Read "Journey to Portugal" by José Saramago online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Perhaps because he is crossing a river, the traveller remembers when he crossed the River Douro, and gave his sermon to the fishes, a long time earlier at the start of this journey. It was then that he came across the Infant Jesus of Cartolinha, a lovable child who went into battle on the side of the people of Miranda and, if not winning the fight single-handed, at least helped them a lot. Now high above him stands the Cristo Rei, tall and majestic as befits a king, but lacking in beauty. The traveller reflects on how many regions and people he has seen, is amazed at the distance he has covered, and the distance too between the child of Miranda and the Christ of Pragal.
Everything is big in this region. The city is big and beautiful, the pillars supporting the deck of the bridge are big as well, so are the cables between them. And so are the chimneys that fill this narrow shore between Almada and Alcochete, with their cascading plumes of white, yellow, ash-coloured or black smoke. The wind sweeps them away, and the long swirls of cloud cover the fields to the south and west. This is a region of factories and shipyards: Alfeite, Seixal, Barreiro, Moita, Monitjo, a turbulent place where metal whines, roars, and thumps, where gases and vapours hiss, where endless pipes direct the flow of fuels. Everything is bigger than man. Nothing is as big as him.