welcome to emmas housethought

volfrâmio: portugal in ww2

I’ve been obsessively curious about these small doors in the rock face that seem to be especially common around here.  Some are very discreet, and when I once asked a neighbour he teased me by saying “It’s private”. “Secret?” I asked, “Yes, secret things” of course, came the answer.

From someone else I heard that all these little holes in walls were hiding spots for the tungsten that farmers dug from their land during the Second World War, to sell to the Germans. WW2? Now I was fully sucked in.

Despite Salazar’s Estado Novo having much in common with the 1930’s dictatorships of Italy and Germany, Portugal was bound by a 500 year old alliance with Britain and was somehow able (unified with fascist Spain) to remain neutral. Salazar apparently didn’t like Hitler anyway. This doesn’t mean Portugal missed the war, of course, but instead played a discreet double hand with both sides. During the war, Portugal was a place of intrigue: of espionage, of refuge for the rich and escape for the Jews, and of favours played out to keep both the Axis and the Allies appeased. And Salazar was paid in gold.


Whether or not the large deposits of wolframite ore that Portugal had had anything to do with the negotiations for neutrality can be debated. In any case, the Germans needed to secure a supply of tungsten (which comes from wolframite or scheelite ore) for use in the manufacture of weapons.

Tungsten, today most commonly used in the filament of light bulbs and halogen lighting, was then a vital component to strengthen alloys (metal combinations) and made armaments more heat resistant.


Salazar granted concessions to both the English and the Germans for several mines in the Alentejo, the Beira Alto and around Castelo Branco in the East. Thus began Portugal’s Black Gold rush. High unemployment and a depressed rural economy provoked thousands and thousands of young people, farmers and entrepreneurial types to leave their homes for the mines.


Firstly, the Germans and English provided fairly paid employment for miners, people (normally women) to wash the ore and in the processing factories. They were accommodated and fed. But perhaps more exciting was the widespread illegal mines run by freelance prospectors and by local landowners. The finds by these prospectors were sold to the Germans, or to the English, via intermediaries. There was also a side-industry of forgery.


And fortunes were being made! Even just having a job in the mines, a worker might earn the rough equivalent of €5 a day, and while not extravagant, it did have a lot more buying power in 1942 than it does today. It was highly preferable to the misery of ration tickets, and for some, a weeks’ wages was more money than they had ever seen. The bigger bucks was made by individual prospectors. Stories of men rolling cigarettes with 100$00 notes, using taxis and hired cars, illiterate men sporting parker pens in their breast pockets, of stays in luxury hotels with prostitutes, and fables of villagers trying to buy trains, or even whole railways emerged. The train story still circulates today, apparently much to the embarrassment of the current residents of the village.


In reality, a new sector of country people could afford to educate their children, build houses and see a doctor. The search for tungsten and the promise of riches lifted the spirits and gave hope to the disadvantaged rural communities of 1940’s Portugal.

As the war wore on, the price of tungsten began to drop and by 1944 Salazar had began to tire of German gold and to favour the Allies. The British motive had always been to deprive the Germans of as much tungsten as possible, and now they had began a more precise campaign to disrupt mining. On their side was that the towns had begun to fill with sick men and young widows in black. Frequent accidents and the ubiquitous health problems of the miners tinged the vibrant reputation of the mines. But there had been an environmental impact as well. Rivers full of dead fish and contaminated drinking water directly contributed to the local people’s resentment of the continued German presence. The British capitalised on this by encouraging dissent which even led to minor skirmishes at some mines. With the war turning in favour the Allies, Churchill finally convinced Salazar to kick the Germans out.


So today, all that remains are some strange little villages with ruins of large factories and company housing. In Arouce, one the main centres of tungsten mining, there is an unexpected aura of wealth in the town planning, but we saw no obvious sign of mansions, art deco style theatres or grand hotels. Only the stories live on. But they have nothing to do with the little doors in the walls.

building update

I’m sure most of you have forgotten by now that this is a blog about building a house. I myself have wanted to forget that this is a blog about building a house. But this has all changed this week. I’m back on the case.


The story so far in brief:

Way back in 2007 I saw this house and wanted to be sure my plans for it would be accepted by council before I bought it. So I hooked up with a builder (we shall call him Fatface) and an architect (let’s call him Moron) and they together, via reams of bullshit, took 9 months to put a projecto de architectura together. Meanwhile I learnt Portuguese and subsequently discovered that the delay was due to Fatface telling Moron that I wasn’t going to pay. So I got on a plane the next day with the cash and knocked on the architect’s door. The project was finished that afternoon.


The council approved the project and I bought the house. I found a new architect and a new engineer for the projecto de especialidades. The engineer said the project[1] would take two weeks and I said pigs might fly. In two weeks we submitted the project and in about four months it was approved.

Meanwhile I had been cleaning up, digging holes, removing an oven in preparation for the build. I auditioned 8 builders for the job. Only one had any idea of the house I wanted to build, as I had picked them off a site in an aldeia do xisto in the Serra da Lousã and that’s exactly the style of my place. But they would have travel time of at least an hour each way, and for this wanted to charge a premium. Fair enough. I waited, I researched, I shopped around some more.


Some of the builders really made me laugh. When I explained I wanted to use meia- canudos for the roof, one showed me a straight 100 yr old tiles-on-battens example as in a shed. Believe me, I know the Portuguese for rockwool, ceiling, water barrier and even pumpkin: but maybe he didn’t. I’d take a look at jobs they’d done in stone and shout quel horreur! Awful cement mortar/ mismatched stone and styles/ uninsulated/ simply hideous things I saw. Clearly I’m not in the right area for decent builders. I will admit though, I did scoff when someone told me the project was too hard, too complicated for these guys. Mmm.


Then came in the great big ugly global financial crisis and stole half my money. The project was off, or delayed, at least until I knew what would happen next. I started the blog, hoping it might pay some living expenses. It didn’t. A year went by and I applied for a one year extension on the building licence. Still no sign of any money growing on the trees. I waited, procrastinated. I had the money to start the project but not to finish it. Even if I could finish the house there would be no one to buy it because the housing market was a dying duck.


I then applied for another 6 months on the building licence and in December 2010, this expired. This is what I had been dreading. Project death. It had cost in the end about €1500 including flights and hire cars and whatnot. But mostly it cost me in time and energy and heartache.

But when the council decided not to give me another extension (even the last six months was outside the legislation) the camara’s architect and I talked about a renovation. The basic rule of a renovation is that nothing of the outside is altered. The house cannot be enlarged, you can’t change the height, you can’t use any cement structures, you can’t make new openings for windows or doors.


And frankly what a relief. I had been clinging onto the project for dear life, but its weight was pulling me under. Once or twice people had suggested I simplify the design, but I couldn’t see how. The project had to be ripped from my womb first. Now I had to redesign, and it could only get simpler, cheaper, and more fundamental.


Along came Penfold, the surfer, writer, illustrator, philosopher, carpenter, renovator, restorer builder. And sort of a neighbour. As we took the tour through my house of horrors his face showed the same distress of the others who had gone before. Other builders usually mumbled and agreed to send me a quote or something, and some amateur builders criticised this or that, (because criticism makes you smarter, you know). One “builder” mistook a french drain for bathroom plumbing and another, practically in tears, told me the project was too big, because I was so very small.


But at last I was talking to someone who wasn’t overwhelmed by a need to condescend, but instead by the need to construct! Finally someone who could see what I had been trying to do but who could simplify it, under the terms of a renovation, and especially in terms of getting the project finished. He added instead of subtracted.

Brothers and sisters I have seen the light! Like all good ideas, the solution is so obvious that you wonder why you didn’t think of it sooner. This should and could have been a renovation all along. The new plan means that I get to do more of the work myself (good) than would be possible in a building-project.

Let’s look at the plans:

It’s massively simpler than before. All existing stone walls remain. The floors and the roof stay. No more new windows and door openings. So, anyone want to buy 68 windows and doors ripped from a french chateaux?

It’s not the house I dreamt of anymore. I’ve lost a 45m2 living room and a bedroom. It’s no way as luxurious a floor plan as I had – and it will not fetch the same sale price. It probably won’t satisfy its financial reason-to-be. But it’s do-able, and in these tough times, I’m happy just to be motivated again.

[1] An architecture project involves only the physical appearance of the house, as the name suggests. The specialised project covers the plans for water and sanitation, gas, electricity, the structure, roof, thermal & acoustics plus any additional things like solar, universal access, grey water systems, sprinkler systems,  etc.

the palaces of sintra

Our mission: to visit as many of the Palácios of Sintra in 24 hours as humanly possible. There was a flight to catch at the end. We were cramming. Naturally there were conditions: I had to keep my sister fed and tea-ed up along the way, and keep her in a good mood.


We were initially thwarted by the rain and a disruption in the space-time continuum that made it take four hours to drive down instead of the usual two. When we finally arrived in Sintra Vila, the President got in our way. I thought it was rather busy, even for a Sunday, and then the Cavaco Silva flags started appearing. Thousands of PSP supporters, aka Tories, Liberals & Republicans had taken all the parking spaces. It was all too stressful. We ordered a pot of tea at the nearest place. His Presidentialness came, saw, did a 20 second soundbite and then it was all clear and a green light for us to launch the mission.

We started, as you do, with our mantra, A Quick Tour is a Good Tour. Fortunately the wind was on our backs; the first Palácio was closing in 45 minutes. Recommended tour time 1.5 hours. Perfect.


#1. Palácio Nacional de Sintra.

Hiding behind its comparatively boring facade are some fabulous azulejos, brilliant ceilings and nice birdy decoration. The kitchen is good too.



The story is that this palace’s foundations date back to the 10th century Moorish occupation. Portugal’s first King, Afonso I, took over the palace in the 12th c. and did some remodelling. In the 12th-13th c. it was remodelled again by King Dom Dinis and then again by João I in the 15th c., whose work is most of what you can see today. João takes credit for our favourite room, with its magpie decorated ceiling. Later in the 15th and into the 16th c. it was renovated again by Manuel I who was loaded with funds from the Age of Discoveries. Fortunately this was a man with money and taste. They even named an architectural style after him.


So far the palace has Gothic, Mudejar (Arabic) and now the curly, feminine and hyper-decorative Manueline architectural style.


During this medieval period the palace was used as a hunting lodge, a summer house and as a haven from the plagues of Lisbon. In 1775 it had to be fully restored after the massive earthquake. Sintra hit another fashionable period in the 19th century and the palace was again more frequented by royalty. After the 1910 fall of the monarchy, it was again redecorated and restored and became a museum and national monument in 1940. It has world heritage listing.



Night was upon us, so after a smashing dinner at the Cantinho do São Pedro, we went to a nameless bar that served beers topped up with brandy and then onto safari-disco-nights club where we drank several margaritas and did the bus-stop with an Argentinian football team. Someone invited us to a party at the Argentine Embassy which had a swing orchestra and champagne served by butlers wearing tangerine-coloured tuxedos. The white truffle and turtle-dove canapés were terrific, but we couldn’t stay long as the sun was rising and we needed a little kip before getting back on the job as soon as the palaces opened.

Day two. The pressure was on. Three more palaces. We donned our gucci sunglasses and headed out into what was to be a truly glamorous day.


#2. Palácio do Monserrate

This former private home was built in 1858 by an Englishman with tonnes of dough and no shortage of imagination and style. The architectural style is Mughal (best known example of Murgwaline architecture is none other than the Taj Mahal). It’s surprising how at home it looks in Portugal, what with its similarity to Moorish design and Portugal’s connection to India. On the other hand, it is a house like no other I’ve ever seen. It is utterly extraordinary.

palacio do monserrate-3

Sir Francis Cook (at the time the third richest man in Britain) was a art collector and a keen gardener and his house is surrounded by a magnificent, exotic, 30 hectare garden. This park contains plants from all over the world, including Australia, which surely must have been added later than the original plantings before Cook bought the place.


Monserrate Palace is undergoing restoration. It was privately owned by the family of Cook until the 20th c. when it was bought by a developer who intended to split up the land and sell it piecemeal. In a momentary flash of enlightenment the government of Mr António Salazar decided it would be worth saving it as state property, and then promptly forgot about it for forty years. I believe the entire house could be visited by appointment before these restorations began (probably to help fund what must be a gazillion euro project), but only the ground floor was available for us. I can’t wait to see the whole thing finished, it will be phenomenal.


Mid morning now, time for tea. There is an excellent tea room in the gardens, with real tea and scrumptious little cakey business on the side. We needed it.

#3. Palácio Nacional da Pena

palacio nacional da penapalacio-pena-5

Disney meets the royal family. This palace is so much fun that I nearly always take visitors here. I love it. The royals, Ferdinand and Maria helped design it and they must have had a sense of humour. As modern as Monserrate, this summer palace was built c1850. Apparently they employed an amateur architect from Germany, and certainly it has the whimsy of the fairytale castles of Bavaria.


The style is called Romanticism which is really just a bit of this and that from everything gone before. It’s eclectic. It’s high camp.


The strange thing about Pena is the interior. Ornate as it is, with neo-baroque painted marble pillars, manueline stonework, trompe l’oeils and prettiness galore, there is barely enough room to swing a cat. You’d think it was built for hobbits. Low ceilings, corridors that have no where to go but to pass through bedrooms and servant’s quarters, offices no bigger than broom cupboards. It’s a royal doll’s house.


Pena is built very high in the hills of Sintra. Indeed on our visit it was in the clouds. With rain. No we didn’t see the gardens. Yes we took the stupid little trolley car. The fog was a photographic handicap, so I’ve included pics from a sunnier trip.

It was time for tea again. I recall that the cafe at Pena was forgettable. Que pena!

#4. Palácio de Queluz

Yes, we’re on the home straight now. We are storming through these palaces like Arnie through the jungle.

Queluz is not in Sintra, actually, it’s about halfway to Lisbon. Described as the Versailles of Portugal I expected a likeness similar to the way Aveiro is to Venice. For those who haven’t been to Venice, that is. Not simliar.

Obviously large from the outside and suitably pink, my jaded third-palace-of-the-day eyes, began to sparkle with curiosity. On entering the first room, I had to eat my words.


Of course it’s no where near the size of Versailles but the palace of Queluz is gorgeous. French rococco indeed. Mainly built in the 1750’s by Prince Dom Pedro and niece/wife/Queen Maria I who was Portugal’s first Queen, inheriting the monarchy from her father King José I. The project had been started by King João V, Dom Pedro’s father, so it basically belonged to Pedro although it was also in part inheritated by João’s successor José. Queluz continued its construction during his reign, but after the Lisbon earthquake José suffered from claustrophobia and moved the royal family to live in tents in Ajuda. He gave the palace to Maria, already married to her uncle 23 years her senior. The marriage was a famously happy one and they had 6 children.


After the death of her husband Maria started to go mad, here in this very palace. Retrospective diagnosis would have her suffering from Porphyria, the same as England’s George III. But in those days she was just plain mad. It would be understandable if she was living at Mafra, built by her grandfather João V, with its Vatican-like vast proportions (impossible to heat) and its vulgar ostentation. But this, Queluz, is delightful. It’s impossible to imagine anyone’s harrowing screams here. The design is so musical that we had to resist the urge to skip and dance through the rooms.


We skipped into the gardens instead and admired their loveliness, especially the Bernini inspired fountain. Every corner of the exterior from the gardens is photographic. But then it started to rain and we found that we were lost. The signs to the exit were both few and obscure. We ran around the gardens screaming and going hither and thither, getting wetter and now needing a little ladies room. After three and a half hours we were finally saved when my sister saw an open door, amongst so many doors, back into the palace.



We were very much in need of a cup of tea then. Unlike Mafra, the rest of Queluz town is rather unfortunate. It’s ugly, and we couldn’t find a half decent cafe. It wasn’t right to end the day like this after such a successful mission. Especially as I’d unwittingly left the best palace ’til last.


Four palaces in 24 hours was enough. I wouldn’t recommend more, even if you have no interest in tea or photography. It just shouldn’t be attempted. You’d get palaced-out. There are more palaces in Sintra to see, however. Next time I’m going to Quinta da Regaleira, and outside Sintra there are even more Royal Palaces. When will it end?

taking the cures: curia

Right out in the middle of nowhere there is this Great Grand Hotel,  newly restored to its former 1920’s glory. By great, I mean huge, and middle of nowhere –  there’s not a beach or a mountain or a swinging casino nearby, only a few other medium sized hotels, less glamourous, but intriguing nonetheless. There’s a train station, hardly used, for they are no houses around.


Build it Big And They Will Come, the architects must have thought. Or else, the Termas da Curia were pulling healthy enough and wealthy enough crowds to warrant such an extravagant hotel as this. Welcome to Curia, the almost forgotton spa-resort town near Mealhada in Central Portugal.


Spas and hot springs have been used since prehistoric times for treatment of ailments via mineral-infused spring waters. The curative properties of natural waters were believed in by the ancient Greeks and Romans and baths continued to be used throughout the middle ages. Only notable is the time (in the western world) when bathing was thought to be unhealthy, for periods during the more religious middle ages and briefly in the mid 19th century. Otherwise we’ve liked a good hot bath, a massage, a steam, a scrub and good clean drink since time immemorial. It’s a global phenomenon too – from the Onsen in Japan to the great baths of Bucharest and the Hammams from Turkey to Morocco.


The modern spa epoch came in the 18th and 19th centuries, when spas were built across Europe in the classical style, following the Roman design. By the 20th century the spa had been thoroughly adopted by the leisurely wealthy and resort style spas included charming recreational sidelines to their quasi-medical regimes. Tennis, fine wines and caviar came alongside some liver cleansing or treating your rheumatism.


Hence, this rather classy megalith of a hotel next to the Termas da Curia. It has its own pool, gorgeous french gardens and plenty of grounds for say a spot of coits after you’ve had your sinuses drained. Smashing.


Today Portuguese people are still sent by their family doctor to the springs to receive treatment. Every spa has a specific remedy and the Termas da Curia’s waters are good for gallstones, so I’m reliably informed by the staff. There were people there young and old, who were on a 7 day course of water massage. What do I have to do to get gallstones, I’d like to know.


I love the Termas’ menu of treatments. Scottish bath, Vichy, Leque, Bertholet; I had to ask what each of them were in detail so I might avoid a colonic irrigation by mistake. Plus I was sending my sister in for a number 8 and had to check for her as well. She was up for a Vichy shower, a massage with water jets. I assured her that given how prudish and traditional the Portuguese are (say, compared to the Swedes) she would most likely have a female masseuse. We had planned to go nude – not in bikinis as in the brochure. Just to prove how much I know, she got a hairy giant of a man, about 50 kilos overweight who grunted as he worked on her shoulders and wore only a tiny modesty towel. It was I who was massaged by the comely nursey professional. Ah.. another adventure in Portugal she won’t forget. My younger-sister credibility goes down the drain again.


citânia de briteiros

You know how I feel about old stones. I can’t keep away. I wanted to visit Citânia de Briteiros since I first came to Portugal as a tourist in… 2006? But after getting rooted in Cú de Judas it just seemed too far away. Braga wasn’t too far though. Go figure.

I always thought Citânia de Briteiros was an early middle ages Celtic settlement but it is nothing of the kind. Part of what makes it interesting is that archaeologists, past and present, don’t really agree on who the people living there were. Plus, despite being studied for more than a century there is still a large amount of mystery and much yet to be discovered.


As many archaeological sites are, Briteiros is beautiful. It helped that we were there in the late afternoon when the soft light and long shadows added to the quietly abandoned atmosphere. For me, what else makes it beautiful is the masonry work on some of the houses; semi square stones of similar size are set on the diagonal in a circular beehive-like way. I’ve never seen that style before. Perhaps it is engineeringly obsolete, but the light granite diamonds look rather pretty.


The story is this. From 1874 Francisco Martins Sarmento began excavating the site every year which led him to buying the land and discovering most of what is now above ground today. He restored some of the walls and recreated two of the round houses (but apparently he wasn’t happy with the results). Francisco was a pioneer of scientific photography in Portugal, so there exists a set of pre-20th century photos. Very cool. As well he left us a topographical study done in 1892, and tonnes of notes and a book, so there’s a good record of what was initially discovered. The site was named a national monument in 1910 – so therefore Francisco’s find was recognised as genuine and historically important.


circular remains of houses in a family compound

During the 1930’s to the 60’s more of the site was excavated and a lot was restored; I’m really dubious about restoring archaeological sites, even if it’s just putting back what was found originally. There are some horrible restorations to ancient ruins in the world. They don’t look right. Like what’s that thing at the base of Conimbriga meant to be?  Was it a forum which now looks more like a basketball court? On the other hand there’s Abu Simbel in Egypt, saved from the dammed waters of the Nile in the 60’s and astonishingly reassembled 65 metres uphill, surely as great a feat as building the colossal thing in the first place.


But I digress. More excavations were made at Citânia de Briteiros in the 1970’s and then more detailed studies were done during 2002-2006. The issue now is how to apply Francisco’s findings with what has since been learnt and with current scientific approaches.

Francisco, for example, was adamant that the Castro Culture, whose persons built and occupied Briteiros, was not of Celtic origin, but current theorists disagree. They believe that this extended tribe were possibly from the first wave of Celtic expansion in Europe around 800 BC and by settling in Portugal became more isolated from other Celts thus forming their own distinctive culture and traditions. It is thought that were about 100 oppida (hill forts) built in Northern Portugal and about 50 have been discovered.


holes for inserting vertical struts?

Each community was completely self-sufficient, not only in terms of food supply but of manufacturing as well. Each of the family compounds at Briteiros included a work shed or shop which might be a iron age forge, or a timber mill, a pottery, or a place where grains from wheat and rye crops were processed into flours. However there is also evidence of trading from as far away as Carthage on the African Mediterranean coast.


broken quern stones for milling cereals

What makes Briteiros distinctive from other hill forts is its size. The population is imagined to be somewhere between 600 and 1500, comprising of 150 families. Archaeological evidence such as jewellery and grooming products suggest there was a wealthy ruling elite. Remarkable too is the presence of a public space where a council may have met. It’s thought that Citânia de Briteiros was one of the longest living hill forts of the Castro Culture. Most oppida of the Castro Culture are thought to have been abandoned by 2nd century AD,  when had been occupied by the Romans and in the end used mostly for religious purposes. Briteiros,  however, was possibly populated up to the 5th Century, well after the Romans have gone and up to the arrival of German barbarians, who came without a war, a rape or a pillage and set us all an example by learning the local language. Despite not apparently being quite as bad as the Romans it looks like everyone ran away and Briteiros was abandoned.


(I have to note, under the subject What Did The Romans Ever Do For Us, that Briteiros has rather notable plumbing. While not every house had a water supply, there was certainly ample public water and exceptionally lovely drainage of the streets. And what about the two bathhouses? Steam rooms fired by underground furnaces, with cold water baths. Sounds pretty Roman to me.)


the large town hall in centre bg, with built in benches for the councillors to sit on

It can’t have been in bad condition when 500 or so years later it was populated again by a middle-aged crew. This bunch added a church and started burials – the Castros had been cremation-oriented and they kept the ashes under the family compound’s walls, or in urns in the front yard.


house with a front courtyard

That’s sort of the end of the Briteiros story. Now for question time. While on our tour, my fellow archaeologist/geologists and I (The One, Tiny Art Director) disagreed on several aspects on the site. How high were the walls originally? – Francisco has the reconstructed walls at about two metres high, and that seems wrong. There are Celtic dwellings with little 1 metre high walls (and less) and many round houses (a worldwide phenomenon from Mongolia to Central Africa, Australia & Scotland) have foot-high walls in stone with the upper part in clay or wattle & daub.


Why are most of the wall heights level? If the walls were two metres high then surely the existing wall heights would vary, now that they are less than a metre. I put forward that ruined sites are a excellent source of stone for builder hunter-gatherers or thieves as they are known today. Perhaps they were tidy, responsible thieves who took a course from each of the walls, leaving the next course completely intact and even. But then again this site was excavated, so therefore much of the walls must have been underground… maybe the site (underground) was levelled to the tops of most of the walls and any stones poking above-ground were rolled downhill/ pinched / offloaded off-site by the medieval JCB. Also, these houses are really tiny, barely enough room for two beds, really, these people could have done with some interior design help. I’m guessing proto-historic cooking took up heaps of space so was one shed of the family compound devoted to cooking and not to the grandparents or the horses?


If you know the answers
or have a Briteiros anecdote,
or can correct me on something
or have questions of your own
go ahead and put it in the comments.
I’d be much obliged.


Our questions may have been answered if we hadn’t stupidly forgotten to go to the Francisco Martins Sarmento Museum, where all the little trinkets, iron spear heads and engraved stone pieces are kept. And it probably would have saved me months of research afterwards. Oh well, sometimes the call of cake is just too strong, or maybe there were other pressing matters on our itinerary. Like Guimarães, for instance. Like the Pousada-Mosteiro de Santa Marinha da Costa and the Monte de Penha of Guimarães too. You’ll have to read the next posts for explanation of these glories.

Portugal is so full of lovely things to discover. It’s hard, but someone‘s got to do it. 😉


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