We’ve just left the best bathroom in the world. A huge shower room with a huge shower head that tries to drown you, a loo with the same space, you could dance in the ‘cleaning teeth room’ and then no door at all into the ‘getting ready for bed room’. We leave this one hundred horse town, where they breed, train and sell the famous Lusitano horse.

They are a beautiful, strong chested horse used in bull fighting events, to ensure the well being of both the bull, and the bull fighter, because the bull in Portugal is not killed. I’m not a fan of either but if you don’t know about this, then you will miss a large part of Portugal (please correct me Vanda when you read this). Thousands of people come from afar to buy this horse, but they are not sold until a real understanding has been reached between horse and buyer.

Out through wheat and potato fields, with poppies, yellow flower bushes and cactus plants on the country road edges, our first non-wet day walking on the camino was refreshing. Temperatures are still cool, Portuguese drivers are still not leaving us much walking room, walkers are few, and no rest houses for nearly 10 kms. I’m getting used to pushing myself a bit, getting used to walking being a little harder, so maybe after 14 kms today we may be able to walk a little longer. I am mindful of my jumping heart, and clotting blood so whatever I do, I am rigid with my medications and stockings.

Large power lines built like candelabras spread out across paddocks of sheep, horses and crops. The storks were also there, with six of these lines fully booked by several storks. As we passed through a small village there were more on rooftops, chimneys and water towers, many still building their nests.

This small, quite busy village of Sao Caetano with new wealth, blended into an abandoned one of once was old wealth, Quinta Cardiga. Originally a castle defending against the Spanish and Arab invasions, then a royal palace, followed by a hospital, this peaceful, abandoned town served as a delightful resting place for us on the banks of the Tejo river. Ominous private property signs had us wondering what next for this ancient village with its old stone bridge and majestic tree lined street. 

Soon it was home with another old and new mixture. The hotel’s modern cafe was in contrast to our abandoned room, especially the world’s worst bathroom. Only one of us could fit in it at a time, except when needing to help each other over the tiny but high defensive bath wall, and onto a floor like a huge drain. If you wanted to use the small independent shower head on yourself, instead of having it wash the wall, which, by the way, needed washing, we had to rest it at such an angle in its holder that it became a dangerous object, and if you weren’t careful with the flimsy plastic shower door it would fall off its railing. Yes, I know, first world issues only.