Opening the bedroom window in the morning, the mist rose slowly from the cold waters of the dam; Aquilino knew that land better than anyone: hard earth, stone and life, stiffening bodies and souls. A land where, with serrated teeth, it speaks of mushrooms, nuts and, going north, of the Douro.After a breakfast reinforced with cheese, ham, homemade jams, I went on my way to Lapa.At
the top of Sernancelhe, a shrine dating back to the 15th century, built
from rock to rock, protects the image of the Virgin Mary, dating from
the 9th century. Legend has it that a girl changes, entering a cave, found the image hidden by nuns, five centuries before. Her devotion was such that the Virgin gave her the gift of speech.A building covers the cave, houses the image and a crocodile. Yes, a crocodile! Then came other constructions, such as a college. On Sundays the sale of regional products is reason for pilgrimage.Legends live in that region and I swear that the secrets I have there are past; Legends or not.After the source of the three spouts and seeing the source of the Vouga River, the path of childhood continued: Penedono.On the narrow road, still before the Beselga, looking up, one can already see the slender castle.Dated from Sec. X, disputed by Christians and Muslims, it was later
used by D. Sancho I to proceed to the repopulation of the region, at the
border, through Foral.From shale and granite, naked, with the eccentric form of trapeze and
with pyramidal battlements, high in the medieval village, one can see
the immensity of the Demarcated Lands and the Corga, for my gift.From Penedono the destination went north, to Pesqueira.Old people, sidelong glances at strangers but the natural sympathy that comes with the first good day.After the repast, it was time to go to the Alto Douro Vinhateiro, down to Pinhão.From
the iron bridge, so characteristic in our landscape after the
industrial revolution, we see the Douro and Pinhão embrace each other: a
strong and a weaker one but always together, maintaining a perfect
balance and harmony with the small village of the Séc XIX.With the sun going down and the journey coming to an end, it was time
to travel the beautiful N222 to Régua, in the heart of Port Wine.Two days in Beira Alta, taking advantage of a weekend and bridge before the holiday. Two days back to childhood and childhood. Two days that could have been a dream if I hadn`t lived it.