Maia's Into The Moonlight

THE ALENTEJO, A WORLD APART

The Alentejo is far away, a place suspended in time, with life lived at a low pitch, as if the place itself breathes very softly.

Three hours out of Madrid, we crossed into Portugal, with Lynn Arriale’s jazz piano dripping from the CD player, and moved off the highway onto rural roads. The landscape softens into gently sloping hills, patterned with cork oak, olive trees and vineyards, with white towns and magnificent castles, forts and convents.

Storks and storks’ nests everywhere – on electrical pylons, lamp posts, treetops, chimneys – an environmental initiative that has worked.

It was market day in Estremoz, a walled town with a beautiful castle. Fruits, vegetables, cheeses and smoky sausages. Artisans selling clay dolls, wood toys, lambskin slippers, brass and copper tools, useful only for life here. Live animals and garden implements. And antiques. And just plain old things.

The market is happy, bustling and very social, but it was time for lunch. In a shaded courtyard of the castle overlooking the countryside, we ordered a lunch of grilled trout and wild asparagus with an “ensalatta caprese” and a glass of local wine. The Alentejo is best known for its smooth, velvety reds.

There is a place in the middle of the Serra d’Ossa forest, a setting for a grand experience, immersed in peace, beauty, and history. In this convent turned hotel, you sleep in former monks’ cells, beautifully updated, and go down to dinner along grand torchlit hallways lined with 50,000 blue and white tiles, arguably Portugal’s best collection of azulejos. Surrounded by gardens and 600 hectares of forest, this monastery has been a special place of retreat for over 800 years.

When a gorgeous bride graciously posed for a photograph on her way to the private chapel, I remembered my daughter’s wedding at this same spot eight years ago.

About 15 kilometers from Serra d’Ossa is the little town of Redondo. The main church in the castle square has wonderful gilded baroque woodcarvings, testimony to discoverers who left from Redondo for India and Brazil.

The castle, started in the late 13th Century and added to many times over the years, still has a few potters working within the walls, carrying on traditions passed from generation to generation from pre-Roman periods. One of them good-naturedly let us work the clay. His wife hand painted his plates and bowls. We did not want to leave that peaceful artisan’s place.

Bouncing down a bone-jolting road, singing along with Maria Bethania and the Tribalistas, we were on our way to aristocratic and complex Évora, a special delight to architects and art historians. It well deserves its UNESCO World Heritage designation.

Évora has the ruins of a Roman temple. Roman walls and aqueducts, bits of Arab and Visigoth constructions and baroque buildings, with all the layers seamlessly incorporated into a vital, modern city like no other.

Évora is minimalist, at least in its colors – white, ochre-trimmed buildings, red tile roofs, gray granite paving, beige and green touches, the bluest of skies. A red geranium on a windowsill punches you in the eye. Everywhere the view is pleasing.

The streets all have their stories. One of the most curious is the Rua das Amas do Cardial (Cardinal’s Wet-Nurses Street), with its row of neat, small houses. In the late 1500’s, Cardinal Dom Henrique, at the time in his 60’s and Archbishop of Évora, and later Regent of Portugal, had the most exquisite of delicate stomachs and could only drink breast milk. He was reputed to call for his amas, or wet-nurses, at all hours of the day and night.

Ay caramba!!!

I felt I just touched the surface of the mystical, magical, Alentejo, worth delving into much more deeply.