Serra d’Arga chooses who goes up there, nobody climbs it just by wishing. In her womb she drawed valleys of millions of geological years trodden by wind and weather, as if self-building a gathering place for Homo sapiens, who would come later. Then they came and encamped making their history of denial and, among the mountains, suffered the isolation of others. When these get there, in those unique days of the year, they remove from the earth and the jagged skyline of green the sentiment which unites all humanity, that one that even leads to the signing of truces and pacts between generations.

I do not understand this, but older people do have fun. There is much confusion, too many people and I’m a bit sleepy. Maybe what I need is to ask a balloon, cotton candy or a windmill to my mother. Of course she will say no, but my father, with two or three well placed tears will soon run to buy.

It is by sitting down by the sea that we realize our insignificance. It is also true that astronomers tell us that, but the sea is always handier than a good scientist. Stranger still, is to be sitting with these thoughts in the burning sand, and someone shouting, is trying to sell us something. If they were Natário’s Bolas de Berlim (small round cake with egg cream and sugar top), we would buy one.

A procession sometimes drags many people, who also go by dragging themselves, as they can. Many more, however, stay with respectful faces on the roadside, on the windows, on the porches or in the higher backyards, watching. They’re no longer surprised when the women decide to take out and carry the shoes, after one or two kilometers of tarmac, because they know it’s not because of blisters on their feet that they’re  praying behind the litter of St. Benedict.

Suddenly, someone appears from behind an altar where it was not even supposed to be. If, moreover, threatens us with a huge black camera, we are caught by surprise. Reacting to this just by smiling as we rapidly move ahead fearing those modern digital sensors as they capture our image with zeros and ones.

Under the trees, to build a tent and to camp. To eat, to drink, to sing, to dance, to party and even perhaps to love, over there, where nobody can see. Days on end, at São João d’Arga. After, walking to the chapel just to see how things are going and return home, with our own, those whom we spent the living days.