In the words of Nobel laureate José Saramago, “Évora is mainly a state of mind.’’ He could have written that for Reis, a high school professor who for the sheer love of his city guides visitors part time. My first minutes with him in Giraldo Square offered a glimpse of the mindset:
“Can you believe,’’ Reis said, rolling his eyes skyward, “McDonald’s lobbied the town fathers to put their restaurant here.’’ No elaboration was needed as we stood amid a scholar-king’s palace, a Renaissance fountain, and Moorish arcades. But he added, “They opened in an industrial park outside the city instead. It’s very popular.’’
Such, according to Saramago, is the way in Évora: “To hold onto the thread of history, and grasping it firmly, to walk boldly toward the future.’’
But which thread to hold? Hours with Reis traced Roman walls weaving like a Christo installation among shops and cafe tables; alleys where a Moorish moat once stood; chapels like that of the ancient Esporão family in the Cathedral of Évora, lavished with fortunes of gold leaf (their descendants produce popular wines); and the Capela dos Ossos (Chapel of Bones) of St. Francis Church, with skulls, femurs, and all. (The inscription above the entrance, “We bones in here wait for yours,’’ was meant as a sober reminder to Évora’s 15th-century residents during a golden age of excess.)
To awaken in a bed-and-breakfast whose owners trace their nobility to King Manuel I (1469-1521), or to sip wine in a medieval cistern, is to rethink one’s place in the world.
“Why do they call it Vasco da Gama,’’ I asked as we turned onto a street of that name.
