Portugal – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Coimbra, Portugal

I photographed the Honda VFR you see in the big photo above in Coimbra, Portugal. Bait and switch? Perhaps. We are a motorcycle site, sort of. I’ll try to work in a little moto content when and where I can. For us on this adventure, it was all walking, buses, and high-speed rail transport (and that was really cool). But that’s coming up later.

Coimbra was another stop on our recent trip to the Iberian peninsula. Coimbra is a college town on the Rio Mondego. It was Portugal’s medieval capital before the Portuguese government relocated to Lisbon. But this college town was particularly cool. The UNESCO-recognized Universidade de Coimbra is one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Europe.

On the Universidade square in the medical school area in Coimbra. It was a stunning day.

Like many areas in Portugal, Coimbra also has a rich wine producing heritage. Many of the signs display this heritage.

The shape of signs in Coimbra. Wine was everywhere in Spain and Portugal. We had wine with virtually every meal except breakfast.

The Biblioteca Joanina is one of the world’s great libraries. One of the things that is particularly interesting is the way the librarians protect the ancient manuscripts from insects (insects are the books’ natural enemies, because they eat the pages). Bats reside in the library. They live behind the books. The bats come out at night and eat the insects in the library. I can’t make this stuff up, folks. This really happens.

Books, books, and more books. The principal threat to these books is insects eating the pages. The University has an app for that.

I grabbed a macro shot or two as we wandered the campus. This sidewalk guardpost was interesting.

Photo ops galore. Nothing fancy with equipment here…all these shots are with a basic Nikon consumer-grade D3300 DSLR and 18-55mm kit lens.

As we would find to be the case in virtually every Portuguese and Spanish town, Coimbra has a cathedral. Actually, it has three. We visited St. Michael’s at the University of Coimbra. That’s where I grabbed the interior photos below.

Inside St. Michael’s with our fellow travelers.

The tile work, the organ, the roof colors…I had a great time on this trip.

A coat of arms, surrounded by scrollwork.

After walking around the University, we walked into the city. It was pleasant. The weather was comfortable, the city was beautiful, and the photo ops continued.

One of many statues in downtown Coimbra.

This almost looks like a fancy ancient church or castle. Actually, it was a store catering to tourists with a unique product line: Canned sardines.

Another statue in the Coimbra town square.

A street menu for one of the many restaurants in downtown Coimbra. The food was excellent; the prices were reasonable.

I enjoyed Coimbra. As a retired college professor, I thought visiting a campus was a cool thing to do. We had a fabulous lunch, and then our journey continued.

Back on the motorcycle thing again…I’ve traveled by motorcycle in some pretty exotic locales. I think bopping around Europe on a motorcycle would be a fun way to see the continent. I wouldn’t want a big bike, and even on the freeways, the speeds are such that a 250 or a 400 would be just fine. Maybe someday. I know my friends in Chongqing read the ExNotes blog. If you need somebody to ride around Europe on your motorcycles to spread the gospel, the ExhaustNotes staff is available. We’re your boys (and one girl). Call us.

Stay tuned. I’ll work in more from Spain and Portugal as time and other blogs permit.

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Spain and Portugal
Camino de Santiago: Part 1
The Sportster of Seville
Évora
Lisbon
Gibraltar

Évora!

By Joe Berk

I know, we’re a motorcycle (and other interesting stuff) site, and you might be thinking this blog is going to be about a Lotus Evora (the Evora is a Lotus sports car). The Evora is probably an incredible automobile, but that’s not why we are here today.

The word Évora is a feminine word of Portuguese origin; it means “she who lives near yew trees.” That’s about as irrelevant as the big photo up top. But hey, we’re a motorcycle site, and who wouldn’t enjoy a photo of a Barbie-themed pink BMW cafe racer carousel ride? I saw those carousel Beemers as we walked into Évora. They called out to me. I had to get a photo.

But I digress: Our focus in this blog is indeed Évora, but it’s not about the Lotus. It is about a small 2,000-year-old town in Portugal, a World Heritage Site, named Évora. Before I get to the Évora photos, let me digress a bit more and tell you about our stop as a gas station on the ride from Lisbon to Évora. That gas station had a magazine rack. They still do printed motorcycle magazines over there, you know.

On to Évora. One of our first photo ops was the Capela dos Ossos (the Chapel of Bones). It was one of many churches we would see on our travels through Spain and Portugal, but this one had a rather bizarre twist: The walls and columns are covered in bones.

Yep, I said bones. Human bones. Weird stuff, this is.

An interior shot of the Capela dos Ossos. The little 18-55 Nikon kit lens was earning its keep.

The thigh bone’s connected to the hip bone…or something like that. Skulls, too. Go figure.

The Capela dos Ossos is a small chapel (it’s located next to the larger Church of St. Francis), and it was built by Franciscan monks in the 16th century. I guess they wanted it to stand out, and to accomplish that, the guys dug up medieval cemeteries and used the bones from an estimated 5,000 dead folks as interior decor. It was weird, man. Bones. I tried to imagine the conversation hundreds of years ago that led to this decision. Sue and I have had interesting discussions about our interior paint and wallpaper choices. I get it that these decisions are not always easy and everybody has opinions. But bones? Those old Portuguesers must have had some spirited interior decor conversations. Paint? Nah. Wallpaper? Nah. Tiles? Maybe a little, but everybody’s done tiles. Bones? Yeah, that could work.

All this kind of made me think about cremation as an alternative to burial, but I’m not going with either option. I’ve already left directions to my heirs. I’m going to be stuffed when I go. Stuffed with bullshit, and mounted in front of my laptop. You know…so I can keep writing the blog.

One thing I love about travel anywhere is that it gives me lots of photo opportunities. Here’s another picture of a more conventional statue in the bone barn.

High ISOs, the 18-55mm Nikon lens, shooting in RAW, and Photoshop’s noise reduction filter brings it all home.

Gresh asked me about two-stroke motorcycles in Portugal. The only one I saw was this older Zündapp. It was very clean, it was plated, and it was obviously still in use.

I would see a few more two-stroke motos in Spain, but two-strokes have pretty much had their day on the Iberian peninsula. Bultaco, Ossa, and Montesa (or was it Montessa?) are no more. Gresh loves his two strokes and he owns several. I’ve only had one, a BSA Bantam two-stroke.

An excellent resource: The Clymer BSA book.

My Beezer didn’t look anything like the one you see on the Clymer BSA book above (which is an excellent reference, by the way). Mine was a clapped out, rattle-can black beater bike. But it was fun and frisky and for a 175 it had power way out of line with its displacement. Maybe some day I’ll get another two-stroke motorcycle, but the odds are low. The way the world is going it’s more likely I’ll have an electric motorcycle first, but that’s a topic for a later blog.

I’m digressing again. Back to the main attraction. Colors abound in Portugal. I grabbed this photo of a few plates on display.

As we walked through Évora, the door handles and knockers caught my attention. Here are a few photos.

The macro shots of the door knockers were fun. Take my hand…

A set of stereo knockers. The one on the right sees the most use.

Many of the doors were cool, too. I’ll show more of these photos in subsequent blogs. I took a bunch.

Cork is a big industry in Portugal, and we saw many different cork products (cork bowls, cork pads, cork purses, cork hats, and more). Did you ever wonder where cork comes from? Cork is made from tree bark (something I did not know). The tree is called a cork oak, and the bark can be harvested every 9 years after the tree matures (the bark grows back). Spain and Portugal are the dominant suppliers.

Our local tour guide with a chunk of cork oak bark stripped from the tree. Who knew?

Évora is a colorful place. Walking Évora’s narrow and climbing streets was fun, and the photo ops made it even more so.

Évora dates to the Roman occupation of the Iberian peninsula. The remains of the Temple of Diana are on a hill overlooking the city’s center; the temple was built in the first century. It’s known today as the Temple of Diana, but that’s not what it was when the Romans built it. A 17th century priest, Father Manuel Fialho, is believed to be the person who tagged it as the Temple of Diana. It’s too bad we don’t do politics here on ExNotes; this story screams out for a Father Fialho comparison to Fox News or CNN (depending on which way you lean).

Portugal is a well-developed nation with excellent roads. I’d say it is better-maintained and cleaner than a lot of places I’ve been in the US. The expressways were every bit as good as ours, and other than the fact that signs were not in English and there was little traffic, the freeways were no different than the ones in southern California. The climate is about the same, the towns and roads are much cleaner, and we didn’t see any homeless people. Prices on everything except gasoline were similar to those in the US (gas was around $8 per gallon), but the average wage is substantially lower (their average annual income is about a third of ours). Somehow they make it all work.

The photo below shows the view from our bus just before we entered Spain.

Espana bound. Spain was a quarter mile in front of us. We didn’t need our passports to enter Spain nor did we need to stop. It was like driving across the state line between California and Arizona.

I’m skipping around a bit. There’s more to cover from our time in Portugal, and I’ll touch on that in subsequent blogs. For now, it was on to Spain.

To be continued…

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A Portuguese Norton

By Joe Berk

I’d like to be able to tell you more about this classic Norton single I spotted recently in Porto, Portugal, but I can’t. I was in a hurry to hop on a boat ride, the owner wasn’t around, and after snapping a couple of photos I had to run.

Here’s a view from the bike’s left side.

I thought I might find info on the bike’s headstamp, but in the photos I have I couldn’t find anything. I’d sure like to know more about it. If you have any info on what this bike is, please leave a comment and let us know.

Thanks much.

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Lisbon

I should have paid more attention in my elementary and junior high school geography classes. I remember studying Christopher Columbus (the guy who “discovered” America), but the other explorers’ names are lost among my fading neurons. And here we were, in Lisbon, where Vasco de Gama, Magellan, Henry the Navigator, old Christopher C. himself, and others hung out five or six centuries ago. I wish I could repeat my 7th grade geography class with Mr. Costa for just that reason. Being 12 years old again would be cool, too.

My new good buddy Ibrahim, one of our fellow tourists on this adventure, is a serious photographer. He used my consumer grade Nikon to take the photo below at the Parque Eduardo VII . It was one of the first places we stopped in Lisbon, and the statue at the end is Christopher Columbus. Look at those hedges and think about how much labor is needed to keep them looking this good. By the time you get to the end trimming them, you’d have to go back to the beginning and start over. That’s the Tagus River in the background. Lisbon is right on the Atlantic Ocean. A lot of 14th and 15th century New World explorations started right here.

Susie and yours truly at the Parque Eduardo VII in Lisbon. Photo by Ibrahim Alava.

The photo below is from one of many churches we visited (we saw many churches and a couple of synagogues in Spain and Portugal; before the Spanish Inquisition, there was a thriving Jewish community on the Iberian Peninsula).

Blue and white tiles were a common decor in Spain and Portugal.

Blue tiles were everywhere in Lisbon. Spain and Portugal were occupied by the Moors for centuries. The Moors brought their art, their architecture, and their style (including blue tiles) to the region. The Moors were ultimately driven out, but the tiles remained. I could spend a month in Lisbon just photographing the tiles. The tiles get their blue color from cobalt, which is locally mined.

We wandered through Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood to a church at the top of a hill, led by a local guide. Our walk here involved a steep uphill climb through narrow streets and alleys. When Sue and I first joined up with our tour group two days earlier, I felt good seeing that the group was mostly made up of old people (I called our group the Portugueezers). I figured our age would hold the walking and climbing to a minimum. I was wrong. We did a ton of walking and climbing. My iPhone told me one day I did over 17,000 steps. Most days were at least 10,000 steps.

A colorful door in Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.

I took a lot of artsy-fartsy photos of doors, doorknobs, door knockers, and other things as we climbed the twisting and narrow streets of Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood. My fellow Portugueezers thought I was a serious amateur photographer when I frequently stopped to grab a picture, and I didn’t say anything to persuade them otherwise (the stops were so I could catch my breath).

I noticed that a few of the homes had printed tiles with photos of older women on their exterior walls. I tried to find out more about this on Google but I struck out (I should have asked our guide while we were there, but I was huffing and puffing too hard to ask). Maybe these women were famous Portuguese mountain climbers. Sue later told me our guide said the tiles tell a bit about the residents of each home. Say hello to Ms. Delmira and Ms. da Luz.

Ms. Delmira, an Alfama neighborhood denizen.

Ms. da Luz, known as Maria to her friends.

We were in an area frequented by tourists and there were lots of shops selling things. Where there were colors, I took a photo or two.

We then went down to the waterfront Belém area along the Tagus River. The statue below is a monument to Henry the Navigator.

An interesting monument to Henry the Navigator in the Belém area.

A closer view of statues on the Henry the Navigator monument.

The Hieronymites Monastery was across the street from the Henry the Navigator monument. Jose, our guide, told us that nuns in this monastery (I didn’t think they had nuns in a monastery, but what do I know?) were famous for their Pastéis de Belém. Jose disappeared for a bit and then reappeared with samples for us to try. They were excellent.

James (one of our fellow travelers) and Jose, our tour guide.

Like Porto and other big European cities, downtown Lisbon was a hotbed of scooter activity. At any traffic light, scooters filtered to the front of the queue, and when the light turned green, it was a multi-scooter drag race. It was fun to watch. I guess Portugal has a helmet law; everyone wore one. But that was it for protective gear. Think full face helmets accompanied by t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops (all the gear, all the time). I’m guessing I saw a hundred scooters for every motorcycle, and when we did see motorcycles, they were mostly 125cc machines. Many appeared to be of Chinese origin, with Honda and Yamaha motorcycles making up the balance. There were a few big bikes; I spoke to a guy at a rest stop who was on a BMW GS. He told me he liked his GS and it was a good machine, but he had another motorcycle that was his pride and joy: A Harley Sportster. “It has a carburetor,” he proudly told me (an obvious vintageness badge). I thought I might refer him to our earlier ExNotes post, 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster, but he was in a hurry and I had already run out of ExNotes business cards.

Check it out: 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster.

There’s more, but this blog is getting long enough. You get the idea. After two days in Lisbon, it was on to Évora and then Spain.

Stay tuned, my friends.

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Spain and Portugal

By Joe Berk

Never heard of Antoni Gaudi, the man who designed Barcelona’s La Sagrada Família Basilica? Don’t feel bad; I had never heard of him, either. His work is the wildest architecture I’ve ever seen…think Dr. Suess meets George Lucas, except this guy predates both.

How about scooter-borne motor officers? Scooters and small motorcycles make way more sense than the gigondo police bikes we use here in the US. The photo below shows a Policia moto cop we watched roll up on criminal activity (0utside a cathedral, no less), and the bad guys simply evaporated.

Enjoy majestic cathedrals and stained glass? Hey, there’s a lot of that coming your way, too. We were in so many cathedrals I had to check the itinerary just to get my photos organized.

Did I mention the Flamenco dancers? Here’s another teaser.

Take my word on this: If you enjoy photography and motorcycling, fine dining, good wine, beautiful people, and the good life, Spain and Portugal are tough to beat.

Sue and I just returned from a couple of weeks over there and it was awesome. I left the big Nikon at home and carried a much lighter D3300 Nikon (the same one I used on the China, Colombia, and Baja rides), and life was a lot easier. The photos are about as good as those I get with the boat anchor D810 and I minimized the wear and tear on me (I’m so spring chicken, you know). I took three lenses with me: the 18-55 kit lens that came with the camera, an inexpensive and lightweight Rokinon 8mm fisheye (using it required manual everything, as it doesn’t interface with the D3300’s auto focusing and metering capabilities), and a very sharp Nikon 35mm f1.8. Even though the 35mm Nikon lens was the best in the bag, I never put it on the camera. I used the 18-55mm for the bulk of my shots (it was easy to use and I think it did a good job) and the 8mm fisheye for just a few (like that big photo in the Gaudi basilica at the top of this blog).

There’s more content in the ExNotes queue on our visit to the Iberian Peninsula, with a little bit of moto content in each.

Stay tuned, my friends.

Gibraltar

By Mike Huber

Needing another vacation and a break from the day-to-day boring humdrum of life (I usually ensure that doesn’t go on for very long) my girlfriend and I decided to head to Portugal and Spain. It was coming up on my 50^th birthday and wanted to do something unique to celebrate this milestone. As we traversed and meandered through both countries I was still trying to come up with that unique idea when a friend had texted me to go to Gibraltar and summit the rock. That was an outstanding idea. Next stop: Gibraltar!

I Know What I Don’t Know

I only knew two things about Gibraltar: It was an island between Spain and Morocco, and they drive on the opposite side of the road since it is a Territory of Britain. Both these things I “knew” were incorrect. Gibraltar is a peninsula, not an island, and although it is indeed a British Territory they do not drive on the opposite side of the road as in other British Territories. The peninsula is just 3 miles long and not even 1 mile wide and most of the peninsula consisted of the giant Gibraltar rock with a lot of narrow winding roads that meander as far as they can go up around that Gibraltar Rock. Which had me wondering why there was a Ferrari dealership on the peninsula (I am certain it has to do with less taxes there than in their England motherland).

Entering The Territory

Crossing into Gibraltar from Spain was more of a formality and simply consisted of showing our passports at the border, a quick stamp by the immigration officer, and walking into the Territory. Once leaving immigration we walked across the Gibraltar Airport tarmac. It felt like we were trespassing, other than the traffic lights to alert you when a plane was taking off or landing. Those were not traffic lights you’d want to run.

Once across the tarmac it was a short quarter mile walk to our AirBnB, which happened to be a 30-foot boat in the Gibraltar Marina. I thought this would be a distinctive place to stay instead of some high-rise hotel where you would be disconnected from the heartbeat of the Territory. This choice turned out to be perfect and we slept great that night with the boat rocking us to sleep in the gentle marina waters.

The Rock

The next day we made our way towards the base of the Gibraltar Rock. Sadly, you cannot climb to the top of it as it is a military installation. Disappointed, we took the gondola instead of hiking to the highest point we were allowed to go.

I had read there were some monkeys that lived up on top of the rock that made their way from Morocco via a network of underground caves that went under the Strait of Gibraltar. We were told not to pet or touch them as they are wild animals. Of course, me being one to always follow rules it took under two minutes to befriend one of these little guys and I walked around with him on my shoulder on the observation deck. Clearly, my maturity hadn’t caught up with my now being 50 years old. It didn’t take long before one of the rangers scolded me and stated that they would bite me. Why would he bite me? We were friends. Ugh. People are always trying to ruin my fun.

We opted to walk down the path instead of taking the gondola back. This was a wise choice as there were a lot of hidden bunkers from WWI along the way and a really interesting stop called St. Michael’s Cave. This is a huge, impressive cave that ultimately led down to the Strait. We only walked in the upper portion of this maze for about 20-minutes since the longer tunnels are closed to the public. As we toured the cave there was a light and sound show to provide more entertainment and the history of this hidden gem. It was a fun detour to take.

Once we wrapped up the cave experience, we continued down the two-mile path looking over magnificent views as monkeys leaped from trees onto the tops of passing cars to hitch a free ride. Every time one leaped it would create the loudest “boom” as they carelessly but somehow successfully landed on a car’s roof. This made for great entertainment for us, but I can’t imagine what the people inside the vehicles thought hearing that noise. Once back at the marina we were hungry and it wasn’t difficult to find a waterside restaurant, an order of fish n’ chips, and a cold beer to wrap the day up in style.

Overall Gibraltar was worth going to visit as we were in the neighborhood. The territory is more of a winter getaway for the British than a destination one would otherwise visit. This Territory did indeed make for a fun two days, a unique experience, and a few entertaining stories that I am happy to be sharing with you.

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Camino de Santiago Part 1: A Walk Across Spain

By Bobbie Surber

The Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrimage routes that lead to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. The Camino has been a popular destination for Christian pilgrims for more than a thousand years, and it is now visited by people of all faiths and backgrounds from around the world.

There are several routes of the Camino de Santiago, including the Camino Frances (French Way), which is the most popular, and the Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way), which starts in Lisbon or begins in Porto for a two-week shorter Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a long-distance walk or hike that typically takes 30-40 days to complete, depending on the route and the pace of the individual pilgrim.

Along the way, pilgrims stay in Albergues (pilgrim hostels) or other types of accommodation and follow the yellow arrows and shells which mark the way. The Camino de Santiago offers a unique opportunity to experience the beauty of the Spanish landscape and culture and to challenge oneself physically and spiritually.

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I walked seven different Camino Routes with my first Camino in 2012 and the last in September 2021. My last walk found me starting in Pamplona, Spain, a vibrant city never lacking a reason for a fiesta, a city known worldwide for the Running of the Bulls every July. I ended my journey in Leon, Spain. With my added side trips, I walked over 300 miles, experiencing high desert plateaus, the Rioja wine region, the blissful Logrono’s tapas, the magnificent Burgos Cathedral, the Meseta’s emptiness, and the joy of Leon.

I was on a multi-month motorcycle/camping trip through Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. When riding, there are times when every part of your brain is laser-focused on the road ahead of you and who might try to run you over from the back or side, but every now and then, the ride is so peaceful that you have time to turn a portion of your brain to the gift of “I wonder.” This led me to reminisce over my six prior walks along different Camino routes in Spain, Portugal, and France. Once released, an avalanche of memories and images flowed to the point that I knew I would be booking my flight to Europe as soon as I stopped my ride for the day.

A quick Google Flights search gave me what I needed, and I soon had a ticket. This was another solo walk, my favorite way for most hikes. My arrival in Pamplona was early enough that I decided to start my Camino right from the Pamplona Airport, bypassing one of my favorite cities in Spain.

The morning had the hope of the fall weather yet to come as I headed slowly up the first of several foothills with the goal of a 10-mile walk for my first day. The gravel crunched satisfactorily underfoot as I quickly adjusted my backstraps to climb up to an iconic ridge that all pilgrims look forward to, the Alto del Perdón, a mountain pass in the province of Navarra in northern Spain, about 12 miles outside of Pamplona. I had returned to the Camino Frances trail after nine-year of absence, taking in beautiful views of the surrounding landscape and a chance to rest and recharge. The mountain pass is named after a sculpture of the Virgin Mary and the phrases “Señora del Camino” (Lady of the Way) and “Perdón” (Forgiveness), which are inscribed on the base of the sculpture. The windswept ridge and the massive wind turbines in the background contrast the sculptures that represent a pilgrimage from the Middle Ages. I took my first full breath after 18 hours of travel and an excellent 8-mile walk to this point. I thought about my intentions for this walk, what I hoped to gain and whom I would miss in the coming weeks of a long walk across most of Spain.

Reluctantly leaving the ridge late afternoon, I knew it would be challenging to reach my Albergue for the night. The steep loose gravel trail reminds me that my knees are not what they used to be, and motorcycle riding for the prior months did little to prepare me for the rigors of this walk. Soon the village of Uterga appeared with another climb up to her main street. My arrival timed perfectly to watch the evening stroll of the locals begin, kids running in the square, little old ladies with perfectly quaffed hair and well-put-together outfits ambling in deep conversations. Adults were sitting in outdoor cafes having a drink, visiting each other, and enjoying the last dregs of daylight. I wanted to plop my disheveled self within their mist and order my first long-awaited glass of Vino Tinto, but I pulled myself together and made the last of my walk to my Albergue in short order.

This first night’s stay found me in a dorm room in a private Albergue with its small restaurant and bar. After showing my pilgrims pass (issued to show you are walking the Camino) and paying 12 Euros for my place in the dorm room, I quickly dumped my backpack on my bed, looked in the mirror, confirmed I looked like a wreck, dashed for the bar, and ordered my first of many good Rioja wines. Settling in, I met my first group of fellow pilgrims. A portly German fellow in his mid-fifties that I would painfully learn would serenade us throughout the night with his epic snoring. Also, a group of Italian bicycle riders. They were loud, and all were talking at once with what would become the usual question: Why is an American woman walking the Camino alone? Well, that’s a question for another day! I order my second glass of wine and move into the restaurant for the start of the evening’s Pilgrim meal, an inexpensive three-course meal with portions that could feed a small family, and your choice of bottled water or a bottle of wine, Good God, man, why would you order the water? I certainly did not.

I had equal feelings of contentment and joy seeping in as German, Italian, and Spanish conversations swirled around me—fellow pilgrims sharing their day’s success and physical hardships. Many of the pilgrims had started 60 miles back on the French side of the Pyrenees, had survived the celebrations of Pamplona, and were still in high spirits so early in their walk. I listened to their stories and their countless toasts made in several languages. I left the room while the wave of conversation and laughter reminded me of how lucky I was to be on this walk for a 7th time. This surely was the beginning of an epic adventure and the hope of what Spain had in store for me.

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