The Minho - Day 6: Coimbra

A lunch stop in Coimbra (pop 143,396 in 2011) offers precious little time to see the city, so we are not going to try. The plan is to stop, get lunch near the Museu de Machado de Castro, have a look around, then go. Scanning the maps, it looks like parking near the Universidade de Coimbra is tough, so we pin a garage near the Mercado, which has an elevador to take us to the top.

The morning is clear and warm, we make great time down the A1. Even Siri plugs in and fires right up. Part of our thinking: it's the Sunday after Easter, schools are on holiday, and the city won't be too crazy.

Unfortunately, when we get to the Mercado, everything is dug up. The road in front of the Mercado is down to a single-lane, so temporary lights send one-way traffic around the plastic Jersey barriers – what a mess. As we wait, we can see the ramp to the garage, but we can also see that the lot in front of the Mercado is empty, so we just pull in and park. It's nice and shady, and we are back on track.

It's a short walk to the Elevador do Mercado, which is a much more elaborate system than can be seen in maps. A tower-style lift connects to a bridge walkway and a funicular. At the bottom is a bunker where the tickets machines live. We cannot make sense of the machines and cannot tell if the system is even running today. We press the call button while we try to decipher the instructions, and the cab arrives. A young man steps out of the cab and welcomes us aboard. He tells us not to deal with the machine, we can simply give him the fare.

It's one of those days. Even when we're sure things are going to blow-up, they just work out. We learn to chill – as the Portuguese say, 'calma'.

 

 

The views from the top are astounding. Layers of colorful blocks rise on the opposite hill. Narrow roads slice into steep views of the Rio Mondego. As we approach campus, the architectural details slowly appear: the back of the Igreja de São Salvador (twelfth to eighteenth centuries), the Sé Nova (sixteenth to seventeenth centuries)), and the Museu (the former Igreja de São João de Almedina, seventeenth century).

 

 

We have plenty of time to search for lunch, and decide to walk to the famous Paço das Escolas. We enter the Porta Férrea (seventeenth century), just past the Faculdade de Letras (Humanities). The Paço is the former Paço Real da Alcáçova, as the large building to the north is the antigo Palácio Real (tenth to eighteenth centuries).

Next to the Capela de São Miguel (sixteenth century) is a service desk, and we inquire about tickets to the Biblioteca Joanina (eighteenth century). The young lady there, in broken English, tells us the bilheteria is 'around the corner'.

It is not 'around the corner'; it's about three blocks away, past the Sé Nova. Entries to the Biblioteca are timed, and the only tickets are combo-style (Biblioteca, Capela, and Paço for 13.50€). We decide to go ahead and get tickets to the two-thirty opening. We set a timer with Siri.

 

 

 

There is a wedding at the Sé Nova, and as we walk by, the crowd is just thinning. We wonder if our luck has run out; the guests have a head start and are filling all the good lunch spots. And now, we are literally on the clock. We head across the street to the restaurant at the Museu to check the line.

We get a table right away and enjoy our almoço and views of the Museu and the Paço from the sun-drenched deck. Sitting, chatting, sipping cool drinks, we have all the time in the world.

 

The Biblioteca is covered in scaffolding; luckily, the best part is on the inside. The tour starts on the lower level, with the Prisão Académica. As we wait, a fellow tourist is complaining to the staff that he would like to enter, even though his timed ticket is for a later opening. He wants to enter with his wife (partner? girlfriend?), but their ticket times don't match. The attendant asks him to wait, but he continues to argue. 

We cringe. Calma.

 

 

We may explore the Prisão for ten minutes, then the stairway door will open. It's interesting, the idea that there is a prison at all. We assume it's more a part of the old Palácio than the Universidade, though we can imagine uses during the Estado Novo – so, it's a convenience from many eras.

Arising from the University's privileged status as a guild private in nature, the prison was installed in 1593 underneath the Sala dos Capelos. In 1773 it was transferred to the underground floor of the Library, where the ruins belonging to the old Medieval prison are believed to have been found, of which two cells (the Secrets) and a spiral staircase are the only remains. The prison was used until 1832, where students served time for having committed disciplinary offences.

But it's not what we came to see. After ten minutes, the attendant re-appears, and we ascend to the mid-level. Here, she tells us that we have ten minutes in the Biblioteca, and that photography is not permitted. There is grumbling from the crowd, and we can hear someone complain that they paid a lot of money for ten minutes.

We have the same thought but know that is is unfair to complain to the attendant. There are, of course, operational, insurance, and security issues, but no one wants to hear all that. And as someone who used to work in museums, the reply should be: "You ought to be grateful. This is an historical treasure – there are lots of people who don't get any minutes."

 

 

As we enter, the fellow in front of us takes out his phone to snap a picture. She just said; ten seconds ago, the young lady told us only two things, and "no photos" was one of them. We remind our tour-mate, and he looks shocked. But he does stop.

Calma!

Our ten minutes are devoured slowly, like a lucious dessert. The Biblioteca is as amazing as promised. There are three reading rooms joined by faux-marble archways. Our gazes are drawn upward by the books, the balconies, the ladders, and the incredible gilt cornice. And then the eye-watering ceilings continue the cascade. The pamphlet reads:

On the ceiling of the third room the University is depicted as the synthesis of universal knowledge ("Encyclopaedia"). In the crown molding, the large areas of knowledge are identified by the following legends: "Sacra Pagina" for Theology and Canons; "Astraea" for Law; "Natura" for Natural Sciences, Medicine in particular; and "Ars"for Arts.

Since photos are not permitted, images of the tourist pamphlet are below. There is a Street View tour here, as well as a few images from Wikimedia.

 

 

interior of the Biblioteca Joanina (images from Wikimedia Commons)

We try to recuperate in the Capela, which is packed tight (imagine if tourists had free access to the Biblioteca). The Capela is full of color and ornament, but our brains cannot absorb any more.

Back in the Paço das Escolas, the afternoon sun is radiant, and the cloaked estudantes assemble. It feels like the last day of school, and summer is near.

 

 

 

 

On our return to the Elevador, we pass several repúblicas – communal student dorms. Famously political, they are covered in stenciled lettering and cartoons:

Não houve propriamente queima do "grelo". Mas apareceram alguns "rabos"…

(There was not exactly burning of the "sprout". But some "asses" appeared…)

Even the cartoon sign says "Calma"; those onion-heads know everything (or maybe it says "Carmo"?).

 

 

The journey home is uneventful as we unwind and process the streetscapes and histories of Guimarães, Braga, and Coimbra. Dom Afonso's statue may be in from of the Paços dos Duques, but the King's home is here, and now it's the Faculdade de Direito (law school). And we may not yet be able to sit through a lecture about São Frutuoso and a Visigoth-era chapel, but we are tempted.

We know the dots, and we can connect them. The bigger picture is unclear, but we have a sense of the culture. We watch demanding tourists with familiarity and detachment, and ask, 'are we like that? are we the onion-heads?'

What is the right way to think about 'tourist etiquette'? Generally and obviously, it's being open, listening, speaking the language, meeting locals (yes, including museum staff), and planning. Being a 'good tourist' can be sloppy and inconvenient, and it takes effort. The results are tangible, and the experiences are a proper reward.

Our trip to the Minho is proof: there is joy in the viagem.

 

The Minho - Day 5: Braga

Our journey to Braga (pop 193,333 in 2021) sets up as a series of stops to the hilltop churches that ring the city to the south and east, pilgrimage churches like those in Fátima or Santiago de Compostela, but with elevation. Various Caminho paths trace the Minho, and cross through towns like Barcelos and Viana do Castelo:

There are strings of churches in Braga, and the traveller won’t make it to all of them. So he’ll have to choose, partly according to the recommendations he’s brought with him, rather more according to the spontaneous impulses of the moment. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

With pilgrims stalking the hills, any city might benefit from their commerce. Each church includes an escadório for the slow ascent of the penitent. We start with the one closest to Guimarães, and the smallest:

First call was at the Serra do Falperra, which once rivalled the pine groves of Azambuja for the number of its assaults and robberies but which today is a bucolic spot, ideal for family picnics. Here the church of Santa María Magdalena can be seen in its infinite grace, an eighteenth-century masterpiece by the architect André Soares, who also sculpted the saint kept in a niche above the main window. Such sculptures from the hardest granite irresistibly remind the traveller of the clay models which famously also distinguished the 1700s. There would seem to be little in common between the plasticity of clay and the rigidity of stone, but perhaps the relationship is less material than spiritual, implicit in the authors’ manner of tracing clothes and gestures, or in the decorative surrounds of which the façade affords a superlative example. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

Igreja de Santa Maria Madalena (early eighteenth century) is by the same architect that designed the Santos Passos in Guimarães, André Soares. The same architect that Saramago seemed to despise, here, he adores.

To get to the Igreja, we park at the Golden Tulip Hotel, and take the path to the crest of the hill. As we go up, mountain bikers careen down (that can't be good for the old stone steps).

Both Soares churches face northwest, and as a result, both have the same dull complexion. The facade is covered in lichen, though the "plasticity of clay" is still evident, despite the mottled surface and the permanent shadows. The porta is framed by concave pilasters with 'squashed' Ionic capitals. And the proportions of this facade are much more pleasing than Santos Passos

The vista toward Braga is very good, but the escadório is modest, with concentric ovals around a small sculptural niche.

 

 

The interior is quite simple, though we enter the square floor plan on the diagonal. Therefore, the two capelas laterais face us at forty-five-degree angles. On the left is Nossa Senhora da Conceição with Her rosaries, and on the right is Santo António. Under Santo António is the half-naked Santa Maria Madalena, in a glass case, resting her head on a skull.

As we investigate the details, a crowd begins to gather. Apparently, a christening is about to start this morning, which explains the flowers, the white runner, and the bowl near the altar. As the family members enter, we depart. Guests shut their car doors, and we realize there is parking in the cork orchard next to the church (note for next time).

 

 

Bom Jesus and Sameiro attracts the devout and pleasure-seekers in equal measure. The traveller went out of pleasure. It boasts open countryside, fresh air and plenty of sun, even now in November, and if there’s a dearth of artistic wonders, it’s rich in popular taste with the flavour of a pilgrimage, something that has rubbed off on its statues, staircases and chapels and abundantly justifies the visit. Bom Jesus wins out in terms of beautiful plasticity over Our Lady of Sameiro—there’s really no comparison between them. As to which is the site of greater or lesser devotion, neither are counted on this traveller’s rosary. So let the journey continue. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

Just a few minutes north of Santa Maria Madalena, is the Santuário de Nossa Senhora do Sameiro (nineteenth century). This is a much large complex, with a big parking lot, gardens, cafes, gift shops. The escadório is a taller, multi-staged affair, with a broad, curved plaza on the level just below the Santuário.

The commercial intent is obvious, but the design is appropriate and tasteful. Despite the traveler's ranking, it is not un-attractive. Figures of church leaders, saints, and angels crown groups of 'airstream' pylons (some, much taller than others). The approaches are paved with calçadas, adorned with stars and the 'AM' monogram (Ave Maria).

The Santuário has a pentagonal plan, and a tall white dome. The dome is pieced by five oculi, each with a surround in the shape of a six-pointed star; and then topped with a beautiful lantern and balustrade. The west-facing side extends to a formal facade with the two torres sineiras. There are two temple-front 'side doors' on the adjoining faces of the pentagon.

 

 

 

 

At the entrance archway, the Ionic columns splay outward in a gesture of welcome. The capitals turn edge-on, that is, two volute 'faces' come together at a corner (art historians attribute this form to Scamozzi, the man who finished La Rotonda). These volutes split off, multiply, and decorate the brackets under the lintel. Something similar happens with the Corinthian capitals at the upper story and the keystone in the upper arch.

Despite the exotic geometry, the interior feels conventional, a nave and side chapels of significant scale, but 'normal' geometry. However, when we reach the crossing, we see the pentagonal cornice under the drum of the dome over the altar. The transepts turn the corners and become an ambulatory around the chancel. The capelas laterais are behind the capela-mor, under classically framed, ribbed half-domes. The play of geometries is engaging, with dark balconies, lively vaulting, and splashes of color from the stained glass in the clerestory.

At the center is Nossa Senhora do Sameiro (early twentieth century), a much-beloved statue. High quality photo books are available for five euros. Above Her are the Holy Trinity, Her monogram, and Her crown. Around the statue are the words to the prayer "You are completely beautiful" (starts in Latin, ends in Portuguese):

Tota pulchra es, Maria. 

Et macula originalis non est in Te.

Vos a glória de Jerusalém.
Vos a alegria de Israel.
Vos a honra do nosso povo.
Vos a advogada dos pecadores.

(You are all beautiful, Mary,
and the original stain [of sin] is not in you. 

You are the glory of Jerusalem,
you are the joy of Israel,
you give honour to our people.
You are an advocate of sinners.)

 

 

 

 

Just a few minutes north of Sameiro is the Santuário do Bom Jesus do Monte (eighteenth to nineteenth centuries). The maps do not show convenient parking at the top, however, there is an elevador. The lot at the bottom of the elevador is small, and we are anxious that it may fill up. But when we arrive, there are only a handful of cars, though the buses are using it to drop-off and turn around.

Compared to Santa Maria Madalena and Sameiro, the escadório of Bom Jesus is the most elaborate, by far. There is a handsome gate at the very bottom, and the first portion is through a forested slope and ends at a circular landing between octagonal towers. A thinner part of the escadório crosses the Estrada do Bom Jesus to a bigger rectangular landing flanked by hexagonal tower. The rest of the ascent is crossed with scissor stairs.

Unfortunately, none of this is visible from the elevador. The cab plows through the woods and pops out at the curving stair just below the Santuário. The patches of the leftover slope, the parts that aren't stairs or landings, are covered with marvelous mini-gardens, boxwoods and flowers arranged in formal, geometric designs.

 

 

 

 

 

Compared to the other two, the Bom Jesus facade is a much cleaner, temple-front composition: Doric at the base, Ionic at the clerestory, and Corinthian at the torres sineiras (correct, 'by the book', classical sequence). On either side of the porta are Santo Jeremias (left) and São Isaiah (right), two prophets of the Old Testament. The Four Evangelists stand over the door, from left to right: São Lucas with a bull, São João with an eagle, São Mateus with a small angel, and São Marcos with a lion. Above, pieces of hardware signify the Via Sacra (hammer, pliers, rope, spears, ladders, the crown of thorns) from the pediment. The architecture thus supports the Biblical narrative.

Inside the clean, legible forms continue. In the roundels in the ceiling, mischievous angels bring the hardware indoors. At the altar is a striking, and a little startling, diorama of the Crucifixion at Mount Calvary, with the two thieves and Roman soldiers. This is enclosed by free-standing, Composite order columns and lintels, like a very-mini-version of Bernini's colonnade at St Peters. The columns gesture inward, enclosing the scene.

Under the dome are four brasões apparently representing an arcebispo (Rodrigo de Moura Teles), a cardeal (Jorge da Costa), and two popes (possibly Pio IX and Clemente XIV), the patrons of the Santuário. After our inquiries about the hats at the Pousada, we may be getting the hang of this.

In the pendentives are the letters, "I, N, R, I".

 

 

 

At least a limited exploration of the escadório seems compulsory. We begin at the Largo do Pelicano, which (we assume) refers to the mother and baby birds in the fountain. We decide to descend only to the first large landing, thus limiting our need to ascend. This uppermost section is called the Escadório das Três Virtudes (three virtues), with allegorical fontes at each small landing.

We start with 'Fonte da Caridade' (charity), capped with a statue of a man holding two children. The inscription says: "Tria hæc maior autem horum est charitas" (but the greater of these three is charity). In the niche, two cherubs hold a human heart as water gushes out of the valve.

In the middle is the 'Fonte da Esperança' (hope). The inscription states: "Expectantes beatam spem et adventum gloriæ" (awaiting the blessed hope and coming glory). On the fountain is Noah's Ark, and in the medallion: "Arca in qua animæ salvæ factæ sunt" (the ark in which souls were saved).

At the bottom is the 'Fonte da Fé' (faith). In the niche is a cross with water flowing from the nail holes for His two hands and feet. The sign is inscribed: "Ejus fluent aquæ vivæ" (His living waters flow).

Alright, we go down one more level to the highest landing of the Escadório dos Cinco Sentidos (five senses). This one represents 'Tacto' (sense of touch), and the image shows someone pouring water from a vase. We leave the remaining allegorical fontes unchecked, and assume they work just fine.

 

 

 

 

 

We continue climbing past the church. Another crowd gathers there for a wedding. We take the winding path up to the 'gruta artificial', surmounted by a 'gazebo artificial'. We return to the church to watch the bride's entry as a soloist sings "Ave Maria".

Standing at the top of the extraordinary stairway, with the music and the occasion, and staring over the sculptures with their patina, surrounded by flowers – it's magical.

 

 

On the other side of Braga is an ancient, ruined chapel. Saramago gives his highest recommendation:

But then Real is also a small village a few kilometres from Braga. It’s no different to the rest in its people and houses, but possesses something all the rest lack, both small villages and great cities: the church of San Frutuoso de Montelios. 

The traveller is quite aware of what he’s saying. He has visited many churches, his head is swimming with architectural riches, and this all gave him a just sense of his conviction that the rest of Portugal has nothing to offer to compare with such a treasure. It’s a small building, shorn of ornamentation outside and simple within: you can visit it all in a couple of minutes. All in all, nothing else in Portugal has such a perfect harmony of scale, nor do flattened surfaces commonly speak with such eloquence. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

Siri chooses this moment to 'hallucinate'. She sends us deep into the twisty, switch-back roads around Bom Jesus. Ultimately, we decide to ignore Siri and follow the road signs into town, hoping the GPS will reset. We make it to the Cemitério de Monte d'Arcos, pull over, and ask a local. He pulls out his phone. Then we realize that verbal instructions in a foreign language aren't super helpful. A reset of our iPhone does the trick – turn it off, turn it on.

As we near the Capela, Siri directs us into a narrow unpaved road, and we begin to lose faith. Passing under a low stone arch, we finally find the Capela de San Frutuoso de Montelios (sixth century) next to the Igreja de São Jerónimo de Real. The yard in front, which should provide plenty of parking, is full. We devise a spot near the corner.

The Capela is appended to the Igreja on an elevated grade. Young children could not make a more primitive-looking building from their blocks. After a series of progressively more elaborate churches, this is a hard turn in the opposite direction.

Inside the Igreja we find the reason for all the cars: a lecturer is giving a talk about the Capela. São Frutuoso de Braga is a Catholic leader from the seventh century, and tomorrow, April 16th, is his Festa. If we had only known – but that takes expert-level planning that is currently out of our reach.

We whisper to the attendant if it's okay to look inside. He nods, opens the iron gate, and gestures us through. We take the 'side-on' stair up to the level of the Capela.

 

We try to remember a Christian church we've visited that is older than this one (from the year 560). It's quite amazing, wonderfully preserved, appropriately lit with just a few hidden bulbs (and excellent wire management). The four arms of the cross meet at the central domed space with rough, semi-circular arches, each filled with a tripartite screen of horseshoe arches and columns, the center opening slightly larger.

The arms are square rooms. Lower 'finish walls' of honed blocks create circular spaces inside the squares, except at the entrance, where they are strait. The room opposite the entrance holds a carved pedestal and six column bases which follow the circle. A small, arched window provides some natural light.

In the floor of the central room two well-worn tombstones, one belongs to Marcos Pereira do Lago (died 1640). Above, a simple dome rests on four small windows, with carved corner stones at the base of each pendentive.

The the 'side' room facing the parking yard ends with a door (which we can see from the exterior). The other 'side' has another small, arched window. Both rooms contain four column bases each, which follow, if not a circle, perhaps a trapezoid.

 

 

 

 

San Frutuoso de Montelios is earlier than anything the traveller has seen before, with the sole exception of some Roman remains. It must date from between Roman and Romanesque, perhaps from as far back as the Visigoth period, but is an example of how little classifications really count. If you wish to understand all you can about art, or to acknowledge the fullest extent of your ignorance, you should make the journey to this village: either way, you’ll feel both recognition and gratitude to that distant people who conceived and constructed this church, a prime instance of the loveliest architecture to be found in Portugal. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

The 'inner walls' are trimmed with a cornice of acanthus leaves and match the column capitals which resemble a primitive Corinthian order. On the curving 'inner walls' is a thinner cornice with rope molding, lilies within an egg-and-dart pattern, and bead-and-reel.

The set of parts is crude but complete, and its organization is still familiar. It is an architectural starter kit, a primer – a 'point-A' for a thousand 'point-Bs'. 

 

 

 

 

 

Lunch awaits in the city of Braga. After the Siri debacle, we choose convenience over cost and leave the car in the garage at Parque Campo da Vinha (not that expensive). From there, it's a short walk along the Jardim de Santa Bárbara, to the restaurants behind the Sé on the Rua Dom Afonso Henriques.

Braga is another stunning northern Portuguese city. We may have caught the Minho amid its finest early-spring bloom. The Antigo Paço Arquiepiscopal plays background to another explosion of green and pink. The Rua Doutor António Justino Cruz is full of lunchtime life. Knotted fruit trees carry the freshness of the Jardim onto the Rua.

 

 

The rest of the day is an effortless walk, enjoying Braga's spirited squares and antique attractions.

One unmissable excursion, however, will be to the Cathedral. As the traveller doesn’t have to obey educational priorities, he can leave you to check the minutiae and encyclopaedic detail in other accounts. Here we’re talking impressions, of eyes that run over the sights, also running the risk of allowing what’s essential to escape while focusing on some detail. The decorative wealth accumulated down the centuries inside Braga Cathedral has the one defect of excess through its capacity for absorbing whoever wanders in. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

The Sé de Braga (twelfth century) hovers above the mixed-use blocks of the historic district. The tops of the torres sineiras are hollow pyramids, as if the roofing contractor just never showed up. The facade is an enigmatic stack of architectural eras. It's an unembellished, Renaissance block with Baroque touches at the top. But the Manueline portico delivers real impact, both the stone and iron work are exemplary. 

 

 

This was a church born with high ambitions. Unless the traveller deceives himself, Braga began by not wishing to be left behind Santiago de Compostela. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

All these churches, in town and in the hills, offer religious pilgrims a generous menu of options. However, the 'satellite' churches have little impact on the city, while the Sé centers a bustling pedestrian mall and plaza. Other towns, like Lamego or even Guimarães, might offer more of a connection between town and 'suburb'.

 

An alleyway connects to the Largo do João Peculiar, where we see the cascading chapels on the north side of the Sé, the Capela de São Geraldo and the Capela da Glória. Like the facade, each addition brings its own variation to the theme.

The Largo do Paço is on the other side of the Antigo Paço Arquiepiscopal from the Jardim de Santa Barbara. The chafariz catches 'the traveller's' attention:

The Largo do Paço is very wide, paved with large flagstones, and with one of the most beautiful fountains the traveller has ever seen at its centre. The buildings form the wings of its ground and first floors: ample space there for living quarters. All the climbing up and downstairs left the traveller without time to keep a note of what he was looking at. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

Just around the corner is the Capela dos Coimbras (sixteenth century). As we take pictures, the docent shuts the gate, so it is closed to us as well, and compliments our 'Saramago experience':

The Coimbras chapel is now closed, so the traveller is prevented from joining his voice to the chorus of praise raised to this sixteenth-century building and all it contains. See it from the outside, and you take away with you impressions to fill your mind, since alongside the stone statues of SS Peter and Anthony are also a centaur and a faun, legendary evil spirits representing a very different way of life. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

 

Down the hill is the Largo Carlos Amarante, and two more churches, the Igreja de Santa Cruz (seventeenth century) and the Igreja de São Marcos (eighteenth century). "Viagem" does not mention these, but when we peek into Santa Cruz, there is a mass, and the crowded church looks fantastic.

… Braga offers Baroque from the period of King John, specifically in the so-called Casa do Raio [House of the Radius] and, following its name, one must take what comes to hand, without fussing over the method. The Casa do Raio is in fact a palace, one of the most precious jewels of the eighteenth century which Portugal retains. It may cause a degree of surprise to see how a style which to achieve internal harmony encountered repeated obstacles in maintaining an equilibrium between form and goal was capable, in its external design, to delight in games of curve and counter-curve, integrating them with every demand and potential of the materials used. And the blue-and-white tiles, whose rigid geometry appears to go directly contrary to the cut required by the stone, here emerge as an instrument of extreme precision and a complementary factor. (José Saramago, “Journey to Portugal,” 1990; trans Hopkinson-Caistor, 2000)

The Palácio do Raio (eighteenth century), another by André Soares, is just behind São Marcos. It is a compact paço with dazzling tiles – the definition of shocking blue. The cornice finishes with a balustrade that melds with the sky. The pinnacle appears to be a pineapple.

Unfortunately, the Fonte do Ídolo (first century) is also closed. There is so much more to see, so Braga stays on our travel hot-list. Next time, our plan is to stay an extra day.

Our glorious Saturday in Braga demonstrates that churches, gardens, monuments, and public spaces are fully used by the community, for baptisms, weddings, lectures, or a weekend coffee. Braga reveres and preserves its heritage, but does not abandon it to us tourists. Art history books come alive, and the people of Braga continue to add pages. We are privileged to play witness.