Agnė Juškaitė, Kaspar is going. Everyday Images. 28 06 - 30 08 2024

One of the most precious memories is walking the French Way of St. James together with my son. He was fifteen years old then. As we went day by day, we felt time differently, little by little we learned to recognize the signs and miracles sent by God. Walking along the paths, highway or gravel roads, visiting small churches, we could be thankful for that.
When I returned, I painted the landscapes of that road, but they lacked the actual walking. And keeps the two of us together.

Years passed. We went out again last summer. We could only travel for a few days. We chose (thanks to my friend) the wonderful Rota Vicentina. in Portugal.

August changes. It is not advisable to travel that way in August. Even on the patch box bought in Almograve, the inscription Baikim shone.
We haven't finished. Some days we walked short, others long and hard. As befits St. Vincent Road. Of the saint, whose martyrdom was particularly cruel.
In coastal towns we saw surfers, sporty, tanned, with long curly hair. Wearing shorts patterned with palm leaves, wearing elephant tusk pendants.
We kept making fun of them as we trudged through the sand.
The last day was extremely difficult. After walking almost fifty kilometers, knowing that we will have to spend the night outside again, that we have to walk another eight kilometers on the road to Vila do Bispo, and that the yellow color of the sunset is already turning orange, we are the last ones to stop.
The car stopped suddenly. Opening the door, the driver hurriedly waved to us.
It was a surfer, a tanned thirty-year-old with shoulder-length blonde curls. Appropriately, he wore shorts printed with palm leaf patterns, and a pendant depicting an elephant tusk or tusk adorned his chest.
"I will take you to Sagres," he said softly.
-No, we need to go to Vila do Bispo. We must come to Sagres on foot. We must honor Saint Vincent, otherwise our path will lose its meaning.
- I'm from Greece myself, - said the surfer, - but Portugal has much better waves. And Sagres is my favorite place.
We were dropped off outside a Lidl store to buy 'something'.
- You don't have a place to spend the night, - he said in farewell, - but you can go towards the ocean. Here and there (... ), in one place, you will see a surfer bus. Great people. will accept

-Mom, I'm sorry to all the surfers. All to one. And their pendants and shorts are beautiful. Let them just ride those waves.
We stayed the night in Vila do Bispo. Coughing in the wind, we snoozed at a wooden table standing on a hill in a park of several trees.
We left at three in the morning. Using the flashlights of our phones (we learned this on our first trip together), we looked for road signs.
The wind is a mask.
Finally, we noticed a group of trees in the blackened clearing. We lay down in it for a while. We arrived at half past five. Then we walked towards it in the sand, wrapped in sleeping bags, but already seeing our destination - the light of the lighthouse. The wind howled and howled. But, somewhere, on the horizon, a whitish streak appeared - dawn.

To the cape where St. Vincent's body, we came after the sun had burned the waves. The wind was still blowing. After hastily crossing, hastily thanking for the trip, and already looking for surfers with our eyes, we headed to Sagres.
Done.

Everyday Images and people that I had to see either for a few moments or several times, but each of them told their own way, their own story with their look, body, posture.

Agne Juškaitė
June 2024.