Viana do Castelo in March
I was in luck. Yesterday the sun decided to peep from behind the clouds just a little bit, lightening up our souls. So, despite the work awaiting him preparing the firewood for the chopper this summer, my husband suggested going for a trip. He had been told by friends that Viana do Castelo in Portugal was pretty, so he wanted to see for himself.
We discovered pretty soon that most people on our side of the border had decided to go to that side of the border. On the road to Viana after getting off the tollway, we went into stop-and-slowly-go mode before Vilanova de Cerveira. Normally, the road is quick, but not yesterday. It seemed there were more cars with Spanish license plates on the other side of the Miño than on this side. I think some of the local Portuguese are also lamenting the tourist boom.
After we left behind the coastal road, and embarked on the highway into Viana, traffic had become fluid again. We even found a place to park a small walk away from the center without a meter or other form of parking tribute. Viana is mostly rectilinear along the shores of the Lima River. At time it seems a city planner wisely placed streets in straight lines and at almost-ninety degree angles to each other. It's a nice, small city, walkable in almost every direction. As with so many towns and cities in this part of the world, its origins date back to pre-Roman times. A hillfort on the hill overlooking the city was most likely the original Viana. That is now the spot of a hotel and the church of Santa Luzia, a basilica built to resemble the Sacré Coeur of Montmartre, in Paris. It's only about a hundred years old, and like my husband said, the stone looks raw, without the rounding of Time. But the views are incredible. The whole estuary of the Lima River lies below. To one side the open Atlantic and the long, sandy beaches. To the other, the hills stretching into the interior. On a clear, sunny day, it's impressive.
The town itself is small and friendly. There is a pride of place, expressed through the decorations celebrating Easter. Houses are carefully kept, though some buildings are falling into admirable decay, expressing glimpses into their glorious past through peeling paint, dusty windows, and crumbling tiles. Viana was an important center of cod fishing in the last century. Understandably, cod is one of the most typical Portuguese dishes. Even today, salt cod is cheaper in Portuguese supermarkets, and has its own separate section, much like the butcher's area, or the cold cuts section.
Though not as much as in Porto, there are many buildings with ceramic tiles covering their façades. Even the churches, such as the Igreja da Santa Misericordia in the center, have tiles on their walls, telling stories. The church is made of thick stone walls, and there are no beautiful stained glass windows to tell the stories of the Bible. So, the walls are covered with blue and white tiles explaining some of them. An uneducated person could look up and recognize the different stories from the pictures above him. The Bible may have been chained once upon a time, but its lessons were plain to see. Now, we can read the Bible, but we can't read the pictures.
The day clouded over, though, and by the time we turned north in the afternoon, the wind was kicking the surf. We stopped at a beach to look at the dunes and smell the salt water in the air. The respite was over, and when we crossed on the ferry over the Miño, back to Spain, raindrops appeared, and became more regular as we arrived home. Someday, spring will come. When it does, it'll arrive with a whoosh, say, "hello, goodbye," and give way to summer with a bang. The times, they are a-changin'.
We discovered pretty soon that most people on our side of the border had decided to go to that side of the border. On the road to Viana after getting off the tollway, we went into stop-and-slowly-go mode before Vilanova de Cerveira. Normally, the road is quick, but not yesterday. It seemed there were more cars with Spanish license plates on the other side of the Miño than on this side. I think some of the local Portuguese are also lamenting the tourist boom.
The town itself is small and friendly. There is a pride of place, expressed through the decorations celebrating Easter. Houses are carefully kept, though some buildings are falling into admirable decay, expressing glimpses into their glorious past through peeling paint, dusty windows, and crumbling tiles. Viana was an important center of cod fishing in the last century. Understandably, cod is one of the most typical Portuguese dishes. Even today, salt cod is cheaper in Portuguese supermarkets, and has its own separate section, much like the butcher's area, or the cold cuts section. 
Though not as much as in Porto, there are many buildings with ceramic tiles covering their façades. Even the churches, such as the Igreja da Santa Misericordia in the center, have tiles on their walls, telling stories. The church is made of thick stone walls, and there are no beautiful stained glass windows to tell the stories of the Bible. So, the walls are covered with blue and white tiles explaining some of them. An uneducated person could look up and recognize the different stories from the pictures above him. The Bible may have been chained once upon a time, but its lessons were plain to see. Now, we can read the Bible, but we can't read the pictures. The day clouded over, though, and by the time we turned north in the afternoon, the wind was kicking the surf. We stopped at a beach to look at the dunes and smell the salt water in the air. The respite was over, and when we crossed on the ferry over the Miño, back to Spain, raindrops appeared, and became more regular as we arrived home. Someday, spring will come. When it does, it'll arrive with a whoosh, say, "hello, goodbye," and give way to summer with a bang. The times, they are a-changin'.
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