Notas de viagem roubadas a um diário que não escrevi,
em partes,
tantas quantas me promete a memória
Journey notes stolen from a log that I haven’t kept,
in parts,
As many as my memory can promise.
in parts,
As many as my memory can promise.
V
4ª feira - 7 de Agosto
Outro dia, a mesma rota em direção às Astúrias, seguindo o inesperado trajeto de uma estrada nacional que se desenvolve numa extensa reta até infletir para acompanhar o perímetro do aeroporto de Valladolid em inusitada circunvalação da pista que nos faz “ir para lá antes de voltarmos para cá”.
Passado o aeroporto, o asfalto retoma a reta que se estende até onde os olhos não alcançam mais a linha branca da marcação das faixas, atravessando um extenso planalto agrícola onde o alegre amarelo dos girassóis e o verde vivo dos vastos milheirais que intervalam a campina onde os cereais já foram colhidos, irrompem em contraponto ao azul desbotado do céu estival.
Another Day, the same route towards the Astúrias, following the unexpected course of a national road that runs straight for miles until it bends over itself, so as to follow the perimetre of Valladolid's airport, making you go back and forth until regaining your initial heading again.
Thereafter, the asphalt runs again straight till the eyes can no longer grasp the white lane separation lines, crossing over a wide agricultural plateau where the joyful yellow of the sunflowers and the vivid green of the corn plants sharing the soil with the already harvested cereals, explode as a counterpoint to the bleached out blue of the sky.
Another Day, the same route towards the Astúrias, following the unexpected course of a national road that runs straight for miles until it bends over itself, so as to follow the perimetre of Valladolid's airport, making you go back and forth until regaining your initial heading again.
Thereafter, the asphalt runs again straight till the eyes can no longer grasp the white lane separation lines, crossing over a wide agricultural plateau where the joyful yellow of the sunflowers and the vivid green of the corn plants sharing the soil with the already harvested cereals, explode as a counterpoint to the bleached out blue of the sky.
Torres de campanário no horizonte, uma rápida olhada ao mapa. Uma vez mais a surpresa. É por isso que adoro a viagem.
Bell towers in the horizon, a quick check on the map. Another surprise. That's one of the reasons why I love travelling.
VI
Medina de Rioseco
Chegamos em dia de feira… quem pode resistir?
Fair day....who could resist?
Fair day....who could resist?
Colhida uma planta na oficina de turismo à entrada da vila, subimos a apinhada rua principal - Calle Mayor - entre ofertas de roupa, alhos, relógios, óculos de sol, pimentos…como se na verdade estivéssemos em qualquer feira no nosso canto da península.
We collect a map at the Tourism bureau right at the beginning of the village and we follow up main street - Calle mayor - amidst sellers offering cloths, garlic, wrist watches, sunglasses, peppers... as if in truth we were in any other fair in our corner of the Peninsula.
We collect a map at the Tourism bureau right at the beginning of the village and we follow up main street - Calle mayor - amidst sellers offering cloths, garlic, wrist watches, sunglasses, peppers... as if in truth we were in any other fair in our corner of the Peninsula.
E lá seguimos tentando perscrutar por trás das tendas dos feirantes uma vila que se estende em curiosa arquitectura fundada em adobe e estaca.
We follow through trying to grasp the village behind the stalls, with its curious adobe and timber architecture
Corremos as indicações da planta mas à excepção do Museo de la Semana Santa instalado na Igreja de Santa Cruz, tudo se encontra fechado.
We keep to the indications on the map but with the exception of the Museo de la Semana Santa (Holly Week Museum) at the Igreja de Santa Cruz, everything seems to be closed.
We keep to the indications on the map but with the exception of the Museo de la Semana Santa (Holly Week Museum) at the Igreja de Santa Cruz, everything seems to be closed.
Medo. Tinha medo quando, pequeno, via imagens das procissões da Semana Santa em Espanha, com os membros das confrarias vestidos nos horríveis trajes a la Ku Klux Klan. A estátua à porta do museu traz-me tudo isso à memória. Ontem tinha medo, hoje é-me ainda desconfortável...
Fear. I felt fear when, as a child, I saw the images of the Holy Week processions in Spain, with the members of the 'Confrarias' dressed in their horrible Ku Klux Klanish uniforms. The statue by the door of the museum brought me all that to memory. I was afraid back then, I still feel uncomfortable about it today....
Fear. I felt fear when, as a child, I saw the images of the Holy Week processions in Spain, with the members of the 'Confrarias' dressed in their horrible Ku Klux Klanish uniforms. The statue by the door of the museum brought me all that to memory. I was afraid back then, I still feel uncomfortable about it today....
O Caminho, o tal que não fiz, cruza-se com o que fazemos agora, despreocupadamente, pela vila. O Sol reflete-se duro nas pedras claras e aumenta a sensação de calor. Procuramos o lado da sombra.
The Way, the one I didn't walk, crosses the path we're walking now through. The sun shines hard on the bright stones and amplifies the heat. We seek the shadow side of the street.
Crocodilos, aqui e ali, em T-shirts, ímans, e outros recuerdos interrogam a nossa curiosidade. Até que, por debaixo de um enorme sáurio que desliza em bronze pela parede de uma das características casas da rua principal, um placard nos conta a lenda:
Crocodiles - here and there.., on T-shirts, fridge magnets and many other 'recuerdos' - question our curiosity, until a board set under the sculpture of a huge bronze crocodile that seems to waggle its way down the wall of one of the typical buildings of the main street, tells us the tale (or should I use legend...)
Estando a igreja de Santa Maria em construção, todas as noites um crocodilo saía do rio e destruía o trabalho do dia dos esforçados operários. Muitas teriam sido as vezes que os operários tentaram matar o crocodilo, mas este provava ser sempre mais ágil e ardiloso que os perseguidores. Mas como toda a boa história tem sempre de ter um fim, um dia um operário mais inventivo teve a ideia de levar um espelho e por à frente do crocodilo, que espantado com a sua imagem se quedou imóvel, tempo suficiente para ser trespassado pela lança do seu astuto adversário.
A pele do crocodilo é hoje uma relíquia guardada na tal igreja de Santa Maria; a vila ganhou uma curiosa história e um inusitado ícone; o viajante prazenteia-se no prazer da descoberta.
When the church of Santa Maria was being built, a crocodile would come out of the river every night and destroy the day’s work of the hard working masons. Many would have been the times when the workers tried to kill the croc, but the beast always proved to be more clever and agile than its hunters. Still, as any good story has to have an end, one day a smarter worker had the idea of putting a mirror in front of the crocodile, what caused the beast to lay still in bewilderment long enough for the cunning mason to kill his foe with a thrust his spike.
The skin of the crocodile is now a treasured relic that is kept in that same church of Santa Maria: the village won a curious tale and an unexpected icon; the traveler indulges in the pleasure of discovery.
When the church of Santa Maria was being built, a crocodile would come out of the river every night and destroy the day’s work of the hard working masons. Many would have been the times when the workers tried to kill the croc, but the beast always proved to be more clever and agile than its hunters. Still, as any good story has to have an end, one day a smarter worker had the idea of putting a mirror in front of the crocodile, what caused the beast to lay still in bewilderment long enough for the cunning mason to kill his foe with a thrust his spike.
The skin of the crocodile is now a treasured relic that is kept in that same church of Santa Maria: the village won a curious tale and an unexpected icon; the traveler indulges in the pleasure of discovery.
De novo a estrada e os grandes espaços.
Paro para tirar uma fotografia. As condições estão longe de ser ideais, mas há algo na largueza destes horizontes, no quase infinito plano que propõem, que me fascina aqui, como sempre me fascinaram os espaços livres, despojados, eternos.
The road and the open spaces once again.
I stop to take a photo. Conditions are far from ideal, but there is something in the broadness of these horizons, in the almost infinite plane they propose, that fascinates me, the same way the open, unencumbered, eternal spaces always have done.
The road and the open spaces once again.
I stop to take a photo. Conditions are far from ideal, but there is something in the broadness of these horizons, in the almost infinite plane they propose, that fascinates me, the same way the open, unencumbered, eternal spaces always have done.
VII
León
Uma rápida paragem, quase só para apresentar cumprimentos à catedral, esticar as pernas e beber um solo, porque já havíamos visitado León em viagens passadas.
One quick stop, just to greet the cathedral, stretch our legs and drink a 'solo', given that we had already visited León in previous travels.
One quick stop, just to greet the cathedral, stretch our legs and drink a 'solo', given that we had already visited León in previous travels.
Os locais de interesse da cidade estão também relativamente concentrados em torno do quarteirão que termina na enorme catedral gótica, por isso, ainda que rápida, qualquer visita permite saborear a variedade estilística que lhe dá cor, percorrendo várias centúrias da história da arte, do renascimento, que marca o Palacio de los Guzmanes, ao modernismo, tão patente na estranha sobriedade neo-gótica da casa Botines, obra de Antoni Gaudi, esse mais ilustre poeta da arquitetura e das formas.
The highlights of the city are also relatively concentrated along the quarter that leads to the old gothic cathedral, so that any visit, quick as it might be, allows the traveller the opportunity to savour the stylistic variety that colours the city, in a journey through several centuries of the history of art, from the rennaisance - of which the Palacio de los Guzmanes bears testimony - to modernism, so evident in the strange neo-gothic sobriety of the Casa Botines, one of the masterworks of Antoni Gaudi, that most illustrious of all poets of architecture and form.
The highlights of the city are also relatively concentrated along the quarter that leads to the old gothic cathedral, so that any visit, quick as it might be, allows the traveller the opportunity to savour the stylistic variety that colours the city, in a journey through several centuries of the history of art, from the rennaisance - of which the Palacio de los Guzmanes bears testimony - to modernism, so evident in the strange neo-gothic sobriety of the Casa Botines, one of the masterworks of Antoni Gaudi, that most illustrious of all poets of architecture and form.
E se mais não houvesse para ver, a fachada da casa Botines, com a bela estátua de S. Jorge e do Dragão – evocação da Barcelona onde Gaudi mais obra deixou? – por certo justificariam a visita.
And should there be nothing more to be seen, the facade of the casa Botines, with its wonderful statue of Saint George and the Dragon - an evocation of Barcelona, perhaps, where Gaudi has left most of its works – would surely justify the visit.
And should there be nothing more to be seen, the facade of the casa Botines, with its wonderful statue of Saint George and the Dragon - an evocation of Barcelona, perhaps, where Gaudi has left most of its works – would surely justify the visit.
O chão interpela-me uma vez mais, direto…o Caminho… sempre o Caminho…
The ground questions me again... directly... the Way... always the Way....
The ground questions me again... directly... the Way... always the Way....
Lembro Serrat nos belos versos de Machado:
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.
Olho em frente, dou à chave… se hace el caminho al andar…
I recall Serrat singing the wonderful verses of Machado:
I recall Serrat singing the wonderful verses of Machado:
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
Caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace el camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar.
(Walker, your footsteps
are but your path... nothing more;
Walker, there is no path,
you make your path as you go.
As you walk, you make your path
and when you look back
you see the path that you will never walk again.
Walker there is no path other
than the stars in the sea.)
I look ahead, turn the ignition key... se hace el camino al andar...
(Walker, your footsteps
are but your path... nothing more;
Walker, there is no path,
you make your path as you go.
As you walk, you make your path
and when you look back
you see the path that you will never walk again.
Walker there is no path other
than the stars in the sea.)
I look ahead, turn the ignition key... se hace el camino al andar...
VIII
Vega de Gordon
Um pequeno e deserto parque à beira da linha férrea. Lugar ideal para uma vez mais esticar as pernas e comer alguma coisa.
A small deserted park by the railroad. The ideal place for once again stretching our legs and having a bite.
A small deserted park by the railroad. The ideal place for once again stretching our legs and having a bite.
No monte que flanqueia o caminho de ferro, parece dormir um dragão, que apenas nos mostra as espinhas do arqueado dorso...
In the hills that border the railroad, there seems to be a dragon sleeping, the scales on its rounded back bear witness to that...
In the hills that border the railroad, there seems to be a dragon sleeping, the scales on its rounded back bear witness to that...
IX
Paulatinamente a estrada perde o tédio da planura e rápido meandra pelas encostas dos montes Cantábricos.
Sobra o verde, cheira a terra húmida, já cá estamos: Astúrias!
Gradually the road abandons the tedious straights of the wide level spaces and, like a river, starts to meander through the montes Cantábricos.
Green all around, smell of humid earth, we're here: Astúrias!
Gradually the road abandons the tedious straights of the wide level spaces and, like a river, starts to meander through the montes Cantábricos.
Green all around, smell of humid earth, we're here: Astúrias!
Acelero um pouco, tanto quanto me permitem as curvas da excelente e bela estrada das Astúrias - N 630. Quero chegar a Oviedo cedo, temos ainda de ir a Luarca, para comprar um crucifixo de massa de pão, para substituir o que está na coleção lá de casa e que, de tão velho, já quase perdeu a cor... Luarca... é Luarca não é? A foto do guia parece fazer lembrar a imagem que tenho da pequena vila piscatória onde há muitos nos comprámos o pequeno crucifixo.,
Finalmente Oviedo e a procura do hotel, sem outra referência que sabermos estar perto da estação de caminhos de ferro.
Algumas perguntas depois chegávamos finalmente ao destino.
Check-in, ir ao quarto deixar as malas e de novo na autopista, a queimar o limite de velocidade, em direção ao mar.
I step on the accelerator, as much as the bends on the excellent and beautiful estrada das Astúrias - N 630 - will allow me. I want to reach Oviedo soon, since we still have to go to Luarca to buy a crucifix made of bread dough, to replace the one in our collection back home, that, old as it is, has almost lost all its colours... Luarca... it is Luarca, isn't it? The photo in the guide seems to corroborate the image I make of the little fishing village where so may years ago we bought that crucifix...
Oviedo finally and the search for the hotel, without other reference than knowing it sits close to the railway station.
Some questions later we finally reach our destination.
Check in, leave the bags in the room and back on the 'autopista' again, breaking the speed limit, towards the sea.
I step on the accelerator, as much as the bends on the excellent and beautiful estrada das Astúrias - N 630 - will allow me. I want to reach Oviedo soon, since we still have to go to Luarca to buy a crucifix made of bread dough, to replace the one in our collection back home, that, old as it is, has almost lost all its colours... Luarca... it is Luarca, isn't it? The photo in the guide seems to corroborate the image I make of the little fishing village where so may years ago we bought that crucifix...
Oviedo finally and the search for the hotel, without other reference than knowing it sits close to the railway station.
Some questions later we finally reach our destination.
Check in, leave the bags in the room and back on the 'autopista' again, breaking the speed limit, towards the sea.
X
Luarca
Chegamos pelas 7 da tarde à saída que indica Luarca. Começo a ter dúvidas. Era diferente, mais isolada, mais agreste, a estrada que levava à vila onde comprámos o crucifixo... deixo de ter dúvidas... não era este o sítio mesmo..e eu que quase jurava que tinha lido no guia que era aqui...
It's 7 pm when we reach the exit that points towards Luarca. I start having doubts. The road that led to the village where we bought the crucifix was different, more isolated, more rough... I have doubts no longer... this was not the place... and I that would almost swear I had read in the guide that this was it....
It's 7 pm when we reach the exit that points towards Luarca. I start having doubts. The road that led to the village where we bought the crucifix was different, more isolated, more rough... I have doubts no longer... this was not the place... and I that would almost swear I had read in the guide that this was it....
Desapontados, aproveitamos o tempo e visitamos o farol, optando por não descer lá abaixo, à vila, repleta de veraneantes e viajantes como nós...
Disappointed, we make the best of the time at hand and visit the lighthouse, opting for not going down to the village itself, full of vacationers and travellers like us...
não creio que mais algum procure um crucifixo de pão, no entanto....para o encontrar é preciso rumar a Oeste, cruzar para outro lado do rio, em Ribadeo, para a Galiza, e correr a costa até Teixido... é lá que teremos um dia de ir...
I don't think that any of them will be looking for a bread crucifix, though...to find them one would have to head West, crossing the river at Ribadeo, into Galicia, and follow the coast up to Teixido... that's where we will have to go one day...
I don't think that any of them will be looking for a bread crucifix, though...to find them one would have to head West, crossing the river at Ribadeo, into Galicia, and follow the coast up to Teixido... that's where we will have to go one day...
XI
Playa Cova
Retomamos a estrada para Oviedo, opto pela estrada nacional que bordeja a costa, o sol ainda vai alto e há que aproveitar a luz para a descoberta. Uma praia lá em baixo, quase deserta a esta hora...o mar... vamos ver
We head towards Oviedo again, choosing the National Road that runs along the coast. The sun is still high and we have to use its light to the fullest. A beach down below, almost deserted this late in the afternoon... the sea...let's take a look...
Poucas pessoas restam na praia e as que o fazem repartem-se pela esplanada do pequeno bar, entre dois dedos de conversa diluída no amarelo oblíquo de um sol que já anuncia retirada, e tão líquido que parece encher os copos das cañas que amolecem a conversa e o fim do dia.
The few people that remain on the beach seat at the tables outside in the little bar, diluting casual talk in the oblique and liquid yellow of a dismissing sun that seems to fill the glasses of the 'cañas' with which the conversation and the day slowly dwindle.
Está na hora de voltar. O imponente viaduto da autoestrada olha-nos de lá de cima... até Oviedo ainda são uns 80 km... vamos embora!
Time to go back! the imposing viaduct of the highway above looks down on us.. still about 80 km to go until Oviedo...Let's go!
XII
Oviedo
Cansados, arriscamos uma ida ao centro da cidade para jantar e para a inevitável cidra. Na mesa ao lado da nossa um grupo de jovens colecciona garrafas da fresca e frutada bebida que nos servem impecavelmente fresca, lançada, como obriga a arte, enquanto os olhos miram fixos, em frente, do alto de um braço bem esticado, para a boca de um copo largo, onde vai morrer em espuma que se bebe em dois confortantes tragos.
Sorrindo, um dos rapazes da mesa ao lado cumprimenta-me pela coragem de termos optado por uma irrepreensível fabada já depois das 10 da noite...
e como ela nos soube bem....
Weary, we risk a visit to the city centre for dinner and the inevitable Cider. In the table next to us, a group of young people collects bottles of the fresh and fruity beverage that is served to us impeccably cold, drawn, as tradition will have it, from the length of a fully raised arm while the eyes look straight ahead, into the mouth of a large glass, where it will die in the tasty foam to be drank in two comforting gulps.
Smiling, one of the young men of the table next to us, congratulates us for the courage of choosing to have a faultless 'fabada', well past 10 pm...
and did it taste good...
