I bought a one-day pass ($15) for unlimited travel by bus and train in the Lisboa region and jumped a train to the touristy little village of Sintra, about 40 minutes away. Tourist cash has kept up the city well, almost too well, since it feels charming yet a little too picturesque for reality. The main attractions are the National Palace (closed while I was there), the Castelo de Mouros (Moorish Castle), and the Palacio da Pena (Disneyesque palace). The latter two are just up the hill and are worth the trip.
Little other than most of the outside wall is left of the Castelo de Mouros. It rambles over the top of the mountain like a mini great wall of China, with views of several villages and the Atlantic ocean in the near distance. The interior is overrun with an untamed verdant splendor that is a wonderfully relaxing break from the masses and hectic pace of Lisboa.
The Palacio da Pena is the former home of Kings and Queens of Portugal and was built by incorporating the remains of an ancient monastery. On first seeing the facade, I half expected to see Donald or Mickey pop out at me at any moment. The color scheme and ornate, turret intensive architecture screams Disney. Closer inspection reveals a much more elegant and regal structure. Unfortunately, they don’t allow any photos inside the palace. And contrary to what my mother has said, I don’t ignore “No Photo” signs. I respect the need to preserve antiquities that can be damaged by flash cameras. I only sometimes ignore the signs when the only reason they don’t want you to take a picture is that they want to sell you theirs. The scale of the palace is very human, not the oversized, god-like grandeur that I normally think of when I think “palace.” The rooms are modest and even the ballroom is not obscenely large. It feels like a home. The detail, on the other hand, is definitely royal, clearly showing both the money and labor that it took.
Stopping at a large, circular window on the stairs, I couldn’t help but imagine a king standing in the very same spot and gazing across his domain, his brow furrowed by some pressing issues of his time. I didn’t envy his station or burden, but felt thankful that I was only passing briefly in his shadow.
I went by bus to Cabo da Rocha, the westernmost point of Europe. Also once thought to be one of the edges of the world, there is little to see other than tour buses of people and a gift shop of course. It lacks the sharp drop-off of land as that of Sagres, the most Southwestern point. Cabo da Rocha is one of those places you can tell your friends you have been. I saw the view for 5 minutes and waited for the bus to Cascais for and hour.
Cascais, vacation home of Portugal’s rich, is overrun with sports and luxury cars, fine hotels and restaurants, and overdressed people. It is a nice waterfront city but too expensive; I headed back to Lisboa on the train after about two hours.
I will add more to this entry later.
