Barão São João – Windmills, Statues and Poetry

 

The walk started, ended and skirted around Barão São João, walking past wind-turbines, stone carvings, statues and poetry; so plenty of culture along the way.

We met in the bohemian village of Barão São João outside the café Tasquinha da Glória and gathered for the customary photograph.

Back Tony, Ken, Sue, Bruce, Tim, Julie, David, Margaret, Geoff, Terry, Steve, Ros,

Front: Linda, Toby, Bica, Miriam, Alan

We set off on a road which soon became a track and passed a donkey.

The first puzzle to resolve was where to put the person with the map and locator on her phone.  Logically she should go at the front, but she is a slow walker, so she ended up near the back. 

The problem with this became apparent almost straight away.  Steve was chatting away with the group ahead and decided to fork right instead of forking left, so half the group had to be called back. 

 
 To be fair, the bamboo with the red wool marker had been chopped down.  Then Margaret started talking and missed the red wool marker indicating to turn right.  Fortunately Bruce was behind and called us back. 

After that the route was straight forward.  A gentle climb up the hill, past the various illegal hippy settlements and some artwork to the top where the wind turbines were.

  Unfortunately the wild boar were much shyer than the previous Friday so none were seen today.  The next puzzle was “The Mystery of the Missing Water Pipe”.  During the recce all three of us had seen a man with a dog and several tanks that he was filling with water from a pipe in the ground.  When we reached this place, the pipe was nowhere to be seen.  Profuse apologies to the dogs who were expecting some water at this point.

The route took us along the ridge were there were some lovely views.  Unfortunately is was a hazy day so the view of the sea did not show the sea.  The AWW tradition that the youngest person had to climb the highest trig point was dropped.  We were not allowed to climb the wind turbine that is the trig point marked as “Substação PE Barão São João” on the map. 

We then started to walk downhill following the red wool markers.  (Next time they will be yellow ribbons).

When we reached the outskirts of the village, where a painting of a man and a painting of a woman guard the entrance to the path. 

The women stood with the man.

and the men were taken with the woman. 

 Terry was so popular he joined both groups. 

We skirted around the north of the village then up the steep hill past the hugging trees,

to where the statues were. 

It is advisable to walk up this hill very slowly for two reasons; it is very steep and there are plenty of statues to look at on the way up.  Not only Alan was busy taking photographs.   Here is just a small sample of them.

There was also a pond on the left, much welcomed by the dogs.  When we reached a decision point, a straw poll was taken to decide whether we took the shorter, rougher path to the left or carried straight on. 

 The overwhelming majority were in favour of turning left down and up the rough track.

and reached the much-needed picnic area, where there were toilets, water taps, picnic tables, a barbecue and children’s slides, but we didn’t use the barbecue or the slides.  

After a very enjoyable lunch in the shade and both people and dogs had rested, we then took the Passeio dos Poetas (the poets’ way). 

 

This is called the Poets’ Way because of the poems carved on the stones on the way down.  The culture vultures stopped and tried to translate them while the others walked ahead.

Trazer a tona sem suspirar a vestigem inebria da luz

Bringing out the intoxicating vestige of light without sighing

 

Na débil melancolia do fim de tarde o sol que entre os ramos adormece perde luz para a luz da saudade essoutro sol que semalarde ao lece raiada luz que arde e não fenece.

In the faint melancholy of the afternoon, the sun that dwells among the branches loses its light to the light of nostalgia, that other sun that burns brightly in the afternoon light, that burns and does not fade.

 

Minha alfarrobara estao plantada espera-me a um passado a cena alabadas  em cimzas em redemoinhos da ar outro dado das vestimas da apa primitivas sem a rustica primitiva do meu sangue

My carob tree is planted and awaits me in the past; a dinner of carobs; in the swirls of air, given from primitive epicure without the primitive rusticity of my blood.

The culture vultures caught up with the others at a cross-roads.  The choice was to follow the proper footpath and take about an hour and a half, or turn left, sign-posted with a cross, taking about half an hour.  It was decided to turn left down the steep hill, which thankfully none of the walkers found too difficult.  The path was an easy walk to the centre of the village where drinks were awaiting us at the Tasquinha da Glória, courtesy of Julie.

Many Thanks to Alan for his excellent photographs.

Length:  Some debate. Let’s settle on 15.6km

Height:  390m