Portugal Day 11
Monday, April 27th, 2026The cold I was incubating erupted during our first night in the Guest House and I spent most of it sitting on the floor in the bathroom where I ran the hot shower for steam to moisten the cough racking my chest.
The morning light, coffee and breakfast restored enough energy to walk back across the river and visit the Santa Cruz Cathedral adjoined by the Café. This was where the first two kings of Portugal were buried in Baroque splendor.
I sat and stared at a crucifix from whose agonized torso a golden sunburst emerged, hoping that some analogous joy could emerge from my lungs.
It seemed to work, because I dozed off and woke up feeling fine as we wandered up through an arch leading toward the university,
passed through two more arches
and emerged into a plaza packed with ebullient young people who had just completed a run high on endorphins.
Their energy seemed to pass into me and provided Jan with some of the fortitude to keep going uphill through the narrow streets.
At a terrace overlooking the river we boarded the small green city bus that switchbacked through the Botanical Gardens to the University buildings at the top.
Rather than taking the three hour tour, which included a visit to the famous library, we stayed on the bus back down to our hotel and a nap.
I was awakened by the sound of choral singing in the street just outside the window. I opened the shutters and saw people dressed in white parading up the hill behind us. We went outside and got swept up in the crowd following the singers, clueless but eager to find out what was happening.
The climb was rigorous but like the energy of the runners earlier, helped elevate us up the hill. A pair of undergraduate monitors with bullhorns told us that this was a procession marking the opening of the Coimbra Biennale, a huge artistic event lasting for several months that would take place in the buildings at the top.
As the crowd assembled there, the singers concluded their rendition, not of a church anthem but of the famous chorus of slaves from a Verdi opera.
That led to a long sequence of speeches by elected officials, corporate sponsors and the event organizers. I walked up to a sympathetic looking man to ask more about what was happening and he gave me an English version of the thick program.
Screenshot
The theme was “To hold, to receive, to Give,” close to the theme of mutuality and the gift economy expressed in The Serviceberry, the book by Robin Wall Kimmerer, we would be discussing next week at our second meeting of the Agrarian Spirit Book Club.
Jan and I sat on a high wall, happy to get off our feet and enjoy the view across the river in the late afternoon light.
Once the doors of the immense edifice opened, people crowded inside to view the installations. Most made use of its huge dark ruined spaces to create effects of fear and dread.
We walked through a number of them, intrigued by the venue and its potential for powerful presentations, but engaged by none of them, yet still thrilled by the occasion and the place.
