We’re still learning things. Our usual – getting to a site late in the day, is over-ruled. Brings us a welcome bonus.
It’s so easy to miss golden gems. We must have sailed past thousands by now. Beastie blinkered. Eyes focused on the next destination. Neither looking left nor right. Today we change all that. Arrive just after lunchtime at this ‘in town’ municipal site. We have the afternoon to go walkabout. See what’s on offer in Castro Verde.
It’s centred in the middle of expanses of farmland. A Salisbury Plain and more hugs every horizon. Like it’s very life depends on it. And of course it does.
Strutting proudly above the centre’s rooftops, this early twentieth century farmhouse quite a spectacle. Visions of grandeur. A grander lifestyle than the farm workers no doubt.
We pass by when it’s having its outside loo refurbished. Bit of a chilly walk at 3am we imagine.
Through the narrow streets we catch site of a windmill preparing for take off. As we approach we can hear it’s mournful moaning. Its canvas, catching and converting the invisible rush.
We get treated to a glimpse of the past. Invited in and up. A silent language of give and take in progress. Neither party privy to the others. Kindly expressions demonstrate. Words not necessary. Just as well. It’s noisy.
