Rewriting history - Braga
The stories of other times are relived today.
My grandmother used to enchant me with her tales. Stories of her adolescence and how I was so like her. I think that is why she shared her memories with me because it made her go back and relive them with me.
Her stories ended up being my stories so...
I have just turned 24 and would love to know how she was then.
Alice and Andreia, who know me as well as I know myself, wanted to celebrate my birthday, and without thinking twice, I told them, “Let's go to Braga!”
It was 9 in the morning, and we were in Lisbon's Santa Apolónia station. The sun was warm, and I wanted to get on the train. I was sure the journey would be quick and comfortable as I was accustomed to picking my grandmother up here...
The last passengers got on, and the train pulled out to visit a city that was my grandmother's one day.
It was my first time in Braga, and the city seemed to sparkle. It was full of life, with a blazing sun and many places to visit. Even though it is one of the oldest cities in Portugal, it is full of young people like us.
I wanted to see all of Braga, so the first thing we did was climb up to the Bom Jesus Sanctuary. Little did they know of my memories of that place without ever having been there...
That was where she had met my grandfather. The first date, the first kiss and the farewell. Sometimes I think people loved each other more at that time, they lived more. At least I know that my grandmother lived life to the full, and I wanted to follow in her footsteps.
It was nearly 9 in the evening when we found a place for dinner. A place where we could eat well and even have the famous 'pudim abade de priscos. The dinner was well deserved, we had saved for it. The 25% youth discount on the journey to Braga allowed us to do everything we wanted on this journey!
The day came to return to Lisbon, but one last trip was waiting for us—a typical garden that is everything except common: the Santa Bárbara garden.
This is where my grandmother would go for a walk every morning, and that day as I walked through it, I felt my journey had been fulfilled. I wrote my story.
As Henry Ford said: “The only history that is worth anything is the history we write today”.
