Francesinha

Bacchus.. Ah, overindulgence! 

Francesinha:
Little French girl.
Supposedly invented by an emigrant returned from France, this sandwich starts with a slice of bread, layered with ham, sausage, steak, cheese, more bread, occasionally a fried egg, more cheese, topped with a beer butter sauce and served with fries. (Death could be a side effect.)

Coimbra to Anadia 30km

"I have pain in my stomach. I think it's too much anti inflammatory."
"Oh really... Are you sure it wasn't the entire plate of Francesinha and fries that you ate last night?"

Alex became an early morning super hero, his drying towel tied to his backpack as a dramatic cape, but since the daycare in the first village was having super hero day, complete with mini iron men and spider men, Alex's cape seemed apt. 

The mosquitos and overindulgence of the previous evening had lent a quiet trudging sort of quality to our morning walk. Arrigo had rejoined us for the first part of the stage and it was with great desperation that we fell on our morning cafes in the first open bar. We spent the day walking through tall beautiful forests of eucalyptus trees and pines and we lunched on seafood stew at the end of town in Mealhada. We left Arrigo searching for the bus station, vowing to meet in the next town and Alex and I headed off for the last 8km. Upon finding a shady quiet patch of forest, Alex took off his shoes and socks and promptly fell asleep, while I wrote, sitting two trees over from his Rip Van Winkle form.

We arrived to the bombieros, only to be told that the place to sleep was somewhere between 500 meters and 2 kilometers away, in a completely different town. I was sad to leave Anadia since I had just had the most amazing orange pinwheel topped with strawberries at the local bakery and I had had every intent of going back for another. The three of us followed directions as best we could, lingering in the middle of round-a-bouts with confused expressions. We walked hesitantly through the one street town of Malaposta only finding our way thanks to the unexpected guidance from a cyclist. A soft spoken graceful nun led the way past a children's playground and classrooms to a large cool room with a sloped ceiling, blue window shades and around 10 mattresses neatly made with flower print linens. An hour later, Antonio and Giovanni showed up.

Arrigo was angry, holding the menu and shaking his head. "Peach on a pizza?!? This is not pizza!" When I mentioned my love of pineapple pizza, he cringed visibly. We sat in the neighborhood "pizzeria," drinking beer and watching a large group sing happy birthday in a terrible key. 

"It would be fabulous if they shared that cake!" As if heard by God, the waitress appeared with a plate of four flakey creamy pieces. Remembering my stolen dinner, nights before, I ate two.

My future employer...