At the Rio Douro

The boats at the Rio Douro is one of my favorite pictures of 2014. It is a view onto the Dom Louis I bridge between the cities of Porto and Vila Nova de Gaia (Portugal) (see map).

The construction of this 385 m long bridge began in 1881. The upper deck was opened on 31 October 1886; the lower deck opened in 1887. The Dom Louis bridge is one of five bridges linking the high and rocky banks of Rio Douro (>>>). To see them all, we took o tourist boat – a service that is offered for tourists on a regular basis.

The banks of the Rio Douro are densely inhabited. Some of the older houses seem to be constructed one above the other gradually. If seen from a boat the panorama is quite picturesque.

Lately, I was talking to a professional photographer who just came back from Portugal. He prefers BW or soft colors.  But his pictures of Porto’s Douro (the river) banks were … colorful. He told me it was not possible to make them otherwise. Somehow I agree, although – regrettably – my only equipment in Porto was a cell phone.

 

At the Rio Douro

Azulejos

Azulejos is painted tin-glazed ceramic tilework widespread in Portugal and Spain. In Portugal, you will find them outdoors and indoors on walls in private and public buildings. The variety of azulejos reaches from simple reproduced white-blue tiles to big detailed pictures that are indeed real pieces of art. Similar kind of tile work has been traditionally produced in some other European countries (like Italy and the Netherlands). This kind of tile work in Europe origins from Moorish culture and first it was applied to the Iberian peninsula.

On the picture, azulejos on the facade of the Vera Cruz Church in Aveiro, Portugal (see map). A real masterpiece is, however, the scenes from the Portuguese history decorating the walls of the Sao Bento railway station in Porto (>>>).

Azulejos is painted tin-glazed ceramic tilework widespread in Portugal and Spain. The term “azulejo” is derived from the Arabic word “zellige”. In Portugal, azulejos have a rich tradition dating back to the 15th century. You will find them outdoors and indoors on walls in private and public buildings. (For somebody, who is used to tiles only as decoration in bathrooms or on floors as in many other European countries, it is a bit unusual). The variety of azulejos reaches from simple reproduced white-blue tiles to big detailed pictures that are indeed real pieces of art (like those at Sao Bento station). Similar kind of tile work has been traditionally produced in some other European countries (like Italy and the Netherlands). As this kind of tile work origins from Moorish culture, it was indeed first applied to the Iberian peninsula.

The production of azulejos involves a series of intricate and skilled processes. While modern techniques have evolved, many artisans still adhere to traditional methods decorative tiles. The process begins with the preparation of a clay body. The type of clay used can impact the color and texture of the finished tile. The clay is mixed, refined, and molded into the desired tile shape. The molded clay tiles are left to dry thoroughly. This phase is crucial to avoid warping during the firing process. The dried tiles undergo the first firing, known as the biscuit firing. This firing process hardens the clay and prepares it for the glazing stage. The tiles are coated with a tin glaze, which provides a smooth, white surface for painting. The glaze also enhances the vibrancy of the colors during the painting process. Artisans hand-paint intricate designs onto the glazed surface using mineral-based pigments. After painting, the tiles undergo a second firing. This firing process, known as glost firing, seals the pigments into the glaze, creating a durable and long-lasting finish. For larger murals or decorative compositions, individual tiles are assembled to create the final design. This may involve careful planning and precise placement to ensure a cohesive and visually appealing result. In some cases, a final firing may be necessary to set the assembled tiles and create a seamless surface.

If you want to know more about azulejos and during your Portugal journey stay in Lisbon, just go to the National Tile Museum (>>>). It is located in the former Convent of Madre Deus (convents were banished from Portugal some time ago, so it is a state museum). Even if you are not an art fan, following the visiting route, you will see how the art of azulejos and its technique developed with time.

 

Azulejos

Monastery of Alcobaça. Space, Light and Stone

Some journeys stay in your memory because of a single place. Others because every day brings another unforgettable destination. My two-week journey through Portugal belonged to the second category. Travelling across the country by coach after arriving by plane, our small group visited an extraordinary variety of monasteries, castles, historic towns and Atlantic landscapes. Looking back, it remains one of the most rewarding tours I have ever taken.

Alcobaça was one of the highlights of that journey. Yet my first impression was not what I expected. Approaching the monastery through the streets of the town, I had no idea how enormous it really was. We walked past long monastery buildings before reaching the church entrance, but from ground level it was impossible to understand the true scale of the complex. Only after stepping inside did I realise that this was far more than a church.

It was only after returning home and looking at aerial photographs that everything made sense. The monastery is so closely woven into the surrounding town that its size remains hidden until you see it from above. What appears at first to be a single monumental building is, in fact, one of Europe’s greatest Cistercian monasteries – a self-contained world where prayer, work and everyday life existed side by side for centuries.

The Monastery of Alcobaça is far more than one of Portugal’s finest medieval monuments. Founded in 1153 by King Afonso I, the country’s first monarch, it became one of the most influential Cistercian monasteries on the Iberian Peninsula. The king granted the monastery to the Cistercian Order after the Christian conquest of Santarém, recognising both its spiritual importance and the practical role the monks could play in consolidating the newly established Portuguese kingdom.

The Cistercians were not only devoted to prayer. They were also highly skilled farmers, engineers and administrators. They drained marshes, cultivated farmland, introduced advanced agricultural techniques and managed extensive estates. Over the centuries, the monastery became one of the country’s largest landowners, contributing to the economic development of central Portugal while serving as an important centre of education, manuscript production and religious life.

Like many medieval monasteries, Alcobaça was a carefully planned complex rather than a single building. The church formed its spiritual heart, but it was only one part of a much larger community. Around it were cloisters, the chapter house, the refectory, the monks’ dormitory, kitchens, workshops, storerooms and the abbot’s quarters – each designed for a specific purpose. Together they created a self-sufficient world where worship, work and everyday life followed a carefully organised rhythm.

The monastery remained an active religious community for almost seven centuries, until 1834, when the Portuguese government dissolved the country’s religious orders and the last monks left Alcobaça. Today, it stands not only as an outstanding example of Cistercian Gothic architecture, but also as one of the best-preserved places to understand how a great medieval monastery once functioned.

Stepping inside the church was a completely different experience from standing outside. The monumental façade gave little hint of what awaited beyond the entrance. Instead of richly decorated chapels, gilded altars or colourful frescoes, I found an interior defined by space, light and warm-coloured stone.

The first impression was one of almost overwhelming simplicity. The long central nave stretched into the distance beneath elegant Gothic vaults, while daylight filtered through the tall windows, softly illuminating the pale limestone walls. There was very little to distract the eye. The architecture itself became the decoration.

That simplicity was no coincidence. It reflected the original ideals of the Cistercian Order, whose churches were designed to encourage contemplation rather than admiration for material wealth. Ornament was deliberately reduced to a minimum, allowing proportion, light and harmony to create a spiritual atmosphere. Over the centuries, however, many Cistercian monasteries across Europe were enlarged, rebuilt or remodelled, often acquiring magnificent Renaissance or Baroque decoration. Alcobaça has preserved the remarkable simplicity that defined early Cistercian architecture, making it one of the finest places to experience the Order’s original vision.

Walking through the interior, I realised that the church was only one part of a much larger story. Its vast, uncluttered space reflected the values by which the monks lived every day – humility, discipline and community. Those principles shaped not only the church itself but every part of the monastery beyond its walls.

Only in the transept does the eye meet an unexpected contrast. Here stand the magnificent Gothic tombs of King Pedro I and Inês de Castro, their richly carved decoration dramatically different from the restrained architecture surrounding them. After the almost austere simplicity of the church, these royal monuments immediately draw attention – not because they overwhelm the space, but because they are virtually the only place where elaborate sculpture becomes part of the visitor’s experience.

Although the monastery itself is an extraordinary monument, for many visitors the tombs of King Pedro I and Inês de Castro are the emotional heart of Alcobaça. Their story is one of the best-known legends in Portuguese history. Pedro, heir to the Portuguese throne, fell deeply in love with Inês de Castro, a Galician noblewoman who served as a lady-in-waiting to his wife. Their relationship was fiercely opposed by the royal court, which feared the growing influence of Inês’s powerful family. In 1355, on the orders of King Afonso IV, Inês was murdered while Pedro was away.

When Pedro became king two years later, he took revenge on those responsible for her death. According to a famous Portuguese tradition, he also declared that he and Inês had secretly married before her murder, making her the rightful queen of Portugal. An even more dramatic legend claims that he ordered her body to be exhumed, crowned and honoured by the royal court. Whether this actually happened remains uncertain, but the story has become an inseparable part of Portuguese cultural memory.

The Gothic tombs created for Pedro and Inês are among the finest works of medieval sculpture in Portugal. Every side is covered with intricate carvings depicting biblical scenes, saints, fantastic creatures and episodes from their lives. They are works of art that reward careful observation, revealing new details from every angle. One detail makes these monuments especially moving. Rather than being placed side by side, the two tombs stand opposite each other across the transept. According to tradition, they were positioned this way so that, on the Day of Resurrection, the first person Pedro would see would be Inês, and the first person she would see would be Pedro.

After walking through the monastery’s vast, almost austere interiors, these richly carved tombs create a striking contrast. They are not only royal monuments but also a reminder that, within walls built for simplicity and discipline, one of Portugal’s most enduring stories of love and loss found its final resting place.

Leaving the church, I entered a very different part of the monastery. While the church was designed for worship, the surrounding buildings reveal how the Cistercian community lived from day to day. Like many medieval monasteries, Alcobaça was carefully planned, with every space serving a specific purpose. Together, these buildings formed a remarkably well-organised community where prayer, work and everyday routines followed a strict rhythm.

At the heart of the complex are the cloisters, which connected the monastery’s most important rooms. From here, the monks could reach the church, the chapter house, the refectory, the dormitory and other essential areas without leaving the enclosed monastic world. Walking through these quiet arcades today, it is easy to imagine the daily routines that changed little for centuries.

One of the details that impressed me most was the shared dormitory. Unlike some other monasteries I have visited, where each monk had a separate cell, the Cistercians at Alcobaça originally slept together in one vast hall. Privacy was not part of the monastic ideal. Living, praying and resting as a community reflected the values of humility, equality and discipline that shaped Cistercian life.

I was reminded of this difference by another Portuguese monastery I visited during the same journey – Tomar, once home to the Knights Templar. There, the monks had individual cells, reflecting the different character and traditions of the order. Alcobaça offered a striking contrast. Here, community life was placed above individual comfort, and the architecture itself was designed to reinforce that principle.

Even small architectural details reflected the monastery’s strict discipline. Our guide pointed out one particularly narrow doorway and shared a popular local story: if a monk could no longer pass through it, it was a sign that he had been eating too well and should return to a stricter diet. Whether this was an actual rule or simply a tale passed down over generations, it perfectly captured the spirit of moderation that defined life in a Cistercian monastery.

Among all the monastic buildings, the kitchen was probably the greatest surprise. It is not particularly ornate, yet it immediately catches the eye because of its impressive scale. Unlike many Portuguese interiors, where colourful azulejos dominate the walls, the decoration here is relatively restrained. The focus is on functionality rather than appearance.

The kitchen was rebuilt in the 18th century, when the monastery was at the height of its prosperity. Its enormous chimney, supported by elegant iron columns, rises high above the cooking area and dominates the entire room. Even today, it is easy to imagine how much food had to be prepared here every day for one of the largest monastic communities in Portugal.

What makes this kitchen truly exceptional, however, is its water supply. A carefully designed channel brought fresh water directly from the nearby Alcoa River, allowing it to flow continuously through the room. The water still runs today, making it one of the monastery’s most fascinating surviving features.

According to tradition, the same channel was also used to deliver live fish from the river into the kitchen. Whether or not this happened exactly as it is often described, there is no doubt that the water system was an ingenious solution. Fish formed an important part of the monks’ diet, especially on the many days when the Rule prohibited eating meat. Having a constant supply of fresh water within the kitchen greatly simplified both food preparation and everyday work.

Standing in the kitchen, I was struck by how modern many of its ideas seemed. Running water, efficient drainage, dedicated work areas and an enormous ventilation system were not luxuries – they were practical solutions designed to support a large community. It is a reminder that medieval monasteries were not only centres of prayer and learning but also places where engineering and organisation were refined over centuries.

Unlike the church, which impresses through space and simplicity, the kitchen tells a different story. Here, every architectural element had a practical purpose. It may not be the most famous room in Alcobaça, but it is undoubtedly one of the most memorable.

While the church was the spiritual centre of the monastery, the cloister was its heart. Nearly every part of monastic life began or ended here. The covered walkways connected the church with the chapter house, the refectory, the dormitory and other essential buildings, allowing the monks to move through the monastery without ever leaving the enclosed community.

Known as the Cloister of Silence, this was far more than an architectural feature. It was a place for quiet reflection, reading and prayer, but also part of the monks’ daily routine as they walked between their duties. The rhythm of monastic life was shaped not only by worship but also by these repeated journeys through the peaceful arcades.

Like the church itself, the cloister relies on proportion rather than decoration. Slender Gothic arches, warm stone and carefully balanced geometry create an atmosphere that feels calm rather than imposing. Nothing appears excessive. Every element seems to have been designed to support the ideals of simplicity and contemplation that defined the Cistercian way of life.

Walking through the cloister today, it is easy to forget that hundreds of monks once passed through these galleries every day. The voices are gone, yet the architecture still preserves the sense of order and tranquillity that has defined Alcobaça for centuries. It is perhaps here, more than anywhere else in the monastery, that its title as a place of space, light and stone feels most appropriate.

Years later, after visiting monasteries belonging to different religious orders across Europe, I have come to appreciate Alcobaça even more. It helped me understand that a monastery is not simply a church with a few additional buildings, but a carefully organised world where every space had its own purpose. Looking back, I realise that Alcobaça was one of the places that first taught me to see monasteries in that way.

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Monastery of Alcobaça. Space, Light and Stone