Dancing in the Dark

"That's what the actress said to the bishop." A slightly elevated form of "that's what she said." (Perfect for use in the church and around small children...)

Rabaçal to Coimbra 29.5km

We had begun walking early, a grey misty morning greeting our hike through lush green forested hills, leaving Arrigo to once again scout ahead by bus, a wise decision in light of his heel. We covered the miles quickly, enjoying the unusually cool temperatures and we stopped just outside of Coimbra for a lunch of tinned sardines and leftover bread at a cafe where the patrons lovingly  teased a little boy for his new horrible haircut. We arrived relatively early to the Convento Santa Clara, a 17th century convent housing the remains of Santa Isabel "the Peacemaker," wife of King Dom Dinis who resented her gifts to the needy. Thankfully, he died first in 1325 allowing her to give away the rest of her wealth and enter the convent. We dropped our bags in the attached alburgue, showered, washed clothes and waited for Arrigo, before crossing the 
Río Mondego into the old city center of Coimbra. 

We wandered the narrow streets bathed in afternoon sun, tried on silly hats, slid down stair rails stepped into the Igreja de Santa Cruz for a quick blessing (one of us who shall remain nameless was refused...) and enjoyed the colors and sounds of Portugal's cultural center. As Alex wandered off for a haircut, Arrigo and I explored the stunning buildings of the university, established in 1290, Arrigo's head swiveling with the passing of each pretty university girl. 

Italians know how to swear. Americans tend to spit out a few nasty words in graceless order while Italians string together creative foul mouthed works of art. After passing the days wth Arrigo, I wanted to know more. So, rejoined by a closely shorn Alex, we found dinner in a university restaurant, and Arrigo set out to make me a chart of words to be paired together.

"There must be something online for this."
They both searched, Arrigo eventually hitting on a list of phrases perfectly crafted for excommunication from the church. Uncontrollable laughter rang out between each bite of our sandwiches, lightening our moods before the race back to the convent in time for the 9pm curfew. 

As night settled in, we sat in the tiny courtyard surrounded by high white walls and drying laundry, the ukulele changing hands with each song. Our beers turned to wine, a gift from Antonio and Giovanni, a pair of Italian pilgrims coming from Fatima. Arrigo enthusiastically sang and played Italian songs and joined me for a Fabrizio tune.  Alex finger picked beautifully and towards the end of the night, the two hilariously sang Bruce Springsteen's Dancing in the Dark. The uke had been out many nights before and upon discovering both Alex and Arrigo to be stronger players than I am, I felt free to play with notes vocally, altering melodies and phrasing. I sang Both Sides Now with Alex's help on the ukulele and we all sang Country Roads. With the hush of night wrapping us in the warmth of our wine, I sang Sting's Fields of Gold, reveling in the words and their connection to our walk. 

While Coimbra slept, we said our goodnights, the women to the first floor and the men to the second. We all settled in, closed our eyes… 

And then the mosquitos feasted.

I should live on this road!