It is partly this which is driving our current desire to explore more of what is on our own doorstep and hence a recent 20 minute trip to Tagilde - so that at least we could say we'd been there. To be honest, there isn't much more to Tagilde than being able to say 'Been there. Done that.' (They don't do the t-shirts, it seems). If the name 'Tagilde' doesn't ring any bells, does the Treaty of Windsor of 1386? The world's longest surviving alliance is between England and Portugal and it is enshrined in the Treaty of Windsor which was, in fact, a ratification of two earlier treaties, the first of these being signed in the monastery of São Salvador of Tagilde in 1372.

Modest

There is a modest stone plaque to mark this auspicious event in the village square. Whatever one might think about the unbroken alliance between England and Portugal (and just how unbroken or equitable it really has been), if the site of its signing is on your doorstep then you really should pay a visit. It's only taken me 30 years.

I'd been reminded of it two years previously when they celebrated the 650th anniversary of the treaty with, among other things, a little concert in the main square in Caldas de Vizela, the nearest town. This included a quintet of brass players from the Coldstream Guards. They were exceptionally good. There was no listed programme but I recognised arrangements of pieces by English composers like Purcell, Tallis and Dowland and, if I'm not mistaken, part of the Te Deum by the 18th century Portuguese composer, António Teixeira.

How excellent it all was. Then they changed tone and started on arrangements of sentimental film music and I lost interest, but much of the ambulatory audience started to hum along so I left the redcoats in good hands. That was my reminder that I still hadn't stopped by the memorial in Tagilde, just a couple of kilometres up the hill. Nevertheless, it took another two years.

Author: Fitch O´Connell;

Deserted

When we did finally make it, it was a stonkingly hot day, so hot that the seraphim in the cemetery were sweating. Or do seraphim merely perspire? The lovely little square in the centre of the village, revamped for the 2022 celebrations, has a number of trees but none are yet mature so there was no shade to be found. What's more, the whole village appeared to be completely uninhabited which made it feel as if we'd stumbled on a deserted film set.

The monument itself is a simple stone depiction of the coat of arms of the two countries and, after just 70 years, is showing considerable signs of wear. We stayed just long enough to mark our presence and then climbed back into our overheated car to drive the short distance down the hill to Vizela.

It's quite a hilly district and the villages, many of them conjoined, usually follow the sinuous roads down the valleys. It gives the area something of the feel of driving through the old mining valleys of South Wales if one could suspend disbelief and imagine Merthyr Tydfil simmering in tropical heat. No, I can't quite conjure up that image either. We found some shade to park in near the municipal market and braved the searing streets down to the central square, where it seemed that a time machine had been working overtime. If we had thought that 650 years was a long while ago, in the centre of town they were about to celebrate three days of Feira Romana, Vizela having been a notable Roman spa town.

Author: Fitch O´Connell;

Sculptures of toga-clad nobles and laurel-wreathed military leaders lined the main square. I hadn't realised until then that the Romans had used synthetic polymers and injection moulding techniques for their statuary.

Excellent menu

There was little shade so we loitered by the boisterous fountains that grace the public gardens next to the main square and watched people heaving bales of straw, erecting stalls and assembling chariots under the relentless sun. It was all too exhausting to watch so we decided to opt for an early lunch and chose Adega Avelino, not least because it seemed to have decent air conditioning. It also turned out to have an excellent menu, mostly concentrating on authentic cuisine from the Minho and I thoroughly enjoyed my rojões à moda. The missus, meanwhile, guzzled a large plateful of exquisitely flavoured petingas fritas, tiny fried sardines eaten whole.

The heat outside was not getting any easier to deal with and we abandoned our plan to walk the short distance down to the Roman bridge and the rather lovely park that graces the banks of the Vizela river. Instead, we sweltered our way back up the hill to the car, but not before raiding the municipal market and leaving with a large bag of gleaming cherries. On with the car's air conditioning and all that was left was to find our way back through the Welsh valleys, cross the appropriately named Ponte de Aliança and head for home.

Mission Accomplished.

Author

Fitch is a retired teacher trainer and academic writer who has lived in northern Portugal for over 30 years. Author of 'Rice & Chips', irreverent glimpses into Portugal, and other books.

Fitch O'Connell