Journey to Portugal by José Saramago

In order to able to visit the region at his leisure, the traveller set up camp in Guarda. Today he is to take the Viseu road as far as Celorico da Beira, from where he will make his detours and return to his starting point. The day is like its closest kin: beautiful. The traveller deserves as much: he has had more than his share of mists and rain, although he is not complaining and sometimes even misses them. Yet it would be a shame if the weather were to spoil today: he would not be able to appreciate the long, wide valley of the River Mondego at the start of its great curve north around the mountains of the Serra da Estrela before it travels through lower land out to the sea. The River Mondego seemed certain to flow into the Duero, but found that the heights of Acores and Velosa and the mountain of Celorico stood in its way, and so chose instead to become the longest of the rivers born in Portugal. Some human destinies are no different.

The traveller starts his trip in Aldeia Vicosa, only recently renamed because its inhabitants were ashamed it was called Porco and asked for it to be changed. A bad idea. Aldeia Vicosa sounds like a tourist complex, whereas Porco had been handed down through the generations since the days when wild boar roamed these hills and to kill one was a matter of rejoicing and a chance to improve one's diet. To change the village's name was an act of ingratitude. Still, the traveller has his own business to mind, and so he looks at the lush landscapes around the river and sees how far down he has come. But then he starts back up again, and notices the farmhouses dotted about the valley: it has taken a lot of hard work to turn this into a garden. The road is very narrow, with tall trees on either side; there are gateways to estates, glimpses of imposing facades. All of a sudden he rounds a bend and finds himself in Aldeia Vicosa.