Turns out a Monday in mid-November may not be the best day to start a road-trip. Even though we're retired, we can still have a case of the Mondays. In rural Portugal, in November, on Monday, with bad weather, everything is closed. Still, the attraction of the road is powerful, and we head to the Alto Alentejo, a 'frontier' much like the Beira, for a four-day stay.
A two-hour, strait run east from Lisboa takes us to the border of Spain and Campo Maior (pop 8,456 in 2011). We make it to the car rental shop as the skies grow grey. Passing the suburbs of Évora, a sprinkle becomes a drizzle and then a steady shower. Near the exit for Estremoz, we hit a curt, but intense squall. Like Dorothy's tornado, the storm throws us into a new landscape, with only hints of technicolor. A spotty sun struggles to light the pillowy hills, blanketed in mossy green, striped with olives groves, dotted with cork oaks, and dashed with autumnal gold. The sward is sharply scarred, in places, by heavy equipment and quarried stone, in enormous loose piles.
As we approach the village, the Castelo de Campo Maior (fifteenth century) hovers into view. In town, the steep, tight lanes are cobbled with rumbly granite setts. With encouragement and faith, our rental car makes it to the steps fronting the muralhas. None of the interesting sites have posted hours, or web sites, or information on Google Maps, such is the 'time-capsule' nature of the place. A quick pacing back and forth reveals no helpful signage.
In addition to its being Monday, the Castelo is currently closed for repairs. The structure is actually 'reconstructed' following and a lightning storm, a massive armory fire, and an explosion in 1732 – according to local legend, this killed two thirds of the town's inhabitants. Aged by centuries, there is always work to be done, and today's storm is right behind us now.
Campo Maior boasts an excellent Capela dos Ossos, next to the Igreja Matriz (sixteenth century). From the summit at the castle parking area, it's a momentary drop, within maze-like streets, to the church. We turn right into the Largo Doutor Regala – not so much a largo (square), simply a slightly more spacious street. The spill of the church's 'squircular' entry stairs breaches this 'openness'; we wonder what happens on Sunday. The church is closed, but there are cars parked everywhere.
Peeking from around a raised alley beside the Igreja, is a large window with a leafy pediment announcing in a crisp serif font: Capela dos Ossos 1766. Behind a curvilinear iron grille, the mirrored glass prevents our unauthorized viewing. The chapel is also closed for repairs.
On a solid block of granite and in ghostly marble, Nossa Senhora do Rosário de Fátima keeps watch over the bones. Over the door just behind Her is the inscription: "Esta capela foi feita com as esmolas dos fieis devotos das almas do semetério" (this chapel was made with the alms of the devoted faithful of the souls of the cemetery). And rising above, wrapped in a cloak, is one of the souls trying escape the chamber – a skull, arm, hand, and squirming spine. The bones in the chapels are from the remains of those killed in the 1732 tragedy.
Attendants to each side proclaim: "Memento mori" and "Nosce te ipsum"(remember death, know thyself).
Before our search for lunch and an open restaurant, we have time to stroll through the village. Just along the Largo, and under a small archway in the Câmara Municipal is the intimate, tree-lined Praça da República. The pelourinho stands in the center, with the figure of Justisa on a flowered orb. Dragon-headed vines sprout from the orb and remain ready to restrain the 'unworthy'.
This is not a food blog, but we can report a terrific Portuguese meal at the Taberna "O Ministro". In many ways, the Taberna has all the good things expected from a local eatery: grilled chicken with chips, roasted goat and potatoes, accommodating service, simple preparation, good flavors, and lots of food. We sit through lunch on the terraço as the deluge hits; luckily, the Taberna's umbrella system holds.
The Spanish influence in Campo Maior is evident in the stray conversations – mucho, not muito; gracias, not obrigado. Campo Maior and her neighbor Ouguela are part of Portugal by way of the Tratado do Alcanizes (1297), which also includes Olivença – Portugal is still waiting for that one. The easy banter at lunch, despite the language-switching, suggests that the edges have worn off a seven-hundred-year grudge; we may complain about the rain with whatever words we like.
One further site is suggested by José Saramago in his Journey to Portugal:
Here he paused at Campo Maior, which also boasts a castle, thanks to one and the same Dom Dinis, and takes a look at the octagonal church of St John the Baptist, its marble carved to a classical design, without coldness, perhaps as a result of conforming to the tradition of local religious architecture, and also thanks to dating from the time of His Majesty King João V, and which inevitably make it a part of the lay ambience. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
On the way, we pass the Lagar Museu do Palácio Visconde d' Olivã, which appears to be open. Just inside the gate, the attendant says it is fechado and waves toward the square and tells us everything is closed on Mondays. Confusingly, across the Largo do Barata (cockroach square) is the Museu Aberto (literally, 'open museum'). Translations are often curious.
The Igreja São João Baptista dates from 1747. From the images, it is more of a 'chamfered rectangle' than an octagon in plan. Again, there is an open door and staff behind a ticket counter, but the church is not open, so we cannot confirm the shape.
The facade is a Baroque play on the Doric order. With typically squat proportions, here the Doric is vertically elongated, with a portico containing triglyphs with the proper three femur and six guttae. In the sculpture niche above, the femur and guttae run as a pattern through the entire frieze. Above that, the pilasters of the super-stretched, giant-Doric support the cupolas and form the torres sineiras; here the triglyphs have five femur and six guttae. The same warm, variegated marble is everywhere in town.
In a niche, under an enclosed arch, is São João holding an open book, and we can just make out the text: Ecce Agnus Dei, ecce qui tollit peccata mundi ("The Lamb of God, behold, He takes away the sins of the world"). In this instance, the Latin translation helps identify the small creature on the Saint's leg is not a puppy or a piglet (our first guesses).
This church replaces a Manueline church that was also a victim of the 1732 calamity.
We take our pictures and make our notes. We find our way back to the car parked near the Castelo, and the castle doors are open. We cross the granite plaza, glassy with mist, and stick our heads inside. There are technicians hunched over computers. Fechado, the castle is indeed closed.
Fool me once, twice, three times – we've at least mastered one word in Portuguese.
We are going to return at some later date. Despite the weather and despite the day of the week, Campo Maior is perfectly and beautifully frozen in history. We suspect when we return, barring another explosion, it will have changed very little.
We arrive in Vila Viçosa (pop 8,319 in 2011), and unpack at the Pousada. The hotel is in the restored Convento das Chagas de Cristo (wounds of Christ - ie, stigmata; sixteenth century). The young lady at the desk tells us there are about forty rooms, but only eight guests tonight. The Convento is a true labyrinth, so she walks us to our room, which is the Quarto do Caçador (hunter's room).
The Convento dates from the early sixteenth century, established by the order of Dom Jaime, the 4th Duke of Bragança. Far from a place where nuns lived a modest life in faith, the Convento has a history housing the ladies of the court and the unmarried daughters of the House of Bragança. Thus, it is a kind of support for the neighboring Paço Ducal de Vila Viçosa. The young lady explains, this background allows the Pousada's rooms to be very comfortable.
In the dimming quiet, after our failed day in Campo Maior, we have the place to ourselves. Our iPhones gorge on the artwork contained in the public spaces. There are tile panels (Família Sagrada, Ascensão da Nossa Senhora) and so many architectural details.
The upper level of the Claustro displays several frescoes in various, glorious states of ruin. A larger side chapel appears to show moments in the lives of the Virgin and Jesus. A smaller niche just off the cloister may depict Santo António, who is generally shown holding the Christ Child. A ceiling fresco illustrates the Coroaçao da Nossa Senhora.
We head out for dinner, hoping to grab a light meal. The Paço is lit like there is no climate crisis, dazzling blue and pink stone, and a steady grid of windows for hundreds of feet. We walk the gentle hill to the castle to soak up the evening views.
There is life in Vila Viçosa, even on a rainy Monday night, but we cannot find a place serving dinner. We settle on a burger place called BBS. Like counting on finding a McDonald's late at night on the highway, at least one place is always open. Thankfully, this place has some of the best balatas fritas (french fries) in Portugal.
Returning to the Convento, we explore the lower level of the Claustro. Along the wall is a large triptych, its colors subdued by the haze of age and neglect. If its images is not legible, they still swirl with life. A recess near the corner seems to honor the Holy Sacrament, but again, the letters fade away. In the dining room we find a lively Última Ceia, with Jesus holding a young apostle's face to His platter:
And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of me. (Luke 22:19)
In the right-hand corner is the dark figure of Judas departing with his bag of coins. And in the vault above the panel is wonderfully elaborate dedication, with sacred hearts and family crests, dated 1738. The graphic on the right is the Portuguese royal crest (House of Bragança, under the royalcrown), and the one on the left may be from the House of Brandão (cinco brandões – brandão is a type of candle, below the Franciscan cross, encircled by a crown of thorns).
Just up the stairs we pass two women painted into the sides of the portal to the upper Claustro. The lady with the eyes on a plate is Santa Lúcia de Siracusa (whom we know from Feira) – we could have used her help with our sight during the dimly-lit day. Opposite is a lady with a set of test tubes (and a bit of a scowl?) – the test tubes must be pipes, and the lady must be Santa Cecília de Roma. The portraits, along with many of the other frescoes, are likely the work of Cecília do Espírito Santo, who lived in the Convento from 1652 until her death in 1723.
In this setting, it feels proper to have two virgin martyrs welcome our return with their sainted offers of vision and melody.
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