I only had 33 kilometres to walk that day, but I wanted to reach the destination as soon as possible—I was exhausted from the heat. My left foot was finally walking normally again, and it felt amazing to move without pain. But just because my feet were working fine didn’t mean my head was. I spent the first 20 kilometres suffering inside my own mind, tangled in thoughts about the future. Not even the Berliner or the Almighty could help. Just me, trapped with my thoughts—and they were far from pretty. The bad mood was on a march of its own, and I would’ve ripped my head off if it meant I could stop thinking. It was the first day I didn’t feel like walking. I wasn’t even paying attention to my surroundings, so I decided to stop for a beer—at 10 a.m. Not the wisest move, but not the dumbest either. It helped me decide: I called a taxi to take me to the destination. It wasn’t that I couldn’t walk the remaining 13 kilometres—I simply didn’t want to. I needed peace and time to think.
The albergue I was heading to had a lovely garden and a pool, making it the perfect place for rest and reflection. The taxi driver instantly lifted my mood. He was blasting dance music, and I gave him a high five while my arms and legs started twitching to the beat. The guy didn’t drive slowly either, which suited me just fine, and he was good behind the wheel. We reached the place quickly. What would’ve taken me three hours on foot took only 15 minutes by car.
Portugal is one hour behind us, which meant I arrived at 11 a.m.—one more hour of rest. This was the most beautiful accommodation I’d stayed at so far. The woman running it had a wonderful energy and an eye for aesthetics. I immediately decided to stay for two nights. But that meant I was running out of time to walk the entire length of Portugal before 4 September. So instead of spiralling into thoughts about my future—which had already ruined half of my day—I shifted my focus to planning the last 15 days of my trip.
I had 10 walking days left until 4 September, and 586 kilometres between me and Faro from this tiny town of Fão, where I was currently staying. That meant, starting tomorrow, I’d need to walk 58.6 km per day if I wanted to complete my plan. There's a difference between dreams and reality. The stretch between Porto and Lisbon isn’t very interesting anyway, so I considered taking a bus—but of course my ego wasn’t thrilled about that idea. So, I decided that from tomorrow on, I’d wake up at 4 a.m. and aim to walk 58 km each day.
My legs can probably handle it—hopefully—but the heat is still the biggest issue, as I’ve said many times. Above all, I hope the chaos in my head caused by work doesn’t take over. So, step by step. Let's pray.