Those arriving in the city by train will find a square torn apart by the noise of cars and traffic lights that command the hurried pedestrians.

“A river used to run here!” the tour guide shouts. And where the trains now arrive, nuns once lived. In the silent stone cloister, only the whisper of prayers could be heard above the crystalline song of the water.

Now, from either side, six streets, like six rivers, flow into the square. Side by side, going up and down, they take people to all parts of the city.

Between them, the buildings are like petrified boats, moored in the port that is the square.

Few know its name, but it is that of the poet who once wrote:

“I have seen something of the world, and noted some of what I have seen. Of all the journeys I have made, however, the ones that have always interested me most have been the journeys in my own land.”