The Train to Obidos

We met a young woman on our morning walk. “I believe she’s Dutch,” Pa whispered.

It’s interesting how Pa communicates. I recently watched a British spy film. The secret agent stayed in contact with Control with the aid of a receiver hidden deep in his ear canal. It’s like that.

Pa was right. Marga, a recent Harvard graduate, will soon return to Amsterdam to begin her new life as an urban planner. In the distance of a block or two, she shared her passion for the proper design of city streets:

“Streets are outdoor rooms. They need edges to hold them. They need the texture of trees, fences, gates, walls, windows and doors. They need to be read and understood by people walking through those rooms.”

As we parted company, Marga encouraged us to visit Obidos: “It’s a perfect example of a town whose streets are outdoor rooms,” she said.

And just like that, we changed our plans.

Returning to our room, we Googled Obidos, studied our map of Portugal, and the train schedule from Sintra to Porto. By noon we were on our way.

I love trains. My father was a railroad man. I rode on an engine almost as early as I rode a bike. After high school, I worked on the rails that transported them. After college I rode in boxcars that rode the rails.

The trains in Portugal look considerably different from those of my youth,

but the experience is the same - the sound of metal on metal, the rocking back and forth, the spaciousness, the view, the ease of movement. Pa’s experience was different. His father was a coal miner. And as a lawyer, Pa rarely left town and either walked or took the trolley car to the office. Nevertheless, he took great pleasure in our journey.

We passed vineyards and wind turbines.

Stations abandoned and not.

Villages, towns and ball fields.

The time went quickly and in less than two hours we’d arrived, the awaiting station unoccupied and in the middle of nowhere.

We’d failed to consider that Obidos was a thriving community long before trains arrived. And, built on a hill, access by rail was never considered.

But the walk was pleasant and by the time we’d reached cafe os filipes at the base of the fortified town,

we were in the best of spirits.