Dawn Berkoski

I wasn’t prepared for Braga.

Sé de Braga dates back to the late 11th century, but that is only the beginning. After years of war, earthquakes, and renovations, the cathedral is now a mix of various time periods. Each section is a masterpiece, a mystery unearthed, and so much more.

At the entrance, I ran my fingers over roman letters carved into the church walls. I gazed at intricate wood carvings of angels, demons, and dragons. In the choir loft, I witnessed even more breathtaking art as well as the two ornately decorated organs. And below, kept behind a locked gate, I looked through a glass topped sarcophagus at the sacred mummified remains of an Archbishop who passed away in 1398.

But it was in the 14th century tomb known as the Chapel of Glory, with its mysterious and seemingly out of place Mudejar style designs painted on the walls, that my hair stood on end and I felt stirrings of unease.

I slowly walked towards the geometric patterns, entranced by the pink stone and the image of little black birds leaping along the cracks. Memories came, as if in a dream, of other places, other times. Whispers of black wings to follow, search for, and find. I turned around, staring at the limestone sarcophagus before me, the tomb of Archbishop D. Gonçalo Pereira.

Later, I learned that a V century Roman temple once stood on the same spot as Sé de Braga. It was thought to be dedicated to Isis, a goddess associated with birds and resurrecting the dead.

Back outside, I walked through the cobblestone streets of Braga, exploring the historic square of Largo do Paco, which now houses a library. I took photos of street art that called to me. I got lost in my love of architecture, towering columns, and beautiful archways. I daydreamed of moving to Braga, buying an old pink building, and turning it into a historic boutique hotel with a cafe.

But that’s the problem when imagination kicks in. Reality fades. You blink and you aren’t where you were before. I hadn’t realized I’d wandered down a side alley until it was too late. I turned in a circle, trying to get my bearings, feeling like I’d gone somewhere I shouldn’t. And that’s when I saw them. They seemed to be everywhere. And, as I said in the beginning, I wasn’t prepared. Not then, not now. The green doors were multiplying faster than my steps.

I didn’t dare to open one.

Dawn B~