Enchanting schist villages take you back in time

Imagine a giant rolled dozens of brown dice down a mountainside. In shades of chocolate, cinnamon, rust, sepia, tan, charcoal and ash-grey, the dice came to rest on a ridge, all piled up against each other. That’s what the schist villages of central Portugal look like from afar.

Walking through any of these 27 villages is like stepping back in time, when everything was built from local materials and cars didn’t exist.

All the buildings as well as the walkways, alleys, terraces and staircases that compose the “streets,” were constructed of schist in the 17^th and 18^th centuries. Schist – the stone that makes these mountains – is a metamorphic step or two away from slate and, like slate, it comes in a gorgeous variety of browns and greys.

Clinging to the sides of mountains, the schist villages are picturesque and romantic – a tourist draw in this region just 30 kilometres or so east of Coimbra. Since we were staying in the area, we visited three enchanting villages one day.

From the valley town of Lousā, we followed the schist-village arrows up the mountainside, negotiating switchbacks and hairpin turns around steep drop-offs that had me clutching the car’s door handle and looking away from the stunning views.    

Cork oaks and chestnut trees arched over the road, with occasional pines piercing the deep blue sky. I took quick glimpses back down to Lousā, with clouds hanging below us.

We arrived first at Casal Nova – well, at a sign and a small parking lot. The village itself rolled out of sight below us down the mountainside. Leaving the car in the lot, we descended a schist staircase, which turned out to be Main Street. No room for cars here.

Chestnuts and their sea-urchin-like outer casings crunched underfoot as we explored the lanes and alleys. Ivy and grapevines draped themselves over walls. Brambles filled the centres of homes where the roofs had collapsed. Moss, ferns and lichen filled the cracks in walls.

We didn’t see a single soul, but there was evidence of human habitation: many of the doors and windows looked quite new, flowers filled planters on balconies and terraces, fresh lace curtains hung on a door window, a porch light was on, paintings hung on stone walls. We peeked through an empty window opening to see renovations going on inside.

I discovered later (thanks, Google) that Casal Novo used to be abandoned, but people are renovating the homes and moving back in. Indeed, that’s happening in many schist villages. As previous inhabitants departed to earn better livings in the towns and cities, the villages’ populations declined in the mid-20^th century. But recently, a variety of people – including artists, mountain bikers and other outdoors enthusiasts – have been rediscovering, renovating and reviving the villages.  

We left Casal Novo and continued along the winding road to Talasnal, where we found people. The main square featured a small snack bar, gift shop and tavern. Cats gathered at food bowls put out for them. We explored, going down the stairway-streets past the village fountain, following signs pointing to other restaurants. None appeared to be open and we couldn’t find the olive press that had been noted on the village map.

We backtracked to the tavern, where we sat outside in the sun and enjoyed lunch. Another couple finished and donned their backpacks, headed for the hiking trail that connects Talisnal with Casal Novo, Chiqueira and the Castle of Lousādown in the valley.

According to the statistics on the tavern’s placemats, Talasnal first recorded its population in 1679. But the population had declined from 135 in 1940 to 59 in 1970 and to just two people in 1981 – Manel and Lina.

“What is the population now?” I asked our waiter.

“Zero.” He shrugged and turned away before I could ask more questions.

Clearly there were rental accommodations in Talasnal. We saw many homes with the “AL” sign outside, which stands for Alojamento Local, the official Portuguese indication of rental units. The landlords and people who work in the tavern and shops presumably live elsewhere. What would it be like to stay in a village where no one lived? I imagined it must be somewhat like staying in a beach resort – gorgeous places with stunning views built with romantic intent to escape everyday life rather than live it.

From Talasnal, we backtracked a bit and found the road to Chiqueiro, passing a triangular warning sign with a snowflake on it. If that indeed meant snow, these roads would be treacherous in the winter.

Arriving in Chiqueiro, we saw a small motorhome with French licence plates parked above the village and an SUV nearby. The village sign proclaimed: “Only the bells of the flock seem to contradict the feeling that hereabouts time stopped long ago.”

Again, we wandered around the quaint streets, exclaiming over one gorgeous vista after another. The varied schist colours were like a rainbow of brown – but more beautiful than that sounds. We saw several well-fed cats, laundry hanging on a line, and one man, who mumbled “Bom dia” as he hurried by. We peeked in the windows of the small church – the only building to have stucco over the schist.

As we returned to the parking lot, we finally discovered the “bells of the flock.” An older man with a backpack and long stick was herding goats through a pasture and into the woods, where they seemed to be eating acorns. The bells around their necks tinkled softly as they ran ahead of him.

Then, the other couple from Talasnal came walking along the road, back to their motorhome. They are Portuguese but live in France. They didn’t speak English so we had a lovely conversation in French. She showed me the jar of local honey she had bought earlier from the older woman who lives in Chiqueira – wife of the goatherder. We waited, hoping the woman would come back so I could buy some honey too, but she didn’t, so we reluctantly left the village.

I hadn’t known much about the schist villages before we visited, and there weren’t many people to ask, so I did some research later. Other villages have more activities and amenities than the ones we visited: artisans’ shops, cafes, bakeries, handicraft stores. Cerdeira, for example, has its Arts and Crafts School, which offers various workshops for beginners and professionals, including pottery, woodworking, drawing, weaving, cooking and writing. Martin Branco has revived a community oven, which used to be a gathering place for villagers along with the village fountain. The oven is now used to bake bread, cakes, and roast kid (goats, not children).

The schist villages have become centres for hikers and mountain bikers, and they’re close to central Portugal’s intriguing river beaches, which we had also visited.

We had never heard of river beaches before, but they are plentiful in this region. At an appropriate point in a river, people have built a damn and constructed a swimming pool above it with a sloping concrete bottom. They’re very popular in Portugal’s hot summers. The Our Lady of Piety river beach features lifeguards, washrooms, change rooms, ramps for access by people with mobility issues, restaurants, a shallow child pool upstream, and picnic areas. Terraces and walls are built, of course, from schist.

Just past the beach complex, a series of steps led up a steep hill to three little chapels that form the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Piety. And on the adjacent high point sits the Castle of Lousā, built on a strategic ridge to control the river valley.

The castle history is fragmented but it was first documented in 1087. Also known as Castle Arouce, it was taken by the Moors in 1124, then regained by the Portuguese king Afonso Henriques, who awarded it a charter in 1151. A legend tells that Muslim occupiers used the castle to protect the Emir Arunce’s daughter Peralta and his (other) treasures.

We walked around the small castle but couldn’t get inside since it’s open only on weekends. Hiking trails leading to the schist villages start next to the castle.

We wondered what it would be like to live in a schist village: quiet, peaceful, stunning views, perhaps lonely, and challenging for everyday needs such as groceries, especially in bad weather. Nevertheless, we would love to return one day to hike the trails, stay overnight, and explore what other villages have to offer. But we should do it soon. I got the feeling that it would take a concerted human effort to hold back the forces of nature. The mountain would quickly and easily reclaim the villages if people looked away for an instant.