The Hillbilly Viking

If you are not a fan of traveling by foot, much of Europe is going to be inaccessible to you. Even with Uber and the fairly complete network of public transportation, entire neighborhoods of shops and cafes (and esteemed offices of the notary) can only be visited by a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys. The odometer on our Espadrilles have been racking up 5-7 miles per day on uneven cobblestone, and I’ve bumped shoulders with so many Europeans in narrow alleys, I’m thinking of having Wide Load tattooed in Portuguese on my forehead (Incidentally, I believe that word is Americano). Ultimately, every day is “leg day” in Portugal.

In an effort to give our bulging, ripped calves more of a break between sets, we mastered the Portuguese train (o trem) system yesterday. This allows us to comfortably travel to more distant towns to painfully walk among their narrow streets and alleys for 5-7 miles per day. Mastering the trem involved little more than downloading an app from a QR code we found on the train station front door, selecting the “English” option, and then efficiently being charged twice for tickets that never appeared in the app. However, after some tweaking and good ol’ Karen-esque bitching, we are now confidently buying valid e-tickets as easily as ordering Taco Bell Chalupas from Doordash (but with far less intestinal distress and buyer’s remorse).

Our continued recon of our potential new homeland took us to the north end of Portugal to the riverside, border town of Valenca. It’s an ancient, walled city with even narrower streets and alleys. I rubbed Vaseline on my shoulders to prevent chafing. Across that river to the north is Spain, so we figured, “What the hell,” and we crossed the bridge (on foot!) to enjoy an authentic Spanish experience at the first Irish pub we encountered. Thanks to a moody, indifferent waitress, our Spanish excursion was little more than a photo-op and a chance to butcher another language before turning back.

Through a combination of trains, Ubers, and blisters, we toured three, waterfront towns down the coast until we ended up back at our hotel tired, sunburned, and ready for a bottle of Vinho Verde. Vinho Verde is a noted, regional wine and literally translates to “wine that makes you fart.” Avoid pairing with Doordash chalupas if at all possible.

Here are some other details that slipped out…

^{*Today’s blog title is an homage to Todd Snider, a respected poet who recently left Tennessee for good.}