Vigo

Our journey to Vigo was a quirky combination of roadside, residential, and beach trekking. Much was flat but some good hills, too. We could often see the sea, even if we were walking well above it.

The sun was climbing over the beach as we set out. Our trekking notes said one of the beaches this segment is considered the most beautiful of Galicia, Praia do Vao. All of the beaches we trekked seemed to be sugar-sand; the softest. Surprise! At least some are clothing optional, apparently, just as in Portugal. Huh.

We didn’t see a lot of seashells but found a treasure trove of perfectly smoothed and rounded colored stones in all sizes. Some were almost transluscent. Oh for a bucket and shovel!

I stashed a few small stones in my pocket for safekeeping. I’ve filled a small box with sea glass, stones, and a shell or two with a Camino memento in mind. But I really must quit collecting!

Along much of The Way today we could see the Cies Islands archipelago in the distance. If we’d had time to spare, a ferry to explore the Galicia National Park would have been just the ticket!

As it was getting on for a midmorning break, we encountered the most heavenly scent of fresh bread and cinnamon coming from the pile of goods a Spanish lady carried. Oh, it smelled so good!

We caught her attention just before she crossed the street. “Pardon. Yummm! Where?” She spoke animatedly and pointed across the street. We understood only patisserie and that was enough!

Across the street was a little cafe. A man behind the counter didn’t speak much English but was pleased to sell tea or coffee. That’s all he had. We were puzzled.

Patisserie? He smiled and directed us down the hill to a tiny little bakery tucked into the corner. We took his drinks to an outdoor table and scurried down for a sampling of deliciousness. Best break ever.

Along The Way each day, our trek-mate pulls a flower or stem to adorn his pack. Trekking in style, this guy. A few times he’s used what looks like a pampas grass stem.

I was a bit ahead so I didn’t witness the initial encounter, but while trekking beach boardwalk, a middle-aged Spanish lady approached from behind. She started yelling at him in Spanish.

He didn’t understand, but thought he heard “garbage.” His wife thought she heard “guarded.” He didn’t know what to say in response and walked on. But she came back after him, yelling about “you Pilgrims.”

Finally he understood she was concerned he was spreading seeds for n invasive plant. Of course, that wasn’t his intention. He apologized and handed the stem to her. She broke it in half and threw it in the trash can.

Still she wouldn’t stop badgering! Finally he said, “Enough! I get it! She moved on and the group pulled off to collect ourselves. We could hear her ranting a half a block a way.

There’s a lesson, of course: you don’t know what you don’t know. Another: when you can be anything, be kind. She had choices, too.

Vigo is a big city. We were glad to get to our hotel and go out to explore a bit. Initially, we stayed close to the hotel, doing errands. Later we walked down to the port, passing through a huge street festival. It was all about being active; pickleball, line dancing, martial arts, wheel chair races, all kinds of fun activities on blocked off streets.

I loved the multigenerational aspect; families were out in force. Small children rode bikes or played untethered yet under friendly, watchful eyes. It felt like great community in the city.

Our first priority was to get a second Credencial stamp, as the two-stamp rule has kicked in. Every day we’ve gotten two or more, easily. Today, we had only the hotel stamp.

The kicker is that we’d walked by a quirky self-stamp on The Way and kept on trekkin’! We were sure we’d find another with more meaning. We like to get stamped at a cafe or church we visit. Today, nada.

Once in Vigo, the pressure was on to get that second stamp! We hoped to use Iglesia de Santiago (St. James) de Vigo, almost around the corner, down a long flight of stone steps. It was closed! We tried a couple cafes nearby, feeling a bit desperate. No luck. Bad news!

Our second priority was to get USD exchanged for Euros. We’re almost out. We can’t get them ourselves in a bank; we must use a currency exchange service. We found a place, and got it done. Good news!

Back at the hotel, the receptionist assured us the church would reopen near dinner time for mass. So, we went back, relieved the doors were open. We tiptoed inside, around the entire perimeter, but … no stamp table.

The Hubs went to the front to ask of the priest, using hand motions, “You have a stamp?“ He nodded yes, and directed him to a side office, clearly marked “No entrar.” The Hubs hesitated, looked back at the priest, who urged him on, waving, Yes, go on in.

But another priest in the office was angry he’d entered unannounced. He scolded by demonstrating how to knock! Flustered, the Hubs reverted to farm-Spanglish, “The gentleman over there told me for coming!”

Then I came tripping in behind with our Credencials. I laid them out, pointing to the place for his stamp— because we’re often asked: Where do you want this stamp? He was offended and scolded me in Spanish, pointing to himself, thumping the Credencial, clearly conveying he knew his stamping business! Now I was flustered, and apologized!

When he finished he said, “Buen Camino, Buen Camino” and shooed us on our way.

We couldn’t get outside fast enough, barely holding back the giggles. No question, we got a double-scolding. Bad news to be scolded in church! Good news, we have our stamps! Tomorrow, we press on for Redondela.

My devotional today was on perseverance. Appropriate, eh? All day; every day. Enough said.

Hold hope. Keep faith. Walk your walk.

~ Sincerely, Sondra