Day Four to Six: My Next Steps on the Portuguese Camino Stories Shared, Meals Made, and Miles Walked
From winding village paths to a table set for strangers, Days 4–6 on the Camino Português were full of the kind of moments you don’t plan for—but remember long after. In this post, I share walking routes, restful places to make a stop, and stories of generosity that reminded me how the Camino can change you in quiet, lasting ways.
15.07.2025
Ponte de Lima — The Roman bridge at sunset
Day Four: Pedra Furada to Barcelos — 12 km (7.5 miles)
I set off from Pedra Furada early in the morning. The trail carved through green hills and quiet countryside vineyards—peaceful and calm. It was a short walk in Camino terms, so I arrived in Barcelos with plenty of time to settle in, plan accommodation for the next couple of nights, and sort out some washing. I hadn’t yet tried washing clothes by hand on this trip—a common daily task for pilgrims, both practical and oddly soothing after a long walk. But this time, I opted for a bit more ease and decided to rely on local laundrette services every couple of days instead. As it happens, when you enter Barcelos from the Camino trail, there’s a laundrette just off the path. I dropped off my things and wandered into town in search of lunch.
Barcelos is a beautiful city rich in culture, with a curious ceramic history revealed in quirky, handcrafted clay figures. These small sculptures—often exaggerated in expression or form—are part of a long-standing folk art tradition unique to the region. The Museu de Olaria is a small but fascinating ceramics museum in the heart of the city. It holds a wide collection of pottery and figurines from across Portugal and is definitely worth a visit.
After a gentle stroll around the city, I was feeling quite hungry. Earlier, I’d spotted a small restaurant tucked quietly into the historic city walls, with locals spilling out onto the street. So, I looped back and stepped inside Café Restaurante Girassol. The clink of small glasses of wine and lively local banter filled the air, and I quickly realized I was a bit of an oddity in this neighbourhood spot. My Portuguese is non-existent, so after a few confused exchanges with the waitresses, they called out to the owner—a cheerful man who emerged from a circle of regulars, smiling with enthusiasm.
He quickly grabbed a sheet of paper from behind the bar and explained what was available to eat. “We don’t really have a menu,” he said, “but here’s what we’ve got today.”
I stared blankly at the handwritten list, a little flabbergasted, and he kindly talked me through each dish—proudly pointing out which ingredients came from his own farm. I was torn when he mentioned rabbit (I’d only tried it once before, in a restaurant), but in the end, I went for the pork cheek dish with sautéed peppers and onions, served with chips, rice, and salad. Perfect Camino food after a day of walking.
His English was impeccable, and we ended up chatting for a while. He told me he’d lived and worked in hospitality in London for 12 years, but a few years ago decided to return to Portugal to be closer to his family and open a restaurant here. He spoke with ease and insight about the value of a slower life and the benefits of stepping away from the fast pace of London—and he seemed firmly content with his life in Barcelos.
When my lunch arrived, he recommended a local glass of white wine—which was absolutely delicious. I found myself thinking that Portuguese wine might just obscure my standards and set a whole new benchmark for future restaurant experiences.
After grabbing my laundry, I took my time wandering around town and ended up at a cosy little spot called Historial Café. I could hear live music playing somewhere nearby, so I followed the sound, found a seat, and spent the afternoon journaling and simply soaking it all in. As the afternoon faded, I headed back to check into the local albergue—grateful for the quiet and ready to keep moving on the next stage of the trail.
Day Five: Barcelos to Balugães — 15 km (9.3 miles)
I left Barcelos late in the morning and spent some quiet time at Café Historial, sipping coffee and planning my route for the next few days. Considering my accommodation options, I decided to make my way to Balugães to stay at Albergue Casa da Fernanda. Once I left my albergue, the yellow arrows guided me through parts of the city I hadn’t yet seen. Gradually, the suburbs gave way to peaceful countryside, and the route wove through vineyards, cornfields, and eucalyptus groves. Cobbled hamlets and villages dotted the hills around me, with plenty of small rural cafés sprinkled along the path.
When I arrived at Albergue Casa da Fernanda, I could hear laughter and chatter in the distance. The house was framed by a large, overgrown garden bursting with flowers, and pilgrims with bags lingered at the threshold. I thought to myself, this must be the place. Fernanda’s home is tucked away, hidden amidst plenty of trees, but after walking most of the day alone, I welcomed the warmth and chatter of the other travelers.
I had emailed Fernanda the night before—albeit on short notice—inquiring about a bed but hadn’t heard back. So, I decided to try my luck and see if anything was available. When I told her my name, she called out warmly and loudly, “ALEX!! Yes, we have a bed for you!” She explained that she had reserved a bed for me but hadn’t gotten around to replying to my email. I grinned slightly to myself, immediately put at ease by her warmth.
She invited me to sit down and help myself to water from the jugs she’d set out, encouraging me to make myself at home. I felt genuinely embraced. She let me know her sister would be back soon, but that she had to pop into town for supplies and would return later to prepare dinner.
Although the walk had been relatively short, my feet were sore—some of the path had been on road and cobbled stone, which takes its toll. I sat and listened as stories filled the space around me: a Danish family walking together, first-time pilgrims, seasoned ones. Tales of gear ditched from overpacked bags, blisters that had been sewn, and shoes that didn’t quite fit. Details of each person’s journey mingled in the air—names exchanged, routes compared, and new connections quietly forming.
After a while, I saw Fernanda’s sister preparing food for dinner. I feel a lot of peace in kitchens, so I offered to help. She was making starters for sixteen people while welcoming new arrivals and helping a few lost pilgrims—a task that was clearly no small feat. She was preparing a rice-based fritter dish, similar to arancini, made with ham, spring onions, and onion. The mixture had already been made; she gently rolled the balls in flour, then fried them in oil before draining the excess. We quickly fell into a rhythm, exchanging stories about family, friends, and our impressions of the Camino. Eventually, words weren’t needed—we simply worked alongside each other. Then came the padrón peppers, fried in extra virgin olive oil and sprinkled with salt. Beautiful and delicious.
One of the things I love most about cooking is that steady rhythm—the quiet companionship that can form when hands are busy and presence is shared without needing to speak. Once the peppers were served, delight spread across the room. Plates were wiped clean, and the conversation resumed—talk shifting to politics, families, and everyday life back home.
There’s something particularly special about donativo-style albergues and hostels. They feel more integrated, with a lovely sense of connection woven into the experience.
Not long after, Fernanda returned, bringing a joyful and warm presence with her. It was clear she loved what she did. She welcomed everyone again, topped up drinks, and called us to dinner—a generous spread of beans, chicken, and pork in a tomato sauce, served alongside caramelized potatoes and large green salads. There was definitely enough food to feed twenty-five people. Wine was placed on the table with baskets of bread, and extra portions were set aside for late arrivals.
Before the meal began, Fernanda said grace and spoke a blessing over everyone at the table. Throughout the evening, I couldn’t help but be moved by the warmth she radiated. It was clear that gathering people like this gave her deep joy—and that joy was felt by every person there.
I wanted to share this moment because the joy and generosity Fernanda and her family expressed reminded me of encounters on my last Camino. It’s a particular kind of kindness—a willingness to serve and care for others with simple, wholehearted warmth. You could easily miss it, but for me, it was deeply inspiring.
On the Camino, you’ll meet people who race ahead to secure a bed, rise early to beat the heat, or try to keep costs under 5–10 euros a night—some even skip payment at donativo albergues. I’m not judging; everyone has their own reasons and circumstance. But Fernanda’s hospitality stood out. For as little as 35 euros a night—including bed, breakfast, and a seat at her table—she offers something truly beautiful: care, presence, faith and community.
I hope that on your Camino (if you decide to take the plunge!), you meet people like her. I’m confident you will. And I hope they leave the same kind of impression that Fernanda left on me.
Day Six: Balugães to Ponte de Lima — Rest Day (18 and 21 km / 11–13 miles)
We spent the morning sharing breakfast in Fernanda’s home, enjoying the slow start and the lively breakfast table before setting off on our walk. The route from Balugães to Ponte de Lima unfolds through vineyards and sprawling little villages, offering a peaceful walk with very little roadside walking. Mostly, the path weaves through quiet country lanes shaded by eucalyptus and pine, passing quaint farmhouses and open fields.
As you approach Ponte de Lima, the landscape gradually shifts—from rural villages to more dramatic, mountainous surroundings. You’ll know you’re close when you reach the large canopy of trees lining both sides of the Minho River. The river itself is bursting with life: children playing, water sports in full swing, and tiny waterside beaches where people relax and bask in the sun. The town’s historic Roman bridge gracefully spans the river, connecting its two sides. The moment I set foot in Ponte de Lima, I thought to myself, Rest day! I was instantly charmed by the bustling riverside restaurants and the peaceful hum of life by the water.
Tucked into cobbled streets, you’ll find cozy cafés, artisan shops, and leafy plazas perfect for resting tired feet. Many pilgrims choose to pause here—not only for the town’s beauty but for its deep, calming atmosphere. It’s a place to wander, reflect, and soak in the peaceful rhythm after days on the trail. Which is exactly what I did. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about these past few days on the Caminho Português. Stay tuned for the next part of the journey!
