Day 2 - Apulia to Viana do Castelo

Camino distance: 34.4km
Garmin distance: 46.8km (56k steps)

Apulia: 0km

Eager to bid farewell to Apulia and with high hopes of landing somewhere more vibrant by this evening, I set off early beneath a scattering of somber grey clouds. The weather forecast was less than promising, predicting a steady build-up of rain throughout the morning, culminating in a soggy crescendo by early afternoon. Fortunately, my foresight had prevailed; I had snagged a bargain pack-a-mac from Decathlon in Porto a couple of days earlier.

Today's journey passed through Fão, a modest town perched on the southern bank of the Cávado River. The route took me along a few unremarkable kilometres of road, positioned just far enough from the coast to rob me of any potentially interesting vistas. Fão itself is a quaint place, its outskirts dotted with a handful of grand, expensive-looking residences that gradually give way to smaller, older houses as you approach the town center.

Esposende: 8km

I crossed the river via the Ponte metálica de Fão. From there, I meandered along winding roads that promised to lead me into Esposende. The anticipation of reconnecting with the glorious coastline filled me with a sense of eager expectation

Esposende turned out to be a gem of a town, boasting an immaculately presented church, numerous charming historical buildings, and a traditional star-shaped fort. The bustling open market was alive with energy, as throngs of Portuguese ladies shouted spiritedly at each other. I liked to imagine their exchanges were something along the lines of "You want HOW much for these peppers? That's daylight robbery!" or "I've seen bigger bananas in ALDI!". A gratifying slice of local life that added to the town's irresistible charm.

Wishing I had more time to explore this delightful town, but all too aware that my accommodation was still forty-five kilometers away, I reluctantly pressed on. I knew I needed to keep a steady pace to avoid falling too far behind as the day wore on.

The route out of town presented stunning panoramas of the sandy banks that formed a gentle natural harbor. The landscape, dotted with soft sea grasses and the occasional abandoned fishing boat, felt like a nature reserve meticulously designed for an Instagram photo shoot. Every element seemed carefully placed and perfectly staged, creating a serene and picturesque scene that was almost too flawless to be real.

After some confusion and a bit of doubling back due to a wrong turn, I eventually found the new boardwalk route leading out of the north of town. This path is part of the Senda Litoral, but it's so new that it wasn't marked on the map I had with me. Just as I found my way, the heavens decided to open in earnest. Hastily donning my waterproof, I set off towards Mar, a town whose name would soon prove to be all too fitting.

This section of the route was poorly signposted, and within twenty minutes, the path seemed to disappear, leaving no obvious way forward. With the rain hammering down and feeling a bit sorry for myself, I decided to head inland to find the main road and follow it until I could reorient myself. It wasn't the most scenic option, but it promised a solution amid the downpour.

I found myself on the N13, a road as charming as its unremarkable name might suggest. For the next half hour, I trudged along the hard shoulder, hood up and head down, dodging the occasional puddle and braving the deluge from the speeding trucks that seemed determined to give me a second shower. Just when I thought things were at their worse, I spotted a bar with its doors invitingly ajar. Salvation, I thought—a chance to escape the rain and perhaps enjoy a hot cup of coffee.

With a sense of relief, I stepped inside. The place was dark, with no lights on, and in the gloomy corner sat a dour-looking couple who seemed to have been there since the invention of joylessness. The atmosphere was as welcoming as a tax audit. After a moment's consideration, I decided that if I was going to be miserable, I might as well be miserably wet. So, without further ado, I turned on my heel and headed straight back into the rain.

This was undoubtedly the lowest moment of my journey. I questioned whether I really wanted to carry on at all. It would have been so simple to hail a taxi or catch a bus back to Porto, where I could spend a few relaxing days before heading home. By the time I arrived in Mar, I had almost convinced myself that I was done with the whole experience.

Note: Photos are a bit thin on the ground until the weather improved, it was almost impossible to use a touchscreen in the pouring rain.

Mar: 16km

Veering left, I left the main road and ventured down a street that led back towards the coast. In the dim, grey distance, I could just make out a figure, burdened with a massive backpack, silhouetted against the murk. It had to be another Camino pilgrim, the first I'd encountered all day. Joy! I wasn't the only wretched soul out here. This comforting thought buoyed my spirits immediately.

I caught up with her just as we both reached the Cruzeiro de Praia de Mar, a sizeable stone cross standing in a small clearing, surrounded by benches. I struck up conversation, inquiring about her day, and discovered she, too, had been struggling to keep to the route. We decided to walk together for a while. This way, if we wandered off course again, we could find comfort in our shared folly. After all, collective stupidity is far more bearable than solo blundering.

Viera, it turned out, was from the Czech Republic. She had been walking the same route from Porto, but had started four days ago. Together, we navigated a labyrinth of soggy, short farm tracks that seemed to split every few hundred meters, with forks leading off in opposite directions. At each junction, we had to decide whether to take the left or the right path, basing our choice on whichever seemed to point roughly in the correct direction.

Moldes: 24km

Eventually, we made our way into Moldes, a small town where we stumbled upon a delightful café, perfect for a much-needed break. It was 2 p.m., and having set off early from the hotel without breakfast or even a coffee, I was famished. I asked the waitress for a croissant from the display case. She cautioned me that it was "granary," a concept that didn't quite register with me at the time. As it turned out, "granary" meant it was a perfectly good regular croissant that had somehow had all the joy meticulously extracted from it. But I was hungry so down it went.

While savoring our light lunch, the rain mercifully ceased, and the sun made a cheerful appearance. I decided to indulge in a second coffee; in Portugal, the coffee is consistently excellent and ridiculously cheap at just one Euro. The servings, though, are rather small—somewhere between a double espresso and a petite Americano. Usually, it's the perfect amount, but given my caffeine-deprived state, I needed more.

We chatted as we rested, sharing stories and experiences. Eventually, we agreed to walk the remaining ten kilometers to Viana do Castelo together. This would mark the end of Viera's journey for the day, but I still had another ten kilometres to cover beyond that.

Viana do Castelo: 34.3km

The rest of our hike along the coast was anything but uneventful, with the route continuing to be frustratingly hard to follow. We encountered several dead ends, a path that led us through a small forest only to end abruptly in a wall of dense underbrush, and some impromptu dune-hopping where no discernible path existed at all. Yet, we tackled each of these challenges together as they arose, navigating through them with a mix of determination and humor. Eventually, we found ourselves within sight of our destination, a sight that filled us both with a renewed sense of accomplishment.

Since Mar, the walking had been much more strenuous than the gentle, undulating boardwalks I had enjoyed previously. We had to take several circuitous routes around various obstacles and geological inconveniences, which left my feet beginning to protest in earnest. The actual distance we had covered far exceeded the 34.3 kilometers of the official Camino route we had notionally traversed. As we finally entered Viana do Castelo, I was sore, exhausted, and desperately in need of a proper meal.

I parted ways with Viera on the south side of the river, where she had an Airbnb booked for the night—assuming she could negotiate the access details with a hairdresser (a long story for another time). I then made my way to cross the Ponte Eiffel, which, by happy coincidence, was another section of the N13 that I had enjoyed so much earlier in the day, and ventured into the town proper.

Settling in at a modern, friendly-looking Italian restaurant on the riverside, I quickly discovered that because it was 5:13 p.m., they were no longer serving pizza—daytime only, apparently. With some trepidation, I ordered the "Vegetarian Linguine," which promised an adventurous mix of peppers, onions, tomatoes, sweetcorn, and pineapple. To my pleasant surprise, it was actually pretty good—or perhaps I was just extremely hungry, or maybe both. I washed it down with a small beer and finished with a well-deserved coffee.

Sitting in the restaurant with my feet throbbing, feeling contented and a little sleepy from the food and the day's exertions, I made the decision that I would not be leaving Viana do Castelo tonight. It was a very pretty town that I wanted to explore properly, and another ten kilometers was simply too much to tackle this late in the day. I quickly booked a room in a hotel that, fortunately, was right next door to the restaurant. After checking in and changing, I set out to explore the charming town at a more leisurely pace.

Summary

A tough day. The excitement of leaving Apulia wore off quickly with the monotonous trek along the road, far from the view of the coast. However, Esposende was a delightful interlude, and things were going reasonably well until the rain started.

The couple of hours between Esposende and Mar were the worst part of the whole trip. Everything seemed to conspire against me, making the experience utterly miserable (and wet). It was certainly a test of character, if nothing else. Meeting Viera turned it around completely. Having company to talk to for the rest of the day was a joy, making the bad times more bearable.

Stopping at Viana do Castelo was the best decision I could have made. I spent a good hour exploring it that evening and a few more hours the next morning. The town is absolutely gorgeous, and I can't wait to come back sometime.

• Pizzas eaten: 0 (a very poor show!)
• Not pizzas eaten: 1 (weird but fine, 6/10)