Advertisement
Published: August 24th 2008
[youtube=-m4MQsPdqVM]
Lisbon
in the distance you can see the Golden Gate like 25 de Abril Bridge.We had been told with great relish by an Oportan that Lisbon had been totally destroyed by an earthquake in 1755. Would an Aucklander be so happy if Wellington dissolves into the harbour in the next few years?
Earthquakes are opportunities for architects and much of the city was rebuilt in the French style, including wide boulevards which conveniently make it difficult for the revolting to revolt.
Rather a bit later, in 1966, maybe from a feeling of solidarity, the Lisbonites built a Golden Gate lookalike bridge across the river Tagus, The '25 de Abril Bridge'. Just in time for fugitive geezers from London to drive their jags south to the Algarve to retire on ill-gotten gains.
The train station we arrived at deposits you right in front of the unsavoury looking/smelling old port. The smell of sardines & sewers contribute to the colouful seediness. The directions to our apartment we had hired were ambiguous but having experienced hillside navigation in Porto & Coimbra we found the place soon enough. We sat for 30 minutes waiting for Sergio the Landlord and our keys in the little park opposite the flat. Our arms had stretched from lugging baggage up the steep
Paving Stones
These granite paving stones are pretty much all you walk on in Lisbon ascents but Sergio gestured upward. We had one socket-pulling final climb up the building staircase to endure.
It was narrow, cool and had a balcony onto the park*#. The bedroom was painted in our favourite primary colour - Bright red, with pop art cartoons. Not so keen on the yellow in the lounge but the place was pretty damn funky and comfortable. Michelle had done well finding this place. There's was no TV, no internet but a clock radio with an iPod plug. We had a kitchen to prepare our very own Tapas from the Supermercado accompanied by some portuguesish music. We had a curiously plentiful supply of hot water for the kitchen sink, but about 30 seconds worth for the shower each day.
In Coimbra through a lack of time we hadn't experienced the 'Fado' music synonymous with Portugal. The music typically is about longing for someone who has gone away. In my wanderings around siesta time, up a few streets from where we stayed I found a number of eateries. Later, after collecting Michelle I retraced my steps, got us lost and found another restaurant. We sat down in the whitewashed room with the dignified old
men in their best suits already waiting for the Fado to start. The thing is, you don't need to look for Fado. Any half-decent place with tables and chairs around about 9pm will do.
The menu looked reasonable, Michelle insisted on the grilled sardines. I relented, sardines where a food of childhood nightmares. Only after we'd ordered did I realise I'd forgotten money.
It's painful explaining in pidginese to a wild looking, middle-aged waitress you need to leave to get money out. The food was taking ages. I got up and was told to sit down. No police appeared to arrest me. Instead music started and our waitress became the singer. Two guitarists and a mandolin strummed underneath the plaintive longing wails of her singing.
Finally, after a couple of numbers the sardines showed up. My fears of throat-lodging fishbones & reeking, oily fish were dispelled. Before us sat a large plate of grilled, juicy whole sardines.
Delicious. In no time we gobbled them up, I asked for the bill and was told to sit down again.
The woman sitting behind me felt it her job to order me to sit and listen to more Fado.
Her jet-black hair
framed crazy dark eyes which commanded wariness. This was tricky.
I had to leave to get money, she seemed to understand. After returning from the ATM I found out why.
For the princely sum of 20 euros this woman was going to sell us songs she sung on CD.
She must have been produced by Quincy Jones, the math made her CD $40.00 NZD!!!
I wonder if she's on iTunes. Determined to conquer our fear of CD Shyster lady we got up to leave.
It was a close call I tell you.
The hub of an empire spanning the globe centred on Lisbon once. Angola, Brazil, Mozambique, Goa, East Timor to name a few. Globalisation didn't start in the last couple of generations. Macao was the last speck of land to go in 1999, ending the long Portuguese imperial decline. The faces of the colonies now predominate the footpaths of the inner city. The inevitable pattern of the conquered conquering the conquerors has unfolded here emphatically. On the way out of the city by train to the summertime seat of power. We saw modern public housing stretch seemingly forever with the tracks. When the train topped a rise you
could see how the ribbons of towerblocks pressed up against the rail lines by the burnt, arid wastelands made the train the lifeline & escape route for the residents.
We were going in the opposite direction, we were escaping to Sintra.
The elite vacated Lisbon in summer to escape the fetid stink and traveled up into the hills of Sintra by carriage. They still do but tend to drive here in 20 minutes. Our less grand but modern train took about 40 minutes. Some would say that when you pull into the train station at the base of the hill town it looks a bit like the Titirangi shops.
A lush green hillscape dotted with the chimneys of grand mansions and of course the obligatory church steeples greet you. The rest of the buildings are hidden by the tall canopy of old, majestic trees. As you walk up the gentle winding road the mansions & churches gradually reveal themselves to you.
We stopped for a picnic lunch in the town square squashed between the Museum (Pirate exhibit - not interested - Shouldn't it be by the sea?) and the requisite promenade of cafes & restaurants.
The wedge of a
square we found ourselves in had shaded corners to lunch under.
We wouldn't have walked this far from the station because we had been told a fleet of buses takes one to the top of the hill where the good stuff lies. Waiting & waiting and no bus.
After our triumphant homemade lunch, we smugly made our way past the restaurants having denied them two tourist victims and found the windy road to take us to the hilltop. Things went well. Michelle was in good spirits regardless of the gradient. The cool, leafyness of the walk relaxes you no end. Surely the next turn we'd be at the top? Or maybe now? It went on & on. Finally we stopped a couple coming the other way. I opened my mouth and the man replied "do you know Dave from Hastings?" in an aussie accent. No I didn't know Dave but I was born there. Once we'd gotten the 6 degrees of separation conversation starter out of the way we compared GPS maps. No we weren't lost we just happened to be taking the ultra-long way round.
The only thing stopping all the adventure going out of travel is data
roaming costs. It might just prevent me & the aussie guy from never getting lost again.
Finally we got to the top, or rather the beginning of the top. We entered the Pena Palace through the terraced Moorish gardens and the magic hits. King Ferdinand II took 200 hectares of hillside & transformed it into a masterpiece of romanticism landscaping. Towering trees & lush green ferns hug the narrow white gravel paths that wind away further into the park. Something reminded me of home...it turns out some of the exotics are from NZ. I think it must have been the ferns. Halfway up, into the park you find a faux Moorish temple & ruins. The movie set feel left me wondering if Tolkien had somehow written about here or Peter Jackson sampled rather than read what Middle Earth would look like.
Invariably the cost of the entry is worth it. Pena had already proved wonderful. It's achingly beautiful.
One last path opens out to reveal a Castle out of Grimm's.
At this point I'd like to mention our Sony Cybershot Camera. A lot of the time I'm glued to It.
It takes great closeups and has loads of
Great Wall of Sintra
Tantalising view from the walk up memory but the poor thing has a not so big battery and a tiny 3x zoom. Shooting great photos no longer requires the 'get it in one' skill that old cellulose demanded. So I'd gone crazy and shot about everything I came across. Just when we were getting into exploring the castle the battery died. The tiny zoom means you get pretty sick of taking 'up & away' shots of anything over 5 feet tall. How can you do this place justice? So there are some, not enough pics of this wondrous castle.
The 'yellow' castle is the origional monastery, renovated to marry up with the 'red' castle. An eclectic result makes Pena an interesting place to be. I'd live there.
Inside the castle there are the rooms royal families lived in. Pena was the Portuguese royal family's Balmoral. Not a place to govern but for close family to know one another.
From the battlements you can look for miles in all directions. Some things you haven't planned for. The reputedly sublime sunset we missed because frankly, we were buggered and hadn't rugged-up.
Resting across from the Castle is the ruins of a Moorish Fort that would pass for
the great wall of china. I'd been waiting all day to see it. The long wall dominates the skyline as you notice arriving in Sintra.
We made our way over the saddle of the hill to the fort. Through the swaying trees on the ridgeline you could hear the wind snap-snap-snapping the flags on the ancient walls. Michelle stayed in the hollow as I trudged up the rock steps to the final tower on the crest. I have vertigo issues but in the distraction of wonder I forgot. Sadly I left this place. So far on our travels Sintra is THE place to remember.
After the epic Sintra trek we kind of took a day off and went to the movies at Westfield Lisbon. They're cheaper here than in NZ which might have something to do with all the Hollywood blockbusters being in English with subtitles. However we found the locals had a high degree of bilingualness and would recite the trite one-liners all through the movie. Wanted, starring Mr Tumnis & the collagen endowed Mrs Jolie-Pitt was rubbish by the way.
On our last day we crammed in Tower of Ulysses in the Moorish Fort overlooking the
old city.
Unlike Sintra, this fort is complete (completely restored?). Another bunch of stones stacked in a square making a cool playhouse? Sort of, the Tower of Ulysses has a periscope. MOTAT got their periscope from a rustbucket WWII submarine. This one is from Leonardo Da Vinci. You step into the tower and the lights are dimmed. A large concave circular table stands in the middle of the room. Pulleys are pulled and mirrors open. The light streams down projecting the city above before you. It looks like a painting on rough plaster until you see the moving reflection of cars and ant-like people moving about on the canvas.
Now that's getting historical.
Lisbon was a grotty, interesting place. I half-expected chickens on the bus and a few donkeys on street corners. It wasn't quite like that. I don't know if the Portuguese have a Hindu-like reverence for cats, but in the course of our travels through this country we had passed packs and packs. Quite a few black ones actually. No bad fortune befall us although something a little bit spooky would happen in Madrid.
We left the city mildly annoyed. Their subway system is brilliant but flawed.
You can go all over the city on it but you have to constantly fish out your card to feed through the turnstiles. In London your concession card will be detected even if it's in your wallet. In all the cities we've been the subway/railway will take you to the airport. In Lisbon you have to take the bus, even though the airport is right in the middle of town!! Are the townfolk so retarded that the majority elected idiot politicians who decided the airport was better-off with buses? Sounds a bit like Auckland.
*Children will come out and play late into the night and teenagers have a fondness for revving dirt bikes at midnight. Keeping the bedroom door shut just prevents insanity and murdering local youth.
But don't get me wrong, I felt the most relaxed so far on our journey.
#See the video in this post.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.059s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 11; qc: 26; dbt: 0.0324s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
