We woke in a sagging bed facing a stone framed window over the Portuguese hills. The sheep bells clanged as the animals marched around the property. A few cats climbed the window ledges.
I thought about home and how easy it is to get a cup of coffee. How many cafes I can drive to. And saw the cost of that convenience.
It was quiet and still.
We ultimately did decide to venture out. We got back on the highway continuing towards the Spanish border to the medieval outpost of Guarda.
This imposing cathedral faces the Spanish border, an architectural "come at me!"
There's a theater in town, shops, and restaurants, but it's small. This is a bit of the last frontier in cooler, mountainous Portugal.
This beautiful old church, like so many in Portugal, had spaces for anchorites, or Catholic renunciates. These spiritual seekers were built into solitary cells in the church. Sometimes they could view the regular church services and sometimes not. Food was delivered to them like they were a death row inmate in modern day prisons.
The larger communities recognized that these people might be more able to hear spirit and would sometimes come to their windows and ask for counsel.
The church was filled with spaces that whispered secrets-- passageways for clandestine purposes, ways to renounce the world, guarded treasures hidden from sight.
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