Yesterday we took a bus to the village of Obidos, although that’s not how it’s pronounced. The church there was built in the 12th century and walls were built around the town to keep out both the Moors and the Crusaders should either return. (The Crusaders won the first Test of the second series when they cleared Portugal of Berbers, but they went on to lose every other match in that series and the next. Finally they then turned on their fans in Constantinople, destroyed the place and killed tens of thousands of Christians. No wonder the Portuguese were worried about them returning.)

Obidos is beautifully preserved – the wall around the town is still complete and about 3km of the viaduct to the town still stands. The town is just an absolute gem EXCEPT the one main street is about 800m of Ye Olde Obidos filled with tourists (like me) and gift shops selling cork stuff, local cherry brandy and Crusader helmets, swords, and pillaging guides. Sadly we were probably 20 years too late to fully appreciate how beautiful it really is.

Today was interesting in many ways. Walking along the foreshore on my way to meet Linda and Maryanne I stopped to look at piles of stones in one spot. According to a policeman they are assembled by Carlos, a homeless man who has lived under the boardwalk since he was eight. He said the only person Carlos has ever spoken to is an old priest who brings him food each day. The tide knocks them down, Carlos puts them back up. I thought it was a just a really shit modern art installation being guarded by a policeman. I suspect perhaps I’ve been spending too much time in art galleries these holidays.

At the food markets I spoke to Celine – the 50ish daughter of Celine Snr. Her mum, Celine Snr, has been selling fish at these markets for more than 65yrs. Mum used to carry the fish to their stall in the market straight off her father’s boat every morning before school, then started working there full time when she was 10. The daughter, Celine Jnr. has been there since she was 14. The granddaughter has married and moved to the country, thus ending many generations of uninterrupted work in the same occupation. Its probably because they christened the granddaughter Myrl not Celine.

The afternoon was spent at Portugal’s maritime museum in Belem looking at 500yr old maps, navigation equipment and nautical stuff and reading more about Vasco and his mates, followed by a 10/10 dinner just up the road. Farley heaven indeed.

But that’s a story for another time. For now, I’d better let you go.

F C-S

I think their scallops are also all named Celine, but I’m not some kind of shellfish expert….