Monday August 31 – The observant among you will note the lack of a running total of our distance travelled on this Caminho. This is because we didn’t walk today; Jane may be a trooper but she’s not stoopid, and was worried that her cough was developing into a chest infection. We both thought it was worth checking in at a local pharmacy rather than risking finding out during a walk – in 30°C heat and constant sunshine – that we’d taken on too much. So, much as we relished the prospect of leaving the fairly ghastly Hotel Ouro, we hung fire so that we could visit a pharmacy. (To be fair to the hotel, the old-fashioned bathroom did deliver a decent shower once one had stepped into the bath, and the towels were of a decent size and fluffiness.)

The breakfast arrangement was to pick up a voucher at the reception which gave us a meal at the snack bar next door. It was not a generous selection, but there was some fruit, some pastries and a coffee machine, which set us the poser: did we want milk with coffee (bottom left), or coffee with milk (top right)?

Milk with coffee appeared to deliver the nearest to a flat white; ChatGPT tells me that “garoto” is an understood Portuguese term for a small coffee with milk. The sooner this country gets to grips with the idea of a flat white, the better, I say. That and Earl Grey tea.

After the rudimentary breakfast, we went for a walk into town, and discovered that Azambuja is rather a nice place – by and large well-maintained and apparently interested in making a favourable impression on visitors. There are two pharmacies, and the first one – Da Silva, a large, modern and impressive place – dispensed something to help Jane with the cough she’s been struggling with.

To get to the main street, one passes the bull ring

which is still actively in use, having (according to ChatGPT) hosted a Corrida as recently as May this year. (They don’t kill the bull in the ring, but that doesn’t mean that the outcome is usually in the bull’s best interests, by the way.)

The main drag is handsome

and there are some attractive buildings,

as well as some clearly with both a history and charm.

but our interest (pharmacy aside) was principally the church, which rated not only an icon on our personalised online map, but also a mention in Brierley. The exterior is plain enough

and features a pillory outside. Inside, it’s quite sumptuous

with a very ornate altar piece built around a mulit-tiered Eucharistic throne which, as any fule kno, is an Iberian Baroque special – an elevated platform on which the monstrance is displayed for public adoration.

The walls are extravagantly and completely tiled

with panels featuring the Stations of the Cross.

There wasn’t however, anywhere we could see that offered us a selo – a stamp for our pilgrim passports. Outside the church was an azulejo

which is very much in line with the town’s pedigree, if that’s the word, in bull fighting and horse riding. Generally, efforts have been made to keep the place looking cheerful

although some pieces are beginning to suffer.

As midday approached, we checked out of the hotel, whose receptionist told us about the taxi rank outside the station, so we hied ourselves thither – to see the sole taxi drive away as we approached. We had arranged with today’s accommodation that we would get there between 12.30 and 1pm, so we needed transport. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I whistled up my Uber app and found that there was a driver just six minutes away who was prepared to take us on to Porto de Muge. (You see, Guy – we can do the Uber thing, just choose not to almost all of the time 😉.)

I’m typically oblivious of anything in my surroundings not of immediate and practical concern to me, but Jane had noticed, over the preceding couple of days, that there were a lot of tomatoes strewn around the streets, like this, for example.

As we made our way to the station, we noticed several large lorries go by

presumably headed for the Sugal tomato paste factory down the road. And as we rode towards Porto de Muge in our Uber, we saw the extent of the tomato crops around here, which is huge – stretching to the horizon on both sides of the road in places, and (strangely to our eyes) being grown without supports. Apparently they are specific thicker-skinned varieties which grow to a certain size, ripen at roughly the same time, and can be mechanically harvested.

So, Marcio Emanuel delivered us to the door of the Quinta da Marchanta, whose staff had been very proactively in contact already during the day. A more extreme contrast between two places couldn’t easily be found – in the Ouro Hotel, the receptionist could hardly be bothered to put down her pastry to check us in, but here, we were greeted and shown round by the lovely Kim. Although the restaurant here is normally closed on a Monday, they had arranged for us to take a pilgrim’s lunch laid on specially for us, and provided us with a sandwich for supper; because we are planning to leave very early tomorrow to try to avoid the worst of the heat of the day they will provide an early breakfast for us; and, best of all, there’s a dedicated tea station, with kettle and

Twinings finest Earl Grey tea! There couldn’t be a better demonstration of the pedigree of this excellent place as far as I’m concerned (Ouro Hotel’s breakfast couldn’t even muster English Breakfast tea – pah!).

After our lunch, as we were walking round and admiring the place, who should turn up but the three Aussie (Tasmanian) peregrinos we’d seen en route to Azambuja. Jerry is the chap’s name; he’s there with his missus and friend.

The Quinta is well worth looking round; very attractively laid out, both outside

and in.

Our room has an extensive balcony overlooking the complex and we were able to completely relax for the rest of the day. This is the sort of place that makes us wish we had more than one night here. But, sadly, we don’t. We have to get to Santarém tomorrow, which is (we are told) about 16km away, and the forecast temperature is once again likely to climb to 30°C in the afternoon, hence our desire to leave betimes. We are hopeful that Jane’s cold and cough will have improved to the point where four or five hours walking (unrelieved, sad to say, by any coffee stops) can be contemplated; also that what I fear is a burgeoning cold that I’m now developing won’t pose a problem. We’ll see. Beyond tomorrow, the temperatures forecast are brutal, rising to 41°C (that’s 106°F in old money) and continuing in the thirties thereafter. When we walked the Camino Francés, we managed to cope with such temperatures by starting very early, and maybe we’ll be able to do so again. Or maybe we will continue with the Uber strategy. Stay tuned over the next days to find out.