Dawn Berkoski

I heard there was a vineyard in Portugal where you can stomp on grapes barefoot.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the right time. But I still loved visiting one of the oldest wine producers in the Douro Valley and tasting some of their lovely ports. It was the perfect afternoon after a beautiful boat ride on the Douro River.

Records of these vines date back to the early 1700’s, but it wasn’t until I descended into the dark cellar that I felt the weight of those years. The granite tanks for treading grapes take up most of the space. I could imagine people walking in them, grapes squeezing between wiggling toes, legs stained by juice.

Further down, in the deepest part of the cellar, the massive oak barrels used for aging are stored. Damp and dark, I could picture monks from the old monastery, draped in coarse robes, checking their stock by torchlight.

Afterwards, I roamed the vineyard grounds, and that’s when I spotted a green door. Another one. It appeared to be the entrance to a chapel. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if there was a deeper meaning. Was this green door connected to the others I kept seeing?

I had to explore.

So, I crossed the lawn and tried the handle. To my surprise, it opened. I held my breath, hoping I wasn’t intruding, and stepped inside. It was silent as a grave, and empty. It was a small chapel with some interesting art, kneeling benches, and nothing more. But why did the statues seem so real? And why was all the art gazing at the floor?

Dawn B~