footsteps of Saramago
I'm sitting on a bench in the SE, I look at the ribbed vaults and pillars, the walls stripped of men, if not by time ... and listening to soft music (Bach, perhaps) coming from the speakers and bounces against the rocks I said earlier. There's a good atmosphere, also near the site of the cloister and the workers who speak and the things that fall. I paid the bill at the hotel after breakfast, and I ventured to the Clio up the rough stones of the old town, which seems to be a bumpy one with the soil. But then I found a parking lot and brought back to Rossio.
Today the sky is mostly cloudy and the air is still fresh. Turning the self, I can not see the baptistery, in the right transept, because it is enclosed by an iron grate. If I had the battery with me in my suitcase, I would have justified the additional weight. I do see the nodes in the center ribs of the transept (sometimes) and I decide that the music of Vivaldi. The central altar or
the higher 90s, the work of a certain Luis Cunha, who did not deserve to be sued, but you should also mention the horrors (there are pyramids in each orthogonal view!) and hope it will not happen again, even in this land so lots of good architects.
The air becomes known; shame not to know the music to transcribe. How can I trust the memory to find confirmation of my assumptions? (In fact, back home, for my efforts, I do not remember even a piece of that sweet harmony). In the cloister
men with cleaner, brushes and water clearly the stone with moss and stains of time. On the first floor repair or refer others to the ceiling of the loggia boxes. Forms the Italian Renaissance cloister, but here the times do not match. More is not visible due to the ongoing work. So I ran the risk of meeting the guidance, skilled in word play and nonsense, that he so saddened and darkened the traveler.
Since Monday, the museum is closed Grao Vasco (I had a good idea yesterday ...) and then you just have to take the car (because the ticket is time 'to end).
At 13 Clio sat in a parking lot in Red Mangualde. I came here after immemorial as the vicissitudes of road signs, road reports are short, are clearly an option on the roads local, as it is supposed that the premises know what to do and where they go, unlike tourists, that they are the highways!
I eat, because the country offers very little from the artistic point of view (the map of tourism workshop is a photocopy of who knows how many other craft items, before climbing back to the original map but the only ...); Local to me like it is full of people, apparently in business break. Then do 'apples to the bottom of the Ovar and allotment. Half an hour later, however, I stop at the entrance to Gouveia, the restaurant "A Brasa" regional cuisine, which, to grab the handle of the entrance, I was afraid it might be only in a mirage. I choose the 'plato del dia "because I care: capri au oven with potatoes and rice. It will be hungry, but goes down to taste a pity that I can not water it with wine, still having to drive up to Watch. All this then, including coffee, for only 1000 crowns.
I'm sitting on the walls of the castle of Linhares, and instead of the magnificent landscape of mountains and valleys, the story of how I've filled the guts!
It 's a strange day, there's fog and clouds alternate with sun, swallows circling above the chaotic remains of the castle. The country is almost like once, even the residents are out of fashion in their clothes. I want to see him get better. I crossed by car, but then I regretted it and almost so ashamed of it, on four wheels: these roads are made by man for man, so I parked outside the country, as once they were all foreigners, with their wagon or horseback.
This is about the plant's View of Self. Compared to Viseu, identical in all three spatial dimensions, this is Gothic sucked up. There looked like some moldy cellars, only missing the smell of wine profane, replaced by that of the candles, maybe not as sacred but pleasant. The six side altars are clearly inspired by Renaissance and later. Overall, the atmosphere in every way it still seems that original light (included). I made the rounds from outside the perimeter to describe, but it is not easy with work in progress. So I ended up sitting on the coffee table, very unstable, a bar on a porch sipping a cerveja. Many young people at the tables, I saw many arrive in the city, like leaving a school. But we should be out of season and out of slot ... there are tables and tables of the only boys only girls but also some joint committees.
few black people until now, whereas last year, to the south, I encountered many. A few of them wept and prayed in itself, regardless of looks concerned, then exit the car that was waiting, with a white driving.
back to the story: in front of a D. Sancho I of bronze with a plastic worthy of Brezhnev period. The porch is rather a kind of "Sottoportego" Venetian, just over 2 meters high, supported by granite columns, in an architectural order indefinable, but that would be classic. Yet they would need the care of men who are struggling with water and Raspini this morning in the cloister of Viseu.
's almost 19 and I do not want to find accommodation for the night. I've seen on the road that specified, but it seems too expensive and out of reach. Look at this, no longer young, that 'to say to all those who pass, you just have a little' physical. The waiter a boy brushed the Tin-Tin. In short, the beer is over, it's time to go.
What I saw at the entrance of the city, it was just a sign, the hotel is much closer to the center and also is not expensive. Certainly some complaint 'the signs of aging, but retains a certain charm. The rooms are outdated, but clean, the pool is almost a pond instead of a greenish color. Too bad. In room 323 there is also a balcony and TV and RaiDue RaiUno. Arriving just in time for the Italy-Sweden match, I lay in bed and relax. I take a shower in the range of tones. Meanwhile, Italy won 2-1. I warm clothes, because we are more than 1000 meters above sea level (with all these ups and downs I had not realized the thing, until, in the bathroom, I leafed through the guide: the highest town in Portugal!) and I go to eat in a place that I spotted today afternoon.
I wanted to also try the hotel restaurant de Turismo, because I think it unwise to that of the traveler, that the history of the head waiter and his sister died at 7 years, but I'm not sure, and even the waiter if he were dead? In Belo Horizonte
eat things of the past (à Chourizada Regionals) as fat, because then there was no heating and we worked hard. Not satisfied, albeit with a finish of chocolate mousse.
Way a while to digest, but it's really cold and I would not block the intestines, which already has some serious problem to tie the pork with chocolate! In the room I
23 ° C; sleep happy tonight!
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