He's Buried in Two Places?

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Issy decides to have a day off from touring so I set off on my own. First stop is the Lisbon Pantheon. This was originally a sixteenth century church, but it's now been converted into a monument where famous Portuguese people are buried including various presidents, Vasco da Gama, Henry the Navigator, and the soccer player Eusebio. The building's spectacular, and I climb stairs to exhibits on several levels, and then get excellent views over the city from the roof.

I board the train to the waterfront suburb of Belem which is about five kilometres west of Lisbon. It seems that I owe the people from the Lisbon Metro Authority an apology. The card that I loaded up with money yesterday, and which I thought expired last night with lots of unused cash still on it, now seems to work today. I hope it really still works, and that the nice people from the Lisbon Metro Authority haven't been reading my scathing attack on their ticketing system, and have decided to extract their revenge. The ticket lets me into the station, but I'm a bit nervous that it mightn't let me out again at other end, and I'll then get arrested and carted off to a Portuguese prison never to be seen again. On reflection I suspect that maybe the nice people at Lisbon Metro Authority have got better things to do than read what random tourists think about their ticketing system in obscure travel blogs.

I head from the station to the Padrao dos Descobrimentos, which is a large riverfront monument to the Portuguese Age of Discovery. It was opened in 1960 and includes statues of 33 notable figures from the period including Henry the Navigator, Vasco da Gama and Bartolomeu Dias. As I queue up to catch the lift to the top I overhear two retired American men in the queue in front of me discussing swimming in the sea here. I warn them that unless they want to freeze this mightn't be such a great idea. They ask me the excellent question as to why I took a dip here if it's that cold. I explain that I'm from southern Australia where the water's also very cold, although on reflection I'm not sure that that's really all that logical an answer. One of them tells me that he swims regularly in San Francisco Bay with a group of people which includes some Australians. He says "you guys really know how to power through the water" and asks if all us Aussies are born with fins. Anyway, back on topic .... the views from the top along the river in both directions are excellent.

I continue along the waterfront to the iconic Torre de Belem, a riverbank fort which was built in the early 1500s as part of Lisbon's defence system. It's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and is also one of the Seven Wonders of Portugal, others of which include the Pena Palace at Sintra, and Jeronimos Monastery.

I cross the road to the very same Jeronimos Monastery. I read that a church was first built here in the fifteenth century, but this fell into disrepair, and the current monastery and church date from a century later. They're both very impressive, particularly the monastery cloisters and courtyard. The site also includes the adjacent National Museum of Archaeology, which houses amongst other things displays from Egypt, and Portugal's Roman period.

If the plaques are anything to go by, Vasco da Gama' s interred here in an impressive tomb. But hang on, haven't I seen his tomb already today at the Pantheon. I wonder if maybe there was more than one Vasco da Gama; I hope so because the only other explanation I can come up with is that they cut his body in half and buried some of it in both places. I consult the ever reliable Google machine. It seems that he really is buried here, and the tomb at the Pantheon's only a memorial. While I'm at it I read a bit more about Senor da Gama. He might have been great navigator and explorer, but it doesn't sound like he was a particularly nice human being. On his second voyage to India he intercepted a boatload of 400 pilgrims on their way to Mecca, and then looted their ship and burnt it with all the passengers locked inside. He watched the whole spectacle through his porthole. Women offered up their babies and gold to try to save themselves, but their pleas all fell on deaf ears. In another incident he accused an Indian negotiator of being a spy, so he ordered the guy's lips and ears to be cut off, and then sent him back with a pair of dog's ears sewn to his head. In yet another display of barbarity he captured some boats, cut off the crews' hands, ears and noses, and sent them back to the local ruler with an insulting note. Apparently his fame as an explorer has been tempered by these incidents, even here in his homeland.

I head back to the apartment, and Issy and I relax on our large but not very private terrace under our drying washing. The elderly lady with the balcony about two metres in front of us comes out every so often, and tries to look like she's checking on her washing. We try to talk to her, but she doesn't seem too interested in engaging; I think she just wants to keep an eye on us. I'm not sure what she thinks we might get up to. I doubt she's eyeing off our underwear, so maybe she thinks we're terrorists. We've seen "Mass Tourism = Human Pollution" graffitied on a few walls around town, so it seems clear that at least some of the locals aren't too enamoured with visitors. I hope our none too friendly neighbour hasn't got any sinister surprises in store for us. We double check the locks on the doors to the terrace as we leave.

Our friends Mark and Mandy Thorn have arrived from England this afternoon to spend a few days with us, and we meet up with them at a restaurant in the Praca do Comercio. It's great to catch up with them again, and the Portuguese tapas on offer are again excellent.

There appear to be a lot more people out and about here tonight than usual. There's a large, noisy gathering of some sort happening in the Praca do Comercio behind the restaurant. Most of those involved seem to be in their late teens and early twenties dressed in black and with black makeup smeared across their faces. We consult the Google machine for an explanation, but come up empty. If these guys have managed to keep their activities secret from Mr Google they must be up to something really sneaky. I hope they're not camouflaging themselves for a surprise attack on unwanted tourists. I think our neighbour with the washing has probably ratted us out by now, so I'm sure we must be on some sort of list. We decide to try to keep a low profile, although in hindsight it might have been better to have made this decision before we launched into multiple rounds of beer and whiskey, and bottles of wine.

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