How did I find myself here?
Almost a year ago, I was back at home chatting with my sister Molly about finding motivation to stay fit. What usually works for me is to commit to a physical challenge in the future, like a race or long hike, that will demand some sort of training to be properly enjoyed. When she asked if I had any suggestions to get her walking more, I already had an idea front-of-mind. I told her about the famous Camino Português from Porto, which has drawn pilgrims for over a thousand years.
A few days later, I opened my phone to a few simple messages from her. ‘Camino. Next September. Let’s do it.’ Fast forward through a training montage and our reunion in Porto, and we were off on an adventure that would blend family bonding with physical tribulation.
Day 1: Punishment under the Portuguese Sun
📍 Porto Cathedral to Vila do Conde (Litoral Way, 33 km)
Our journey started in earnest with the first stamp in our fresh Camino passports (Credencial) at the Cathedral of Porto. With overconfident excitement, we navigated down to the Douro River and headed north along the bustling city beaches of Matosinhos. Under a relentless sun and 30 degree heat, we quickly realized that this would not be a walk in the park. I also didn’t make things any easier by loading my pack with a dangerously excessive 25kg worth of gear.
As the day stretched on, we found ourselves moving along a seemingly endless wooden boardwalk along the seaside. Compared to the cobbled city streets, it felt like heaven under our feet. Unfortunately, that feeling didn’t last forever, and as the daylight started to fade we found ourselves trudging across the creaking wooden planks with nothing visible but high sand dunes on every side. Cursing ourselves for not packing less and training more, we accepted that we would not make it to our destination before dark.
That moment would stand as the most demoralizing part of our whole journey, but we didn’t know that yet. Once we finally entered the village of Vila do Conde, nearly defeated, the universe decided to take pity on us. We arrived at the door of our planned accommodations to a sign that said ‘Permanently Closed’, but by some stroke of dumb luck a woman was passing by and offered us a room for the night. Despite our complete exhaustion, we decided that our hard-earned progress deserved some celebratory pizza and sangria before we crashed into bed.
Day 2: Practicality before Pride
📍Vila do Conde to Marinhas (Coastal Way, 29km)
Unsurprisingly, we were incredibly slow-moving the next morning. As we rolled late out of bed under our host’s disapproving gaze, the return to walking offered a very rude awakening. Every step was a painful reminder of the suffering from the day before, and it wasn’t long before we needed to stop for a recharging breakfast in Povoa de Varzim.
With our legs begging us for more rest, we had to make a decision. Continue to press on through another huge day at the risk of complete exhaustion? Or swallow our pride and make some progress on the bus? Eventually, we concluded that we were never really in the running for the ‘best pilgrim’ award for the Camino Portugues from Porto anyways, and hopped on a bus to Esposende.
We walked the final kilometers from there to Marinhas, where a hostel near the ocean offered a restorative evening. Since we were there faster than planned, we even had some sunshine to spare for a dip in the refreshing Atlantic before tucking into a ludicrous amount of homemade pasta.
Day 3: Searching for Sanctuary
📍 Marinhas to Viana do Castelo (Coastal Way, 25 km)
With our bodies feeling renewed, we could experience the Camino Português from Porto at its best. We made an early start, walking through sleepy villages with a steady stream of other pilgrims. The villages gave way to lush forests in the hills, and we followed ancient Roman roads under the trees until reaching a rewarding hilltop view from the church at Castela do Neiva.
After hiking downhill for a quick lunch in Chafé, the route gave way to a stretch of suburban sprawl. Just as I started to tire of the repetitive housing developments, the Monte de Santa Luiza came into view, boasting a magnificent sanctuary perched above Viana do Castelo, our final town of the day.
The only thing preventing us from completely enjoying our view of the mountain was that our beds for the night were waiting at the very top. Since the cable car was out of operation, that meant ascending a steep stone stairway. I maintain that taking in the breathtaking sunset after the climb made every step worth it, although Molly might respectfully disagree.
Day 4: Blisters and Border-Hopping
📍 Viana do Castelo to A Guarda (Coastal Way, ~30km + ferry crossing)
Up to this point, Molly had been battling with a growing outbreak of blisters on her feet. I had watched what had become her nightly ritual of applying creams and bandages with admiration at how she managed to keep going. The next morning, however, we realized that staying at a mountaintop sanctuary didn’t afford us any miracles, and the blisters had taken over (I’ll spare you from the picture).
Once we made it back down the stone steps from the night before, it was again time to improvise. We caught a local bus heading north towards Caminha, a town at the mouth of the Minho river that marked the end of our time in Portugal. From there, our research told us there was a reliable ferry running over to Spain several times a day.
Of course, once we finally found the ferry terminal, it appeared to be completely abandoned. We sat on the pier with a few other equally confused pilgrims for awhile, until a man driving a tiny motorboat pulled up to shore, beckoning for us to hop in. Five minutes later, we were on Spanish soil, following a gentle coastal path to our albergue in A Guarda. Unfortunately, the 40-bunk sleeping room filled with snoring pilgrims was a lot less pleasant for the senses!
Day 5: The Camino Portugês goes Spanish
📍 A Guarda to Mougás (Coastal Way, 17 km)
We were unceremoniously booted from the albergue at 8:00 a.m., and it was tough to get moving after the symphony of snoring that had kept me awake most of the night. We rolled down to the ocean with a couple of leftover pastries from the night before, enjoying an impromptu breakfast with a view before setting off north along the rugged Galician coastline.
The morning walk was gentle and restorative, with the soundtrack of crashing waves accompanying us for several hours. When we reached a charming seaside pilgrim café, we stopped for a proper coffee break. The radiant sunshine kept us rooted in place, and we lingered much longer than strictly necessary.
By the time we reached Oia, hunger had taken hold and we settled into a touristy tapas place for lunch. That kitchen’s version of zorza (a Galician spiced pork dish) left us with the taste of unrealized potential. We worked off our lunch by pressing further up the coast, passing by small subsistence farming plots dotted with livestock. The wild state of the landscape made for beautiful walking, a welcome change after the civilized promenades tracing the Portuguese coast.
Eventually, we arrived at the albergue in Aguiñcheiro and toasted with a well-deserved beer while waiting for check-in. Perched right up against the ocean, this place really felt like the edge of the world. I tried to find a spot for a swim, although the best I could do was cling to some rocks in the shallows while the waves crashed over me. Still, it felt refreshing to be battered about by the water after long days of walking in the sun.
Day 6: Seashells and Fresh Air
📍 Mougás to Vigo (Coastal Way, 22 km)
Another early start had us walking for a while until we came across a café for a quick breakfast. The place was fairly busy with pilgrims; we were growing into a shuffling horde, moving slowly up the coast.
Not long after breakfast, we came across a small artisan shop with the classic Camino scallop shells for sale. We had been jealous of the other pilgrims who had already found theirs. Something about the shell hanging from our packs gave such an air of legitimacy to our efforts. It was a small thing, but it felt oddly satisfying to see.
Festooned with our newest pieces of flair, we felt like celebrating as some cooler weather moved in. We ascended through a low mountain pass and were offered sweeping views (see the cover photo) to soothe our tired legs. We then descended into Baiona, a protected beach town with a huge fortification dominating the point. In keeping with the day’s vibe, we stopped to lounge on the sand for awhile. As the daylight crept away from us, we caught a bus to Vigo and found our way to the albergue.
The accommodations were exactly what we had come to expect. Cramped quarters, rubber bed covers, and disposable plastic sheets that crinkled with every movement offered the height of luxury.
Day 7: More Seaside Beauty… and a Flaming Sausage
📍 Vigo to Arcade (Coastal and Central Way 23 km)
As usual, we had to be up and on our way out of the albergue before sunrise. Putting Vigo behind us, we made our way up a small ridge and followed a path running above the sea. Climbing uphill first thing in the morning was brutal, but the panoramic views were spectacular. When we finally descended from the ridge into more uninteresting country, it was already noon, so we stopped in Cedeira for lunch before heading on through a series of small towns.
We decided to pass through the traditional stop of Redondela in favor of continuing to Arcade. This would allow us to shave down the final day to a manageable 15km or so. Given how our bones felt after 7 days of walking, this seemed like a wise investment for our future well-being.
In Arcade, we made another of these investments, taking a deliberate break from the austere conditions of the albergues. The quiet hostel we found off the beaten track felt almost luxurious by comparison. We relaxed by the pool for a while before heading to dinner, where we were introduced to “Chorizo, hell-style.” Enveloped in flaming grease, the meal offered both sustenance and absurd spectacle. Despite some arterial clogging, this set the stage for my best night of sleep on the entire Camino Português.
Day 8: Old Traditions and Communal Spirit
📍 Arcade to Portella (Central Way, 20 km)
After an essential lie-in, we eventually hit the road. Right away, we noted a huge increase in the number of pilgrims marching past. Since the central and coastal routes merged at Redondela, everyone was now being funneled onto the same path.
Besides the fresh traffic, the morning offered nothing particularly special until we reached a small detour just before Pontevedra. From there, the other pilgrims seemed to disappear and we followed a long, quiet stretch of old Roman roads through the forest. I found something contemplative about walking across stones that have been worn smooth by two thousand years of footsteps.
The night’s albergue in Portella was another highlight. It maintained old traditions, with mattresses on the floor in a large room and a long communal dinner. We were 34 people around a huge table outside, and there was a light spirit and interesting conversation all around. In that moment, the Camino felt less like a hiking trip and more like a shared spiritual experience. I went to sleep feeling grateful for this new perspective on the experience.
Day 9: Free Grapes and the Sound of Silence
📍 Portella to Valga (Central Way, 20 km)
Perhaps unsurprisingly, waking up the next morning was rough. It had been a very cold night, with an extra layer of condensation and chill left in the air. The sun had not risen, but we set out with the hope that some walking would warm us up. In stark contrast to the day before, we saw almost no one, even after the morning fog had lifted.
As we started to get hungry, we started looking forward to re-joining civilization in the next town, Caldas de Reis. We shared a sense of deep disappointment to find the town as seemingly deserted as the roads led us there. With nothing to eat in sight, we walked through the town, over an ancient Roman bridge, and back onto the forested Roman road. The road wound under thick tree cover, emerging occasionally in sunny vineyards where grapes hung down all around us. As we hadn’t eaten lunch, it was impossible to resist picking a few for a quick sugar rush.
By the time we reached a restaurant in Carracedo and had a proper meal, we were only 4.4km from the next albergue in Valga. After checking in, we found a local tavern and ended up joining six of our pilgrim comrades from previous nights for mussels and calamari. I started to feel like we were all part of the same team, even though we walked at different paces.
Day 10: Equestrian Copulation in Padrón
📍 Valga to A Picaraña (Central Way, 18 km)
We woke to another damp, foggy morning. Feeling strangely energized, we skipped breakfast and marched through the morning gloom. Around sunrise, a small vending machine provided a quick coffee and snack to power us on to Padrón (home of the famous peppers).
As we entered the town, our bizarre but memorable welcome party consisted of two size-mismatched horses having sex directly in our path. They were soon joined by a third horse who stormed through an open gate and interrupted the pair. All three then sprinted away, followed by their owner, who ran out of his house yelling after them.
Padrón itself was quite lively, bustling with energy despite the early hour. After eating at a café on the main square, we stopped into the church to get a stamp in our credencial before heading out. The rest of the day was largely uneventful. Possibly due to our late-season itinerary, most of the churches and business along the way to A Picaraña were closed. A Picaraña was also the least picturesque stop on our journey. All it had to offer was a small hotel, a busy road, and a seedy strip club. That said, at least the local bar made us some zorza sandwiches that finally let us taste the delicious potential of the dish.
Day 11: Rain, Reflection, and the Road to Santiago
📍 A Picaraña to Santiago de Compostela (Central Way, 15 km)
Our final day of walking was short and sweet, just like we drew it up. We had covered about 5 km before a light drizzle started, gradually turning into a steady rain. Even though I had carried it all this way for nothing, I didn’t bother with my rain jacket because the shower felt so refreshing. It was also the first rainfall we’d seen the entire trip, which felt oddly appropriate for the final stretch.
The scenery on the outskirts of the city was rather boring, but we were light on our feet with the finish line in Santiago de Compostela approaching. I have to say, I’m areligious and was generally ambivalent about churches by this point, but the Cathedral of St. James proved to be an exception. It’s really quite spectacular and a worthy end to such an epic journey. The whole city felt unique, actually. It remains frozen in a time when all of the Church’s buildings were still occupied with religious business, with monks and nuns roaming the streets.
The large square in front of the cathedral was a scene of jubilation, with pilgrims arriving en masse and celebrating before heading to the pilgrim office for their last stamp and the official paperwork to mark their achievement. Receiving the official Compostela was cool, but I reveled more in leaving my backpack at the hostel, having some food and a few drinks, and exploring the city.
Final Reflections
In the end, the Camino Português wasn’t what I expected when we first set out from the cathedral in Porto with our blank credencial in hand. I had imagined a meditative or spiritual journey, but what we got was far messier and more human than that. It was blistered feet and terrible snoring, impromptu bus rides and lucky encounters, questionable restaurants and spectacular sunsets. It was real life, hitting you in the face at every turn.
The things that will stay with me the most aren’t the grand triumphs of arrival or achievement, but the accumulation of memorable moments and adaptations along the way. Taking the bus when pride said to walk. Laughing at horny horses instead of being annoyed by the delay. Choosing to linger over coffee by the sea when the guidebook says to press on. These are not failures of pilgrimage, but the unique stamps we imprinted upon an eternal journey.
Standing in front of the Cathedral of St. James, watching pilgrims arrive in various states of exhaustion and elation, I understood that we hadn’t really walked to reach a destination. The cathedral was spectacular, sure, and holding the official Compostela felt good. But the real value was in those eleven days of movement, discomfort, discovery, and the gradual realization that the best adventures resist being packaged into neat narratives.
The Camino Português challenged us, humbled us, and ultimately rewarded us with something more valuable than a piece of paper covered in stamps. We can carry forward a shared story that belongs only to us, built one strange and beautiful step at a time.
“When in doubt, just take the next small step.”
Paulo Coelho