I was always a book worm. Growing up in a little village, without a lot of kids my age around, made me look for friends in the pages of beautiful stories. One of my favorites was The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I cherished everything about it, the plot, the characters, and the beautiful blue cover with a drawing of a girl with a little robin on a high wall covered with ivy. And I loved that nature taught little sad Mary Lennox, the main character of the book, how to cry, and because of that - how to truly be alive.
My love for gardens bloomed during my art history studies, when I had the opportunity to learn about those splendidly designed gardens, with palaces or without them. This is why botanical gardens are always on my must-see list, wherever I go.
I discovered the botanical garden of Porto pretty late, as I had no idea it exists. Distant from the city centre and rather small in comparison to Porto's other parks, it is not a very popular attraction here.
It was a rainy day when I went there with my partner. There is something magical in these days, a bit sad and dark, when drops are falling from the sky making even the most gorgeous places full of melancholy. Water somehow washes out a cover of present times and reveals many stories enchanted in particles of the time.
A big red gate with frivolous lines opens up on the little square. In my eyeline, a big building, with the same colour as the gate, is hiding behind big branches, covered with deep green leaves. The intense smell of the wet grass and the scent of some trees that I'd never seen before hits the nostrils bringing immediate relaxation. The rain intensifies, but drops are gathering on the big petals and needles, slowing down their pace and gently slip through the green veins.
When we pass through the main square, the big building grows in front of us. Intricate stairs lead to the big French doors of the mansion. Seeing this unique house makes me think about the past of this place and my imagination starts to wander. I am curious what history lays behind it. What people lived here? Who did they love? What were their pains? And what stories are written in the memory of the tree rings, growing bigger, year after year, decades after decades, centuries after centuries?
Before becoming a botanical garden, this area was part of the Campo Alegre Estate. Jean Pierre Salabert, a French physician, was its first owner. However, in 1820, because of fights with France, the estate was confiscated by John José da Costa and Arnaldo Ribeiro Barbosa. In 1895 these fields were bought by the port wine dealer João Henrique Andresen.
Two kids from this family, Sophia de Mello Breyner and her cousin Ruben Andersen, became famous writers and their memories give a lot of insight about how the garden looked previously, and how it evolved while getting a romantic character that we can admire today. The Portuguese state acquired this property in 1949 and, only in 1951, it became accessible for everyone as a Botanical Garden.
The historical garden has three distinct parts: the Rose Garden, the Letter J Garden, and the Fish Garden. All of them are separated by hedges
I can imagine little Sophia and Ruben, running around flowerbeds of pink and violet roses, splashing water from a little pond full of water lilies.
Maybe their eyes were pointed at high spruces, with the same admiration as mine. They were delighted by their exotic appearance. For me, they smell like my village and bring memories of my homeland.
Camellia japonica is one of my favourite flowers that I saw, for the very first time, when I moved to Portugal. It is one of the most common bushes here. In every corner of this garden, it shyly opens its petals, with the splendidness of royal roses but with the mellowness of a meadow flower.
I like to touch them. Dewdrops on the petals make my finger wet, bringing to mind the vital powers of the water.
When we walk near the high stone fence that separates the garden from the outside world, it is hard to believe how precise, delicate, and, at the same time strong, nature can be. Hydrangeas that look like bombs of grace are getting heavier from the water with each millisecond. With thousands of little flowers connected in one magnificent wholeness, they bend their massive heads in humility, indulging in the revitalizing power of the rain.
We approach a little pond, tempted by a quiet but persistent squeaking. Seven little ducklings approach us without any shyness. Their mother sits on a huge stone and, from above, observes her kids that have a whole birdy life in front of them. When they notice we don't have anything to eat, they turn back and dive into the water between sticks of papyrus.
We end our slow walk near the greenhouses. The tall buildings made of steel and glass are closed. Behind dirty windows, we can see different kinds of cactus and a little path between them. I envy all those people who have access to this hidden place and hope to be able to enter it one day.
It is a very restorative place that I now visit pretty often. The calming hum of leaves, scents that float in the air giving you fully natural aromatherapy, and the quiet sounds of fauna that have found a shelter here in the middle of the city - all of this makes it worth a visit.
I am glad to follow the steps of little Sophia and Ruben, even for a moment. The unique opportunity to discover your own secret garden, just like Mary Lennox from the book, happens more often than you think. Nature, enchanted in gardens, gives us many tools that we can use to learn how to cry and feel again, and "if you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden."
