Carelessly I wash all the socks. That means that they are collectively
wet in the morning.
I grill the most promising ones on the bathroom
floor during breakfast. This is the first place with floor heating. Then
I still have to put on damp socks.
The German-Austrian women who stayed in the same place let me know that there are biting dogs in the next farm. One of them only got a hole in trousers, the other also teethmarks on her leg. The map shows that going a bit another way is possible to avoid the problematic spot. I only have to walk about hundred meters more on highway. Then the trail continues between fields again and heads towards a yard of a house. This somehow seems familiar. The women didn't look quite sure to remember where they came from. I collect some stones from the road. In the yard two dogs who match description are on the rope this time. The stones land back on the ground.
A lot of agricultural landscape and cuckoos. Giant eucalyptus and much cork oak. Pleasantly clouded. A herd of sheep runs down the slope. The headsheep suddenly stops and looks back: why running? Everyone look perplexed. I hunt butterflies. Near the ruins of a convent from 15th century an old lady controls three dogs and inquires about my goings.
First raindrops fall when I climb up the last ascent towards the church of Santiago do Cacém. If you walk long enough then it will finally rain (Santiago do Cacém proverb). I sit on the steps of the church and look at the sign marking the beginning of the trail. Although the beginning is actually in Narva. Or end, depending how to look at it. This trail is part of international coastal trail that connects Narva with the lighthouse where I last saw Sara.
The man in the hotel says worriedly that breakfast starts at seven thirty, am I allright with that. He laughs when he hears that I'm finishing, not starting and states that then it probably doesn't matter. No, it doesn't. Tomorrow are 87 km to Lisbon and I only start at ten.
Notice a food store, only to remember that I do don't need it anymore. The habbit of walking in the middle of the street. Now my feet are suddenly sore and tired. Toenail hangs in there with one corner but probably doesn't make it to Tallinn.
GPS has measured 561,9 km walking in Portugal.
The German-Austrian women who stayed in the same place let me know that there are biting dogs in the next farm. One of them only got a hole in trousers, the other also teethmarks on her leg. The map shows that going a bit another way is possible to avoid the problematic spot. I only have to walk about hundred meters more on highway. Then the trail continues between fields again and heads towards a yard of a house. This somehow seems familiar. The women didn't look quite sure to remember where they came from. I collect some stones from the road. In the yard two dogs who match description are on the rope this time. The stones land back on the ground.
A lot of agricultural landscape and cuckoos. Giant eucalyptus and much cork oak. Pleasantly clouded. A herd of sheep runs down the slope. The headsheep suddenly stops and looks back: why running? Everyone look perplexed. I hunt butterflies. Near the ruins of a convent from 15th century an old lady controls three dogs and inquires about my goings.
First raindrops fall when I climb up the last ascent towards the church of Santiago do Cacém. If you walk long enough then it will finally rain (Santiago do Cacém proverb). I sit on the steps of the church and look at the sign marking the beginning of the trail. Although the beginning is actually in Narva. Or end, depending how to look at it. This trail is part of international coastal trail that connects Narva with the lighthouse where I last saw Sara.
The man in the hotel says worriedly that breakfast starts at seven thirty, am I allright with that. He laughs when he hears that I'm finishing, not starting and states that then it probably doesn't matter. No, it doesn't. Tomorrow are 87 km to Lisbon and I only start at ten.
Notice a food store, only to remember that I do don't need it anymore. The habbit of walking in the middle of the street. Now my feet are suddenly sore and tired. Toenail hangs in there with one corner but probably doesn't make it to Tallinn.
GPS has measured 561,9 km walking in Portugal.
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