Author Archives: Steve Walker

About Steve Walker

Once a tech in-house PR type, now professional photo/videographer and recreational drone pilot. Violinist. Flautist. Occasional conductor. Oenophile.

Day 28 – Balugães to Ponte de Lima: A good “Camino” day

Thursday 24 September 2026 – Although the forecast temperature wasn’t that high – 27° – we decided to make a really early start anyway, as this would get us the 19km or so to Ponte de Lima with time to spare to allow for some Things To Do. Accordingly we found ourselves outside Casas do Rio, breakfasted and ready to walk at – yup – 0625.

This means that we had the chance to create lots of glorious dawn images which I can now smugly share with you (we did wonder if the particularly intense colours might be a result of the smoke from the fire I mentioned yesterday, which is still apparently active, although does not seem to be getting worse…)

We were reminded before too long of the task in front of us

and we enjoyed watching the countryside come awake as we walked along.

Although it was, frankly, a bit chilly, the white covering of the fields is not frost. It’s a lime-based dressing intended to reduce the acidity of the soil after the (largely corn or maize) crops had been harvested.

The whole day had an even stronger Camino vibe to it than yesterday; plenty of other pilgrims (including this lady,

who had gone for the Camino branding big time), plenty of pilgrim-related statuary,

some nice waymarking,

coffee stops at comfortable intervals (including this one, which was full of locals having their breakfast caffeine injection),

pilgrim-related items by the wayside,

and, towards Ponte de Lima, the (allegedly) only open Santiago Chapel on the Caminho Português,

with, outside it, a lovely azulejo

about, and I quote, “D. Teresa passing trought Correlha, Ponte de Lima, on pilgrimage…”. Shame about the typo, but she was the mother of the first king of Portugal, Afonso Henriques, so it is actually a matter of both pith and moment that she undertook the Caminho.

Although it was definitely chilly to start with, the weather was a delight for almost all of the walk, and we saw some appealing scenes along the way.

The medieval Ponte da Senhora das Neves

An unsual sight on the Caminhos – given a choice of directions, the correct one is downhill, for a change

An astonishing profusion of sweet chestnut windfalls lining a long stretch of road

A very pleasant walk, then, right up to within a kilometre of Ponte de Lima; we took a diversionary turn for a couple of important items, which extended the walk somewhat. The first thing we had to do was to address a serious issue: the impending lack of Earl Grey tea. Courtesy of the lovely Jessica, we still had some of Twinings Finest Earl Grey, but we could see a time when we wouldn’t. Knowing that her supply came from the Auchan at Coimbra, Jane had carefully researched Auchans en route and there’s one on the outskirts of Ponte de Lima, so we diverted – up hill and down dale – for about a quarter of an hour.

The best laid plans….. Not only did they not stock any Twinings, they didn’t have any Earl Grey at all!

We personfully swallowed our disappointment, and started to head off to the other Thing To Do when I spotted that there was a large Continente nearby. Continente, you’ll remember, was the source of our first emergency transfusion of Earl Grey, so we approached this one with hope in our hearts and – some success! Not Twinings, but Liptons; not perfect, but perfectly decent.

So now we only had one more task, which was to visit another Bordalo II which Jane had found out about. Another ten minutes took us to it, and…

my goodness! What a thing!

It’s a shame that fencing didn’t allow an entirely unrestricted view, but it’s an impressive sight, and well worth the detour.

Ten more minutes got us to our hotel, the InLima Hotel and Spa. We were early and our room wouldn’t be available for a couple of hours, so we left our backpacks at the hotel and walked the short distance to the river bank, where I got my first view of the bridge that gives the town its name.

We walked along towards the bridge and took lunch at one of the many restaurants that border the river. Then we went for a walk. Obviously.

There are a couple of sculptures by the river bank – local folk traditions

and a celebration of agricultural life.

The Torre de San Paolo is part of the original defensive walls of the city, here displaying a banner for a festival which we’ve just missed.

It also sports an azulejo

depicting the Legend of Cabração, a misunderstanding by Afonso Henrique’s troops who mistook a cloud of dust for oncoming enemy troops when actually it was caused by a herd of goats. Beside the azulejo is a more sober thing

flood markings, showing the level of flooding in the river and the year it happened.

We reached the bridge

and walked across it. From the bridge, one can see a couple of odd things, on left and right banks:

On one bank, a line of metal Roman soldiers stands at attention as if waiting to be called.
Across the river on the opposite bank, a statue depicts General Decimus Junius Brutus astride his horse, facing his troops. These commemorate the 138 BC legend telling of how the General  convinced his terrified legionaries to cross the Lima River, which they feared was the mythical River Lethe (the river of forgetfulness), by riding his horse across to the opposite bank safely. He then called out to his men individually by their first names to prove that his memory was completely intact, giving them the courage to cross. This legend is also commemorated by an azulejo on one of the town buildings.

The church on the other side of the bridge is the church of Santo Antonio.

Beside the church are various items of religious and Camino-y pith and moment, not the least of which is this bust of St. James himself.

Inside the church is (yet) another Eucharistic Throne;

we keep coming across them, despite their alleged banning by the Papacy.

Back over in the town, there are two churches of note. The Misericordia church was hosting the build up to a funeral, so we couldn’t look in, but the parish church

with its very elaborate portal

was open.

In the square by the church is a statue of a bull.

This honours the famous local Vaca das Cordas tradition, an open-air running of the bull that dates back to 1646 and takes place annually on the eve of Corpus Christi.

By the time we’d lunched and obviously walked, it was 3pm so we could get into our hotel room. The walk back took us along the Avenida dos Platanos,

a very pleasant stretch of riverside walk flanked by (Jane counted them) 88 glorious old London Plane trees, mostly planted in 1901 (we noticed a couple of young trees, obviously replacements). While Jane relaxed, I took the drone back to the bridge and whizzed it up for a couple of photos and a video.

The light was right for a couple of pictures of the town from the bridge, too – it’s an attractive place.

Jane had heard that the bridge was illuminated at night, so after dark we walked out to take a look. Indeed it was, although we both think that it should be possible to do a better job somehow.

We also noted that the parish church was lit up like a Christmas tree, presumably for the Feiras Novas just past.

10/10 for effort, but lower marks for artistic merit, we think. The plane trees looked good, though.

So, that was Ponte de Lima, a handsome town at the end of a good day’s walking. On the morrow, we plan to head back to the Coastal trail for the final days to the Spanish border and on to Santiago. I’ll regale you with all that in due course.

Day 27 – Barcelos to Balugães: Plan and reality coincide

Wednesday 23 September 2026 – According to Garmin, the distance we had to cover today was 16.2km. According to Accuweather, the pattern of the day’s temperatures would be this:

Not as disastrously hot as previous days, but still worth Getting On With It. An estimated four hours of walking plus an hour of buggering about taking coffee and photos suggested that getting out at around 7.30am would get us to our destination, near Belugães, before the temperatures peaked. The hotel offered breakfast from 7am, and we were ready!

So, it seemed, were a load of others.

Everyone waited patiently outside the door to the breakfast room until Jane suggested seeing if it was open – which it was. This meant that we could set off at around 7.35am with a reasonably good breakfast fuelling us.

At the edge of Barcelos town centre is a statue of a Peregrina.

Frankly, it’s difficult to tell from her body language and facial expression what’s going on: celebrating arrival? hailing a taxi? being unable to understand where to go next? You decide.

The waymarking for the day was good, albeit varied. A formal waymark gave us useful information,

a less formal one at least told us we were on the right track,

as did an official one

and there were a couple of fancy ones later on, too.

We caught sight of our final cock as we exited Barcelos;

note the background here – I shall return to it later.

It was still reasonably early – before 8.30am – and there was a lot of mist around, which lent itself to a few attractive landscape creations,

but not all views were misty.

There were things we’ve seen on previous days, like the front porch and steps up to the bells at this church, the parish church of São João Baptista in Vila Boa;

a lavadouro, this one from, it would seem, as recently as 1964;

and some we hadn’t, such as this mural which was a Portuguese variant of the “Stars of Estrella” murals we saw when we walked the Camino Francés,

and this pair of boots

which probably have a story to tell, but which were silent as we passed.

The Camino vibe was strong again, with peregrinos behind and ahead of us as we walked a cobbled road and made an informal railway crossing,

and the first coffee stop after 5km was doing good business, not least because it was the last café for several more kilometres.

It, too, was strong on Camino vibes.

Beside the trail further along was this interesting noticeboard;

a list (not exhaustive, of course, but interesting) of some key albergues along the section of the Caminho Português north of Porto. I guess it would be possible to plan your entire route from it, although some of the stages would be rather long – and, these days, I’d suggest that there was a possibility that some of them were no longer active.

The route northwards was pleasant, mainly tarmac or cobbles, and wended through various villages, some small, some larger – but none with a coffee stop. Here are some things we passed.

A mobile fish shop (with a loud siren!)

A UK Government outpost?

Interestingly topiaried olive trees, which turned out to be an advert for a landscape gardening firm

Even at 10am, still some mist in the valleys

At around the 7 km mark, the road started on a gentle, but relentless, climb

which carried on for the next 2.5km; you can see the saddle between two hills that the road was heading for.

Looking to our left, we could see the scar and new planting resulting from eucalyptus logging activity;

this is actually the same scar we saw in the background to the Last Cock of Barcelos photo.

A couple of houses on the way up had decorated their walls

and one had made a fetching garden installation from the pedras de calçada that are elsewhere used to make pavements.

There were some nice rural views on the way up,

an attractive church

and an appropriately named cemetery.

Having reached the top, we then headed back down again, into a small town called Aborim which had a big (and Interestingly modern) church, Igreja Paroquial de Nossa Senhora de Fátima de Aborim. It wasn’t open, of course.

As we looked beyond its cross, we could see not mist, but smoke.

Consulting Google Maps told us that this was from a severe fire in the Viano do Castelo region. This was to our north west, and we got increasingly clear views of the scale of the fire as we walked along.

We also caught sight of Belugães, some 5km away

but first, having gone about 12km, we awarded ourselves a coffee stop in the intriguingly-named café Rosa Cintilante.

I immediately thought of this as “Scintillating Rosie’s Caff”, but it actually translates as “shimmering pink”. Anyway, it was a welcome break, and a chance to chat to three Texans who were passing through at the same time as us.

The rest of the day’s walk took us past a couple of interesting items: a bird posing for its portrait

(my telephone told me that it was quite probably a Northern Wheatear, because my telephone knows these things); and a modern construction that looked very much like an espiguero.

To get to our accommodation, Casas do Rio, we had to cross a couple of bridges, only one of which was easily visible, the Ponte das Tábuas, a medieval construction over the River Neiva, serving the old road from Öporto to Valença.

This bridge has been documented since 1135, originally called portum de thabulis which
suggests that the original building was made of wood and was remodeled to its current construction more recently. The other bridge was the Caridade Bridge, which crosses the Nevoinho stream, which in turn is the river near which our destination, the Casas do Rio, stand. It’s supposed to be elegant, but it’s small and overgrown, and it was hot

and we wanted to get to our accommodation and rest.

Jane tugged at the bell rope and the sound caused whoever was inside using the hoover to stop and come out to see what the noise was about. She in turn called for Lucia, the lady in charge, who was delightfully helpful, ushering us towards the honesty bar,

equipping us with beer and telling us how things worked here, which was useful, since the information we’d had thus far really didn’t tell us what to expect. How things worked was exceedingly flexible – Lucia showed us the menu of food available, which was simple but good, and we agreed what time we wanted to eat.

The distance we’d walked was just under 16.5km, almost exactly in line with our expectations; it took us five hours  in total, of which we spent four actually walking; and the temperature when we arrived was exactly what the forecast said it would be. We love it when a plan comes together.

It was just after 12.30 when we arrived and Lucia had our room ready for us in a jiffy, so we could relax until our early dinner, which suited us rather well, us being hot and tired and that. Our room was, indeed, a commodious chamber

with some lovely decorative touches, including a tiny model espigueiro

and this wonderfully retro sound system.

We had dinner on the lawn of this rather lovely place

 

and were able to retire early to relax and prepare for the morning.

We have 19km to go tomorrow, to reach Ponte do Lima. The murderous heat of the previous days is – at last! – forecast to give way to something that is merely sultry; about 27°C at most. However, it still seems a good idea to get away betimes, as walking in the relative cool of the early morning is very pleasant. So Lucia has provided a packed breakfast for us in our room so that we can depart when we like. I’m rather looking forward to Ponte do Lima – it should be an interesting place and I hope I’ll be able to fly the drone there, too. Stay tuned to see how things turn out.

 

 

 

 

Day 26 – Rates to Barcelos: Marketing Up Cock

Tuesday 22 September 2026 – Long Post Alert! Fetch a drink before proceeding!

A forecast for another searingly hot day (36°C) duly materialised. This was how Accuweather reckoned the day would unfold.

A 16km walk would take us at least four hours, and that would be if we didn’t stop; but that’s not how we operate. The lovely Anabela at our accommodation had offered to put sandwiches and yoghurts in the fridge for us so that we could leave when we liked; not that we really cared for it much, but “when we liked” turned out to be 6.05am.

We had then a delightful walk in the cool for about three hours, at first with assistance from torchlight

and then as the dawn broke.

Before it did, though, we experienced the first signs of what would be a good “Camino vibe” about the whole day, as we passed the “Pilgrim’s Park” just outside Rates which had picnic tables

and a sort of informal exhibition of an amazing assortment of Camino-related items left by passing pilgrims

and also a very strong hint about our destination.

The Powers That Be were obviously taking the Caminho seriously, as for the first time we saw signposts that could genuinely help peregrinos plan their peregrination.

Even the waymarks were getting more informative.

We were overtaken by a couple of peregrinos – well, a peregrino and his peregrina daughter – and fell into conversation with them. They (Ernst and Nina) were the advance guard of a family of five South Africans, the other three of whom (Mum and two sons) were a short way behind us. So the Camino vibe notched up another click as we had the sort of “where are you from” conversations that are not uncommon among strangers walking in the same direction; and it was a very pleasant few kilometres spent in their company.

Today was like yesterday – a coffee stop materialised at just over the 5km qualifying distance, and we all stopped for coffee and torrada, which was a much-needed refuelling. We then bade them “bom caminho” and carried on our way, into the Barcelos municipal region

where the safety of peregrinos is at least mentioned to passing motorists.

I rather liked this church that we passed, the parish church of Pedra Furada,

which seemed to be designed so that maintenance of the bells didn’t require a ladder. We also passed a restaurant at a fuel station which carried a little cultural clue.

Its representation of an espigeiro shows it to be of the Galician kind – parallel-walled, rather than sloping – indicating that we’re gradually edging ever northwards in Portugal towards the Spanish border.

A few kilometres short of Barcelos is the town of Carvalhal,

where we’d planned another coffee stop. We also saw a magnificent Datura plant

(poisonous but gorgeous) and the fetching parish church.

The fact that we passed it is evidence, should you care even slightly, that we’d spurned a short detour on a winding Caminho trail for a straight road

which offered the possibility of walking at least partly shaded from the increasingly hot sun.

A pharmacy caught my attention because of its display board. All over Europe, pharmacies have flashy, flashing displays with all sorts of graphical tricks interspersing useful info such as time, temperature, opening times etc. In my experience, these have always been solely in green and black. This one, however….

Before too long we were passing through Barcelinhos.

We passed the local cemetery,

with its rather appropriate “dead end” sign, crossed under the main road past this rather fine azulejo (which at first I thought was just a mural),

and past a very slightly significant waymark;

less than 200km to go, so we are over two-thirds of our way along the Caminho! The general Camino vibe got stronger and stronger;

That’s a very untrustworthy distance assertion, less than a kilometre from a 198km waymark

Jane got chatting to a chap in a doorway who proudly showed off his calves

and then we were just by the river Cávado that separates Barcelinhos and Barcelos.

From the Barcelinhos side of the river, one gets a good view of the Palace ruins (now an archaeological museum) and the mother church. You’ll get a better view later, so stick with me. The road across the bridge passes a chapel,

the Chapel of Our Lady of the Bridge, built in 1328 to provide shelter for pilgrims; stone benches and basins for washing feet can still be seen.

Upon crossing the bridge, which was built between 1325 and 1330 (a five-minute job before taking lunch, ha ha), we found ourselves besieged by cocks. Wherever we looked, there were cocks.

Barcelos’s famous Cockerel (Galo de Barcelos) comes from a medieval legend in which a pilgrim passing through the town on his way to Santiago was wrongly accused of theft and sentenced to hang. He protested his innocence, saying that a roasted cockerel on the judge’s table would crow at the moment he was hanged. As he was dangling from the the gallows, St. James supported his weight and the cockerel miraculously crowed, proving his innocence and saving him. The story became associated with Barcelos*, and the now ubiquitous brightly decorated cockerels have become a symbol of the town and, more broadly, of Portugal.

The town has leaned heavily into the symbol – a massive up-cock on their part.

We had arrived very early, around 10.45, and the temperature was not unbearable, so, in the almost certain knowledge that our hotel room wouldn’t be ready, we passed some time looking around at Things To Look At, as you do. The town hall, for example, is an imposing edifice

and the portal to the Mother Church is very fine

as is its interior,

with some lovely stained glass and azulejos.

Between the church and the Palace ruins is a cross,

the Cruzeiro do Senhor do Galo (Cross of the Lord of the Rooster), generally dated to around the 16th–17th century. It’s decorated with figures relating to the, yup, cockerel legend: the pilgrim, the hanged man supported by St james, and the rooster. Tradition holds it was carved by the exonerated pilgrim himself, in gratitude to St. James (São Tiago) and the Virgin Mary, whom he credited with the miracle that saved him.

The parapet upon which the archaeological museum  stands offers a fine view back over the river to Barcelinhos

and also of a very imposing pillory.

Passing The Tower,

which is all that remains of the medieval entry gate to the town, we walked through the main shopping street, which is a handsome area,

pausing at the tourist office

for their selo, which – who’d a thunk it? – featured a cockerel.

Near our hotel is an unusually shaped church, the Igreja do Senhor Bom Jesus da Cruz de Barcelos.

(better photo coming later – possess your soul in patience, please). Inside (which we couldn’t really explore because we think there was an Adoration going on)

there is a very fine Eucharistic Throne. These things aren’t as furtive as we’d been led to believe, then. Around the curved interior are the Stations of the Cross in azulejo.

Next door to our hotel is the police station

which seems an entirely appropriate place to put another large pillory.

It was 1145 by this stage, and, as expected, our room wasn’t available at the hotel, so we passed time in an adjacent coffee bar until we were allowed in. The hotel is the intriguingly named Bagoeira. The name (astonishingly enough, nothing to do with the Jungle Book) was the name of a historic house and estate – the Casa e Quinta da Bagoeira – and the hotel’s restaurant occupies the old Quinta site. It did us a Nice Lunch, after which we relaxed a bit before going for a walk. Obviously. (We would have gone sooner, but wanted to wait for the temperature, which had reached 37°C, to drop a bit.)

For the first time in this trip, I was able legitimately to fly the drone. Frustratingly, restricted areas (military areas, airport surrounds, nature reserves) have extended all the way from Lisbon to Vila do Conde. But Barcelos is in the clear!

 

Here’s a photo of the Mother Church, as well as the Palace ruins/museum.

I also took a shot of Barcelinhos

and the rather lovely Bom Jesus church.

Whilst I was doing this, Jane went and explored more inside the Bom Jesus church, wanting specifically to take a photo of Our Lady of the (lady) Pilgrim.

She also went into The Tower, which hosts an exhibition of various items of art: Barcelos is part of the UNESCO Creative Cities Network as a Crafts and Folk Art city and is specifically known for its Figurado style. Figurado developed from Barcelo’s centuries-old ceramics tradition, and features hand-made, brightly painted figures often with a satirical, fantastical edge.

From the tower roof, she got…

a nice picture of the Bom Jesus church. Oh, and a couple of the town as well.

It has been a very good day – strong Camino vibes, beating the heat, lots of interesting things to see en route and in Barcelos. Tomorrow is promised to be another warm one, though “only” 33°C at most – and hopefully after that the temperatures will stay in the 20s. We may grant ourselves another daylight start. Stay tuned to find out.

 

 

* I hardly need remind you, because you’ve been paying attention all this time of course, that this story also hails from Santo Domingo de Calzada in Spain, which we passed through when we walked the Camino Francés three years ago, and saw the chickens in the cathedral that celebrate their version of this story.