Ericeira – Peniche – Nazaré – Figuera da Foz – Coimbra: 241 km

Joey and Celine set out with their self-built camper over a year ago. They’ve settled for a couple of months in Peniche. Actually, in Baleal, which is 2 kilometres down the road. And it too is exactly on route for me. We know each other from back home and I’m invited to stay over however long I’d like. Perfect because I have some time to spare before I meet another friend (Jan) in Porto. In general, I’ve been slowing down lately. I’m taking my time through Portugal and it feels good. Gone are the 500+ kilometre weeks, traded in for about half that distance.

I meet Joey and Celine on a beach near their house. They’re surfing. During my stay I learn that is what most of their day consist of. What a life. The tan line that Joey’s wetsuit created on his neck is so defined it could’ve been painted on with a ruler. My stay with them is perfect. I sleep in their van in front of the apartment. Joey takes me out to ‘catch some waves’ and he gives me tips while we’re in the water. I’m almost able to stand up once. Pretty respectable if I may say so myself. We eat, we have beers in the local hostel, ride around town, walk their dog. They know a bunch of people in the village and we seem to bump into friends everywhere. I end up staying four days.

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When I leave, I do so feeling pretty bad. I’ve had a headache for two days already, but once on the bike I feel dizzy on the climbs and I’m coughing and sneezing. I hardly get sick, but only a week ago I felt pretty bad too. This time it’s a bit more serious. I decide to do a covid test in Nazaré. It turns out that the pandemic has finally caught up with me, my first time COVID. I’ve been scared of this moment. I wouldn’t know how to self-isolate on the bike. It turns out to be pretty easy. I’ve already booked an Airbnb for a couple of nights in Coimbra, and in-between I simply camp. The weather is perfect for it, and I only need a supermarket, which I visit very carefully, keeping distance, wearing two masks. On route to Coimbra I listen to my body carefully. The headaches I suppress with ibuprofen and whenever a climb gets me too dizzy and dark spots enter my vision, I simply take my time and rest. Other than that, I don’t feel bad, except that my cavities are completely clogged. But I can live with that. The Corona time on the bike I spend riding around, camping, visiting cities without actually going anywhere, camping in forests and sleeping on beaches. It’s not the worst way to let a disease run its course.

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Then I’m already in Coimbra. The Airbnb I booked is perfect and I isolate some more. But soon enough my time alone is over and I get to spend some time in the city. A week ago, I had never heard of Coimbra before. Joey and Celine told me about it and I’m glad they did. I arrive during some kind of flower festival. Most streets and alleys in the centre are covered in flowers and leaves. Coimbra is a student town, a sweet town, a place with energy and opportunity. A place where everybody seems happy just to be there. For my Dutch readers; it’s the Utrecht of Portugal.

I do however get hit by a car. To be totally honest it’s my own fault. I set out for a fun ride in the mountains around Coimbra when, about 5 minutes later, I lose my way. Headphones in, looking at the map on my phone on my bars, I turn into a one-way street. The next thing I know I’m on the hood of an oncoming car. They luckily slowed down enough not to hurt me. Happy they were not. Some scratches, mostly red paint from my bike over the bodywork of their car. Police gets called. Something I’ve been meaning to do, but has been getting on the last place of my to-do-list right below finding a place to sleep, food to eat, water to drink, and writing this blog. Anyway. The police arrived. Friendly, but stern they tell me I have to pay. I walk over to the damage on the car and to my surprise I can easily scrub the scratches away with my nail. I tell the police nothing is really there. A wash and the car is as good as new. I see they agree with me, but it’s not their call to make. The couple in the car tell me it’ll probably cost them €800 to repair it. I think that’s an insane overestimation. They offer me to pay them here on the spot so it’ll all be over. I obviously refuse. We instead agree on meeting each other the next day, after they take their precious car to the garage and get a price tag on the pretty much non-existent damage. OK. I’m pretty nervous but still go. I expect them to arrive with a receipt from the garage that tells me what it’s going to cost. I decided that whatever it is, their insurance company can contact me, I won’t get out any money here on the spot. But when they do arrive, they’ve seemed to have cooled down a bit. They tell me everything is fine and not to worry about it. A burden is lifted off my shoulders. Coimbra isn’t that bad.