Povoa de Varzim

Thursday morning I was mentally prepared and dressed to be picked up and dropped off on the Camino, then walk to Povoa de Varzim. Instead, my intrepid guide dropped me off at the Hotel Luso Brasileoro in Povoa de Varzim (established 1910) 

and told me I’d be there two nights. I asked, where do I start the Camino and she pointed to the Atlantic beach promenade. Later I saw several be-backpacked travelers and realized the Prominade was a Camino route. 

My suitcase was en-route and the hotel check-in was noon, so again had a morning to hang about. I walked around town and tried to get a feel of its essence. 

It’s clearly a town famous for fishing and as a resort area. It appeared to be “off-season,” as many of the homes near the ocean appeared empty.

There was a lot of very intriguing older architecture, perhaps dating back to the early 20th century.

After watching the sunset over the beach,

I went to a restaurant with an art deco design for dinner.

I don’t have a lot to report. I’ve been in kind of a torpor today; unhappy that the hand clothes washing I did last night still isn’t dry (unanticipated moist air here), tired of Portuguese food, which is heavy in sausage, meat, cheese, and rehydrated dried codfish (few vegetables), and over all just wanting to get moving on the Camino. An unexpected lovely meal tonight: olives, bread with olive oil, an endive salad with walnuts and green apples, and a bowl of roasted potatoes with a mayo-hot paprika sauce. 

One of the things that astounds me is all the history in this city and you don’t see any public demonstration of it. There is a long line of Roman viaducts outside the city (138 BC) and a waterfront fortification called Castelo de Provo that was built in the 15th century and rebuilt in the 17th Century.

Apparently Povoa de Varzim has always been an important fishing center, but in the golden age of Portugal, fishermen, ship-makers, and sailors from here were in high regard.  They wound up in places as far flung as Newfoundland and Brazil. But there are no billboards or kiosks selling this history. I walked into the Castelo without paying a cent. There was no one there.  Not a docent in sight. It reminded me of the “lesser” Mayan ruins I saw in Mexico in the 90’s. They were just there. No valorization. No PR.

Which makes me think, who is Nero or Caesar to me? Just men who lived long ago whose lives cried out to us in the future, but we are too busy living to listen.  Perhaps in retrospect this time in US history, so important to us now, will be seen by our progeny as old stories that could be helpful for understanding the present, but who has the time?

And do I’m trying to live one day, one step at a time. Bon Camino.