Sunday, February 1st - Any given day: Cachopo - Bar. do Velho

The sun charmed me out of bed good and early, after a night of heavy rain. I’d say a full two inches, I was sure that the clouds had given all they had to give for the month. A quick sandwich and coffee and I was on my way.
There was a different feel again to today’s stage; a national park feel to it, with the odd rundown little cottage, which could well have been inhabited by hobbits (but everyone knows hobbits only speak English).
The trees were taller, eucalyptus and conifers, mixed with the occasional cork tree (howarya buoy). It seemed a little less authentic, in that they were planted, rather than running wild, but prettier none the less.
An hour into my walk, the drizzle started, after two hours, the wind picked up and the rain was pouring down with gusto. It got to the point where I was thought it best to seek some shelter, so I spent half an hour under a cork tree, biding my time. It did revert to drizzle, so I decided it best to move on. Cold and wet, it reminded me of a hurling game we played at under twelves, that day the rain turned into hailstones and our goalie began to cry. At least he had gloves I thought.
But I kept moving on, telling myself that later on in the season, turning out for Cuala’s third team, when I was being skinned for speed by someone half my age, this is what I would be thinking about and it might just makes the old bones move a little faster.
I told God that if it would just stop raining, I would gladly walk the next mile uphill. The next mile was uphill, but the rain did not stop. Oh Lord, why dost thou smite me so.
I was glad to find the next town, on the main road, had a bus shelter. So I sat in for a while, eating the cheese sandwich I had been promising myself for the last hour. The rain eased off again and the sun reappeared. I won’t bother telling you about the next few hours, as it was more of the same, but after seven hours of walking/hurling, with wet shoes and wet feet, I made it to Bar do Velho.
I’m not sure if its masochism or optimism that makes me do it, but I hadn’t booked ahead. I found the Tia Bia guest house from the recommended accommodation list was central and open. It opened into a bar of beery Portuguese soldiers, but the landlord quickly confirmed he had rooms available and brought me through the back to the restaurant.
This is when it happened. He took my bag and sat me down in a corner beside a fire and in fifteen minutes his wife had prepared the most enjoyable meal I think I will ever eat.
This is the yin and yang of any given day. It can take and take until you think you have no more to offer and then give back what makes it all worthwhile. And you realise that these are the days of your lives.
Any given day could be the worst or best of your life, but you have to ask of it.
If you do raise the bar and through adventurousness or foolishness ask a bit more, it will answer that question with honest experience. More of those days for me.