What a lovely day. I started by making things up and picking my own way to the coast, just in case the large group of mainly ancient French women walkers was hateful. As a result I had a nice ramble through the countryside and headed on to Cabo de Sao Vicente without seeing anyone until I was on top of it. So far my choices to ignore the way-markers have bit me on the arse but this time it was baby powder and fluffy towels.
I got to Sagres feeling good. The pain in the feet seems to have plateaued and I even had time for a swim, once I’d dealt with some outstanding matters.
The square in Vila do Bispo. I get a hint of the channel 4 tin man.This is the most dangerous thing I’ve faced, so far. And I’ve held back until they moved off the path. Sharp horned cows with some of their young calves. Glad I was to see the farmer come over the hill. These must be some of those free-range beefs we hear about – not a fence in sight.I don’t know if you can see it, but he is wearing an un-treated cow skin as a jacket.That touch of white in the distance is the target for today.This little chap didn’t seem at all fussed by me stamping past.A somewhat overgrown megalithic tomb. Strange to think that it was the same ancient religion that built the Giant’s Ring near me.The coast and cliffs and in the far distance, Cabo de Sao Vicente.I quite like this down and up through the river valleys.It is getting closer – slowly.V. difficult walking surface. Have to concentrate all the time. I’ve tripped numerous times but managed to stay upright. Christ knows! If I hit the ground, I’ll break something.Where the original Rota de Sao Vicente started/finished. After this, I proceeded to do something I’ve not done since my drunken student days. And that is to eat a burger from a hot-food van. My God! Fresh cooked to perfection in from of me with all the add-ons I wanted. Muito Bem!The cape. The most south-westerly point of Europe. Winds are howling up the cliffs and the fleece is needed. I didn’t go in to visit for you all know the saying by now.Fortaleza do Beliche. It looks the mosque was repurposed as a church after El Cid and his mates kicked out the musselmen back in the day.What do you call a traffic jam of surfers? A standing wave, perhaps.I’m quite fond of these cliffs that go on for ever. Climb them once and you’re set for the day. Is it my imagination or is the water more turquoise now that I’ve turned east into the med.? (I know it officially begins at the straits of Gibraltar, 300 miles to the east, but people believe the Algarve to be in the med. and who am I to disagree.)The winds have ripped the fabric from these giant umbrellas that once sheltered the prisoners behind the fence from the harsh sun.Fortaleza de Sagres, old Henry the navigator’s gaff. My God! Look him up! What sort of half-baked history do they teach you children?Sagres. The last couple of miles, when you have the town in sight, always feel the longest.The local wellness centre. I want one of those big urns.In lieu of a self-image, some shots of tonight’s room. Very nice feel to it.The pool which I had to myself for a while – forgetting to message Cora. Soz.
Now that I’ve rounded the corner of Portugal – so to speak – it is due east to the finish line. This, perforce, means that the morning sun will be full in the face instead of just off my port bow. Mucho sunblock.
