“One more stop” he said. We were chasing daring lighthouses, pure beaches and wild coastline, as usual. It had been a scorching hot day in August, the kind of day that hushes everything and brings out the light, white houses and white sands surrounded by a shimmering halo, people scarce and wrinkled by sun and dry winds. Coming down from Nazaré along the coast, we had taken an arduous trip inland to see Fátima (grossly overrated) and Batalha (true gem), and were heading to Óbidos for the night. Tired from the heat and the long drive, I was truly looking forward to the cool walls, green ivy, and refreshing chatter of…