Journey to Portugal by José Saramago

The traveller is a river-hopper. Solely in this part of his journey, on the way to Vilar Formoso he crosses a tributary of the River Noemi, the Las Cabras River, the River Pinzio, the Las Cabras once more (a river pushed northwards as the Mondego was pushed south), and meanders for a while along the banks of the Los Gaiteiros and the River Coa. This is without taking into account the thousand smaller streams he crosses which, depending on the weather, are either dry or wet. As this is March, there is water everwhere, the riverbanks are flourishing, today there are more clouds in the sky, but they are high and light, there is nothing to fear from them.

The first stop today is Castelo Mendo. Seen from afar it is a fortress, a place surrounded by walls, with two towers at its main entrance. From close up, it is all that, but also there is a great neglect, the melancholy of a dead city. Town, city, village. It is not easy to classify somewhere that is all these things at once. The traveller took a rapid look round. He went to the old court-building, which is being restored and where only the thick porch columns are worthy of note. He went into the church and came out again, saw the tall pillory, and on this occasion did not feel like talking to anyone. There were some old people seated in their doorways, but they gave off such an air of sadness that the traveller felt uneasy. He left, noting the wild boar on the coat of arms guarding the main gate in the walls, and continued on his way. A little further on, he could not visit Castelo Bom, as he had planned.