A Valley in Portugal
Lamego, Portugal; September 2006
Up in the north of Portugal is the Douro Valley. My aunt and I left Porto and the coast some time ago and are headed east, further and further into this region. We are on a train that could be a hundred, it is so rickety. A group of old men play cards loudly down the carriage and blue smoke hangs above their stall. My aunt is convinced they are up to no good. She has a good imagination.
Beneath the track the river suddenly appears. We cross quickly to the adjacent booth to take in the breadth and beauty of it more clearly. It is so dramatic and stunning that writers have said it is a brush stroke of Nature like that of Michelangelo. Steep terraced slopes plummet to meet the river, these are mostly under vine. It is here that the sweet fortified wine known as port has its origin. For many years, the river carried the wine on a specially built boat called ‘the rabelo’ to towns that lay beyond.
We arrive into a little town called Lamego. In the late afternoon we go out to walk. It is a strange evocative kind of mood in this place this afternoon. Maybe because the rain has only just lifted and the clouds overhead are still plump with water and grey. Maybe because no one else is around. Watching over the town is the pilgrimage church of ‘Nossa Senhora dos Remédios.’ To reach the church there are 686 stairs. Stairs that echo a time of their full Baroque splendour. Elaborate blue-tile scenes from the Bible decorate the way upward, a kind of reward and blessing along the way.
Then the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favour with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name JESUS. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David. And He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end.” Luke 1:29-32
