An Albuquerque statue in Porto? How could we resist? We weren’t sure whether it was the seafaring Albuquerque who bullied his way into India and points east, but according to our Google map the “Albuquerque Statue” was in the middle of a park making up a roundabout near a graveyard Ella wanted to visit. So uphill to the Jardim surrounding the Palacio, then uphill some more, stopping for coffee and mini-pastries along the way.
I was expecting the usual fifty foot column with the usual warrior in the usual heroic stance, but when we were a few blocks away from the roundabout I could tell from the top of the gigantic 150 ft monument that there was a massive stone lion mauling what looked like a limp bird.
We were in for some major symbolism. And it had nothing to do with Albuquerque; it was the roundabout, not the statue, that was named after Joachim Augusto Mouzinho de Albuquerque who fought in Africa in the 19th Century (keeping up the colonizing cutthroat Albuquerque brand).
The monument had the patriotic thrust of a Delacroix painting carved in stone, only, with no apologies to the French, it was celebrating the defeat of Napoleonic forces during the Peninsular War of 1809-13.
The lion stood for the combined England-Portuguese effort (where Wellington learned his chops). The eagle summarized the Portuguese feeling towards the French.
Do the French care when they visit? Take a look at these French couples riding on the river boat with us.
No, of course not; the French care only about love.
Speaking of love, how about a visit to a graveyard? Ella’s into cemeteries. I was intrigued by the American Cemetery in Rome, and the mausoleums in New Orleans, but catacombs are more my style—more skulls, less religious frou-frou.
Anyway, after a brief look at the canted stone of a modern concert hall (complete with skateboarding hump)across from the monument to the mauling lion,
we entered the Cementario de Agramonte. With avenues of tombs laid out in a grid like a city for the dead it would have made a nice set for a vampire movie (the paths were perfect for dolly shots). I’m sure a portion of the people in the SRO tombs are missed, but I couldn’t help thinking that they would make dandy homeless shelters.
Another splendidly sunny day, so why not a boat ride up and down the River Douro? Oh, sure, there are landmarks on either bank, custom houses, docks, and fisheries, but keep going captain, don’t stop at the Atlantic. The water is smooth, the breeze invigorating, the ease of our flow empowering. Next stop Africa, India, Malaysia!
Wait—why are we turning back? We haven’t even plundered yet; we’re low on goods. No spices! I don’t think we’re going to be invited to Dom Whoever’s Royal Court this year. I think one of those cliff side monasteries hulking over the water is beckoning…
After all that, Ella needed…
