Fátima 2017 - a pilgrimage
25/09/2017: From Spain to Portugal
First view of Portugal (on the right-hand side of the river)
Adiós España! Adios Galicia! Olá Portugal! The ‘International Bridge’ that you see below was built in 1886 and connects the city of Tui on the Spanish side of the border with that of Valença on the Portuguese. Five years ago they got special European recognition and an open day for cross-border co-operation, but it is worth remembering that relations between Spain and Portugal have not always been as good as this. Portugal first became a country in 1095 but it was nearly 50 years before this was recognised by neighbouring rulers. Owing to a succession crisis in 1580 the country was delivered into the hands of Philip II of Spain (he of the Armada), and remained under Spanish control until a revolt by the Duke of Braganza in 1640 restored Portugal's independence - but not until after a war was concluded that lasted 28 years.
It is not totally surprising, then, that Tui and Valença have the air of fortified cities. With Tui this seems to be more a case of fortifying a city that already served another purpose as a local bishopric, whereas Valença seems to have been built with defence primarily in mind. One really wants an entire day to see them both, which I did not have, unfortunately having slipped behind my timetable with blisters last week.
Sr Lúcia lived at the Dorothean convent in Tui from 1925 to 1946, and it was here that she had a vision of our Lady on June 13th, 1929 in which the Virgin said: ‘The time has come in which God asks the Holy Father that in union with all the bishops of the world the consecration of Russia to my heart be made. I promise salvation through this means.’
Two views of the International Bridge connecting Tui with Valença. The railway runs along the top and the road underneath it.
The cloister at Tui Cathedral, reputedly the only one in Galicia
The portico at the west entrance to Tui cathedral
The Church of Our Lady and the Angels in Valença. The Portuguese love ornate Baroque churches.
You know you are in Portugal when you see a house like this. King Manuel I (1495 - 1521) was very keen on tiles and so, as people did in those days, everyone copied him.
A valedictory word about Galicia, the region of Spain that I have just now finished travelling across. Many people know that there are two regions in Spain - Catalonia and the Basque Country - which have their own language and groups wanting independence. During my trip Spanish television has talked about virtually nothing else besides an independence referendum that the Catalan authority is proposing to run on October 1st in defiance of an order of the Spanish Constitutional Court.
In fact, Galicia also has its own language - Galician - which is evidently widely spoken (I got the impression marginally more than Spanish); it appears to be rather closer to Portuguese than Spanish. Nevertheless - and it is hard for a visitor who does not speak either language to tell - I did not detect any real separatist activity here: there are no separatist parties represented in the regional assembly. There are doubtless a number of reasons for this but I suspect that it is down in part to one of the most remarkable, if also one of the most truculent, politicians of the 20th century. This was Don (he always insisted on being addressed as ‘Don’) Manuel Fraga Iribarne, one of the more progressive ministers in Franco's government during the 1960s and ambassador to the UK in the 1970s. On Franco's death he was recalled to Spain, where he set up the Alianza Popular - antecedent to the Partido Popular which is now Spain's main right-wing party. Realising that he was too closely associated with Franco ever to gain power with this party, he left it in the hands of some less well-known people and returned to his native Galicia, where he became President of the regional government or Xunta (some sensitivities don't apply here) for 16 years, from 1989 to 2005. Spain had joined the European Community in 1986, and someone with his experience ought to have been able to obtain substantial funds from it for one of Europe's poorer regions. Judging by the state of motorway development and farming in Galicia, this is exactly what he did, and very successfully. Most politicians who have to reinvent themselves like that explain that they have changed their views. I don't think that Fraga ever admitted having changed in any way at all.
26/09/2017: Ponte de Lima
The bridge at Ponte de Lima. It was built in 1368, on Roman foundations
This is an absolutely gorgeous place. It does not take long to see around - probably an hour to take a peek inside the main buildings will do, followed by at least as long in one of the cafés by the river soaking up the atmosphere as well as a glass of whatever-you-like. The place looked as though it was en fête today, with Strauss waltzes being played on loudspeakers in the centre of town - that is, until a political campaigning car (they have local elections next weekend) came screeching round the corner blasting away some louder and rather gauche rock music to drown out the Strauss. It was advertising the 'Partido Popular Monárquico' (the monarchy was abolished here in 1910). These monarchists really need to learn what music is on their side.
More tiles – this time on the side of the parish church – depicting a scene in 16th century Portuguese history.
A rather disconcerting sight to greet you when you come out of the parish church. Fortunately it is made of bronze.
It has also been a thoroughly good day's walking, with the temperature in the mid 70s and not a cloud in the sky, but with a gentle breeze. Most of the route has been through hilly pine-forest and so in the shade. The blue arrows are very irregular now, and the lack of accommodation on this section of the route meant that the usual parade of emerging backpackers going the other way failed to materialise after midday. There are, though, other ways of telling where to go. We are on sandy soil here, so just follow the boot prints; also in the villages the street name is very often the 'Caminho de Santiago', which the ceramic plates with the house numbers on will repeat under those numbers.
I recommend also stopping off at the Hotel Caminho de Santiago, a modern building about four miles south of Valença. I asked for some orange juice and was told that they did not have any; I could however have lemonade if I wished. It was home-made - simply delicious! It reminded me of Louise's - I shall have to get her making it again.
The yellow bags collect resin from the pine trees.
Where there's no shade from the pines, you get it from the vines. Unfortunately (perhaps sensibly from the proprietor's point of view) the grapes are too high up to pick.
27/09/2017
A good thing that I stocked up at the teller in Ponte de Lima yesterday, as I found when I arrived at the Residencial Pinheiro Manso last night that it did not accept credit cards - it must be over 30 years since I last came across a hotel as old-fashioned as this. It also - despite being five miles out in the country - did not have a restaurant, although it did provide pizza (absolutely enormous) and fruit for the weary pilgrim for 10 euros. I was not totally surprised when I came down for breakfast this morning and found that there was only one place laid - for me.
Another gorgeous day going through forests before arriving at Barcelos at dusk - so the promised posting about this interesting town will appear tomorrow.
A typical scene from the area above Ponte de Lima. There are pine trees on the right and a eucalyptus grove on the left
Pilgrims to Santiago are clearly expected all to march along this section at the same pace.
The chapel of St Martin at Balugaes. Sadly it is all too typical in being closed.
The medieval bridge over the River Nieva
28/09/2017: Barcelos
Standing room only at the 9 a.m. Mass at the Templo do São Bom Jesus da Cruz in Barcelos - there must have been at least 200 people there. However the local elections taking place next week-end intruded again: the priest's prayers were constantly drowned out by loudspeakers on cars passing by with political messages. Perhaps next time they could think to do this during his sermon instead, which went on for far too long for a weekday?
I had intended to spend a full day in Barcelos, but events intervened and so I have only a few photographs of this fine medieval city:
The Lady Altar of the Templo do São Bom Jesus
Tiled houses in Barcelos. This is a very popular Portuguese style
The Igreja Matriz (on the right) and the Solar dos Pinheiros (the manor house of the Pinheiro family).
You may have been wondering where I have been staying all this time. A pilgrimage is supposed to have a penitential element to it, and so I have, where possible, been staying in pilgrim hostels, where one meets all sorts, not only of pilgrims but of landladies as well. Last night I was dining at the café next to the hostel, which was owned by the hostel administrator, and ordered (as one does) the menu de peregrinos which gave a three-course meal plus drink for the bargain price of €6.50, the three courses being the local soup (very thick and full of vegetables), a large hunk of grilled beef with chips, and a fresh – very fresh – fruit salad. It was the ‘plus drink’ that caused the problem: trying to keep off the alcohol I said that I should like some orange juice. The landlady stared at me with a look of utter disgust for about five seconds, and then explained that orange juice was not part of this system. I hastily ordered some wine, and was rewarded with not just a single glass, but a 50cl carafe of red.
Events have frequently conspired to prevent me staying in hostels, however, and tonight I miscalculated how long it would take to get to Vilharinho and realised that I was not going to make it by sundown. So I have stopped up at the Quinta de São Miguel at Arcos, which I can thoroughly recommend. We normally associate the word Quinta with brands of port, but actually a quinta is a (generally) prosperous-looking farm that derives its name from the fact that it was let out for a rent of a fifth of the value of its produce. It is usually easier to see where one is than actually to see the quinta itself, as it will have a high wall and grand gate. So, having passed a number on the road, here is a chance to experience the real thing: a courtyard shaded by vines, thick walls, large bedrooms and a bathroom with an enormous deep bath in it. This one has two swimming pools as well, although I don't suppose you always get that. It is a bit like an English country house hotel, only rather smaller (eleven bedrooms), a bit more rustic and a bit more old-fashioned. Ah! the real Portugal!
29/09/2017
Arrived in Oporto today to be greeted by Louise. I shall post pictures from here tomorrow.
I started off, of course, in the excellent Quinta de São Miguel, where I promised Antonio the owner that I would bring my wife one day. He explained the exuberant campaigning that I had observed for the local elections here. Apparently the Portuguese take the opposite view of elections to the British, and concentrate on the local ones. These are about electing the mayor of the commune, and in a village like his most people will know at least one of the candidates. General elections nobody cares about, because it never makes any difference to what goes on in the Government in Lisbon anyway.
A hot day, and flatter countryside in the morning, passing through the suburbs of Oporto in the afternoon. Here are some of the highlights:
Another fine medieval bridge, over the river Ave this time
The view just below the bridge. Are there two mills here, or has the crafty owner monopolised the business on both sides of the river?
The parish church at Gião (closed like many others). The tiles show St Stephen on the left and 'St Anthony of Lisbon' on the right. This is the name by which St Anthony of Padua (the one who finds lost property) is known in Portugal, as he was born here.
30/09/17: Oporto
A day looking round Portugal's second city, and the centre of the port trade for several centuries. Oporto is on the River Douro, which means 'river of gold'. I am bound to say that the Romanesque cathedral here is very gaunt: huge tall columns over a narrow nave with no lights at the top level. It is quite impossible to take a decent photograph of the interior without better equipment than I have, so I have confined myself to the cloister:
Tile style in the cathedral cloister: what on earth has this pilgrim done wrong? ...
... however not all the tiles in the cloister have a religious motif.
São Bento station has over 20,000 tiles:
The oxen look rather fed up with their labours
This one shows King João I arriving in the city with Philippa of Lancaster, daughter of John of Gaunt. She became Queen of Portugal in 1387.
The Battle of Valdevez was the occasion of Portugal's independence in 1140
Also from Oporto:
Prince Henry 'the Navigator' points towards the new world. Henry was the younger son of João and Philippa and was an enthusiastic supporter and financier of naval expeditions. It was largely thanks to him that Portugal was the first European country to get colonies outside the continent.
The Dom Luis bridge over the Douro was completed in 1886. At the time it had the longest span of its type in the world.
British influence in Portugal is more extensive than you might think
3/10/17
Louise and I have now arrived at the small town of Oliveira de Azemeis, where we are staying the night in a rather unusual hostel.
The ‘Bombeiros Voluntarias’, or voluntary firefighters, have a number of old buildings where there are beds, presumably dating back to the days when people needed to stay in the fire station because they could not get there quickly. As you can see from the photographs, the front end of this one is a museum parading their old fire engines - all in tip-top condition: they look as though they are ready for immediate use.
This section is quite built up, with most of the walking on roads, and much of it on cobbled roads, which are very hard on the feet. (Portuguese rural roads are largely cobbled - what this does to the nation's tyres I dare not think.) The scenery is in reality not as exciting as it was north of Oporto. Still, now that I have a photographer on board, here are a couple just to show that I really am doing the walk:
We are doing an average of 15 miles a day, which is a few too many. Twelve would be ideal to reap full enjoyment out of what there is on the route, as well as not being worried about reaching your destination by sunset (about 7.15 p.m. at this time of year). However, it does give that extra dimension to pilgrimage with the need to trust that we will make it and all will be well.
'Canastros'
These grain stores, or canastros, are a common sight here - probably commoner in Galicia, but in notably worse condition. They are raised up (frequently put on stilts) so that the air can get in underneath.
5/10/2017: Águeda
To-day we passed through the town of Águeda and reached Mealhada (or nearly reached it - the pensione is just short of the town). Largely gone are the pine forests of northern Portugal, at least as far as the route is concerned, but thankfully largely gone are the cobbled roads as well. Asphalt is pretty hard underfoot but nowhere near as bad. This side of Oporto the signs to Fátima have on the whole been pretty clear; it is hard to tell how many people are walking in our direction but I get the impression that numbers are increasing (from a low base), and to-day was the first day where we saw more Fátima walkers than Santiago ones.
There was only one really beautiful sight - actually passed yesterday, a 'Roman' bridge (see below), so I thought that I would post one or two photographs of more day-to-day things:
The Portuguese equivalent of a blue plaque. It translates as: 'The house where Dr Antonio Breda was born in 1880.'
Is this low-hanging fruit intended for the hungry pilgrim?
'Royal Street' - a sure sign that one is on the Caminho. It looks as though the Santiago route was supported by the monarchy back in the days when there was one.
Travellers to Santiago get a proper tile to show them where to go, whereas Fátima pilgrims get something that has been spray-painted on.
This rather grand-looking well has the town's coat of arms at the top.
Is this for the health-conscious Portuguese or the pilgrim who's overdone it?
This elegant 'Ponte Romano' over the River Marnel has a bend in it. It is not necessarily Roman as the label 'Ponte Romano' seems to be bandied about fairly freely, but it is certainly very old.
7/10/17: Coimbra
Coimbra is Portugal's oldest and most prestigious university city, with the university dating to 1290. As with most old universities, it is very much a part of the town, with buildings all over the place. It is also a city of steep hills, narrow cobbled streets, arches, churches and cafés like few others. Sr Lúcia, by now a Carmelite, lived here from 1947 until her death in 2005.
The showpiece of the university is the Joanina library, built in the Baroque style in the early eighteenth century. It now houses about 60,000 books (which it has to be said are rarely taken out), and the librarians swear that their job in preserving the collection is assisted by a collection of about 20 bats, which eat all the insects that might otherwise eat the books. Unfortunately their presence is not so good for the rest of the furniture, which has to be covered up at night.
The University's Private Examination Hall
The University chapel
As one might expect, Coimbra has an ancient cathedral. This building here is the former cathedral, which might be said to have a bit of a toy castle look about it ...
... especially when seen from the university. Rather like Oporto's, the building is a tall Romanesque one with very little light inside, so I was unable to take any decent photographs of the interior.
A look in the old cathedral cloister, however, revealed some tiles of the beatitudes. I particularly liked this one: 'Blessed are the peacemakers'.
The Mosteiro (monastery) de Santa Cruz is well worth a visit too. These tiles are of the battle of the Milvian Bridge, which secured Constantine's position as Roman Emperor: you can just make out the words In hoc signo vinces at the top.
8/10/2017: Conimbriga
Back to some more attractive countryside to-day, and the farming looks a bit more ordered than it did in northern Portugal:
However less appealing is what has happened to this Roman aqueduct just south of Coimbra, which appears to have been sliced in two to allow for a road to go through the middle:
To-day was a cooler day, but I suspect that the reason for this was not a good one. Portugal has had a very hot and dry summer and suffered from terrible forest fires some months back. These have now started again, including in the area around Águeda where we were three days ago, and it looks as though the smoke from the fires has been stopping the sun get through.
We had planned a short day, but as it was cooler we decided when we got to our intended destination to go on a bit, expecting to have to put up in a pensione or casa residencial in the next town. However at about 5.00 Eleanor spotted a sign saying 'Albergue 2km', and so we found the new hostel at Conimbriga. This was only opened on May 28th this year and so does not yet feature in any of the guides: it also only has seven beds, so we had the place to ourselves. I am sure that it will be a great success: Nuno and Mafalda and their two young daughters greeted us with large hunks of melon and watermelon which were extremely welcome after our walk, and offered to drive us to the supermarket where we could buy our dinner (you could see the excitement on the girls’ faces as they counted up the number of guests to add to the total). Later that evening they reappeared with to-morrow's breakfast, and some port, with which we started a conversation about their new venture and what we were doing and all the good things about Portugal. Nuno told us that the Portuguese do walk to Fátima, but the reason why we had not seen very many of them was that they tend to go straight down the the Rota Nacional no. 1, the main road between Lisbon and the north of Portugal. This is an act of pure lunacy (as well as not being very pleasant) - six pilgrims were killed last year on that road. The Albergue de Conimbriga is definitely recommended to hostel-goers, as is the route that goes past it.
10/10/2017: Ansião
It looks as though there are the ruins of a very fine old Roman town just south of Conimbriga, but unfortunately we were too early to see them. Definitely something for another visit.
To-day after walking for two days through some gloriously beautiful pine forests and olive groves - the countryside varies but is quite steeply undulating in places - we reached Ansião, where the Santiago and Fátima pilgrimage routes diverge. The Santiago route comes about 15 miles east of Fátima through the ancient city of Tomar, whereas the northern Fátima route goes directly across country from here.
I have not said much about spirituality in this blog, as we each have our own and it is to a large extent a private matter. However pilgrimages do have certain characteristics that are likely to be common to those undergoing them. I can see that Santiago has a very different ethos behind it: it appeals to Christians generally (probably actually rather less to Catholics than to other Christians), to people trying to find religion, and to people just interested in walking. One can move from Christianity to new age hippiedom and back again without really noticing the transition.
Fátima, by contrast, has a definite message for mankind. Currently the apparitions are mainly of interest to Catholics because the Catholic Church has promoted it (and promotes veneration of our Lady), but it is a sadness that their message is so confined as it is universal. So much has been written about Fátima that there is no point in trying to summarise it here, and different people will make different things of it. To me it is a call to repentance and a call to prayer, specifically the rosary, but it is also a call to understanding that one cannot make up one's mind about what offends God as one goes along - one has to accept the law laid down and taught us in scripture and tradition, as well as the natural law that is written on the human heart. The children's vision of hell was very real and made a considerable impression on them. I also love the prayer of the Guardian Angel of Portugal:
'My God, I believe, I adore, I hope and I love You! I ask pardon of You for those who do not believe, do not adore, do not hope and do not love You.'
Notice that we are asked to beg pardon for those who do not believe, adore, hope or love God. Our religion is not individualistic: we are our brothers' keepers.
Anyway, when one is walking for most of the day there is plenty of opportunity to pray, to contemplate, and above all to offer up. I hope that it all does some good somewhere.
Walking through the forest with Eleanor
11/10/2017: Caxarias
To-day a sad change of scenery in the forest. As recently as Sunday a three-mile section of path was closed because of a forest fire, and there are still smouldering ashes in places. It looks like something out of a Tolkien landscape.
Not many on the road to-day but several of the people that we did see were wearing luminous jackets and were Fátima volunteers - one in particular was very knowledgeable. We have now reached Caxarias, our last stop before Fátima, where we stay tonight in a church hall.
13/10/2017: Fátima
Made it at last! If anyone wants to undertake a rather shorter journey than I have done, but with some real sweat to it, I recommend the last four or five miles of the walk to Fátima from Caxarias where we stayed last night. Fátima is on a hill and there is no shade - just relentlessly on and up until you get into the town. In temperatures in the mid 80s (30 Centigrade or just under), which we had, it was pure purgatory. A low blow was seeing a sign saying 'cafe' a couple of hundred yards ahead when we arrived in the town, and finding that it was closed. Fortunately there was another one about half a mile further on.
We did, however, get our first glimpse of a cork tree on the way (this was actually a bit earlier):
The bark is stripped for cork and the number 6 written on it so that everyone knows which year this was done (2016). Cork bark can be stripped off every nine years, so this one will doubtless be harvested again in 2025.
It's great to be here. To an old Lourdes hand like myself, there are some very obvious differences between the two shrines, some of which are recognisable instantly. I do not want to go on a shrine comparison where both of them are dedicated to our heavenly mother, and so shall leave most of this unsaid, but I should like to make a few observations about Fátima. Firstly, the general atmosphere strikes me as much gentler. At Lourdes everybody is busy busy busy helping the sick, which is of course as it should be, but this can be at the expense of the spiritual life of the helpers. If you feel that that has happened to you, a few days at Fátima will soon put you right. Secondly, the love of our Lady and the realisation of her presence at Fátima seemed to me to be very real. Look at one of the many images of Our Lady of Fátima, and see the tenderness with which she tells us that we must all repent and reform our lives. It is done with very much love. The faithful show their love for Mary by waving her goodbye with white handkerchiefs at the end of the procession after the main Mass.
Mass this morning was I think the longest ceremony that I have ever attended: it lasted three hours and ten minutes, both beginning and ending with a procession of our Lady and also including Benediction. It was also one of the most exhilarating. It is not as if it included the only Marian procession of the day: there was another one after the Rosary in the evening. I should think that there were at least 100,000 people at the Mass, and not all that many fewer at the Rosary procession.
Pilgrims wave our Lady goodbye with white handkerchiefs
Our Lady in the evening (Rosary) procession
The Old Basilica at Fátima (unfortunately this was closed).
Louise, Eleanor and myself about to leave Fátima
16/10/17 - Epilogue
Having intended to fly back from Lisbon, we thought that we would spend a couple of days there to see the sights. The bankruptcy of Monarch Airlines forced us to change our plans to some extent, and so we have left Lisbon early and I am writing this in a train to Oporto, from where we shall catch a flight to London this evening.
St Peter's, St Mary Major in Rome, Notre Dame de Paris, The Hermitage in St Petersburg, Prague Castle, the Tower of London ... everyone has heard of all these places and I expect that most readers will have visited some of them. But there are some sights that are every bit as wonderful as these, yet off the beaten track and so less well known than they deserve to be. One such is the Hieronymite Monastery at Belém, just outside Lisbon (a curious capital as it is one where one goes to the suburbs to see the main sights).
By any standards this one is a stunner. Built on the proceeds of customs duties from the import of goods from Africa and the far east at the beginning of the sixteenth century, it is just as elaborate as any Baroque church without seeming so overdone as to be an impediment to prayer.
The cloister of the Hieronymite monastery
Shipping was obviously key to the prosperity of Portugal in those days, so the little roundel sitting between the two arches has a ship in it.
The main church
The refectory has a series of tiles depicting the story of Joseph (the Old Testament one):
Joseph flees from Potiphar's wife who is trying to seduce him.
Joseph is sold to Ishmaelite traders while his brothers count the money. Note the hard-faced look on the right-hand of the two traders' faces.
On the way to Lisbon we stopped off at a couple of other monastic sites that are also (like the Hieronymite Monastery) World Heritage Sites. The first was at Batalha, which is not all that far from Fátima. King John I vowed that he would build a monastery if he was granted victory over the Castilians who were deep inside Portuguese territory in 1385. He was, at the battle of Aljubarrota, and construction began on the monastery not far away from the battle site the following year. It was quite some monastery:
The west face of the monastery of Batalha
The main cloister
Just in case the friars got thirsty
The other was a few miles to the south and a couple of centuries older, at Alcobaça:
The main entrance to the monastery
A tiled chimney in the kitchen. Being a Cistercian establishment the tiles were not decorated.
The main cloister
The Cistercians were well known for their expertise with water: this photograph was taken in the kitchen.
Finally, I'd like to add a word about Portugal as I have now been here for three weeks. This poor (by European standards) and small, but beautiful, country is very easy to forget about and, I fear, destined to be ignored by bigger powers: a bit like a youngest sibling trying to keep up with his older and bigger brothers and sisters and not quite managing. That saddens me. We found the Portuguese to be, virtually without exception, terribly nice people, always ready to talk, always ready to help, keen to have their country taken seriously but utterly without pretence. Portugal is an old friend of England, having first signed a treaty of ‘perpetual friendships, unions and alliances’ in 1373. This treaty is still in force, and was used in the second world war to accord the allies a base in the Azores; it is the oldest active treaty in the world. Portugal itself has a landscape of undulating hills populated by pine trees, and part of its charm is the sound of church bells ringing out the Fátima hymn, from a village that you cannot see, over the hills but not so far away. (I do not remember hearing any church bells in Spain.) Fátima is, of course, Portugal's very own shrine, at once both Portuguese and international, but not quite so international as to take away its Portuguese flavour.
Of course that is a one-sided picture and the country has its less attractive features as well. It exhibits just a much litter as Britain - probably actually more. There is clearly a serious problem of rural depopulation, judging by the number of derelict houses in the countryside. The general charm and helpfulness does not extend to everyone, as you will find out if you try speaking Spanish here: you will just be ignored. (When you see notices in Portuguese, English, French and German, as I frequently did, you get the message.) The night before we arrived at Fátima we saw the news blasted all over the country's television screens that their last Prime Minister but one had been arraigned on 31 charges of corruption (another sign of the changes of the last 50 years - Salazar was not corrupt). But it would be quite wrong to let these drawbacks take away from your enjoyment of a delightful country that deserves better than it gets on the international stage. Adeus dear Portugal!