After a memorable stay in Castelo de Vide, we moved north out of the Alentejo and into the Beira province. We made a stop in Castelo Branco to visit the much touted, but a bit disappointing gardens beside the former bishop’s palace. Unquestionably, the most interesting feature was the reams of statues mounted on the outdoor stairways. One set was of saints and religious figures, while the other more amusing set was that of Portugal’s former kings and some Spanish ones that reigned over Portugal. The Spanish kings are all half the size of the Portuguese, just to underline the Portuguese hatred of Spanish rule.
Continuing on through the countryside, we headed further off the main road finding our way to the unremarkable town of Idanha a Nova(Idanha the new), and finally on to Idanha a Velha(the old). This tiny village is still entirely surrounded by walls, and within them lies a small church, with stones inscribed by Romans, along with an afterthought of broken pillars and pieces of columns strewn alongside the church. There is a beautiful old pillory and a ruined tower that is left over from the Templar Knights. A handful of largely elderly souls still live within the walls, and they appear a little lost in time. A small bridge of Roman origin spans the small river that runs past the town, leading into a motley orchard.
Leaving the town behind in a blanket of midafternoon heat and dust, we drove the last leg for the day to the distantly visible town of Monsanto, flanking a steep, lone-standing mountain, crowned with the crumbling yet imposing ruins of a castle. The road rises sharply up the mountain until a viewpoint which lies at the base of the upper village. Buildings appear to grown right out of the rocky crags and boulders. As we were parking, we made the acquaintance of two older sisters, who called at us from the windows above, inquiring as to our need for accommodation. We ended up staying in a sort of manor house which they own and have very recently restored with incredibly good taste. The younger of the sisters was clearly starved for conversation, and talked endlessly about all they’d done, her architect, their plans and so on, while her sister (apparently quite used to this effusiveness), looked on. We had a terrific room with a spectacular view and our own key to the manor house.
Late in the afternoon we climbed up to check out the castle ruins and the 360 degree view from the very top of the mountain, ducking into an old cave formed by gargantuan boulders along the way. Back down in the hub of the village, the clock tower rang the hours—one time around, and then about 3 minutes later, all over again—, and as dark descended over the village, time evaporated. Lights popped on, and in the distance, other small towns formed bright dots across the countryside. Cool air rolled in, the waxing moon shone brightly and seamlessly the town went to sleep.
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