such a baby, we were there in the 70’s.” It’s then they give me a big Indian family hug and a beautiful reminder that I might be on this trip by myself, but I’m certainly not alone.
Off into the country now and practically no cars on the road, especially through the national park of Penada Geres. What a place!
Making good time too and with just 4hr 25m to go I stop and do something I’ve been meaning to for years – start sketching. I bought a little notebook and pen in Lugo to just scribble my thoughts and pen a few memories. To just slow down really. I want to soak this time in, to really look at what I’m seeing, to listen, to smell and ‘be calm’.
Turns out that somehow I didn’t quite have as much time as I thought as between the Nav (Arrival time) and the time I still had to travel something was out. Maybe time zones, maybe Garmin – who knows. As a result, I was now about to hit Porto in rush hour and at 36C – this is going to be a cooker!
On D’WFR, I have 2x 30ltr soft panniers, which as it happens turn out to be quite helpful in rush hour. Squeezing through the traffic is not easy at any time, but with panniers - dicey. I must apologise to the Portuguese driver who I bounced off as no matter how much I sucked in air I couldn’t quite make the gap. But with a cheery tap of my bag (no damage done mate) and a wave in the air whilst looking behind at his startled face, I continue on.
Sweaty and tired, it’s time for the pleasure of the Moov Hotel Porto Norte. To be honest it is a soulless trendy student looking dorm and like any city place expensive at over €100 a night. Add to that €6 each day for basement parking, but I want D’WFR off the street. The young lady described how to enter the garage with a keypad code. So down the steep ramp and no keypad? Over my shoulder I look back to see it at the top! I’m committed now, no way up, no way down and no way of parking without D’WFR falling over. In God we trust, a car came by to the rescue. I’ve never been so happy.
This busker seemed to catch my mood after the ramp incident....
Porto is a wonderful place but hordes of tourists – just like me. Hot again, so its doodle time in the shade.
Dom Luis bridge over the Douro River
Nice doodling there chap.... got any more to show?
Doodle admirers
. Ping and Haywen from Taiwan.
Was about to say same Paul. Well done @G&T
Nice doodling there chap.... got any more to show?
Fixed it!
Great write up this far!
Made me chuckle. Imagine living next door - although I do like the music
Trouble at the Toll
Sierra de Estrella & Covilha. First it’s slip out of Porto. An early dawn start and even the street sweepers eye me suspiciously. I bang on the music, a track called Estes (Easts), just as I pass over the river Douro a hundred meters or so on from the famous Dom Luis bridge. The sun breaks and edges its every girder. It’s quite a moment, the music, the light, the view. It’s one of life’s gentle nudges.
Still early and now the first cock-up of the day. The toll booth! I’m confused as the barrier is up. I stop, press a few buttons but no ticket. Then I think maybe it’s free for bikes or free today as it’s Sunday. 30 minutes later I exit the toll road to the pay barrier, press the SOS button and explain what I’ve done.
The operator asks, “Where did I get on?”
“No idea,” I reply, “I came from Porto.”
“You have to tell me,” she enforces, “I can’t,” I repeat.
“That will be €38 euros then!”
No way Jose and I tell her I’m not paying. This game went on for 20 minutes until she said I’ll give you a receipt and you can call customer service tomorrow. It wasn’t quite an international incident - but it was close.
I get on with the day’s main event, albeit with an unsettled feeling, riding through the boulder strewn landscape of the Sierra de Estrella mountain range, Portugal’s highest at 1993m. Me and D’WFR persevere on some of the unpaved tracks but in the end surrender, “we’re done,” and find the ‘N’ roads.
At this point, Garmin Nav6 threw its first ‘Dicky-fit’. But with all grumbling IT, it’s switch-off, switch-on and it got me to what must be a skiing/activity town of Covilha and The Sport Hotel. To be honest not much here out of season but I do find a stunning wall mural.
Sierra de Estrella & Covilha. First it’s slip out of Porto. An early dawn start and even the street sweepers eye me suspiciously. I bang on the music, a track called Estes (Easts), just as I pass over the river Douro a hundred meters or so on from the famous Dom Luis bridge. The sun breaks and edges its every girder. It’s quite a moment, the music, the light, the view. It’s one of life’s gentle nudges.
Still early and now the first cock-up of the day. The toll booth! I’m confused as the barrier is up. I stop, press a few buttons but no ticket. Then I think maybe it’s free for bikes or free today as it’s Sunday. 30 minutes later I exit the toll road to the pay barrier, press the SOS button and explain what I’ve done.
The operator asks, “Where did I get on?”
“No idea,” I reply, “I came from Porto.”
“You have to tell me,” she enforces, “I can’t,” I repeat.
“That will be €38 euros then!”
No way Jose and I tell her I’m not paying. This game went on for 20 minutes until she said I’ll give you a receipt and you can call customer service tomorrow. It wasn’t quite an international incident - but it was close.
I get on with the day’s main event, albeit with an unsettled feeling, riding through the boulder strewn landscape of the Sierra de Estrella mountain range, Portugal’s highest at 1993m. Me and D’WFR persevere on some of the unpaved tracks but in the end surrender, “we’re done,” and find the ‘N’ roads.
At this point, Garmin Nav6 threw its first ‘Dicky-fit’. But with all grumbling IT, it’s switch-off, switch-on and it got me to what must be a skiing/activity town of Covilha and The Sport Hotel. To be honest not much here out of season but I do find a stunning wall mural.
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