Our next adventure takes us to the north region (província histórica) of Portugal known as the Minho. But the drive will take nearly four hours (with banho breaks), so we plan a stop midway near the town of Luso at the Palácio do Buçaco (Palace Bussaco Hotel, 'Bussaco' is old-Portuguese, late nineteenth century). The Palácio occupies the site of an old Carmelite monastery in the Serra do Buçaco.
We know the architect Luigi Manini from Regaleira in Sintra, and we anticipate the 'fairy tale' ambiance. Though built for the king, the Palácio dates to the time of the fall of the Portuguese monarchy (it was inaugurated by Dom Carlos in 1907, who was assassinated in 1908, and the Palácio opened as a hotel in 1917).
Driving through Luso is like touring a miniature, slightly run-down, Sintra, as touches of fairy-tale imagery leak beyond the palace grounds. Just past the Museu Militar (Buçaco was the site of one of the last big battles of the Napoleonic Peninsula Wars) we pass the Porta da Rainha and pay to enter the Mata Nacional do Buçaco – an unforeseen but worthy fee (Google Street View does not show the manned gatehouse).
As per the brief given to Manini, the Palácio resembles a 'pumped up' Torre de Belém, and includes cylindrical bartizan turrets (guaritas), a roof edged with crenellations, lower battlements with Templar shields, and a stunning ground-level arcade. The religious heritage is preserved in the framed fresco of Nossa Senhora and the capela (seventeenth century). which remains on the west side (the brasão of the Carmelites is illustrated in the stone mosaic facade).
On the garden-side (top image), there is a majestic Manueline arched window, with castles and caravels on carved stone 'petals'. Our Portuguese sage, however, is not impressed; he may be telling us to 'go take a hike':
In discussing Buçaco, one mustn’t assume this is a serra like any other, for at one extreme there’s a fabulous wood which the traveller is now about to enter. In it lies the Palace Hotel, which demands our immediate attention. … [W]ithout question, this neoManueline building has no claim to seriousness, it’s pure neoRenaissance, conceived by an Italian architect and scenery-painter in the twilight of the nineteenth century, when imperial Portuguese consciences were aflame and it was deemed appropriate to seal them into either good or bad sixteenth-century moulds. And if the Palace is a Palace, there only for the few, if Buçaco is far away, out of his grasp, the same process was applied to the construction of Rossio Station in Lisbon, sticking a Manueline façade also onto its frontage, and in order for the illusion to be the more complete, an image of King Sebastian, vanquished in Alcácer Quibir, yet still the absolute monarch of many imaginations. The traveller’s not upset nor indisposed, these thoughts are not the product of poor digestion nor intellectual acidity. But he has the right to dislike the Palace Hotel, even though he recognises the stone is well chiselled; its rooms and dining halls are well decorated; and its chairs comfy—everything, in fact, is there for the purposes of comfort. The Palace Hotel would, the traveller thinks, fit the dream-come-true of a North American millionaire who, being unable to take the building to Boston brick by brick, turned up here to give full rein to his greed. Nonetheless, it seems that the traveller is deceived even in this: many of the foreigners who seek shelter under its Manueline roofs set off early every morning for the woods surrounding the hotel, returning only at meal-times. The traveller’s beginning to believe that good taste is not altogether lost in our world and, this being so, he need do nothing more than follow the example of the most advanced nations: head for the woods. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Manini's architecture is supported by tile, sculpture, other decorative artworks, as well as the gardens. Those artisans are also in Saramago's sights:
Buçaco forest absolves the combined sins of Manini and the traveller and then, if it is possible to absolve the sins of the world, all those of Jorge Colaço who made the tiles, and of Costa Motas, both uncle and nephew, who carved the sculptures. Buçaco is king of a vegetable kingdom. Here water is a slave, as are the animals hiding or wandering in the undergrowth. The traveller goes for a walk. … Buçaco forest demands a whole vocabulary which, once spoken, tells us that there’s everything still left to say. You don’t describe Buçaco forest. The best thing is to lose yourself in it, as the traveller did in that incomparable January period, when the humidity of the air joins with that of the earth, and the only sound is of footfalls upon dried leaves. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)
Colaço's painéis de azulejos depict scenes from' Os Lusíadas, reminiscent of the images we saw in Ílhavo; these line the inside of the Manueline arcade. There are unexpected scenes of a man being taken on a boat from Purgatório to Inferno, set near the hotel entrance, which seems more like Dante than Camões, but is inspired by the play Triologia das Barcas (Trilogy of the Ships) by Gil Vicente.
Inside, the attendant permits a brief look-see (it's "for the hotel guests"). Unlike Palácio da Pena, whose fantasy is all on the surface, here the journey goes right through. The interiors are amazing, with beautifully carved doorways and windows, trimmed ceilings, and more tile panels. In the middle of the entrance hall sits the sculpture of a young girl flipping the pages of a picture book, perhaps filled with the fables that inspired the Palácio.
On the stair landing, a large stained-glass window is flanked by two statues, the figurative master and mistress of the house. With thoughts of the Descobrimentos and the Batalha do Buçaco in our minds, we spy a suit of armor and wonder if the guests are expected to fight their way to their quartos.
Back on the road, we head for another hotel in an old, converted building, the Mosteiro de Santa Marinha de Costa (Pousada Mosteiro Guimarães, twelfth century). This is an old Agostinianos monastery (the brasões of the sacred heart and the lion appear on all the doorways, carpets, the bed frames, etc), dedicated to Santa Marinha (Saint Margaret), in the parish of Costa. The legend of Santa Marinha dates from the 3rd or fourth century and involves the slaying of a demon and martyrdom (by fire?) at the hands of a Roman official – thus Santa Marinha is often depicted with a martyr's palm and a sword.
The installation of the Pousada is the result of prolonged decay after the orders were dissolved in 1834, a fire that nearly destroyed the facility in 1951, and a remarkable restoration by modernist architect Fernando Távora in 1984. As an example, on the top floor, just off the claustro is the sala do capitula, with its wood ceiling and azulejos; sandwiched between the claustro and the igreja is a window with an excellent view to the lovely sacristía.
At the south end of the hotel wing is the varanda de São Jerónimo, which provides access to the gardens (the monastery converted to the ordem de São Jerónimo in the sixteenth century). At the center is a large, elegant lavabo (perhaps the refeitório had been nearby). On either side are azulejos panels that seem to depict ceremonial events involving the re-organization of the monastery: one with Dom Jaime and Frei António Moniz, and one with Infante Dom Duarte, Frei Jorge de Belém (the Mosteiro dos Jerónimos was being built), and Dom Ant(ónio). Oddly, in the last image, the participants seem to trade hats.
At the north end of the complex is the cemeterio and the igreja, with views out to the city and hills. The receptionists assure us that the church is closed til the weekend, but we get a good look at the facade. In the sculptural niches are Santa Marinha (at top with martyr's palm), São Jerónimo, and Santa Paula (with skull).
On top of each bell tower are what appear to be the 'traded hats', including the crown over the brasão of the royal patron, (either Rainha Dona Mafalda, wife of Dom Afonso Henriques; or more likely Rainha Dona Catarina, wife of Dom João III, who reigned at the time of the Jerónimos).
For dinner, we walk into the center of Guimarães (pop 152,309 in 2011). Our quick tour includes the Capela dos Passos de Paixão de Cristo (eighteenth century), the Igreja de Nossa Senhora de Oliveira (tenth and fourteenth centuries), the Padrão do Salado (fourteenth century), and the Antiga Câmara Municipal (fourteenth century; separates the Largo da Oliveira and the Praça de São Tiago).
The historic center has the scale and the textures of a true medieval town, maintained with incredible care, and in terms of trash and graffiti, nearly spotless.
Upon returning to the Pousada, we find the Igreja de Santa Marinha de Costa open, as there is choir practice; and the doorkeeper invites us to explore. The lights are on near the altar, but the rest of the interior is still visible. Just to the left is an enormous pipe organ, which is not being used for practice; a pair of carved fauns hold the balcony from below. Four side chapels feature Santa Marinha, São Francisco, Nossa Senhora do Carmo, São Tiago, and São Jerónimo (eighteenth century).
The carved wooden choir stalls in the extra-deep capela-mor are particularly compelling and unusual. The altarpiece itself is hidden behind a red curtain during practice, but contains a Crucifixion (as can be seen in this YouTube video). At the top of the arch are those hats again.
On either side of the entry vestibule is the baptismal font and the capela das almas (which are quite dark). Outside, the night air is cool, and as the choral tones waft from the doorway, the stars flicker to life.
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