Despite delays, a missed flight, and the ever-more-normal inconveniences of flying across the world, we landed in Lisbon only a couple of hours later than anticipated, and once we’d rented a small car, were on our way west into central Portugal’s province of Alentejo, and straight to its principal seat, the medieval walled town of Evora.
A labyrinth of winding cobbled alleys, virtually all one way for cars, we finally found the right entrance through the town’s imposing walls to our “pensao”. The building was the summer home of some long-gone nobleman, and has been transformed into a hodgepodge of rooms with a modicum of modernity. The very friendly staff set us up with a map, and we were out the door to find some dinner. We wandered and miraculously made it to the main square—the Praca Giraldo, anchored by a church at one end, a baroque looking Banco de Portugal on the opposite end, and rimmed with stately looking buildings decorated with wrought-iron balconies. To our surprise there were but a handful of people in the various cafes on the square; in fact for all its offerings and history, our several days in Evora have been virtually devoid of more than a smattering of tourists. The stray ones –to our surprise—are mostly Portuguese, and the majority of the rest, Spaniards—much less surprising, with the border perhaps 100km away.
Over the several days in town we never left the old walled town. A mix of Moorish and Portuguese/European styles, highlights include the Se Cathedral, which also offers spectacular views from its “towers”, actually the rooftop. We visited the grisly Bones Chapel, where walls and ceiling are “decorated” with skulls and bones, wandered through the smallish public gardens, admired the ruins of the Roman Diana temple and the insides of various other churches and palaces, many of which are lavishly decorated with famed Portuguese blue and white tile work. Just outside the walls lies the cloister that is the University of Evora, which sports a good dozen classrooms all done in tile, each with a particular theme. There is an astronomy room, various philosophically-themed rooms, the curious room with a calendar motif, --one panel for each month--, along with theatre, and more specific themes like one room which is dedicated to scenes from Virgil’s Aeniad. Each room continues to sport a wooden pulpit, reached via a marble staircase, but also has been wired for computer projection. Somewhat anachronistic.
By far the most wonderful thing about the city is its tranquility, its endless narrow alleys and ways, passageways that cross over these alleys, wonderful windows and doors, tiles both old and new, and the lovely feeling of being lost in time, and then delightfully found, at tea time, in the Pastelaria Conventual Pao de Rala—basically a small café, wonderfully decorated, offering a range of convent baked goods, meaning the original recipes came from Portugal’s convents. Pao de rala(one of their sweets, made with almonds and pumpkin) is among their trademark fare. Regular customers are greeted by first names, and the baker is in and out of the back kitchen making sure that her customers are happy.
On our final night in Evora we stumble upon a wonderful local restaurant(Restaurante do Guiao) a few blocks off the main square where the food is noticeably fresh and served by an enthusiastic and quirky waiter, who despite his frighteningly crooked teeth, is a consummate professional. Andres has the highly recommended braised pig cheeks, while I have the grilled salmon. We share a salad with incredibly tasty mushrooms and a separate marinated octopus appetizer which is scrumptious. Very much sated, we make our way back to the “upper” town, where we enjoy a portion of an outdoor concert of local Alentejan song with a dramatically lit Roman temple as backdrop.
To the Megaliths…
As the heat begins to let up on the central Portuguese landscape of rolling hills and sunbaked plains, we take a short side trip out of town to visit the renowned prehistoric megaliths in the nearby countryside. According to the locals, they predate Stonehenge—, and are between five and seven thousand years old. The narrow dusty road winds through groves of cork and olive trees, the latter’s silvery leaves shiny in the late afternoon sun. The cork trees have mostly been harvested, and look to be half clothed. Our first menhir is a single giant that we come upon after a short clamber down a hard-baked path. It seems singularly out of place and lonely, surrounded by a barbed wire enclosure and food wrappers from careless visitors. We move on to the more promising site of Cromeneque dos Almendres, which is a few kilometers on. The surrounding countryside sighs with heat and chirps with birds and insects. The cork trees quietly watch the few humans visiting the old site. The site itself has a reputed 95 rounded monoliths that are set on a slightly sloping hill in a oval shape. It’s quiet and beautiful and the early evening light illuminates some of the stones and renders others to cast long deep shadows.
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