Obidos

Obidos is stunning for sure. It’s a destination for historians and scholars, poets and painters. It’s a destination for all who visit long enough to sharpen their minds or enrich their souls.

But there are many who make their livings within its walls. Raise their families outside them. Bury their loved ones nearby.

Some were born here, left for Lisbon and beyond, only to return. Some have never left at all. Still others have arrived late in life and for the first time, seeking to escape the weather, the economy, a past life. Like the couple I met this morning from New Jersey.

Obidos is more than a relic, a museum, or a stopping place between Lisbon and Porto. It’s a place of people, present and past . . .

Like the proprietor,

the waiter,

the vendor,

the merchant,

the artisan,

the librarian,

the stone layer,

the chef,

the barista,

the baker,

the book seller,

the Nobel Prize winner,

the supplicant,

the Queen.

The dead too.

Obidos is a place where women sing in the street,

and tug at your heart strings.

Where young people kick up their heels

and amaze.