My first impressions of Santarém were not good. The traffic was awful, where we parked was ghastly, the narrow streets provided a racetrack for drivers of all sorts, it was very, very smelly with car fumes. As I said, it was not good. Things gradually improved, however.
Mirinda had a meeting at a café so we parked as close as we could. We parted ways and I headed for the centre. Except I didn’t…at first.
My opinion of Santarém gradually changed as I reached the Portas do Sol and the garden it sits in. Don’t get me wrong, there are still cars. For one thing, you can clearly hear them in the valley below, while you sit enjoying an espresso outside the small café.
That’s the Targus River, by the way. It was probably the last thing that the Moors saw when Afonso I (First King of Portugal) Henriques, sent them all flying over the battlements of their own castle.
That was back in 1147 when Afonso decided he’d had enough and wanted to get rid of them in order to Make Portugal Great Again. You see, before he attacked, the Moors ran both Santarém and Lisbon. Afonso wanted it all joined up.
By the way, Afonso I became king when he trounced his mother at the Battle of São Mamede. He didn’t have the best family life. His father was already dead when his mother, Theresa of León and her boyfriend, Count Fernando Pérez de Traba of Galicia, decided that Afonso shouldn’t be king. Then they lost. Theresa was exiled to and Fernando went back home to, Galicia.
Here is Afonso I, atop a very high pedestal looking rather threatening with his big sword.
As I stared at this statue, admiring his heroic stance, I was approached by a little old man who, through a bit of Portuguese, French and a lot of gestures, told me about the memorial. He also told me how the Christians had demolished the Moors, chucking them over the battlements and skewering them with their swords.
Though we didn’t share a spoken language, his gestures really were quite graphic and self-explanatory.
He showed me the tiled bench which told the story. He sounded so proud of it, you’d think that he had made it himself.
I had passed a museum on the way down to the gate which probably told the story as well and, I fully intended to visit. Except it was locked up tight, the sign saying it was closed on Tuesdays. Today was Tuesday. So I was very glad for the history lesson given to me by the little old man.
Not that he was finished.
With a glint in his eye, he took me round the back of an unopened restaurant, urging me to follow him. I was slightly concerned but then, his eyes wide with wonder, he showed me this:
He explained that it was firstly a Moorish temple then, after they were slaughtered or sent home as illegal immigrants, it was changed to a Christian church. It was then largely destroyed when Santarém grew over the centuries. And then, finally, a bunch of archaeologists found the foundations.
I told him I was an archaeologist and that made him very happy. I wouldn’t have seen the ruin if the little old man hadn’t taken the trouble to show me.
“Thank you, little old man,” I said, as I waved him goodbye.
Walking on, through narrow streets that appear to have no speed limit and barely room for a car and a man with a walking stick, I came upon the church in which Pedro Álvares Cabral, the man who discovered Brazil, was buried.
They say ‘discovered’ like it hadn’t existed before. Obviously, it had. And I do wonder what the locals thought when they started to speak Portuguese.
Anyway, Cabral wasn’t from Santarém but, following his seafaring and discovering days, he settled in the town. He then died and was buried in the church. Then, sadly, everyone forgot about him until the 1840’s when the Brazilian Emperor, Dom Pedro II, organised research into Cabral’s life and death.
Since the rediscovery and remembering of Cabral, he has become a bit of a hero in Brazil. Okay, it took around 400 years but, better late than never. Mind you, the way that Columbus has been rather maligned and hated on lately, I’d not be surprised if Pedro suffered the same ignominy eventually.
Meanwhile, back in the here and now, Mirinda was released from her coffee meeting and headed over to a convent for a look see and tour by a young intern. The convent is just beyond the centre of the town. I met her outside, and we went for a coffee in a lovely little place just behind the stares of St Frank.
Mirinda had to race off for a lunch meeting, so I stayed and had a delicious Chicago burger for my lunch. I may also have had a beer.
Anyway, I slowly wandered back to the car, given my phone was running out of charge. The next message I received from Mirinda, as my phone dropped to 5%, was that she’d be a few more hours yet.
I waited. Reading in the sun. I may also have found another beer. It was a long wait but, eventually she returned full of excitement over the day’s proceedings. I was just happy to get into the car.
As we drove into the accommodation, we were once more assailed by the masses of dogs. They are so loud and numerous that we have named the place the Valley of the Hounds.
But I’ll talk more about the house tomorrow.
