Well, it already happened: the crying at the cathedral part of this trip.

Let me set the scene for you: it was about an hour before sunset. The ocean was out of sight, but the sun had that look about it…that look of a coastal sunset where the light and air just felt sea breezy.

A woman was playing the violin, and tourists continued to come and go from the cathedral’s views over this ancient city. I just couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. There was something about the moment, and not just the moment when the 30 + hours awake hit me; the moment was probably a combination of almost dying – but not, and being alive, here in Portugal, on the verge of another long walk. I was sobbing at the wonder of it all.

I know I will grapple with these big emotions while on this walk: Why me? Why did I live? Why did I get better so fast? Will I get just as sick again? And it felt lonely being up on the cathedral cobblestones, watching the sun set behind the Atlantic Ocean, not knowing a single person in the city…but I also knew that would change quickly once I met other pilgrims, once I told my story, and once I walked to the next town. But today, it was ok to be alone. Something in this journey had to be experienced alone, and these were my truths to grapple with. As I marinate in them, in the messy, traumatic, and joyful juices of them, I know I’m not alone, that all of you out there are wishing for the best and have my back, and I can feel it. Thank you.

I’m writing this the next day, and am sitting in a silent hostel well before sunrise, sitting on a couch that overlooks the Sao Bento train station. The view is a portal into other trips that will be taken today, and it seems appropriate, watching people get on and off the train – we are all on a journey.

Back at home, before heading off, the past week had been filled with packing and repacking. Switching out gear and switching it back again; I’m sure I’ll still have some regrets about what I did or didn’t bring, but that is the way it is – this type of travel is new to me, and as I’m finding on my first day in Porto, I’m quite glad I threw in things like my little Freerange phanny pack so I had something to walk around town with to play tourist instead of my hulking lumbar pack.

And the fun began as soon as I got on the plane in Newark. Portuguese families sat all around me, and I had no clue what the barrage of quick foreign words meant….especially because I abandoned the Duolingo Portuguese lessons about a month ago when I realized I’d be spending more time in Spain than Portugal. I didn’t have the bandwidth to learn both new languages, so instead, I learned none.

We arrived mid-morning in Porto, and I successfully navigated their metro system to take a train into the city center. I stumbled on the Mercado do Bolhão, a market of culinary delights, where I had my first Pasteis de Nata (a traditional Portuguese custard pastry) and some kind of savory pie bites. I walked around and oogled at all the fresh fruits, seafood, spices, wines, and more.

I still had my suitcase in tow, and next found a sporting goods store to buy some hiking poles before going to the hostel and dropping my luggage…the roller wheels don’t take to cobblestone too well, and it was all cobblestone, narrow streets, and threading between bewildered tourists…me being one of them, of course!

I finally found the hostel, which is in the train station, and from there headed out to find the cathedral and the beginning of my pilgrimage. I walked in circles, chasing steeples, but steeples were in every direction in this hilly town. Instead of the cathedral, I found cute cafes in the nooks and crannies of this puzzle of a city (did I say ancient? It’s one of the oldest cities in Europe). There was so much to look at, and with the sun and steep cobblestone streets added in, I found myself wilting.

I didn’t sleep at all on the red eye to Porto. I even bought a fancy new pillow that was supposed to keep my neck in a good position while sitting upright, but sleep didn’t come.

When I finally found the cathedral, I almost didn’t go in, but then decided I would at least try and get my pilgrimage passport and save a step tomorrow when the grand journey began. I stood in line and sat in awe of the history for a while while I gave my tired body a rest.

Later, finally at check-in time at the hostel, I climbed into my second-story bunk (not stoked on that!) and took a short nap.

I emerged as the day was cooling and found a spot to have some port (as one must do in Porto!) and ordered what sounded like cheese dip and some bread to go with, but instead I received bread and what looked like doritos covered in tomato sauce and melted cheese…with a fork. Ok, not quite what I was expecting, but I ate the chips and drank small tastes of white and the traditional red port while strains of Madonna played in the background. I wonder if they changed the music just because I’m American?

Then back to the cathedral where we started this post; I was back at the hostel before dark, and climbed into my bunk, for the day had ended. Finally.