Page 22 of Every Step She Takes
I also didn’t realize thatwalkinghurts. The arches of my feet burned, and my ankles were actively strangled by my hiking boots.
I didn’t know how hot it would be. It’s only May. Chill out, Portugal. (I was also alarmed to discover that unlike everything else I packed, my sports bra isnotmoisture-wicking, and my boob sweat got out of hand very quickly.)
I didn’t realize how much I hate my long hair until it got damp from all my neck sweat. It felt so thick and heavy, I had to put it into a bun. Which means the back of my neck is now sunburned.
I didn’t realize how much time I would have to spend with other people…
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Sadie Wells—Owner and Manager ofLive Wells Antiques
www.livewellsantiques.com
Tuesday–Friday 9 a.m.–7 p.m.
Saturday–Sunday 10 a.m.–5 p.m.
From: Wells, Victoria
Sent: Monday, May 12, 12:24 a.m.
To: Wells, Sadie
Subject: Re: Draft of first blog post?
What the fuck, Sadie?!
You literally could not be further from the right track! This just makes it sound like I didn’t prepare you for the trip!!! And you realize the whole point is to make Beatrix Tours sound good, right?! Stop talking about your boob sweat and describe the fucking scenery or something.
And don’t forget to work in the affiliate links I sent you!
Please don’t mess this up for me.
Vi
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Victoria Wells
Travel Writer
~Not all who wander are lost~
SIXPORTO, PORTUGALTuesday, May 13, 2025
Sadie
I’ve made a huge mistake.
That’s the prevailing takeaway as we trek from Porto to Matosinhos. That, and my growing suspicion that my sister may have glossed over some of the specifics of this trek when I agreed to it.
Namely, she withheld her knowledge of how much I would hate it.
The group trudges along a paved path following the river out of the city. Or, more accurately,Itrudge, while Inez and the others happily strut. The man in the rather indecent spandex shorts whistles while he dramatically lifts his knees up to his chin with each step. The older blond woman who didn’t know how to use her phone loudly monologues at another woman, whose trekking poles clang against the ground as we walk. Then there’s the woman who stops directly in front of me every ten steps to take a photo on her archaic camera.
Mal is at least a football field ahead of me, chatting with the gorgeous thirtysomething who has a platinum underdye, an edgy septum piercing, and the most perfect smoky eye I’ve ever seen. Something other than the sun makes my skin hot when I think about Mal putting on her headphones to avoid me.
