What an unusual and fascinating recount of your memory, particularly as it's about a rather well dressed woman. I enjoy learning new words (many come from the forum) and "peripatetic" is a good one and relates well to your story.
@Camino Chrissy, this IS a great word to know and use. Many words need no explanation, nor thought beyond “OK, I get it!” Words like pilgrim, wanderer, hobo serve up an immediate image, while peripatetic requires, if not deep thought, at least the curiosity to search it up.
My pack has three patches on it: one the Forum, one (deleted) and one the Appalachian Trail (with 2,000 miler rocker).
Many times on Caminho Portuguese a pilgrim, or local, will recognize at least one of the three, though seldom connect all three together. As it happens, while staying with Casa Dona Fernanda for two days, I became the unofficial hospitalarios as Jacinto and Dona Fernanda were elsewhere.
The entrance to the casa can easily be missed due to the abundance of foliage and the small sign announcing Lugar do Corgo. This tunnel of bushes and trees masks the approach of new arrivals. Some pilgrims only stop for a breather, or to purchase a glass of wine produced on the family plot, a bottle of cerveja, or cool fresh water; all enjoyed under a vine covered latticework.
Well armed with a bottle of vinho, I hear the approach of “something” accompanied by the tinkling of bells. Expecting an animal to emerge from the aforementioned tunnel, I move my pilgrim staff closer.
To a chorus of minor expletives, a man emerges, dressed in monks cowl and tunic. Preceding him, as the slight breeze came from behind him, is a stench to curl your toes. “Obrigado! Obrigado! Please, just a bit of water.
As I already have the vinho open, I offer him that in stead.
“Oh, no. And then, more emphatically, NO! Water only! Water only!
He is carrying a black sack, more in keeping with a religious mendicant than the usually well-appointed Caminho Pilgrim.
Moments later, Jacinto arrives and coming over introduces himself and asks if we would like lunch. Say, pork chops with potatoes and greens.
Once again, “Obrigado! Obrigado! Just water and a crust of bread. Yes, a crust of bread.”
By now, the stench is overwhelming and I suggest he avail himself of the nearby bunk house shower before the food arrives.
Looking me straight in the eye, and glancing at my pack he says, in a decidedly non-mendicant rant, and perfect English. “You Americans think you rule the world. And, you have no perception of what it means to be cast aside. You think the Caminho is all about walking a few miles as repentance for perceived sins, or worse, a cheap vacation. I walk and walk, begging a crust of bread, a cup of water.”
Arriving with a plate of chops, and hardly before it settles on the table, three chops hit the plate in front of my accuser. He did only drink water. And, before departing, took a shower. No thanks. No doacoes. His only sound the tinkling of bells.