Portugal 4 - Óbidos - a little town that stirs the imagination

 Perched on a hilltop, Obidos's castle is an imposing sight as I struggle up from the bus stop. You expect a dragon to appear at any moment

The third place in my heart in Portugal goes to Óbidos, a quaint village still surrounded by a mediaeval city wall. Óbidos bills itself as “a land that chooses books and literature as its flag and is itself a best seller” and I would raise a (tiny) cup of cherry liqueur to that.

In 2015 Óbidos (pop. 11,617) was chosen by UNESCO as its 51^st International Book City and was now right in the middle of its Folio Festival which runs for 11 days in October. During this time national and international authors, illustrators, musicians, poets and painters come to give presentations and workshops and mix and mingle with the masses. There are also concerts, exhibitions and cultural activities involving schools and community groups.

The fact that it’s officially only an hour or so from Lisbon by car, as well as being a very attractive place in its own right, ensured that it was well patronised, but it took a lot longer by bus, especially today. This was because there was an interminably long marathon being run in Campo Grande and the road between myself and the bus stop was closed while something like 6,000 runners went by. This meant that I didn’t get to Óbidos until after 3 and had missed many of the activities, but there was still much to love.   

Inside the wall

 For booklovers there are plenty of bookshops and book -themed places and everyone can enjoy Óbidos’ pleasant ambience. There are bookshops in a former church for example, in a wine cellar and in a former fire station, but also in a fruit and vegetable market. One hotel – another former nunnery, is dedicated entirely to books and literature and even a sardine shop is packed to the rafters with books. Other forms of creativity flourish in tiny craft shops and galleries, in open air exhibitions and market stalls. 

It's a perfect day. There was a cartoon exhibition and a gaggle of market stalls in the forecourt when I arrived and violin music could be heard emanating from the high vaulted archway you walk through to enter the town. Inside, Óbidos's narrow lanes were packed with people and the modest houses with their terracotta roofs looked even smaller, dwarfed as they were by the castle walls. Apart from the castle, only the churches are big, and at least one of those has been repurposed. 

"Main Street" Obidos

 

I allowed myself to be carried along by the crowd, stopping to browse in little galleries and shops and sampling Ginja, the local cherry liqueur served in small chocolate cases, or going on to climb the castle walls. Knights and Explorers featured strongly, as did fair maidens, who could pick up the odd tiara or silken cloak before beginning their assault on the castle.

Ginja for which the region is famous, is like drinking Black Forest cake out of a tiny cup

One of many little craft shops and galleries which line the narrow streets

Swords for little Knights....

... and bigger ones too. The Age of Chivalry lives on Obidos

Explorers are catered for too

Not a library or a bookshop. It's another sardine shop!

By the time I had progressed that far, I was getting hungry, so I joined the big queue outside one of the little eateries. I take that as a sign of quality. At the more formal establishments, there were no queues. The young ladies just ask you discreetly if you've booked and the prices are eye -watering. 

There’s a funny thing in Portugal, and I’ve noticed it in Lisbon and Aveiro too. People will queue for hours for a seat in the more desirable places, but once they secure a table, they are impossible to move, no matter how many people queue up outside. Inside the one I was waiting for, a lone guest was sitting with an empty glass in front of him and reading a book. I idly wondered if he was a visiting writer and whether I should ask him if I could sit at the empty seat opposite. However, it felt like I was committing some kind of thought crime to even be contemplating such a move, so I resigned myself to guessing how many pages he still had to go. He was still there when I left.

The backstreets are a little quieter and full of colour and charm

By the time I'd eaten my three fifty cent size pieces steak off a piece of slate, I only had time to do a quick lap of the stalls before having to line up for the bus back to Lisbon. I would love to have lingered longer if it weren't for the fact that I had to fly out the next day.