Round and Divine..

Rabaçal:

A tiny village, home to the fourth century ruins of a Roman villa and more importantly, home of the Rabaçal cheese, once described as "round and divine," by the Portuguese writer Eça de Queirós.

Alvaiázere to Rabaçal 32.5km

It was unfortunate that Arrigo would be injured for the most beautiful day on the path so far, but as he was able to go ahead to secure our beds, Alex and I didn't complain too much. The final kilometers of the day before had rendered Arrigo's Achilles' tendon visibly swollen and painful. So he decided to have a rest day, taking the most expensive cab in Portugal to the end of our day's stage, a minuscule town consisting of a bar, two restaurants, a boarding house whose owner tends to not appear, local cheese and a collection of goats. 

Alex and I set off later than intended, due to our accidental closing of a bathroom door that couldn't be reopened until a bombiero came to save us. We walked out and up from Alvaiázere into an already warming morning, wandering through the lovely hilltop village of Laranjeiras, with its old cars, orange trees, colorful flowers and gorgeous views. We managed a height of 470 meters, the high point of the Camino thus far, less painfully than expected as we were distracted by the landscape. We stocked up on food for lunch before discovering a ridiculously decadent bakery two blocks down, and we later sat under a tree to a lunch of bread, tuna in olive oil, tomatoes, onions,  dried peppers, and rosemary and oregano that we had collected along the way. Alex carefully built sandwiches, balancing them precariously on his foot to avoid the dirt. (Perhaps the dirt would have been more sanitary...) 

Ludovinha lied to us, this tiny old woman who invited us to sit with her to drink water. Her shaky hands rinsed and filled glasses of water for us. As I raised my camera to take her picture, she primped, tugging on the buttons of her blue dress and pulled a delicate gold pendant of a bird out from under her shirt. Two kilometers, she said. Two kilometers to Rabaçal. Four kilometers and 30 photos of an old windmill later, Alex and I walked into town greeted by the happy waving of a very bored Arrigo. 

We had for a few days, gained another pilgrim in the form of John Brierley, our ever so chatty guidebook author, an older Irish man who gave tidbits of advice and thoughts before each day's stage. We had begun to read his "Mystical Path," after our morning cafe and during a flat stretch of road, both in turns laughing and taking to heart. For our day's stage, Johnny B. described the penetrating gaze of love from a shepherdess. Though we looked all day, the only penetrating gazes came from a small yard of goats next to the bar where we sampled the Rabaçal cheese washed down with crisp cold beers.

A Pilgrims Choice.. downhill and shade or uphill in full sun!