Lam Unfiltered

My second day in Portugal I had to travel by train from Lisbon to Porto. This could be a 2.5 hour trip, a 3 hour trip or a 3.5 hour trip depending on whether I chose the fast train, the slow train or the bus. I chose the slow train. I had to take the metro to the train station, which was so beautifully easy, the subway system is excellent. One travel source called it tired, but they have obviously never been in Toronto - which I consider properly tired in comparison. I should have bought my train ticket in advance, because I had to wait from 9:30am until around noon for my train. When I arrived in Porto at 4ish, the rain was cascading down - causing all the people to stay squished in the station - and block all the maps. The maps would not have helped me because I had not obsessively researched Porto like I had Lisbon. I should have. If I had known which direction to turn - to walk toward the Cathedral - I would have found it in the rain, and I could have started walking on Satur...

Apologies in advance for referencing my solo trip so often, but it was a necessary [incredible!] experience - and the first time I have been alone in a very long time . Solo travel is a massive experience. When I spoke to friends and co-workers about my plans, most assumed I would be traveling with my partner, and when they found out I was going to Portugal alone, they assumed I would be traveling with an organized group, which I was not. Reactions varied from horror to dreamy envy. My actual trip was the opposite of organized, which was difficult for this Librarian type A Virgo. My gear I planned to death, watching YouTube videos from August until March preparing my supplies lists and shadowing other people on their journeys. I decided early on that the more popular French Way, across the north of Spain would be too long and has become busy crowded. I was walking for isolation and quiet, and didn't want to worry about finding an Albergue with space every night, plus that Camino ...

I am obsessed with two of my toenails; two tiny fatalities from my trek through Portugal and Spain in April. It was my 5 th day walking the Camino Portuguese, and I had to climb a small mountain, really only a hill at 505 metres, but for me it was a mountain. It was raining, and the water coursed down the rocky path I was attempting to climb. My waterproof hiking boots were proving to be not-waterproof.   The path was steep, and I had to move from rock to rock, my heart was pounding with exertion and I felt absolute despair, wondering if my heart would stop and that I would be found soggy and dead, lying in a puddle. I remember thinking that if I died how traumatizing that would be for my family - so I kept on climbing, rock to rock, through the water. My guidebook described the climb as lovely one, and not too difficult. I found it hellish – and I was angry every step. I was angry at my body, for not being young and pliable, and as strong has it had been 20 years – 15 y...