This was our final day in Portugal before crossing the Minho River into Spain. The morning began under a blanket of clouds and rain, setting a moody farewell tone. Before leaving, we had one last craving to satisfy—a plate of fresh prawns, a delicious send-off from the Portuguese coast. Caminha, our departure point, offered the perfect setting for this parting meal.
As the sky darkened and the rain began to fall, we made our way to the ferry terminal. There was a sudden sense of urgency—we were told to hurry or risk missing the boat.
To our surprise, it wasn’t a ferry at all, but more of a rugged water taxi. We clambered aboard, stepping up onto a couple of crates to get inside the boat where the captain promptly handed us life jackets. My confidence started to waver. The small boat, barely big enough for six passengers, pushed off into the river under gray skies, rain pattering down and the wind picking up. It was a short, uneasy crossing.
Once we reached the opposite shore, the captain helped each of us off the boat and onto the dock, one careful step at a time.
Now what? We’d made it across the river, but our arrival in Spain was anything but grand. We were met not by charm or bustle, but by a ghostly, crumbling village—quiet, weathered, and seemingly forgotten.
Not much to see here — just endless steep hills! We officially started walking the Camino trail. The weather greeted us with damp, humid air and a steady drizzle. About three miles to go until our next stop.
Stay tuned for another adventure as we work our way toward Santiago.
Jane in Spain 