JUNE/JULY 2019 85
the details. I’m drifting between the past and present. But then
I shake free from my reflection when I see a beguiling church,
or watch as college students dunk each other in a fountain, or
pause for the changing of the guard in front of the Palácio de
Belém. Suddenly I’m back in the moment, looking for the next
street to turn down, the next vision to seize.LIGHTNING ON THE HORIZON: ALENTEJO I roll from hill to hill
through the Alentejo region, a landscape soft on the eyes and
the senses. Sunlight slices through the cork trees. A white bull,
sleeping in a field, seems like a ghostly apparition. Pigs shuffle
from one acorn (bellota) to another, foraging for the nutty flavor
that gives Iberian ham its richness. Castles and churches dot the
hilltops; they are relics from the past, yet they retain a power in
the present. It’s shoulder season, and the streets are empty save
for a couple of stocky men, with weathered faces and hands,
walking home from the pub.
Olive trees frame the driveway of farm estate São Lourenço do
Barrocal, outside Monsaraz. Some, the owners tell me, are more
than a thousand years old. Gnarled, yet still dropping olives, one
tree grows within a few yards of a Neolithic stone that has stood
sentinel for nearly 5,000 years. I imagine the conversations these
two monuments have shared over the centuries.
A storm rolls in and the town of Monsaraz appears spectral
against the lavender sky. Lightning strikes, and the last rays of
the day struggle to penetrate an ominous thunderhead.THE GOLDEN HOUR: SAGRES I’m tired but the hotel concierge
says go. He marks an X on the map and shoves the paper into my
hands. You won’t be sorry, he says. I drive quickly through the
town of Sagres and take the three o’clock exit at the roundabout.
Soon the land flattens out, and I see that cars are parked along-
side the road. I keep driving until I find a spot to snuggle into.
People are walking, laughing and talking excitedly as the wind
whips their hair. The crowd’s energy surges with anticipation.
Something spectacular is about to happen.
I arrive at the end of the road, to the westernmost point in
Portugal. Atlantic waves crash against the cliffs of Sagres, seagulls
ride the thermals, gliding ever higher. I settle into a gathering
of about a hundred people as an orange glow bursts through
the clouds. At first, a silence washes over us as we witness the
end of the day at the end of the world. Then someone holds up
a glass of wine to make a toast. The sky changes from orange to
purple to pastel shades of pink and blue. We walk back to our
cars slowly as shadows devour the last glimmers of light.Director of photography ANNE FARRAR’s ( @afarrar) story on
Labrador appeared in our August/September 2018 issue.Storied stone steps lead to the battlements of Castelo de
Monsaraz and sweeping views of the walled city and surrounding
FR Alentejo countryside.
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