More ponderings on Guimaraes

The rain held off and we were able to climb up to Guimaraes fortress-citadel! Splendid, excellently preserved, and a joy for all who love to walk round crenellated walls.

The sky grew increasingly less grey, and very soon there were happy families (mostly Portuguese, but some French and a smattering of English) disporting themselves in the extensive castle grounds. We also looked into a charming Romanesque church, no longer used, serenely free from baroque eccentricities! Then down the slope to the palace of the Dukes of Braganza. Where there is a bedroom of our dear queen Catherine, and an exceedingly fine portrait of her labelled "Catherine of Braganza" painted by a pupil of Lely's. (She is the lady who brought tea, alias cha, to the English sitting rooms in the 17th century.)
The palace is extensive and finely furnished, exuding a great sense of space and uncluttered-ness! Partly thanks to the magificent high ceilings, which made me think of a ship's ribs in reverse:

See what I mean?

Much of the palace has recently been restored.
One of the helpful "guards" (a charming young lady who spoke excellent English) said that many of the objects in the palace had been lent or given by various museums.
There was an enormous range, from worn and faded but still beautiful Persian carpets, through Chinese vases from the Qing dynasty to magnificent carved cupboards (some were suspected to be from the Netherlands, and did look kind-of familiar...)











Below: carved oak cupboard

Leaving the exquisite works of past artisans (among whom I number my ancestors, the woodcarvers who fled from France and settled in south England), we strode down the hill and back into the old city.
In search of food ... but we were too late, and were greeted everywhere by Fechado signs : Portuguese for Closed.

So we went to our favourite Pasteleria and were shown a cafe where we could get a pizza and a bowl of vegetable soup (sopa de legumes), a staple of many a Portuguese eatery. We didn't take a pizza: not in Portugal!
It staved off our pangs and we popped into a nearby supermarket for cheese, carrots, cucumber and chocolate.
Then back to our Pasteleria for some real bread rolls.
We have made friends with one of the young waiters there (he loves to practise his French and Englsih). He told us that Guimaraes used to be one big family, but that now things are changing, with people arriving from "outside" ... This he regretted. He said: 'It used to be that everyone knew everyone else; we knew people from the church, the family and football. But it's changing everywhere.'

Our travels are always teaching us new things. There is a small monument near one of Guimaraes's central squares, a bust of Abel Salazar. Recognising the surname, I looked him up. A man to honour: a doctor, a medical researcher, a writer, a painter, and an anti-fascist. Born in Guimaraes, died in Lisbon. He is remembered particularly in the north of Portugal.