🐚 Happy Trails 🐚

Hello Adventurers, 

In the mid-90s, I got into hardcore right as I entered grade nine. You’ve likely never heard of this musical genre, and that’s totally fine. Basically, I had been into ‘mall punk’ for a couple of years…because I grew up in the ‘burbs, bought my CDs at the mall, and because punk’s exciting cover art caught the attention of my adolescent eyes as its rage-y sounds grooved with my raging hormones as its anti-everything lyrics gelled with my teen angst…which unfortunately never dissipated.

At the time, there was a pop punk explosion AND a ska revival, and neither were my jam because I was already into Minor Threat (a seminal band I didn’t discover because I was cool…rather, I just gambled buying their discography at the mall, and it resonated with me). Anyway, SoCal’s pop punk feigned a British accent (and the vocal stylings were stupidly nasal) and ska is/was full of dorks and trombones (and I never liked it much…save for the trombone-less Op Ivy).

But magically, there was a burgeoning hardcore scene in my hometown — which fulfilled my need for harder sounding punk rock — thanks to its near-weekly, all ages concerts (informally organized as ‘shows’ in everything from church basements to community centres to masonic lodges to beyond).

Entering this DIY subculture profoundly impacted me then (and remains the single greatest thing to ever shape me…as well as my politics and my ethos and my aesthetic…and just how I go about tackling life). DIY hardcore punk just taught me that anyone can maybe do anything…if you dream it then try and do it…with perfection being irrelevant, and imperfection being good enough. Like, my Marathon Earth Challenge is, really just another punk thing I’ve done…in a long life of being a punk doing punk things.

Anyway, Dave Buschemeyer did a lot of heavy-lifting back then in Mississauga…putting on shows as well as playing in bands, and he doesn’t get his due for the contributions he made to helping build a constructive little music scene (that changed some people’s lives…and mine in big ways). Dave very quickly took me under his wing, invited me to be a roadie on one of his band’s first North American tours (when I was 14), became a bandmate years later, and remains a lifelong friend to this day. And I’ll always profoundly love him.

The internet was coming into its own back then — with nascent chat forums and stuff like Napster — but I’ve never been tech-y, and tend to adopt things way later than most ‘cause it takes me longer to understand them (like how they work / how to use them). So back then my appetite for culture was satiated by buying vinyl records and zines. The latter had lots of local options, but the big international ones were MRR and HeartattaCk. I read both — and my memory is failing me now — but I preferred the one that had those ‘scene reports’ (being profiles of music scenes…like the stylish one in San Diego, CA or the politically progressive one in Columbus, OH or the musically gruff sounding one in Gainesville, FL).

Anyway, this issue of the newsletter is an homage to a zine-styled scene report…albeit to the hiking scene here in northern Portugal. Specifically, the coastal route of the Portuguese Way associated with the Caminho de Santiago and the Ecovia do Litoral Norte trail…portions of both I marathoned this week. So like that one great Rancid album, Let’s Go, and stage dive into it (and ‘up the punx’ until the day I die),

- Ben Pobjoy

P.S. Thank you to Trevor Dineen from CBC for having me on his ‘Now or Never’ radio program the other week. We chatted when I was in Warsaw and Rome…and then he asked me to make some field recordings on marathons in Poland, Italy, and Portugal. You can listen to the segment which weaves everything together here (it starts at like the six minute and thirty second mark).

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 31

• Flights taken: 36

• Kilometres flown: 58.483

• Marathons completed: 103

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 4,881.5

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 67,973

THE LAST MONTH: IN REVIEW*

Stats and anecdotes from May 2023

*I wrote this summary last week…but didn’t have the space to include it in the previous issue. Apologies…but better late than never?

The fifth month of my Marathon Earth Challenge is complete, and I’m feeling so-so. It was obviously a huge and thrilling privilege to travel through loads of countries across Africa, Asia, and Europe…and I’m beyond thankful that I didn’t hit any major snags that concerned flights or accommodations.

However, May’s itinerary was aggressive — with too many red-eye flights and some all-nighters — and it started to dent me (as well as my overall performance). I did crank out 934.6 kilometres by foot…but only 19 marathons in 31 days. And I’m now two marathons behind where I wanted to be at this point in time (i.e. the plan was to start June with 100 marathons in the bag…and I finished May with 98 marathons done).

Am I worried? No, not really…but June has to see me demonstrate more self-cruelty than self-care (in order to hammer and get back on track). And it’s doable because I’m planted in northern Portugal for the next few weeks, and have a home base here…which safeguards me from losing precious time to airports and flights and searching for food. Anyway, I now have some optimal conditions (as long as the weather is nice)…and I cannot waste them.

Physically, I’m okay. The 200 kilometres I cranked out in Rome the other week were individually felt as the 250,000 steps they were…on uneven cobblestones. They didn’t bloody or blister my feet, but after a while cobblestones really do a pulverizing job on the feet’s fascia.

Luckily, I’ve now got things under control…through shoe rotation, and by finding myself in an area of Portugal with ample trails and beaches and spongey, springy earth. There are lots of cobblestones here…but there’s also lots of space…which means I can avoid them.

I’ve got some aches and I’ve got some pains…but I’ve also got lots of nature and fresh air here…and those things always smooth out some of life’s rough edges.

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: My wife wondering aloud why ‘we’ are both so tired in Portugal. Um, like…I’m pretty sure I can account for myself🤣

• The Biggest Obstacle: Being unable to distinguish the Portuguese Way from the Ecovia do Litoral Norte🤔

• The Lesson Learned: Note to self...never again forget my fanny pack when trekking. I had to keep my phone in the front pocket of my shorts on one marathon...and it slapped my inner thigh tens of thousands of times… and it left me feeling like a numb nuts, and probably sterile🤪

(HIKING) SCENE REPORT: NORTHERN PORTUGAL

We can all do it

The Caminho de Santiago is known by many names...because there's different routes through different countries (each with different languages) to get to its one shared endpoint; the Catedral Basilica de Santiago de Compostela in Galicia. And for the sake of ease, I’ll just refer to this veiny, country-spanning pilgrimage route as the Way of St James.

For context, James the Great was one of Jesus’ Twelve Apostles, he allegedly brought Christianity to the Iberian Peninsula a long-ass time ago, and — according to legend — is buried in Compostela (where his relics were discovered in the 9th century). According to Wikipedia, the Way of St James “became a major pilgrimage route of medieval Christianity from the 10th century onwards…on which a plenary indulgence could be earned.”

Anecdotally, Pope Alexander VI officially declared the Way of St James as well as the Via Francigena to Rome and any trek to Jerusalem to be the, “Three Great pilgrimages of Christendom.” Now I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I’m an atheist that has accidentally marathoned some of these routes in 2023 and/or intentionally marathoned to some of Christianity’s most sacred sites along said routes…so I’m basically God’s lil angel at the mo. HONK!

In Portugal, the Way of St James pilgrimage route typically starts in either Porto or Lisbon, and you can get the general deets about the Portuguese Way here. All you need to know is that I’ve been staying in a lil parish called Castelo do Neiva, and one coastal route — being the Caminho de la costa — passes through it…hence why I’ve been marathoning parts of the Way of St James…as well as parts of a municipality-spanning trail called the Ecovia do Litoral Norte which mixes with it.

So why write about it all? Well, because the Way of St James is historically significant, and because it’s wildly popular with hundreds of thousands of pilgrims each year. And because it seems like it’s a ‘bucket list’ thing for many hikers doing it — and maybe it’s on yours — so I figured I’d give you the lowdown.

Regardless of your faith or ability, the Way of St James is really accessible…and that’s worth writing about. Plus, it’s kinda choose-your-own-adventure in vibe, it’s just a big playful game, it’s a ‘go at your own pace’ thing, and it welcomes detours (if you’re a ‘stop and smell the flowers’ type). And it’s sorta punk-y ‘cause it’s DIY (such resonates with me) and — if you know me — you know I love Terry Fox, not just for his grit and physical accomplishments, but ‘cause he insisted that no one profit from his yearly run…which he insisted be non-competitive and be inclusive to anyone who wanted to participate…and the Way of St James has that same type of spirit, and that’s why I’m ultimately celebrating it herein.

I think the concept of “exercise” is a bad thing; it’s a physical chore we schedule as a standalone thing — in lots of indoor places that command money to enter — in our mostly seated lives…done in near-isolation from the others parts of our lives. Yuck! It just doesn’t present as fun or imaginative or integrated or joyful…and that’s why I like the St James Way. It’s basically like a fun IRL video game — sans need for $3500 USD ski goggles (that everyone’s just gonna jack off in) — where a moving life is given some neat-o game mechanics (if you play it the punk way): you’re essentially Zelda’s Link in some foreign, fabulous, and faraway land questing to collect stamps on some physical odyssey…where you also gotta find grub and toilets and lodging every day. And then the next level starts tomorrow — and so on and so forth — until you eventually make it to the hallowed halls of a Christ-y castle at the end. There, your ‘high score’ gets recognized by one of God’s earth wizards in some closing ceremony where spiritual confetti falls from the rafters of heaven. And IMO, all that sounds way better than an appointment at the gym.

Anyway, I don’t fully know how the Way of St James works…but you essentially trek by foot from church to church each day (with distances ranging from 15 kilometres to 30 kilometres) and collect stamps in a document called the credencial (which is like a pilgrim’s passport) en route to the Basilica to Compostela. And you turn in your proof-of-pilgrimage at the end, and get the compostela (being a certificate of pilgrimage completion), and should you attend the Pilgrim’s Mass at the cathedral, you get a shout-out. I think the shortest route to collect the minimum amount of stamps to earn the compostela is like 100 kilometres (but most people seem to trek somewhere between 200-300 kilometres over the course of 10-ish days). Also, I used a generic shell emoji to represent this issue ‘cause there isn’t a scallop shell emoji, and this is why.

I’m more history than hippie (by a country mile)…so hiking and/or marathoning through the countryside — like nature for nature’s sake — doesn’t ultimately hold my attention. But what I really appreciated about the hiking scene in northern Portugal is/was the mix of different natural terrains…which are home to everything from castle remnants to fortresses to reconstructions of villages from thousands of years ago to all these old structures that concern farming and fishing (be they store houses or mills).

Additionally, there’s just so many ancient stone walls sprouting moss and plants, tight and wind-y cobblestone paths in parishes, and lots of rustic homes — with Catholic shrines and glorious patinas — made from hulking chunks of really old rocks. The interplay between pristine environment and from-a-bygone-era structures is objectively picturesque, and I promise that your eyes won’t get bored here.

Is the hiking in this part of the world the best that’s out there? Tough to say…’cause beauty is so subjective. Plus, the Way of St James is a pilgrimage with a spiritual dimension (for some)…so maybe it’s an incomparable ‘apples to oranges’ thing. Personally, the Sentiero degli Dei and Utah and Iceland come to immediate mind as total standouts of epic-ness for me.

That said, the variety in northern Portugal — should you do the Caminho de la costa route — provides much experiential bang-for-your-buck. You can hike along ocean shores, through sand dunes, get up into the foggy and forrest-y hills (with incredible views), wind through meadows, and saunter along some pretty lush paths (that skirt the occasional river). There’s lots of wildflowers and some cacti…but it’s really people’s gardens here — that you’ll see when passing through small villages and parishes and farm-y areas — that’ll most dazzle your eyes. Like, the range of fruit trees and flowering bushes and cacti and flowering plants on people’s little properties is just remarkable — as are the wafting fragrances — and it’s low-key special. This place really is a paradise for green thumb geeks…or anyone who appreciates beauty.

In terms of wildlife, I didn’t see much…mostly anoles more than anything else…and some slightly bigger lizards (in arid areas), and the occasional hare (in brush-y areas). However, there’s lots of domesticated farm animals that are free range in fields; like horses, cows, sheep, and goats. All were chill, and I could get up-close to many for some chats and the occasional pat. And I did cross this one tiny paddock — I think in Berlinho? — that had rabbits, chickens, geese, a turkey, some sheep and a horse…all fucking hanging out together in this stone wall enclosure, and it was the best / best vibes. Total animal friends…and I’ve never seen anything like it before…like a goose chilling with a rabbit…and a turkey hanging out with a horse. And there’s just loads of those fun / funny farm-y scenes here.

My big push — should you do the Caminho de la costa route — is for you to spend as much time strolling the coast of the Atlantic Ocean as possible…and I’m talking at different hours and in different weather conditions, and when the water is low-tide and when the water is high-tide…because it’s just so darn dynamic. Like, everything about it; from how the water moves to the water’s colour (and how the light reflects off of it) to the different patterns on the sand to how people leisure around the water (i.e. swimming, suntanning, surfing, windsurfing, kitesurfing, etc.) to how the locals labour around the water (i.e. fishing with rods, harvesting seaweed by hand, scraping crustacea off of rocks with knifes, using this staff-like rod to scoop up octopuses, etc).

I spent an insane amount of time marathoning the beaches here — which are expansive and raw and pristine — and I absolutely loved every second of it (just not the dead whale). You often have them all to yourself — meaning you can do a lot of deep thinking — and when the tide is low and the waters are recessed, you can see what’s behind the curtain of ocean waters…and just have your mind blown by this whole other aquatic, near-extraterrestrial world. Not getting gushy, but I’ll look back at my marathons of northern Portugal’s coastline with lots and lots of fondness; it was ideal and idyllic. And impactful.

It took me years and years to cultivate my ability to marathon far. Today, I’m an advanced trekker…but I started out as a human dumpster fire. And back then, it was just so demoralizing to attempt to go for a simple walk in an unnecessarily complex, anti-pedestrian world (which still boils my blood). Anyway, this ‘pedestrian predicament’ makes being and/or getting healthier way harder than it has to be; because ‘place’ is more often designed for the prioritization of cars and the convenience of drivers (at least in North America), and because global capitalism thrives by keeping everyone ill (in order to render humans as infinite consumers of pills and medicines and workout fads and gym memberships…to treat personal symptoms, and distract us from the cause of it all; a rigged-to-be-against-us-anti-humanism economic model that has the worst intentions for what’s in our best interests; be they individual or collective).

As such, I’ll always be two things; someone who recognizes / celebrates the individual places that chose / choose to invest in — or just culturally create — the infrastructure to encourage people to physically move in safe and easier ways (bonus points for when they are free and public), and a forever advocate for the needs of those starting their health journeys as well as leisurely movers in general (who stroll to stroll, and not to go faster or further).

Yes, I’m guy-in-a-skinny-body now but I’ll always be fat-guy-in-impulses (because my lack of restraint got me into my original mess…and that behaviour takes a long time / lifetime to clean-up and rectify). And I don’t forget it…because I still live it, and it’s humbling and grounding.

And it’s also why I’ll never be an ‘alpha bro elitist asshole’ in the endurance sports space…because I know where I came from, and because I know what it takes to get here. So I exist — in my existence — between the ‘then’ of who I was and the ’now’ of who I am, and know that I’m not just an outcome today. Rather, I’m the by-product of a years-long process…occasionally eased by infrastructure that made it easier.

People have been doing the Way of St James for more than a thousand years. And northern Portugal has built up infrastructure to accommodate hiking pilgrims — yes, because it’s in their economic interest in terms of tourism — but also because you can tell that their design thinking has been informed by genuinely wanting people to have a good, safe, pleasant time. And that’s fucking rad. Furthermore, the drivers here are really accustomed to hikers and they tend to give you a lot of space when passing you on roads…and I always appreciate that type of conscientiousness for another’s wellbeing.

So yes, there are lots of pilgrimage paths here that are smooth and railed and flat and simple, and I applaud that. It ain’t hardcore for the hardcore athlete…rather, it is for everyone. And for me, that matters WAY more. And it’s by no means perfect, but it’s way better than the crappy — or non-existent — infrastructure elsewhere. So whether you’re young or old, amateur of advanced…this hiking scene is your friend (as are the friendly people in this part of the world). And a big ‘fuck yeah’ to that!

Everything in this newsletter is bullshit ‘cause it is entirely based off of my own observations, ones that are processed through my own thoughts and biases and feelings and preferences…as well as whatever other crap is in the ‘junk drawer’ of my mind. So the commentary is what it is; idiotic and individualized…by yours truly! Mwah!

As such, it’s nice to occasionally meet others IRL and get their take on things; especially when they’ve done them and/or are doing them…as I’m merely observing them from a distance.

Anyhoo, the other day I was fucking around off-route when an ocean view caught my eye, and I stopped to take a photo. As I did, I heard a pretty chill, “Hey, you doing Caminho?” asked my way by some thirty-something woman sitting nearby…in the lotus posish on a grassy knoll as she was taking in the same view.

So I strolled over and we chatted for nearly an hour. Her name was Lee (or Leah? Or Leigh?), and she was doing the Caminho…well, at least for the time being. And she wasn’t vibing on it at all. Not because it was physically difficult for her — au contraire, she’s a super fit freediver…and had literally walked on and off from Faro to Esponsende (which is nearly 600 kilometres) — but because she found the Caminho’s pilgrims to be, “Inauthentic.” She said that all that most cared about was getting from ‘A to B’ as early — and as quickly — as possible each and every day, in order to get the needed credencial stamp and then score the cheapest, non-reservable accommodations at the albergues (hostels). Additionally, she was critical of how few pilgrims actually interacted with locals, and was perplexed that some stuck so tight to the route that they were bypassing nearby sights…and didn’t care one bit. Lee said that nothing about the pilgrims felt spiritual, and admonished those who were paying others to transport their bags as well as book their meals and reserve their accommodations.

I don’t know what to make of Lee’s observations…rather, they’re just another perspective for you to consider*; one that came from a blunt AF Dutch woman who moved out at sixteen, and has lived in fifty different countries since then. I don’t know if Lee’s into punk, but she definitely struck me as being hardcore when it comes to life and living!

*Conversely, I conversed with Paul — a young twenty-something American doing the Caminho (all by himself and as cheap as he could) — and he said everything about it was great as was everyone doing it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

I spent much of my teens — and some of my early twenties — zipping around North America in barely road safe vans; roadie-ing for hardcore bands, going on tour with my hardcore bands or just driving super far distances to see some legendary hardcore bands play festivals. Overall, it was pretty adventurous; dedicating summers to touring and traveling and trying to make money…while my peers back home were working retail or deep fryers.

For me, the pros were seeing the continent, being with my best friends, getting into lots of fucking trouble, making lots of new friends on the road…and the nightly music. The cons were roasting or freezing in the van, some pretty bad accidents, occasionally sleeping in the van (or in a gutter beside it), loading heavy musical equipment into — and out of — the van every day, and occasionally having to piss in the van (always in a wide-mouthed Gatorade bottle)…when we didn’t have the time to pull over. And the in-between? It was developing the ability to cobble together meals-made-in-the-van from crappy food found in gas stations and/or eating bland and basic food out of cans ‘cause we seldom had a kitchen to cook in.*

On my Marathon Earth Challenge, I have eaten every fruit, every nut, every kind of trail mix with every kind of fruit and nut, and every kind of bar full of every kind of fruit or nut…as fuel for marathons. I’m not complaining ‘cause much of it has been good, and because it always does the job…but y’know…one does get sick of it…after eating it a few times a day for weeks and months.

I obviously have the attitude, aptitude and appetite for eating canned food…but airport security everywhere has been peeling the most random things off of me this year (I could write a book about it), and I just know that a can opener wouldn’t last long in my backpack AKA my carry-on luggage.

As such, I was stoked to find veggie-dogs-in-a-can with a PEEL TAB TOP (!!!) in a big grocery store chain in Portugal. Whether the dawgz are pork or plant-based…they’re basically indistinguishable from one another ‘cause they’re both so heavily processed, and ergo plastic-y in texture. But hey, taste-wise? I was just glad to eat something smokey and savoury on a marathon for once.

Was this honestly the best thing I ate this week? Nah…but sometimes the tastiest nosh is that which is full of the most nostalgia (even when it lacks nutrition). And it reminded me of being in the van way back then…as I’m on a completely different kind of hardcore tour now.

*Some of you probably snickered — or rolled your eyes — at my mention of my teenage foray into gas station eating / eating food right outta the can…thinking to yourselves, “Privileged idiot…poor people do that kind of shit all the time.” Yes, you are correct…and punk’s big blindspot is that it is cosplay for a lot of middle class kids (myself included).

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Darque, Mar, and Castelo do Neiva (all prices converted to USD):

• A doppio espresso from a café in Darque: 86¢

• A 250 millilitre bottle of limão-flavoured Frize (this may be my new fave drink) from a gas station in Mar: $1.29

• Lighting two digital candles for my Mother in Law’s Dad (something I do on her behalf in churches) in her hometown church that was first built in the 800s: 54¢

MARATHON MUSINGS

BONUS SCENE REPORT: Part deux / dieu; on ritual and reverence

While I don’t drink much alcohol, last year was sobering for a completely different reason. It’s sorta fucked up, but I basically had to plan to die. Like, not do the paperwork for euthanasia…but do the paperwork for what should happen to me — and my next-to-non-existent assets — should I die on my Marathon Earth Challenge (e.g. car crash, plane crash, getting murdered, being the victim of terrorism, getting hit by a car, getting caught in an armed skirmish, or just like my heart exploding from pushing my body to the limits…or whatever else you want to add to the literal hit list).

It wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t morbid either…it was just the responsible, adult-y thing to do. Like, no one plans an accident…and should the worst happen to me, I obviously want my wife and my family to be in the best possible position to respond and/or deal with it. Plus, in life I was a total nuisance…and it felt immature — and gauche — to be that in death too (but yo, whadda tight personal brand tho…fuego!).

Anyhoo, I’m a fucking moron and my little bruv is a genius — and a lawyer — so props to him ‘cause he guided my dumb ass through the entire process…which was very important to him…and very boring for me.

So yeah, I had to think about death last year…but really haven’t thought about it much this year. Like, I’ve been in some kinda hairy situations while marathoning here and there in 2023…but nothing that major…and really, I can’t do this project perma-worried because it prevents presence, undermines focus, ruins the gift of this experience, and detracts from my ability to document everything…and because being a worrywart is a major fucking buzzkill.

That said, I have visited quite a few cemeteries via marathon on this global project. Not because I’m goth, but because some are very significant; they can be the final resting place of someone notable (like Salvador Allende in Santiago) or because they demonstrate some unique architectural flexes (like Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires). So death has been near…in those places…but they’re not really death-y…they’re just really marble-y and granite-y…and well, sorta lifeless since they’re just these very structural plots of land.

Anyway, me and Christine got to northern Portugal on a Friday a lil while back…after a red-eye flight from Italy…arriving alive but braindead. And on the proceeding Saturday morning, we resurrected after a good night’s rest and Christine said the first order of business was to go to the local cemetery in Castelo do Neiva before we could do anything else. And this repeats itself each and every week here…for us two visitors as well as for many of the locals.

I didn’t question Christine (because I’m her guest here). Plus, I’m a husband…so I know it’s wiser to follow the missus’ commands…even if I don’t understand them…because I understand what the dawg haus is (i.e. been there, done that, and I’m Gucci…but still occasionally visit).

But going to the cemetery here…it has just been a really different — and a really touching — experience. And just full of ritual and reverence that I haven’t seen in other cemeteries. And I feel honoured to be allowed to observe it, and to have Christine explain things to me here as well as introduce me to people there, and — of course — have her be the invaluable translator. Obrigada to my main squeeze AKA The Portugoose. HONK!

So what makes the cemetery scene here different? Well, in Castelo do Neiva, everyone goes to the cemetery on Saturdays to hand wash the graves of deceased family members, clean up any detritus, remove last week’s bouquet of fresh (mostly homegrown and hand-arranged) flowers, replace it with this week’s brand new and equally extravagant bouquet, and refill the lil glass bowl on every grave with fresh holy water (which they then dip their hand into and flick at both grave and bouquet before they leave). Like, the people are the groundskeepers, that labour isn’t outsourced.

Obviously, it’s mostly women doing this under-appreciated labour…because the men in this part of the world…y’know…yeah. But the women span girls to teens to twenty-somethings to elder senhoras. And I just wanted to share that ‘cause this isn’t an old-world tradish done solely by geezers. Rather, it’s now, it’s everyone, it’s happening. And it’s fucking pretty / pretty fucking rad.

And no one is outwardly sad. Like, no one is happy to be there (obvs)…but this specific cemetery is full of life and colour and flowers and conversation…in a place that’s full of death. And I dunno, it just kinda made a big impact on me in a very quiet way.

The cemetery is a hive of activity on Saturdays…with people walking in carrying beautiful bouquets and then scrubbing everything and then whipping all these really-lively-but-a-week-old-bouquets into the dumpster, and them all chatting with one another and catching up. And anecdotally, it’s where Christine has bumped into more family than anywhere else in the parish.

And even this week there was a festa out front the cemetery with some lady doing face paint for kids, with a bouncy castle for them, and like this pop-up bar for the adults…all beside the church that was first built 1,200-ish years ago (which is Christine’s Mum’s OG church — named after Saint James — and one of the churches that issues stamps to hiking pilgrims for the credencial).

When it comes to duty-tinged ritual, you can never know — when looking in from the outside — what’s voluntary or involuntary…but the reverence for the dead seems real here. And I believe really, really genuine. Yes, those deceased people are gone…but everyone’s showing up for them weekly. And they’re not forgotten at all…like, they’re actively being remembered every Saturday, and I found it to be charming…how remembrance and community intersects here, and thrives in a multigenerational and intergenerational manner.

And while I’m an atheist — and a signed-up organ donor — and I don’t want a funeral* or want a grave†…the cemetery and the community in Castelo do Neiva…I just wanted to humbly say that I think you’re doing it right, and in a really nice and lovely way. Respeito!

*If someone ignores my wishes, just please ensure that my funeral has free WiFi (for bored guests) as well as ice cold Pepsi Max (for thirsty guests)

†And put an ashtray atop my headstone (for the LULZ)

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