Bootsmade4wlkin's travel blogs:
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Pushing my limits
Entry 59 of 62 | show all | print this entry |
It was sort of the last thing that I needed to do, a final test of what I could do. And I wanted to do it. I'd been sitting on various beaches for over a month worrying about what I was going to do with my life, unable to make decisions about what to even do the next week. It was time for action, for an adventure, for a pushing of boundaries. I was beginning to think that the truly remarkable parts of my trip were over, and I just wasn't ready to let go yet. So, I went to Covilha without a place to stay, with an idea of what I wanted to do, but not sure how to do it. I was going to go hiking in Serra da Estrella National Park for a week. Originally I had wanted to find someone to go with me, but everyone was at the beach or didn't have enough time. So, I was going it alone. Yes, I know that you're never supposed to hike by yourself, but what choice did I have? And anyway, I got a little thrill thinking of attacking the rough terrain on my own. This was my adventure. No one was going to lead me, I wouldn't have to compromise, and I couldn't turn back. In my head, this week of hiking had become a synthesis of my trip, a final test as to how far I had come in the last 10 1/2 months. So I found a booklet in English about the different trails through the park and where there would be lodging, since I didn't have a tent, and planned my route. I arranged to store my big pack with the family that owned the pensao I was currently staying in, bought provisions for the next three days (cheese, bread, sausage, and some chocolate), and psyched myself up for my latest adventure.
My first day on the road I was going from Covilha to Penhas de Saude, the first town in the park. A lot of it was along the road and I found myself dodging honking cars as I tried to enjoy the scenery. Of course, not quite so much of the hike was supposed to be on the road, but I would say that I was lost about 60% of the time and the road became a point of reference. When I found myself following the flares for the wrong trail or trying to figure out directions given to me in Portuguese or at the end of the trail surrounded by thorn bushes, I would just listen for the distant whoosh of cars and head toward that sound. That first day was supposed to be just a little warm up, two hours - three max. Four and a half hours after I started out I stumbled up to the pousada de juventude in Penhas de Saude. Now, I know what you're thinking. Why would I EVER stay in a pousada de juventude after the experience I had in Praia de Mira. And let me tell you, if there had been any other choice that wasn't a four star hotel, I would have jumped on it. As it happens, though, this was the only place in town. And at first it didn't seem so bad. I ended up with my own room of bunkbeds, the facilities were nice complete with kitchen and free breakfast, and the people were very helpful. Thinking my other experience had been a fluke, I happily fell into bed for an afternoon nap. Only to be awakened an hour later by this horrible rumbling noise and loud voices. Was a herd of talking cows running past my room? Groggily I got out of bed and took a peek out my window. Not cows. Boys. Thirteen-year-old boys. Lots of them. Bouncing basketballs, kicking soccer balls against the wall, yelling, running, and pushing. This was the catch. I was staying in a some sort of summer camp for early-teenage boys. I decided then and there that the curse of the pousada de juventude was upon me.
Escaping both the curse and the noise, I started out for Torre early the next morning. This was going to be my most strenuous day. I was headed towards the highest point in Portugal - a not too impressive, but still substantial, 1993 meters. As I walked down the road to the base of the mountain, I heard the sound of bells and looked over to see a shepherd ushering his flock of sheep up the hill to my left. The early morning sun softened the way everything appeared, and the scene reminded of a painting I had once seen. I continued my walk with a nice sense of peace, passing a lake that was so blue it took my breath away, a family just emerging from their campervan, and the ruin of an old ski jump. I was on my own that morning, just a few cars passing by, and I was ready...until I looked up at the mountain I was supposed to climb. It was steep. Really steep. And I must admit that as I approached the place where I was to begin my climb, I was thinking up all sorts of excuses as to why I shouldn't be doing it. But even while these thoughts were going through my head, I knew that I couldn't and wouldn't turn back. So, following the little red dashes of paint and the piles of rocks the shepherds use as trailmarkers, I slowly made my way up the mountain. I made sure not to look down very often and to rest when my legs got tired. And two hours later I made it to a plateau area, triumphant with the ringing of bells to greet me. I had done it; I had made it up the hardest part. But I wasn't done yet. After a cookie and water break, I took a deep breath and headed in the direction of the bells. I still had to navigate the top of the mountain in order to get to the highest point.
I was muttering to myself that the so-called plateau that I was supposed to be walking on sure seemed more like a whole bunch of hills to me when all of a sudden I was staring at a cow just five feet away. Now, when you're looking out at cows through the window of your car as you drive past on some highway, they look sleepy and non-threatening. When you're face to face with one that has a calf by its side, you suddenly realize how big those things really are. I backed up slowly and made a wide bearth as she watched me with the angry eyes of a mother protecting its baby. And then I was at the top of the hill, looking down on a whole flock of sheep - the source of all the ringing bells. The two young shepherds tending them seemed very surprised when they looked up and saw a random girl gazing back.
When I finally reached the highest point on Torre, fog was starting to roll in and I was nervous about getting back before I got caught. So, after taking a few pictures and enjoying my magnum bar reward, I headed back down. There was no way in hell that I was going to go back the way I came, so I started down the twisting road. There actually weren't many cars and the views were spectacular, so it was really enjoyable. A couple people stopped to ask me if I wanted a ride, but I was determined to do it all on my own. By the time I limped once again up to the pousada on sore and tired legs, though, I kind of wish I had accepted the ride.
I didn't know it at the time, but the next day of hiking was to be my last. I was going to Manteigas, a supposedly gorgeous town in the middle of the park. The day was crisp and cool with not a cloud in the sky - a perfect day for a hike. I started out through a meadow following a path that was barely visible. It was barren and deserted, but gorgeous. Then I followed a road lined with pine trees, the smell reminding me of summers in Lake Tahoe and giving me a pang of homesickness. This soon gave way to a glacial valley with huge, rocky peaks rising up on either side. My path was right along the valley floor, but getting down to it was an adventure in itself. I was so proud of myself up until that point because I hadn't gotten lost once that day. But I think I anybody would have gotten lost on the trail I was going down. It zigzagged through waist high grasses, mud, rocks, and thorn bushes. I don't think anyone had used it in ages and the flares that I was trying to follow were so faded I could barely make them out. I stopped once about half way down to survey the scene, and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. I even thought about turning back, but looking up the hill at what I would have to get through, I decided that it was out of the question. And I finally did make it to the valley floor scratched from thorns and itching from some bush I had brushed up against. But it was worth it. Walking along the little stream with the mountains rising up all around me, completely alone, was incredible. I could sing and talk to myself, I thought about my trip and about going home soon. As I got closer to Mantiegas, ruins of old stone houses and terraced fields started to appear. And then there were newer stone houses with metal roofs that people were actually still living in. Goat and sheep bells echoed through the canyon. It was so peaceful and just lovely.
After reaching Mantiegas and finally finding a room that was affordable, I figured I would give Mom and Dad a call to let them know that I was safe. They had called me while I was in Penhas de Saude but hadn't left a message, and I wondered what was up. It turns out that while I had been hiking a terrorist plot to put bombs on planes going from London to the States that had been uncovered. Mom and Dad were freaked out and wanted me home. They had found a plane ticket from Lisbon to Newark for me and said they'd pay for it if I would come home immediately. I would then go from Newark to Denver where they would meet me and take me up to their ranch in Leadville. This way I'd get to spend a week sort of easing into the idea of being in the US again and see the beloved ranch they had emailed me about. It was all so overwhelming. I was looking at being back in the States within a week, something I hadn't really prepared myself for yet. Tears welled up and I told them I'd think about it. I didn't want it to be over, not yet. And yet I was tired and my money was almost gone and I was planning on going home in two weeks anyway. When I called them back I told them to make a reservation for August 18th. That way it would be exactly 10 1/2 months on the road. I couldn't sleep that night. I was heartbroken and excited and scared all at once. Thoughts raced through my mind as I contemplated what to do next. The next morning I caught two buses to get back to Covilha and the morning after that I was on my way to Lagos. I was determined that this trip was going to go out with a bang...
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