Castelo Branco

The town is perhaps the nearest train stop to be able to visit the area of Monsanto.

Please be patient while photos load.

They will open in a new browser window.

20230429

Moving our bodies from one place to the next creates the elusion of productivity. Today again Portugal countryside comes toward me slipping into my peripheral vision and vanishes behind. The train takes me from the Lisbon Oriente station to Castelo Branco. The three hour ride offers time to daydream while staring out the window.

When I chose Castelo Branco many months ago it followed a Dr. Dolittle dart that struck the Portugal map near the center of the country and near Spain. I had visions of climbing on a bike a day after completing the week long cycle journey to Lisbon and visiting the ancient mountain city of Monsanto - silly me. That ambitious plan transitions.

Castelo Branco began as a fortified Roman settlement. The castle was built in the 13th century. The company Centauro produces industrial freezers and refrigerators. Danone (a brand I've seen in the grocery stores and purchased) produces dairy products. Apparently the area is also famed for the Castelo Branco cheese - I'll have to find and sample some! And you F1 fans! - Delphi Packard makes automobile parts for the likes of Ferrari. The town of 35k is near the mountain village of Monsanto. I hope to visit this nearby village apparently made famous recently in the series the King of Thrones.

There are subtle differences between Castelo Branco and the southwestern portion of Portugal. Life seems slower and simpler. Most businesses are closed on the weekends. The small shopping mall was closed for instance. Less people speak English. The evidence of tourism is lacking. The place feels clean and orderly. The world doesn't seem to have found this place. The business where I'm renting a bike, Beira Tours, is the only tour operator in the area.

The rental bike is ideal for a short ride to the grocery store. It fits me like a clown riding a miniature bike at the circus. Riding it the 60k to Monsanto would have been out of the question. Fortunately it just suits the 3 mile ride from town to the local campground.

Fransico, owner of Beira Tours, opened his store to give me the bike. I told him of a once-upon-a-time plan to ride to Monsanto. He didn't say you couldn't do it, but thought it a stretch. And then he did the miraculous, he offered to take me on a private tour to see three village including Monsanto! So arrangements have been made for tomorrow afternoon.

I cycled out to the campismo. The attendant spoke with a smokers voice, scattered English, and a friendly nature. I pitched the tent and rode back up hill to the town for a little sightseeing.

A star attraction for the town is the Jardim do Paco Episcopal - a baroque garden that also services to distribute water to nearby fountains. I was amazed as you can tell by the number of photos I took. I also visited the museum next door, Museu Francisco Tavares Proenca Junior. They had an exhibit of the artist Sofia Arez exploring symbiosis with mostly fungi. There were some beautiful 18th century tapestries made somewhere in Asia. I was intrigued by the stone tools and arrow tips on display.

A stop at the local Continente grocery store for food and I coasted back to the campground. The campground is nice and not at all crowded. There is, however, a motorway about 1/2 mile away that generates a bit of road noise.

I jotted down some notes over the last few days that never made it into the blog so here they are now.

A significant portion of the Portuguese smoke or vape. Often second-hand smoke can not be avoided. A vape device that utilizes a disposable cartridge is often clutched in younger hands. The discarded small cylindrical white cartridges now recognized scattered on the ground. They make a light plastic clinking sound when inadvertently kicked across the cobblestone sidewalks.

I set my black pack down on some green growth in Porto Covo. Upon picking up after snacking and enjoying the view, the pack had land snail hitchhikers!

Tram 28 in Lisbon makes a circuit. All passengers disembark at Martim Moniz square ahead of the queue of people waiting to board. The conductor leans out while cranking a handle to update the tram's destination placard on the top. He uses a mirror on the end of a pole to insure the placard displays correctly.

Somewhere near Sagres early in the bike journey, I separately came across two hedgehogs deceased in the road. Even in their sad state they looked cute.

20230430

Today I toured the village of Monsanto.

An almost mystical place tucked up against Spain, the village and castle of Monsanto illicit fantasy and charm out of granite. Evidence of humans begins in early stone age includes Roman settlements before its current layout took shape. The Templar Knights (Templars), a Catholic military order with distinctive white mantles adorned with red crosses, were granted custody of the area in 1165 by Afonso I of Portugal. Atop a rock pimple 768 meters above sea level, it formed a defensive position for the Templars. In 1938, the village achieved the award known as "the most Portuguese village of Portugal" by a government sponsored competition that has never been repeated so the award stands. The village received the coveted Silver Rooster that crowns the clock tower - well a replica anyway with the actual stored elsewhere.

Walking up the steep, and of course, cobblestone paths suggests exploring a place of Hobbits, elves, and dragons. Doors to homes stand between massive house size boulders with the interiors somehow tucked within the crags. Stone seating provides places to rest and fountains offer clear cool refreshing water as you climb every higher along the winding paths between boulders, homes, and bright red flowers. Expansive views of the surrounding countryside pop out around many turns. One door seems to open into a solid stone, but escaping to the dark interior from the intense sun heat one finds an apparent pub that probably once offered beer or wine. This village, as with many in the area, have community 'ovens' as central places used in the past for people to cook. Climbing higher one passes the sheep and chicken pens of stone. Still higher you finally reach the castle ruins itself. Here, for the brave among you, are big stone steps protruding from the wall enabling the mounting of the wall itself and a stroll along the top with sharp drop-offs on both sides. The castle lasted until stored ammunitions exploded in the early 19th century.

Early in the walk up, we came upon the open door the current church. Fransico, my guide, commented that he'd never seen it open before so we stepped in. Quickly, silently, with reverence, we stepped back out as people were sharing commiseration at a funeral.

We drove back down the hill stopping at a square with a 1st Sunday of every month market festival (funny it was the last Sunday of April?!?) in progress. Fransico pointed out that most of the people were not Portuguese, but what I'd call new age folks, selling goods and services, and singing in an intimate gather. Nearby is an biannual gather of people called the 'Bump' where free spirited people camp out, listen to music and multiple small areas, and partake in drugs. Many of the attendees decide to stay and live in the region. Fransico knew a tall Israeli who'd stayed at his AirBnB several years ago then decided to start an eco-friendly-sustainable community. A bar off the square served beers so quickly keeping cool ones on hand proved a problem. The packed crowd in the tiny place felt like more of the drug type while the folks singing in the square felt more free-loving. Fransico and I each had a Portuguese beer, mine being Sagres, while we listened and watched.

The next stop on the private tour was the town and mill of Penha Garcia a short distance away. We didn't climb up to the castle this time, but instead wound down a trail into a cool canyon. A dam held back water for irrigation. Below the dam at the bottom of the canyon is a mill (moinhos - pronounced 'moin-yos') for grinding grain to flour powered by the stream. Fransico knew the caretaker who will be retiring soon. They lamented the lack of foresight by the council not to train a replacement. The 400,000 year old rock here is uplifted schist with evidence of fossilized burrows or trails created by trilobites (Caution, I'm not certain of these provided facts.) Our walk took us by a shallow pool created in the stream with locals, mostly the kids, swimming and playing in the cool water. Two donkeys stood happily with bright eyes letting us stroke them.

(I'm observing crude similarities between many words. For example, the Dutch word for the English word 'mill' is 'molen' and in Portuguese, moinhos.)

The last stop on the tour was Idanha-a-Velha. A tiny village along a creek that Fransico characterized as a 'supply post' used first by the Romans and later by the Templars. We passed the 100 year old resident; she smiled using a walker appearing inclined to chat. The Roman bridge over the almost dry creek captivated my attention the most. I looked at the dry riverbed with bushes growing thinking how lovely a paddle would be.

Portugal is experiencing a dry spell. The January through April period normally brings rain and water. This year it has rained very little. Even I expected to be rained on while cycling. Almost two weeks in Portugal and I have not experienced a single drop of water except that from a passing bird.

The sun had set and the day well into dusk by the time we arrived back into Castelo (castle) Branco. I jumped on the bike and raced back to camp as I lacked lights.

20230501

Portugal celebrates workers on this day. Preparations with flags and a stage for festivities in a square take place as recorded music plays over loudspeakers into a square. The solo male singer accompanied by a soft rolling guitar must surely be folk songs of worker struggle and passionate loves. People have yet to gather. Eleven in the morning, it is still quiet in the town of Castelo Branco.

I sit in the shade of trees listening in no hurry. Time passes building experiences and memories. Only the rental bike needs returning. When I did so, I briefly met Fransico's three month old daughter, Carolina, and his wife. I wait for 3PM when I can check into the Guest House. Fransico recommended I try a prosciutto and Castelo Branco cheese sandwich from a particular restaurant which I did. After dropping off the backpack luggage at the Alojamento Girassol Guest House, I took a walk through the old section of town and up to what remains of the castle in Castelo Branco. The route twisted and climbed both going up and coming down through the 15th century neighborhood. Many tiny places were abandoned and in serious decay yet others were being lived in. Nuns sat chatting and grandmothers held their sleeping grandchildren. Clothes dried on lines in the narrow stone alleys. Only a few places were given vehicular access. I felt one could easily become lost without a few visits. I spent time standing on the remaining castle wall taking in the views looking mostly east toward Spain. The evening light with a gentle breeze soothed whatever anxieties one might have. Part of my return route took me down a long tree-lined stair. On the way down it paused at a peaceful fountain pool surrounded by tall trees and birds singing. I shared the large space with a young couple intent on devouring each other and a woman in a long phone conversation. Time paused in a deep breath with the journey to this point and the journey to come irrelevant.