As it turned out, today was indeed better than yesterday. For one thing, the sun was shining. That alone was enough to put a skip in our step as we walked an unusually short day to the little town of Boimorto (which coincidentally means dead castrated bull). The short day was to avoid a really long day on our last day, a walk that would have been about 37k and likely done us in, or at least been a miserable way to end our Camino.

It was a mostly flat walk along the roadways through tiny towns filled with stone houses, vegetable gardens and pastures of grazing cattle and even a few donkeys. We stopped for a mid morning café con leche and bought some rather expensive cherries from a small fruit stand along the way.

We found ourselves in the town of Boimorto by lunchtime. Gary and I shared a room in a lovely little albergue called Casa da Gandara where we were welcomed by a lovely, albeit hoarse, hospitalera who spoke to us in a whisper as she showed us to our room. Our shoes were still wet from the sogginess of the previous day’s slogfest so we set them outside in the sun to dry and went off to have lunch with Pedro and Paola, our Portugese friends who were staying in the same albergue.

One of my favorite parts of the Caminos are the conversations with fellow pilgrims. Whether it be the hours walking along a country road or hours spent sitting in a café sipping an ice cold Kaz Limón, the richness found in these moments of connection is hard to describe.

The four of us found our way to a restaurant in town, the tables around us filled with locals eating their midday meal. While we’d walked with Pedro and Paola on and off for days now, this was the first time we’d sat down with them alone. Paola was a tiny little thing, a woman of few words. It wasn’t clear to me if she didn’t speak English or was just shy. Perhaps it was both, but while she and Pedro were often together, Pedro was the one who did most of the talking.

That afternoon was no different. Pedro’s English, as was true for many of the non-Americans we met, was very good. The fact that so many people from other countries learn English in school has always struck me as such an incredible benefit, not just for them but also for the US traveler who reaps the benefits of the fact that we can find English speakers in many parts of the world. It also makes me wonder why in an educational system such as ours doesn’t do the same. Why don’t we value learning another language? Despite the fact that research has shown us this time and time again that language should be taught when the child is young, we begin language study in middle and high school years. Rather than an opportunity to learn something viable, we approach it simply a way to check a box on a college application. It’s really a shame.

Pedro was a deep thinker. I was struck by the considered way in which he spoke about topics that ranged from life in Portugal and the impact of the recent increase in travelers to the country (he was less than thrilled about it as it mean prices were increasing for residents as well) to his reflections on the many Caminos he’d walked. This one was his favorite, he’d said. It was, in his view, the purest of the Caminos, the one that was perhaps the closest to what was originally intended. With the lack of infrastructure and limited places to stay and eat, there was a need to keep going rather than distract oneself with stops along the way . Kilometers of continuous walking challenged the body and mind. The feet ache. The body wears down. Frustration abounds. As the struggle intensifies, the mind must find a way to keep going.

For me the quiet of this Camino has been an adjustment. I relished the camaraderie of the Frances. Of the multitude of sights and sounds. The bells ringing. The birds singing. The chatter of pilgrims that filled the streets. Still, the long hours spent walking with Gary and Kristen have been a gift. While my walk along the Frances created a breadth of new relationships, the Primitivo has allowed me to explore a depth I am truly grateful for.