On a river bank in central Portugal, there is an old seat of learning - Coimbra
- a city that is also an admired beauty, rejuvenated every October when the
Universidade de Coimbra is again filled up with students.
Once the country's capital, and the home of one of Europe's oldest and most
prestigious universities, Coimbra forms a vital part of the nation's identity.
The Universidade, founded in 1290 and situated alternately in Lisbon and Coimbra,
has since 1537 been permanently based in Coimbra. Its special mix of
professionalism and traditions attracts around 23,000 students, versus a
population of 150,000 in Portugal's third largest city. The unequalled hilltop
location of the University's historical buildings is
a tourist favorite.
Naturally, the locals take pride in all this - to such a degree that some call
them self-important. The first one I meet is a man who explains me in detail how
I quickly reach Republica Square via cobbled alleys, then looks me up and down
to evaluate my age, strength and luggage, whereupon he suggests a taxi. Halfway,
I involve another man who takes out a little pad and sketches me two
possibilities. A third man, on Republica, elaborates the same sketch to locate
my pension, whose receptionist greets me, "Any
problems, ask me!" These people are not self-important - they are pedagogical!
The spacious Praca da Republica is considered the central square despite being
situated behind the University hill, on the front of which Coimbra's compact
historical quarters slope down toward Rio Mondego. Republica is at night a
vibrant cafe zone, even now in September. Waiters fly back and forth inside the
nearly transparent Esplanada Bar, with plastic glasses of Super Bock for
talkative dry young throats, two of them Polish students of computer science,
just arriving for a summer course and very beer thirsty after their suitcases
collapsed on the cobblestones.
Cidade Alta
From here, it's easy to access the old campus in Cidade Alta, the upper town,
either via broad steps or a detour through the Botanical Garden hiding behind
the Coimbra Aqueduct. Fairly modern blocks meet you at the top, massive
constructions from the dictator Salazar's era, boasting statues up front. More
style, Baroque that is, has Sé Nova, the New Cathedral. Looking for its
Romanesque counterpart, the old Sé Velha, I get a shock: two students in
traditional black suits and capes, dangling lifelessly in the
air outside their "republica", student lodging, in Rua da Matematica. Hopefully
dolls.
Striking Clock Tower bells make me proceed to Porta Ferrea, the Iron Gate
adorned with sculptures in the Mannerist style. I suddenly find myself in Patio
das Escolas: a sandy courtyard surrounded by palatial buildings on three sides,
complemented by a panorama of the river and the city below. This place exudes
history and atmosphere, the reason why four workmen, dismantling a huge tent,
take care they make no noise. Perhaps they dream of ascending the majestic
stairway opposite, then cross the colonnaded balcony and enter Sala dos Capelos
to receive a diploma one day.
Visitors queue at Biblioteca Joanina, waiting not to bury themselves in rare
books but in Baroque richness, before they try out an antiquated prison or visit
Capela de Sao Miguel to enjoy the chapel's azulejos, decorative tiles. Finding
the chapel closed, and seeing elegantly dressed people gathered in the shade
outside, I remember it's Saturday and confidently sit down on the steps for a
private study of Portuguese wedding customs. Small talk and waiting are part of
it, giving the shade time to decrease, which forces people to move closer and
allow swelling feet a rest on the steps.
Trumpet blasts announce a dark-haired bride in a cream-colored gown and a groom
in dark clothes, placing themselves at the grand stairway, followed by people
dressed rather casually, a photo session for the uninvited, I assume. They leave
together through the Iron Gate. Afterwards, as a bride and groom enter via the
same gate, I expect them to be identical to those who left, but I'm not sure
they are. Concluding that the wedding customs are rather confusing, I clap the
sympathetic couple into the chapel.
Cidade Baixa
Coimbra, with its Cidade Alta and the lower Cidade Baixa, faces the river. The
cobblestone alleys are like wrinkles; deep, uneven and so numerous that you lose
track of them. However, they are dotted with beauty spots: stately buildings,
flourishing balconies and views of the river. The upper part was traditionally
the domain of the aristocracy and clergy, while the city wall gate, Porta da
Almedina, opened onto the more common Baixa's commerce and artisans, still ideal
today for shopping, eating out and cruising the cafes.
Almedina drops me at Coimbra's elegant walking street made up of Rua Ferreira
Borges southward and Rua Visconde da Luz northward. Steps opposite take me down
to the square of Praca do Comercio, starting point of busy alleys ending near
the train station. At a local restaurant, Calado e Calado, the waiter yesterday
taught me a new strategy in this land of ample portions, "Order half portion!" I
also taught him a lesson, "No cheese!" Waiters have a bad habit of putting
unwanted cheese on your table and on your bill.
The square of Portagem, at the walking street's southern end, has everything:
handsome narrow facades, a lawn fresh with flowers, sweet cakes at the
Pasteleria Briosa, and high on his plinth a former Coimbra student, Marques de
Pombal, looking toward the river and the bridge Ponte de Santa Clara, from the
other side of which Coimbra resembles a glossy postcard. The tourist office at
Portagem is an exception to the rule that locals take pleasure in instructing
tourists.
At the northern end, I fall for an old-world cafe and an ornamented church
facade next door, both named Santa Cruz. A demonstration is expected to pass
here; Marcha pelo Emprego, March for Jobs, on their way from Porto to Lisbon,
highlighting the effects of unemployment. I meet them on a tiny square instead,
the scary O Patio da Inquisicao, where the promoters, left-wing Bloco de
Esquerda, throw a party. Accompanied by shaking rhythms and light effects
hopping on the wall of Casa dos Pobres, House of the Poor, people drink, laugh
and shout and teenagers dance, while others watch soccer
at O Patio Cervejaria.
Another party comes to my mind, eight days long and supposed to be the largest
student party in Europe: Queima das Fitas, when the graduates burn their faculty
ribbons and perform Coimbra Fado, a refined version of Lisbon's famous song
tradition, in Coimbra less sad and performed by male students, interpreting what
goes on in educated young minds: romance and sporadic intellectual activity, a
cappella or supported by guitars. The next Queima is far away, so I call for
comfort: "Super Bock!" The waiter brings it with a smile and makes sure I do
appreciate its special flavor, "Sabor Autentico!"
TM
On a river bank in central Portugal, there is an old seat of learning - Coimbra
- a city that is also an admired beauty, rejuvenated every October when the
Universidade de Coimbra is again filled up with students.
Naturally, the locals take pride in all this - to such a degree that some call
them self-important. The first one I meet is a man who explains me in detail how
I quickly reach Republica Square via cobbled alleys, then looks me up and down
to evaluate my age, strength and luggage, whereupon he suggests a taxi. Halfway,
I involve another man who takes out a little pad and sketches me two
possibilities. A third man, on Republica, elaborates the same sketch to locate
my pension, whose receptionist greets me, "Any
problems, ask me!" These people are not self-important - they are pedagogical!
From here, it's easy to access the old campus in Cidade Alta, the upper town,
either via broad steps or a detour through the Botanical Garden hiding behind
the Coimbra Aqueduct. Fairly modern blocks meet you at the top, massive
constructions from the dictator Salazar's era, boasting statues up front. More
style, Baroque that is, has Sé Nova, the New Cathedral. Looking for its
Romanesque counterpart, the old Sé Velha, I get a shock: two students in
traditional black suits and capes, dangling lifelessly in the
air outside their "republica", student lodging, in Rua da Matematica. Hopefully
dolls.
Visitors queue at Biblioteca Joanina, waiting not to bury themselves in rare
books but in Baroque richness, before they try out an antiquated prison or visit
Capela de Sao Miguel to enjoy the chapel's azulejos, decorative tiles. Finding
the chapel closed, and seeing elegantly dressed people gathered in the shade
outside, I remember it's Saturday and confidently sit down on the steps for a
private study of Portuguese wedding customs. Small talk and waiting are part of
it, giving the shade time to decrease, which forces people to move closer and
allow swelling feet a rest on the steps.
Coimbra, with its Cidade Alta and the lower Cidade Baixa, faces the river. The
cobblestone alleys are like wrinkles; deep, uneven and so numerous that you lose
track of them. However, they are dotted with beauty spots: stately buildings,
flourishing balconies and views of the river. The upper part was traditionally
the domain of the aristocracy and clergy, while the city wall gate, Porta da
Almedina, opened onto the more common Baixa's commerce and artisans, still ideal
today for shopping, eating out and cruising the cafes.
The square of Portagem, at the walking street's southern end, has everything:
handsome narrow facades, a lawn fresh with flowers, sweet cakes at the
Pasteleria Briosa, and high on his plinth a former Coimbra student, Marques de
Pombal, looking toward the river and the bridge Ponte de Santa Clara, from the
other side of which Coimbra resembles a glossy postcard. The tourist office at
Portagem is an exception to the rule that locals take pleasure in instructing
tourists.
Another party comes to my mind, eight days long and supposed to be the largest
student party in Europe: Queima das Fitas, when the graduates burn their faculty
ribbons and perform Coimbra Fado, a refined version of Lisbon's famous song
tradition, in Coimbra less sad and performed by male students, interpreting what
goes on in educated young minds: romance and sporadic intellectual activity, a
cappella or supported by guitars. The next Queima is far away, so I call for
comfort: "Super Bock!" The waiter brings it with a smile and makes sure I do
appreciate its special flavor, "Sabor Autentico!"