Lowlands beside the ocean
Not Every Ruin is a Roman Ruin

«(...)
The traveller has no particular reason to go to Soure, but from here it's an easy ride to Conímbriga. Today seems to be consecrated to illustrious ruins, for example those left behind by the Romans. According to popular tradition, there are three main historical reference points: the periods of the Afonsinos, the Moors and the Romans. The first serve to illustrate, paradoxically, what's most ancient of all, or perhaps most imprecise and almost mythical; the second (despite the lack of abundant material evidence) is a rich source for legend; and the third, which offered no legends of any kind, finds confirmation in a solid bridge, flagged pavements, and instils respect for the harsh laws stamped on them by the march of legionaries. The Romans find little sympathy from those on whom they bestowed their Latin language.

To tell the truth, when the traveller wanders amid such magnificence – and here it's easy to tell what magnificence is - he feels somewhat apart, as if he were seeing, caressing almost, the remains of an utterly alien civilisation and culture. It's conceivable that this impression derives from visualising the Romans installed here, entirely lords of their forum, of their water fountains, parading in their togas and tunics, visiting the baths before wandering into the surroundings hills, today covered in olive groves, apparently an ingenious and domineering people, suffering certain hunger and acid jealousy. Viewed thus, Conímbriga must have been an islet of advanced civilisation surrounded by a sea of a drowning people. Possibly the traveller may be committing a grave injury to the person whom this same civilisation finished by rooting here, but this is the only explanation to be found for the sense of unease that always overwhelms him when confronted by Rome and all its works, and inexorably returns to prey upon him here in Conímbriga. It has to be said that, come what may, Conímbriga's ruins have a subtle monumentality which gradually impresses itself upon our consciousness, not even the bulky mass of the city walls can disturb the particular ambience of the place. In fact, ruins have a whole aesthetic of their own. Intact, Conímbriga would be beautiful. Reduced to what we see of her today, this beauty has adapted itself to necessity, The traveller doesn't believe that anything better could have happened to these stones, to these wonderful mosaics, than that they should intermittently still be covered and so conserved by the sand.

(...)
In Portugal there's a lot of talk of the Romanesque, Manueline and Baroque styles. We discuss the Renaissance less. Perhaps this is because it all arrived from abroad, perhaps because it had no national development on our soil. Such subtleties are of little interest in Montemor-o-Velho: what we have before us, here in the Chapel of the Deposition, there in that of the Annunciation, are Renaissance masterpieces which would be hailed as such in Italy, birthplace of the Renaissance. And talking of Italy, the traveller thinks ironically of how, had the Italians a church like this they'd guard it like gold, maintain it in tip-top condition, while the Portuguese would travel to it from far and near, lamenting that something so rare should belong to a foreign country. (...)

Coimbra Climbs, Coimbra Falls

(...) Had the traveller time, he'd seek out the plain, ordinary Coimbra, ignoring the university at its summit, and visit the houses along the Couraça de Lisboa, potter along the little streets leading to them and, by talking with the people, overcome the unthinking defensiveness of those who assume a mask over their normal features.

But the traveller hasn't come here to join in such risky posturings. He's merely a traveller, a man passing through, a man who, in passing, looks and in that rapid passing and looking which cannot but be superficial, is bound to find among his memories signs of currents beneath the surface. These may also be risky, but err more on the side of intuition. This is Coimbra University from which Portugal has derived much of benefit, but equally where something unpleasant is going on. The traveller isn't going to go inside, he'll remain in ignorance of what the Sala dos Actos Grandes looks like, or the interior of the Capela de San Miguel. Sometimes the traveller is a timid man. Seeing himself there, in the Patio das Escolas, surrounded on all sides by Sciences, he doesn't dare go and knock on doors, begging for a syllogism as for alms, or for a safe conduct to the Registry. Such cowardice confirms his deep conviction that the university is not synonymous with Coimbra, and so he confines himself to a turn about the Patio das Escolas, with little appetite for the statues of Justice and Fortitude which Laprade mounted in the Via Latina, somewhat greater satisfaction as he stands before the Manueline entrance to the Capela de San Miguel; and, having entered through the Porta Ferrea, he decides to leave by the same door. He departs routed, vanquished, disappointed in himself for having dared so little, a traveller who'd walked over mountains and valleys, yet here, in this seat of wisdom, he circles the outside walls as if hiding from wolves. (...)

Assuming the traveller enjoys the Romanesque as much as he says he does, he can find more than enough satisfaction in the Old Cathedral since, by general consensus, this is the loveliest building in that style in all Portugal. So it is. The traveller is brought up short by the strength and robustness of its basic components and the beauty of elements added over succeeding centuries, like the Porta Especiosa, while, on entering, he was struck by the solid enormity of its pillars, the vaulting of the high dome over its central nave. He recognises he is within a logical, complete construction, without a blemish on its essential geometry. Beauty has found its home. (...)»