All language subtitles for Historic centre 2012

THE MAN IN THE TAVERN

It's crazy to love you well

I'm the sister of misfortune
You were right mother

It's crazy to adore you

Give tenderness,
without being able to kiss you

Cry, cry, Guitars of my land

His mourning ends
With my bitter life

And if it's crazy
to love you this way

Whether I want it or not,
I can't love you in silence

I will always be yours

I will follow up and down
the steps of your street

To love you, I must be crazy

But insanity is little,
For all I've been through

Cry, cry, Guitars of my land

His mourning ends
With my bitter life

And if it's crazy
to love you this way

Whether I want it or not,
I can't love you in silence.

Whether I want it or not,
I can't love you in silence

Good afternoon, it is 13:00 in
Madeira and half a day in the Azores.

Unprecedented sanction
against Hungary.

Union finance ministers
prepare to decide...

on a partial suspension
of the cohesion of funds...

caused by having ignored
the limits of the deficit.

This is the first
sanction of this type...

in the margin of the new
economic rules of the government.

TUESDAY CHEF'S SUGGESTIONS:

SEA BELLY ROLLED LAMB

COD WITH SALT,
OCTOPUS WITH OLIVES

SOUP 1.80 € SARDINES
IN OLIVE OIL 1.15 €

Fisherman's soup 2.50 €

I'LL BE RIGHT BACK

In the Church of San Esteban

Throughout the cemetery
there were once guitars

In the Church of San Esteban

Throughout the cemetery
there were once guitars

La Señora do Monte lived
in the house on that corner

And Divine Providence Lives
there, almost opposite

And Divine Providence Lives
there, almost opposite

Why do good in disgrace?
She gave him a disgrace too

That divine grace,
the one Our Lady has

That divine grace,
the one Our Lady has

IN THE YOUNG LIFE
SWEET EXORCIST

Ventura, come back!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Ventura!

Water! Give me water!

Water! Give me water!

Water!

Mother!

Oh Mother!

Oh my god!

Sun...

Sun.

Sun.

Sun.

Sun.

- Sun!
- There's no sun here, boy.

Put me in the shade!

- Put me in the shade!
- You are in the shade!

- Take it easy!
- Put me in the shade!

- Put me in the shade.
- Take it easy. You are in the shade.

- Put me in the shade.
- You are in the shade.

- The shadow.
- You are in the shade.

Calm down, don't cry.

Don't cry, boy! Do not Cry!

Take it easy.

- Put me in the shade.
- You are in the shade.

- Are you with us, Ventura?
- Long live the Army of the Revolution!

- Are you with us, Ventura?
- Long live the Army of the Revolution!

Are you with the people?

- The people united will never be defeated.
- Are you with the people?

Are you with the people?

More than 30 years have
passed since I saw you.

Thirty-seven, it seems to me.

I knew you were sick.

Now you are with better doctors.

- Best doctors?
- Yes, better doctors.

The time has come.

An inept nurse bites me with
a syringe every night...

My poop is black.

Do you remember the day
you entered this infirmary?

"Good morning, Mr. Ventura.
Good morning, Mr. Nurse."

- Who shaved you? Who bathed you?
- You couldn't clean your own ass.

- He never thanked us!
- It sucked!

And the screaming at
night, in the hallways?

- Mom, the monsters!
- Mom, the monsters!

- Mom, the monsters!
- Mom, the monsters!

Let me be, leave me alone!

I don't know why I
should greet you.

When I knew you were
coming my stomach twisted.

You are now in good hands.

- The fight is just beginning.
- I'm not healthy enough.

I can't carry more
bags of cement.

What hurts you, Ventura?

Whole body.

In things of the
body I cannot help.

Do you know how to pray, Ventura?

Sweet Lord of Nazareth!
Try the Virgin's milk!

The Beast's weapon is not yours!

- Bankruptcy! Lucifer!
- Are you a Satan worshiper, boy?

Saint Anthony, the warrior.

Holy sword of Abraham.

- Lucifer!
- Satan!

This is not a joke, Ventura.
This is a revolution!

Do you think I want to stay
locked up with you for 38 years?

I would rather be harvesting grapes.

Help the priest with mass.

We were not made for this.

Do you remember, Ventura?

We leave the barracks
at a snail's pace.

We leave the barracks empty.

We walked all night
with our eyes closed.

When we opened them,
there was nothing left to do.

Topple the regime.

Didn't you see people
cheering on the streets?

I'm in jail?

Lisbon is fenced.
Didn't you hear the news?

You're going to kill me?

Ventura, you have suffered
thousands of deaths.

What is one more?

I built myself a good life...

a good family.

Do you call it a good life
with that miserable pension?

I built buildings...

banks...

- schools...
- What for?

You destroyed your body,
you ruined your mind.

You don't know anything about my life!

Andrade Corvo street.
The building of the telephone company.

Your boss stopped the work due to the
coup, do you remember?

We turned against the fascists.

You were in construction,
I was ambushed in the corner.

I was wearing my gray jacket and
you were wearing your yellow helmet.

The weapons were pointed at the
fascists scaring them terribly.

Suddenly a swallow
passed and I looked up.

You were there singing a song.

He was not the only one who sang.

We were all singing.
Bricklayers, builders, helpers.

It was not spring.

It was not a swallow.

He came to me one night.

A huge black bird...

flew over my hut...

on its large black wings...

Mom, the monsters!
Mom, the monsters!

Mom, the monsters!
Mom, the monsters!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

Oh my mother!

It was not spring.
It was not a swallow.

You screamed,
and you screamed and you screamed.

They were not the fascists.
It was you, lost in those streets.

Open this door on behalf of
General Spinola, the Cyclops.

He is ungrateful, Ventura!

Don't you remember they fought
black against black with knives?

You danced in Parque Estrela.

Didn't you wipe the
blood off my face?

Who picked you up when
you were almost dead?

Didn't you hide the murder knife?

Who took you to the
military hospital?

Was it you who stitched
93 stitches on my head?

Was it you, boy?

You are the son of the people.

Is it you, boy?

Did you shoot
those fascist cops?

If you had killed a black you
would already be a general.

Can you see them in the distance?

Hiding in those shacks...

Fontainhas, Damaia, "Black Cat"...

My children, my grandchildren...

my brothers.

Get up, Ventura.
The battle is just beginning.

I'm dying!

Calm down, Ventura.
I will never die.

I do not know.

You do not know?

But your night knows it.

And the tiles of your house.

And the steps that
lead to your door.

- What are you afraid of, Ventura?
- To lose my job.

You still have to build your house.

I can't work anymore.

I can't fight anymore.

You still have to bring
Zulmira from Cape Verde.

She bought a wedding dress,
the veil, and the shoes.

Do you know Zulmira?

He bought a wedding ring
and a watch for seven grand.

- Seven big?
- Yes.

I have had a hellish life,
working hard and raising my children.

- Now, I'm retired.
- Shut up, Ventura.

They are grown up,
now they have to help their father.

- I'm retired.
- Shut up!

None of your children
has been born yet.

I retired.

Now I am retired.

Where are you now Ventura?

I sleep in the company barracks.

But where are you now?

At work, where the telephone
company building is built.

The boss told us not to work
today, that there was a revolution.

Where are you, Ventura?

I am scared.

In the Estrela Park.

I am with Toti, Lila,
João, Nené and Zezé.

There are many Cape
Verdeans and many whores.

Up on the hill there
are no more berries

Its roots are dry
and there is no water

The river runs deep
And man cannot rest

The river runs deep
And man cannot rest

The woman waits a week by
the fire that lights her

Your children are on
the road Only one works

Her husband left for
Lisbon a long time ago

With a contract

The ticket to Lisbon
cost him his land

Work in the rain, cold and wind

Up on the scaffold
Down on the quarry

The pay is low AND
the work is hard

A poorly paid job
And a dark shack

Another day in the dark

My conscience and I

I worked all my life and there
are no blackberries on the hill

Save me the song,
that won't beat me.

Ventura...

Ventura.

Ventura!

- Zulmira.
- Fight, Ventura. Stay with me.

- This soldier wants to kill us.
- Fight.

Stay.

He stole our alliance.

He stole our life.

He says I'm not married to you.

He says we have no children.

- I won't live.
- I hear you sing...

but I don't feel happy.

I hug you while you sleep,
but I don't feel like you're at peace.

If you leave,
what would become of me?

I feel your swollen belly,
but I do not see you eat.

I don't like rice and I eat
chicken once in a while.

You like pork chops so much.

I used to fry many in my
cabin when I was alone.

Before Zulmira arrived
from Cape Verde.

You like them, but if I don't have
a job we couldn't pay the rent.

Victor has a family to support.
He cannot help us.

Adelaide needs an
expensive eye surgery.

This is the story of
the young life...

of life that has not yet come and
of all the things that will follow.

Stay close to me,
time will fly...

The day will come when we
will accept our sufferings.

There will no longer be fear or misery.

Ventura,
you have no horizon or destiny.

You are nothing and
you have nothing.

We will leave this world
together and they will forget us.

They will forget our faces.

You won't sing anymore.

This story is not over yet, Ventura.

Our sufferings will be the
joy of generations to come.

They will say nice things about us.

We will soon know why we
live and why we suffer.

We will know everything.

Everything.

We will lie with death,
locked in silence.

See how I tremble?

This is what I had to tell
you, boy.

Stand firm, Ventura!
Pay attention!

I'm paying attention, master.

Inside...

with a little fist...

soon...

another flower...

it will open.

Ventura, remember that
you are also a soldier.

It got lost?

I am going to the doctor.

Are you going to the doctor, Ventura?
- Yes.

Founded in 1845, the Vizela
River Yarn and Fabric Factory...

became the second largest
textile factory in Europe...

at the beginning of the 20th century.

It is located in Santo Tirso
County, in the Valle del Ave Region.

In 1990, it faced a serious crisis
that led to its closure in 2002.

Today it is known as "The
Broken Glass Factory".

BROKEN GLASSES

BROKEN GLASSES Casting
for a film in Portugal

THE OLD DINING ROOM
OF THE FACTORY

MAY 7TH

MAY 7 CASTING FOR MEN AND WOMEN

My name is Amândio Martins.

I am 75 years old.

And I've been married 51 of them.

I have five children, seven
grandchildren and a great-granddaughter.

I started sweeping the floors
when I was 12 years old.

But I had to bring the broom from my
house because the boss didn't give us one.

I really liked machines.

So I was always alert
for an opportunity.

I learned that the owner was looking
for an adjuster for the styling machine.

So I knocked on her door.

He was with his son.

The owner looked me up and down and
asked, "What do you want?"

"I want to be a machine
adjuster, sir."

"Your?"

"Yes, me."

"And you are capable?"

"Yes I am, sir."

He looked at his son and asked:

"What do you think of this?"

"I don't know. He seems smart,
but I don't know if he's capable."

So the owner looked at me and
said, "Are you capable?"

"Yes I am, sir."

"And do you have
the tools to work?"

"I have them, yes sir."

"Where?"

"Here, sir."

"There?"

"Yes sir. I just need a good
pair of hands to work with."

"There are good tools out there."

"So you only need good hands
to operate the machines."

Regarding my work accidents...

the first was on
the styling machine.

These two fingers were
completely skinned.

The only thing I could see
on both sides was the bone.

Fortunately, they healed well,
although they were never the same.

The second accident
was on a roller...

when a cylinder crushed
this finger from top to bottom.

It also healed normally.

The third was again this
finger and then this...

while adjusting one of the machines
when a sheet cut it all the way down.

Those were the three most
serious accidents I had...

throughout a 52-year career.

Always my hands,
because it was what I worked with.

My name is María de Fátima.

I started working
at twelve years old.

At home we were nine brothers.

I dropped out of school at ten.

I was in fourth grade.

My parents and grandparents
worked here in Río Vizela.

My father brought home
one of those tables...

that appear in the photograph.

I buy it.

It was the first
dining table we had.

We had no table.

We were many.

And we all ate on the floor.

I came here every day.
I was nine years old.

He came so that my mother could
breastfeed another baby...

because she worked here.

It was what was done.

All the other young
mothers who worked here...

nursed their children.

They left their workplaces,
their machines...

and they all got together to breastfeed
their babies, here in the dining room.

They had half an hour to do it.

And I had half an hour to play.

I was carrying my brother from
Roriz, rain or shine.

The trip here was the worst,
because the baby cried a lot.

I was hungry, the poor.

The return home was much better.

He was calmer,
because he had already eaten.

And so it was day after day.

And see how things are.

Here I grew up, worked,
became a woman...

I got married and had my children.

And when I gave birth
to my youngest son...

my oldest daughter brought him here...

so I could breastfeed him.

It happened just like with my mother.

I used to come here with him...

to this very dining room.

But it was already more beautiful.

Because it was after
the revolution.

But it was exactly the
same life my mother had.

And so is life, a wheel.
It is like a wheel.

As my grandmother said:

"As much as one wants,
the wheel never spins as you want."

I just told you
details of my story...

that I have kept in my memory.

My name is Rosa Gonçalves.
I entered this factory thirty years ago.

My parents were farmers.

Coming from the field to the factory
was a very difficult life change.

But I liked it. Because life
in the country was very hard.

I got married at 25 years old.
And I had two daughters.

When the oldest was born,
she only had half an hour a day...

to breastfeed her.
It was a short time.

I had to get a wet nurse
near the factory...

to be able to breastfeed.

It took me ten minutes to get
there, another ten to get back...

and ten to breastfeed.

It was a very difficult time.

In the factory, he first
spun, then knitted.

After that I ended up in the
warehouse, pushing a very large car.

It was also very hard work.

But I liked it.

Loading the thread from
one machine to another...

kept me busy.

But I will take
remorse to the grave.

He was smart and I
really liked school.

But my parents did
not allow me to study.

I was just thinking of being
a desk or bank employee.

The teacher went to ask my
mother to let me stay in school.

But she said,
"Her school is in the field."

People in those times were like that.

I remember certain things in my life.
Others do not.

Those close to the
heart, I keep for myself.

I cannot speak of them here.

What's more, the bad things,
it is better to forget them.

Now I understand that if they
made me work very hard...

it was so as not to
think about the bad things.

My name is Manuel Silva.
I am 58 years old.

I am married, I have three children.
And I have grandchildren, fortunately.

I worked on what I could.

Mainly in this factory.
It was almost 30 years.

I have always been in good health.

And I think I have done
what was expected of me.

I don't feel bitter,
because life is what it is.

From young people they
tie us to a job...

like horses to a chariot.

And all we do is
pull and pull...

But it is so, always
so, to the end.

Until we can no more.

I don't feel bitter.
I have faith in god.

And I think God will one day
compensate me when I die.

Because I trust
God more than men.

My name is Maria Ana Coutinho
Serrão and I am 58 years old.

I grew up in the field.

My parents worked the land.
But at twelve I went to the factory.

I was here eleven years.

But something happened
that changed my life.

I was going to get married, but I
left the groom standing on the altar.

I did it because I found
out that he had tricked me.

That he had this, that he had that
and it turned out that he had nothing.

Nothing.

So I quit.

Him and the factory.

I went to France.

I started serving in the home
of a very wealthy family...

who had many children.

I did not like the job,
nor the city where I was, which was Paris.

So I went further
north, to Normandy.

I got a job on a farm
looking after animals.

Animals do not
know days or times.

But we interact with them.

They look at us and they are alive.

And the machines don't.

I had a French boyfriend.

Truck driver. He was very nice.

But he just wanted
me to wash and cook.

So one day I got fed up and
threw the broom out the window.

So I came back here.

And I really enjoyed going
back to work at the factory.

But it didn't last long.
It was a pity that it closed.

My name is Judite Araújo.
I started working at 14 years old.

I remember very well my
first day of work...

because all of a sudden
it started to rain heavily...

and I arrived at the
factory all soaking wet.

When it closed, I got depressed.

I was here more than 20 years
and did not expect it to close.

Factory work doesn't
go well for women.

I often asked myself,
"Why don't I have a better job?"

The noise of the
machines hurt me a lot.

So I had a tympanic transplant.

We carried noise in
our heads everywhere.

I felt bad.

But I had to hold on.

There was a time when we were
forced to wear ear plugs.

But with the plugs we couldn't
talk when we needed to.

We had to choose
between noise and plugs.

But with the plugs we
couldn't talk to each other.

It was so difficult.

And so we took them off.

I would like to go back to work.

I registered at the job center.

But they always look
for younger people.

They told me it was old.

I'm 56 years old and
it's all over for me.

My name is Miguel Viana da Silva.

I am married,
I have a son and a grandson.

I started working in this
factory at thirteen years old.

Then I joined the army in Espinho
and went to war in Mozambique.

Between the years 1971 and 1973.

Here we produced a lot of yarn.
Linen, cotton and polyester.

At first mechanically,
later electronically.

A job that needed ten men...

with these new machines,
it can be done with just one person.

There were many staff cuts,
but it was not enough.

In the 1990s,
in Indonesia and Cambodia...

textile workers
earned a dollar a day.

Today they win two.

And twenty years have
passed since then.

That is what these countries
can offer: very cheap labor.

They work in those conditions
because if they don't go hungry.

And seriously hungry.

The factory closed like so many others.

So generations of
workers now feel lost.

What are they going to do?
Where are you going?

Most do not know.

I am Antonio Monteiro Bastos.

I entered this
factory at fourteen.

As my father did before me.

I was here for six years.

Then I joined the army.

When I left, I didn't want
to go back to the factory.

I decided to go to France, in 1954.

It was hard.

I lived in a bunkhouse.

And I found it very
difficult to speak French.

I almost left.

But I held on and little
by little I was improving.

I really liked mechanics.

I worked in five workshops.

Until one day I got
a steady job...

at the Renault
factory in Billancourt.

I married a French woman.
My children are all French.

Later my wife died and
I decided to return.

I missed my land.
It was in my blood.

But I don't regret leaving.

By emigrating you learn a lot.
Especially to fight.

Because workers' rights
are not easily given.

So it is and always was so.

They say that Europe is worn
out, that capitalism is worn out.

I do not know.

I only know that Europe...

no longer creates wealth
or jobs as it used to.

Big companies take their
factories to Asia...

looking for workers
who are treated as slaves.

We cannot compete with them.
It is impossible.

I have lived a full life.

But I don't know what the future
holds for my grandchildren.

I really do not know.

My name is Inês Ferreira Gomes.

It has been a long time since
I worked in this factory.

I don't know if my
memories are of interest.

I could say that at the factory...

I was almost like a machine.

Only I thought and
the machines did not.

And when I operated the machines...

always thought...

what you would do if
you had a different job...

or if I won the lottery.

Or on the trips he wanted to take.

That went round and
round in my head.

I will soon be 77 years old.

And I still don't know what happiness is.

They talk so much about
her on television.

But honestly,
I don't know what it is.

I know what joy is.
But not happiness.

When I was young
I was very dreamy.

I would meet my cousin and
we would make big plans.

Some materialized,
others did not.

For example,
she was able to continue studying.

And he really liked writing.

And he wrote so well.

"When we start a thing,
we put all our passion into it."

Then come the bad times,
the problems, the tasks.

But, from time to time,
the tradeoffs come.

So when the end is near...

we all see each other in our work and
we look forward to saying, 'I'm done.'

But when everything is
finished, what do we feel?

Do we miss him

Do we want to go back to what
has cost us so much work?

This collision of feelings.

This life we live.

"This discontented joy."

My cousin was 18 years
old when she wrote this.

Eighteen years!

MAY 8

MAY 8 PHOTOGRAPHY

In this photo there are many people...

who used to walk
a lot to work here.

From Monday to Friday they
stayed with friends or family.

That was his life.

They only came home
on the weekends.

That was his life, more or less.

On the one hand...

I see sadness for the life so
full of deficiencies that they led.

On the other hand...

I see a certain joy...

for having work
for their survival.

I have a hard time seeing
the people who are here.

They seem like very humble people,
with their soup plates in front.

People who worked
much more than us...

in exchange for a miserable salary.

I do not recognize anyone.

These people had a difficult time.

Those were other
times, worse than now.

I was looking at the photo,
but I don't recognize anyone.

For me, these types of
workers no longer exist.

When this photo was taken,
workers' lives were worse.

We had rights that
they did not have.

They worked longer hours,
everything was worse.

You can say they are
about to go back to work.

I think that's
why they look sad.

They are people from other times.
No one should be alive anymore.

When I see this photo...

I think nothing is like that anymore.

They were poor, very poor.

But they had their ideals.

And also some hope
for the future.

They wanted to improve their lives.

They were very austere people.

Able to live with next to nothing.

There is sadness in his eyes, yes.

But also dignity. A lot.

These people mystify me.

They look at us...

and it seems they
want to say something.

But I'm not sure what it is.

I do not know.

I do not know.

MAY 9

MAY 9 CASTING OF VALDEMAR SANTOS

Memory? Do you want to
know if I have memory?

Of course!

Thank God, it still doesn't fail me.

I have used it a lot, yes.

Because without memory
an actor is nothing.

He is lost. Lost!

And I am an actor.
A serious actor.

I certainly have a memory.
What I don't have is work!

But it is possible for me to
remember all the papers I have had.

Everybody! From first to last.

I was Carlos Marx in "El Capital",
by the great Ernesto da Silva.

I can see they don't know
what I'm talking about.

It is you who have no memory!

They don't even
remember Carlos Marx.

The son of a factory owner.

His father ran him out of the house.

All for wanting to be a man.

A man like these who are here.

That was his sin.

Carlos Marx.

My first role.

I still have it here. Here!

"I will descend into the arena..."

to fight for my life...

and fight against the
instability of employees.

I will reinvigorate their souls
with a heartbreaking social poem...

in which there are elect and reprobate.
The reprobates are the workers...

and the chosen ones are parasites.

I will inhabit the city!

Through the windows I
will contemplate...

the dining rooms full of
customers in luxury hotels...

and rooms adorned
with expensive furniture.

I will listen in the courtyard...

the voluptuous caresses
of the orchestra...

that soothe exhausted spirits
with waves of vaporous fantasies.

At the gate...

taking cover from the freezing rain...

small and impertinent...

I will see the
forgotten little creature...

of loose hair in the cold wind...

the face covered in tears
asking for an adventure...

and hoping that some
passerby wants to buy...

an innocence that
flourished prostituted.

Withered flowers caught in the
vice that devours the soul.

I will see women auctioning
off their bodies.

Condemned to eternal suffering,
because one day they had no bread!

The laughter of the living room,
the moans and groans of the garrets...

gleaming glasses and
rotting mattresses...

silks that murmur,
worn rags that rip themselves.

I will be with you soon!

The artisans disappear.

The workers go extinct.

Farmers have become bureaucrats.

The work is virtual.

Companies are virtual.
The markets are virtual.

Products are virtual.
Payments are virtual.

Money is virtual.

Is the network.

The network that captures us all.

To all.

To each other.

MAY 10 CASTING FOR
THE ACCORDIONIST.

My name is Arménio dos Santos Cruz.

I never worked in this factory.

But my parents and grandparents
worked here for many years.

I was the first of my family who
had the opportunity to study.

Of obtaining higher education.
I'm a musician.

Since I was a child
I like music...

because my father
played the accordion.

He was part of the music band
here, from Río Vizela.

He always said: "The
accordion is my consolation."

When I'm sad,
I take it and touch...

"until the sadness disappears."

For men and women
who over time...

they worked in the Yarn and Fabric
Factory of the Vizela River (1845 - 2002).

Don Afonso Henriques was the son of Count
Enrique de Borgoña and Doña Teresa...

who was the daughter
of Emperor Alfonso VI...

king of León, Castilla and Galicia.

Dona Teresa's father,
the emperor...

presented Doña Teresa in the
county of Portugal as a dowry...

whose capital was the
ancient city of Guimarães.

It is believed to have been founded
by a gentleman named Vimara Peres.

Don Afonso Henriques was born here...

and his father died
when he was 2 years old.

Her mother remarried to
a Galician nobleman...

called Fernão Pérez de Trava...

to whom the county of
Portugal also handed over.

The Portuguese barons joined forces
with Don Afonso Henriques...

to fight against the Galicians,
and to win the battle of São Mamede.

Don Afonso Henriques is said to...

accompanied his mother and
imprisoned her in Lanhoso Castle.

In this way, the nation of Portugal began
its path towards political independence.

The battle of June 24, 1128...

summer solstice day...

and the celebration of the
birth of Saint John the Baptist...

was taken as the harbinger
of the most important victory...

of Don Afonso Henriques who
came to fight and win the battle...

against the Moors
at Ourique in 1139...

and then he was proclaimed
king of Portugal in 1140.

THE CONQUERED CONQUEROR

Follow me please.

This is one of the
squares in Guimarães.

The city where Don Afonso Henriques,
the first king of Portugal, was born.

Now if you follow me please...

I will show you the
oldest square in the city.

It is also the most traditional.

Look at the statue, please.

Follow me please.

Your attention please.

These are the oldest corners
of this beautiful city.

And these are the oldest
houses in the city.

And now we will see the statue erected
to the conqueror of Portugal...

Don Afonso Henriques.

The work of a great Portuguese
sculptor, Soares dos Reis.

Here is the Conqueror
of Portugal...

who began his reign here,
in the Guimarães castle.

This was the first step
towards their conquest.

Here is the Conqueror of
Portugal, as you see it.

The troops acknowledge that they do
not want to tear down the statue...

they just want to take pictures...

so they quietly retreat.

Here is the Conqueror.

Conquered by tourists...

that they don't let you photograph it.