My Travel Bum Blog: ISO Clan Gouveia

We went to Gouveia to search for Trish's family. Her wife's family, to be more precise. It became a bit of a mystery because we didn't find any living soul there with the family name of Gouveia. Nobody seemed to think there ever had been Gouveias in Gouveia. So was the town named after the family, or did the family name itself after the town? It could have happened either way.

If the town was named after the family, then the family would have been from the landed aristocracy. Our friend the bus station manager directed us to the ancient cemetary, where we might find remains of old families. It was a splendid cemetary climbing up a terraced hillside, with mausoleums lining both sides of a central path.

I expected to find the Gouveia family entombed in one of these mausoleums, but the names did not match. Lots of Ferreiras, lots of Da Silvas, but no Gouveias.

I peeked my head into a few where the curtains were tattered or pulled to one side. Many had 6 or 8 berths (what do you call a mausoleum bed?), a few with vacancies remaining.

"Well, maybe they had their own tombs on their land," I suggested. But we kept looking.

"Or maybe... maybe the family wasn't named Gouveia at all when they lived here. Maybe they only changed it when they moved to America."

"Maybe" said Trish.

"As a way to keep alive the memory of the place they came from," I added.

We kept looking. We read every headstone in the place, and only found one Gouveia. A man, I think he was, born 1915, more or less the same year the family emigrated to the United States. Died 1987... not so long ago by small town standards, so why does no-one seem to remember him? The mystery deepened.

I was more excited to find him than Trish was. "Maybe this guy was so homesick for the old country that he came back to Gouveia to be buried."

"Uh-huh."

I was pretty much talking to myself at this point.

"That's why no-one remembers him."

"Right."

"Or maybe they really were the landed family of the town, and they had to flee the country because they were on the wrong side of somebody's politics."

"Maybe."

"You know, it could be your castle."

"What?" At least I got her attention.

"The abandoned castle sitting up there at the top of the hill... maybe it belongs to your family. Wouldn't you like to reclaim the Gouveia castle?"

"Yes, Patti, we should come take back the castle."

We never did find any other Gouveias, but we found some really unique and impractical souvenirs... ceramics, liqueur, a jar of pumpkin marmalade. By the time we left, not only was Trish in danger of tipping over from the weight of her backpack but she had spawned a frontpack as well. Walking to the bus station in the pre-dawn streets, she could easily have been mistaken for a pregnant woman.

Portuguese mountain rescue dog.

All the towns in this part of the mountains seemed to have a burnt out tree on display near the town square. A reminder, perhaps, of the danger of forest fires???