The skies were overcast, but not a drop of rain when I awoke, so I gathered my things and made my way into town for breakfast. As I got tucked into my food, the rain began, and was soon torrential. The restaurant I was breakfasting in was run by a French woman, who let me know that the forecast was for the rain to continue at the same belt all day. This left me in something of a dilemma, in that, cheapskate that I am, I was hoping to make it to the Monchique Mountain Spa resort for two nights by Saturday (they have a two nights for the price of one offer in February!). The only way I was going to make it was to complete a stage a day. So nothing for it, I had to gird my loins and brave the elements.
Once I got out on the road, the rain was actually pretty thin, so I went merrily on my way. Half an hour into it, the rain picked up, so I increased the pace. This led me to send a sliotar into the river which ran beside the path (well, five foot wide river, but swelled by all the rain), the ball was quickly swept downstream, so I was forced to follow it, it got snagged after a while, I’m sure you can see where this is going. The bank I leaned out on collapsed and I fell, rucksack and all into the river. I quickly righted myself, by was still waist deep, clambered out, none too happy.
The American Indians say “know the river and you know all things”. I think I got to know this river a little more than I would have liked to. Luckily my phone and laptop seem to be riverproof, my passport’s wavy pages will be a reminder of today for years to come.
At least this made the rain a bit more bearable, when you are soaked through, the rain doesn’t make much difference. I kept marching on.
The rain came and went, as did the sun, it was a very enjoyable day overall, moving into ground more heavily cultivated, some nice walks, through olive groves and through fields filled with oranges.
It struck as I was getting well into my hurling groove, that this was actually how hurling may well have been for thousands of years, just a man, a stick, a sliotar and a mountain. I think that’s worth remembering, that hurling isn’t something owned by anyone, the GAA (wonderful organization that they are), or anyone else, it just something there to be enjoyed. There to be enjoyed by anyone who wants to pick up a hurley, then pick up a ball and hit it.
Brian Cody said you only need three things to become a great hurler, a stick, a ball and a wall. If you don’t have a suitable wall, I can assure you that a mountain makes a great alternative.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3rd – Happy Birthday to me! : Bar. do Velho – Salir
Is there anything better than the warm glow that surrounds you each time you realise it’s your birthday? It certainly pushed me up a few hills today.
The legs benefited from the day of rest, and a short 16km section today meant that I could enjoy it. Another fine day, mist for a while, but fifteen degrees when the sun was out, a lot better than the snowy conditions I see back home.
I had a quick look at the papers while internetting, it’s shocking how detached from everything you get after just a few days away. Good shocking.
I saw the bad economic news continues, which wasn’t far from my thoughts all day. I saw talk that only the Euro is saving Ireland from being the next Iceland.
It brings up an interesting question, because if nature abhors a vacuum, capital likes it even less. Iceland has naturally realigned its cost base by the devaluation of its currency. Surely the same cost realignment is required in Ireland, but the Euro stalls it from happening. No doubt there are many difficult years ahead, with government being forced to fill the vacuum with whatever that can be sucked out of home values, pensions, state services. Difficult days indeed.
On the good news front, the recession is having no effect whatsoever out in the woods. I can assure you that down by the river, things are in fact blooming. Let’s hope that this is the result of the current realignment, that people are forced to remember the value of a good walk in the woods. Let’s hope crooked teeth and home made jumpers come back into vogue.
The rain started as I entered Salir, which is probably the largest town I’ve been in yet. I’m further south now, closer to the coast and Faro. You can tell you are closer to the urban centers as the proportion of people wearing sunglasses increases dramatically. Must be the bright lights.
I’m staying in a fantastic little place about a mile north of the city called casa de mae. For thirty Euro a night, you get your own little hobbitesque house (complete with six foot door height and four foot bath).
Being a bit out from town, by the time I was settled, there was no way of getting into town through the then lashing rain. I gave it an hour but it was unrelenting. So it forced me into a two mile fast jog into the restaurant, breathless and soaked through. I arrived and eat, dried off a little, then had to do the same back before it got dark. Not Ideal, but I think my underpants drying on top of the TV are giving the place a real homely feel.
The legs benefited from the day of rest, and a short 16km section today meant that I could enjoy it. Another fine day, mist for a while, but fifteen degrees when the sun was out, a lot better than the snowy conditions I see back home.
I had a quick look at the papers while internetting, it’s shocking how detached from everything you get after just a few days away. Good shocking.
I saw the bad economic news continues, which wasn’t far from my thoughts all day. I saw talk that only the Euro is saving Ireland from being the next Iceland.
It brings up an interesting question, because if nature abhors a vacuum, capital likes it even less. Iceland has naturally realigned its cost base by the devaluation of its currency. Surely the same cost realignment is required in Ireland, but the Euro stalls it from happening. No doubt there are many difficult years ahead, with government being forced to fill the vacuum with whatever that can be sucked out of home values, pensions, state services. Difficult days indeed.
On the good news front, the recession is having no effect whatsoever out in the woods. I can assure you that down by the river, things are in fact blooming. Let’s hope that this is the result of the current realignment, that people are forced to remember the value of a good walk in the woods. Let’s hope crooked teeth and home made jumpers come back into vogue.
The rain started as I entered Salir, which is probably the largest town I’ve been in yet. I’m further south now, closer to the coast and Faro. You can tell you are closer to the urban centers as the proportion of people wearing sunglasses increases dramatically. Must be the bright lights.
I’m staying in a fantastic little place about a mile north of the city called casa de mae. For thirty Euro a night, you get your own little hobbitesque house (complete with six foot door height and four foot bath).
Being a bit out from town, by the time I was settled, there was no way of getting into town through the then lashing rain. I gave it an hour but it was unrelenting. So it forced me into a two mile fast jog into the restaurant, breathless and soaked through. I arrived and eat, dried off a little, then had to do the same back before it got dark. Not Ideal, but I think my underpants drying on top of the TV are giving the place a real homely feel.
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