Travel Diary. Day 12. Évora - A Reunion.
The last day of the journey, when from Spain we returned once more to the tranquil Portugal. One really must start thinking that the ocean's proximity cools heated minds and the land's mentality is much more velvety. We drove through a fairly hilly and sparsely populated region, through which the road wound like a lazy snake. Every so often the view opened onto valleys with streams, and then from seemingly nowhere on a steep hill a white-walled city appeared.
Despite it being a quite warm May day, Évora greeted us with overcast clouds and a fine, barely perceptible yet continuously sifting drizzle. The smiling and kind hostess of guesthouse Peacock House (R. Romão Ramalho 37, 7000-669 Évora) welcomed us, showed us the room, terrace, small kitchen, and apologised for the weather, which was not typical. This little place I can definitely recommend - both for its positive and talkative hostess, and for its excellent location right in the heart of the old town with a view from the terrace onto the ancient church square and the rest of the city, and for its very reasonable prices. One may not park the car next to the house, but quite close by beyond the old town ring road there is a fairly large free car park with plenty of spaces.
Despite the day's greyness, Évora revealed itself to us full of colours, flavours, aromas, and the sounds of music. Ancient and with a rich bouquet like a well-aged red wine. It was a completely different city from the one we had come to know in 2008, when the only association with Évora was the church crypts filled with bones and skulls. Then the sun was shining, but the mood, you know, turned somewhat strange. This time the complete opposite - a quiet celebration of life. That is the difference, you see, between travelling in a tour bus where things are pointed out to you and specific sights are thrust under your nose, versus travelling on your own, when you have time to wander the narrow old town streets and savour that bohemian atmosphere. Here almost every street corner begged to be immortalised in a photograph (see the gallery for yourselves).
Here it smelled of cork, cooked seafood, oranges, wine, and also of the local brand CLONE by Ana perfume shop I had now come to know. The city sounded with guitar music that echoed broadly against the church walls. Inadvertently squeezed plastic piggy bank figures making an amusing oinking sound at a souvenir shop. Here the white and yellow colour of the building walls harmonised with the orange ceramic tile roofs. Underfoot cobblestones that seemed to grow more slippery by the moment from the fine rain drops. We bought an umbrella but practically never opened it - as if one wanted to absorb the city's atmosphere through the skin and keep it in memory for a long time yet.
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