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Over the River: Travel Goals
Over the river…. The Ponte de 25 Abril bridge goes over the river….. the Christo Rei stands vigil over the river…..the best seafood is over the river….. Today is time to head over the river. The ferries are large and clean. They move swiftly over the river.
We step out onto the dock. Lisbon is now over the river on the opposite shore. A lighthouse and bus depot coexist at the shoreline. A train line also meets the river. We walk around the busy area looking for a bus to take us to Christo Rei.
Christ the King is a large statue of Jesus that dominates the skyline across the river from Lisbon. The grounds are an oasis of calm. Olive groves surround the statue and soothing music plays throughout the groves. The statue itself it is more chaotic. We stand in line and are only allowed on the elevator when there are four more people in line than I believe the elevator should hold. When I am convinced that there can be no way anyone else can enter, the elevator operator pushes her way into the car. We make the assent, but are surprised to find that the elevator does not go to the top. We get out and have several flights of stairs yet to climb.
We step out into a brisk wind. The views over the river are spectacular. We look down on the bridge and the rugged shoreline. The town of Cacilhas spreads out across the hills below. We make a circle around the platform, under the feet of Jesus.
Afterwards, we walk down the steps, through the gift shop, and back on the crowded elevator. It is warmer on the ground. The stations of the cross are laid out along the campus. We take our time appreciating the artwork and the natural beauty of the park. Along the way, we look across the river to Lisbon. It looks peaceful and serene in the morning sun.
Suddenly hungry, we take the bus back to the harbor and search for food. We find a small restaurant across from the church. The owner does not speak English and we communicate through smiles and gestures. I see what I want to order, but the menu does not include a price. The English menu does not match the Portuguese menu. I use google translate to try and help me find the information. A young man appears at our table and asks if he can help. He goes to kitchen and comes back with the answers. We order and relax.
As I make my way to the water closet, I notice that the young man we assumed was a waiter was eating with his wife in the back of the restaurant. Embarrassed we go over and apologize. He smiles and explains that his father owns the restaurant. We laugh together and meet his dad. It is the best food we have had in Portugal. The food is really better over the river.
With full stomachs, we notice a ship along the riverbank and decide to investigate. The Gloria is the last sailing navy vessel to make the Índia run. The ship traveled across oceans many times, for months at a time. We climb aboard and explore.
Looking in each nook and cranny, I imagine what life on a sailing ship. It is both more spacious in the interior than I imagined and smaller overall than would be comfortable on the open seas. Every inch is used. Ingenious use of space and materials ensure that nothing is wasted. We wander up and down decks and in and out of cabins until we have run out of spaces to explore.
In the late afternoon, we walk under the cliff along the old docks. The walls are covered in graffiti. The first several docks look sketchy and abandoned. I had read that there were parks and a free elevator to the tops of the cliffs further along, so we walk on.
As we walk along the river, the graffiti becomes surreal. I am astounded by the realism and the raw beauty of the art. Two men are spray painting a new creation. We step around them, near the water to keep moving along the riverbank. We encounter small beaches and cafes along the water. Isolated and beautiful, the cafes are hidden gems. We reach a park and see the anticipated elevator. It is glass so that riders have unobstructed views over the river. It’s only purpose is to connect the docks with the town on the cliffs above. We enjoy the views on the way up.
Once in the heart of town, we decide to walk back down the hillside. We walk through residential neighborhoods, parks, and commercial shopping districts. In between, we catch beautiful views over the river.
Once back to the docks, we scan our transport card and wait for the ferry. This time, the vessel is old and looks less trustworthy for the voyage over the river. We board and settle on dirty seats and look out dirty windows. Before I have to ponder why the beautiful catamaran ferry from the morning was no longer running, we were over the river. I stepped off the boat and looked toward Christo Rei and the bridge…over the river.
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Everyday Gourmet: Travel Goals
Gourmet: high quality and/or rarity, crafted to deliver exquisite taste and presented in a pleasing fashion.
Thus begins our daily adventure. We have no destination in mind other than to seek out high quality experiences and/or rarities. Our first stop is the market. I am disappointed that there aren’t a lot of stalls. We give a cursory glance to the fish and vegetables. On the other side of the building is the Time Out Market, a gathering place for foodies. In this giant food court, you can find examples of cuisine from across the city. I see a tiramisu donut the size of a plate! Finally something to be excited about.
The donut is rich and sits like lead in my belly. I both exalt in and regret my choice. After a comical incident, where I encounter an older American man in the women’s restroom who apparently can’t read Portuguese or understand universal symbols for female, we take to the streets.
We look for the elevator da Bica. The street is steep and we know we don’t want to walk. We walk back and forth arguing with the gps, who tells me we’ve arrived. My husband finally notices that the tram stop is inside the building that looks like any other shop along the street.
The tram ride is short but pleasing. I have great views out the back of the tram and can see the narrow street and the river. We walk uphill to the Miradouro Santa Catarina. The views are exquisite. The sun is shining just so on the water. We sit next to local college students doing homework and making out. I can’t help but smile. Life is good. It must be . . .the sign painted on a wall in front of the miradouro says so.
Deceptively hidden, the pharmacy museum is tucked in a corner just behind the park. We walk back and forth a few times before we find it. It is full of rarities. Medicines and apothecary tools from 4th century b.c and onward fill the museum spaces. I am mesmerized by a medicine bowl with prescriptions painted on the glass from Judea at the time of Christ. We giggle at the early enemas and chastity belts like junior high students on a field trip. This is confirmed when we later encounter junior high students on a field trip who have an identical reaction. There are plague masks and recreated pharmacies. Museums make me realize how much I don’t know.
We walk to the University of Lisbon. I decide to brave the four flights of stairs to the small geology museum. It is crowded with bones and rocks. This is a working cache of samples. I am the only visitor. I feel like Indiana Jones….the professor not the explorer. Dinosaurs and human remains surround me in silent witness. It is a little overwhelming.
We walk back down the hill and are startled to encounter the Parliament building. We had ridden by the side of the building several times while on the tram and never noticed it was the capitol. We totally overlooked the seat of government. I’m sure there is a lesson there somewhere, but today is my day to find the exquisite and the rare so we move along.
The medieval tavern delivers pleasing, rare, and quality atmosphere. Set up as a medieval inn, the tavern is a step in time. We buy food out of a wooden cart, choosing bread, cheese, and sausages. Our drinks come in clay tankards while minstrel flutes whistle plucky tunes. It is a good place to linger.
As the sun sets, we find ourselves once again at the Portas do Sol. Here is a gourmet experience that I can enjoy each and every day. It feels like home and yet is never less beautiful or inviting. I don’t know who planted the palm tree, but I thank them. It is exquisite, a rarity, and infinitely pleasing.
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Ado at the Zoo: Travel Goals
I love zoos. When I was a kid, my parents would take us to the zoo for the whole day. St. Louis has a world class zoo. It is free and available to everyone in order to promote conservation and love of animals. As an adult, I still visit the St. Louis zoo as often as I can. I make a point to visit zoos, wherever I happen to be. Small zoos. Large zoos. As long as the animals are well cared for, I love them all.
I was thrilled to visit the Lisbon zoo. It is clear that the keepers love their animals. It was a little strange to see animals that we see on our farms and in our wild places. But I am a sucker for a good petting zoo. Sheep, goats, pigs, chickens and smiling children make it hard not to smile.
The turkey really strutted his stuff and made me an instant fan. The American bison reminded me of home, because I see them in the nearby county park on a fairly regular basis. I was not expecting them in Lisbon.
The meerkats can’t help but make you smile. They are so attentive and inquisitive. The only wild small mammals I like better than meerkats are prairie dogs….no prairie dogs here.
The highlight of the Lisbon zoo is easily the dolphin show. It is clear that the keepers love the dolphins and that the dolphins return the affection. Okay, maybe it’s just the fish they get as a reward.. . But they are eager to connect.
I have never experienced a dolphin show quite like it. There was the usual jumping, spy hopping, clicking and waving. The crowd oohed and awed like a fireworks display was happening. As the music swelled, the keepers swam in an underwater ballet with the porpoises. It was beautiful and magical. And it was weirdly distracting that the head keeper was a doppelgänger for Vladimir Zelenskyy. I am sure Zelenskyy would rather be swimming with dolphins than fending off the rabid Russian bear.
I never want to leave a zoo. It is a happy place. Reluctantly I head to the metro station and am surprised to find a museum full of antique instruments right inside the tunnel. One of things I like as much as a good zoo is music. I love to play the piano. I loved to play a variety of woodwinds and mallet instruments. As I have aged, I find I sing more than I play.
Never the less, I love instruments. They are beautiful and ancient. They have history and made me wonder what songs they have produced. There were instruments available for playing. I tried them all. Animals and music. Simple joys. The world would be a better place if we had more of that in our life.
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Cinderella in Wonderland: Travel Goals
As a little girl, I read countless fairytales. Cinderella going to a ball in a carriage made from a pumpkin requires imagination. The carriages in the Museu dos Coches are beyond imagination. I walk around the fantastical creations in disbelief. Kings and queens used these rolling masterpieces to make a grand entrance. I don’t know if they were ever used to arrive at a ball, but I know that anyone going anywhere in these rolling works of art would have been noticed.
Also in the collection are the coaches used for the so called “princess exchange”. In 1729 a princess of Spain married the heir to the Portuguese throne and a princess of Portugal married the Spanish prince. The couples were transported in elaborate carriages to the border and exchanged in exquisite ceremony. If the carriages are any indication of the grandeur, it was quite the occasion.
While I try to control my inner Cinderella, I feel a little like Alice in Wonderland as I take in the whimsical scenes from Camoes’ “The Lusiadas”. Chess pieces, statues and paintings, all works of artful fantasy greet me in the special gallery. Oversized and cartoonish images of the Kings of Portugal and of course Vasco de Gama…always de Gama, vie for attention. A marble slab tells me that the dance is only for the sexy people. So I dance a few steps in defiance.
Everyone knows that if you go to a ball, you eventually end up walking in a garden. We stroll through the Jardim Botanico Tropical, even though we did not arrive in a coach. We are greeted by peacocks who escort us through a variety of garden settings. Beautiful blooms hang from trees. Palms and a variety of other species imported from the colonies create majestic borders.
We stand on the steps of a building still standing from a world’s fair and take in a hedge maze. I would have liked to explore but the sprinkler system had other plans.
Calla lilies remind me of the day I felt the most like a princess. They made up my wedding bouquet once upon a time. Standing here near a secret waterfall, I remember the feel of them in my hand. My nervous anticipation on that day has lead to decades of happiness.
Even princesses need to rest, so we sit by a lake. The peacocks shake and spread their feathers for us. A pair or tropical birds land in the trees not far away and remind us that love birds are beautiful and not just in fairy tales.
After our rest and some hand holding we walk past the real life pink palace of the President of Portugal. It is hidden between high walls. We walk on and climb the many stairs to take the elevated path across the highways and trains to the river.
The magic of twilight makes the ordinary extraordinary. We watch a boy play with his dog. We watch couples walk hand in hand. We watch sailboats floating in a colorful line.
And we are reminded that happily ever after comes in many forms. As we walk we decide we will try some roasted chestnuts. There are many vendors roasting nuts in little carts. We pay for a paper cone full and I am excited to try them. They smell delicious. They taste like mud. Some things are better left to verse. And all good things must come to an end. We decide to head for the house, because sleeping beauty needs her rest.
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Hills to Climb: Travel Goals
There is a train strike in Portugal. Any plans to venture out of Lisbon are on hold. Because we are in town for a month, we don’t feel much pressure. The day will unfold as it will. We take the metro to Restauradores and try to find Foz Palace. From the outside it looks like any other building so we keep walking to the Ascensor Gloria. The little funicular is covered in graffiti. We board and await the ascent up a hill that seems to go on forever. It is fun to look down the steep incline behind us.
We arrive at the Miradouro Sao Pedro de Alacantara. It is a beautiful little park with breathtaking views of the city. I smile immediately when I notice a man playing and accordion with a dog sitting on his head. The dog clearly likes to climb. He lives in the right place. There will always be hills to climb in Lisbon. A local artist shouts that I should get a job because I seem too happy. I answer, “retirement is a beautiful thing.” I could not tell is she was joking, but it made me laugh. Children nearby are playing in the fountain and laughing. I add my laughter to theirs and am thankful for my life.
After some time spent sightseeing from the Miradouro, we decide to walk downhill to the Igreja Sao Roque. The church and museum are full of treasures. The church was built and dedicated to Saint Roche in the reign of King Manuel I. He thought having a relic and church dedicated to Saint Roche would protect the city from the plague. Over the years, the society of Jesus used the campus as a headquarters. Today it houses an impressive collection of religious art and artifacts. I sit in the church and feel at peace. My eyes roam the ceiling and the walls. The chapel of John the Baptist is ornate, but I love the painted ceilings. I stare upward while saying my prayers.
We enter the museum to find unexpected delights. Paintings and silver work are here, but also relics and statues. A glass case claims to hold a thorn from the crown of Christ. There are finger bones of Saints and dresses for baby Jesus.
Just when we think there can’t be any gold or silver left to see, we encounter more opulence. We take our time. We have nowhere to be.
I decide I want to visit the Jardim Botanical managed by the University of Lisbon. We walk through hip neighborhoods, past the park and the artists selling their wares. When we reach the garden, my husband rebels. He has had enough of aimless walking. He wants no part of another hike. He decides he wants to sit and watch people. I buy my tickets and press on alone.
After a quarter mile, I am glad he didn’t come. The garden is wild and unkempt. The terrain is difficult and steep. There are plenty of hills to climb. The garden is built on a hillside and is accessible only by stairs and impossibly steep paths which sometimes lead to dead ends. Twice I have to circle back because the pathways are closed due to fallen trees. While I am glad I came, I do not linger.
I check in with my guy, but he is happily playing word games on his phone. So I head off to the Museum of Science. The historic laboratory transports me to another time. The adjacent lecture hall is straight out of movie. I imagine Dr. Jekyll or Sherlock Holmes sitting beside me. I thrill at ancient telescopes and am a little saddened by the stuffed animals in the collections. I climb stairs and giggle that an exhibit on the landscapes of Portugal requires me to climb an artificial hill within the building.
I make energy waves with my hands and watch sea life on camera. I encounter extinct animals like a triceratops and a giant Moa. I study Medicinal plants and terra cotta warriors. At some point I realize that my feet are numb and my heart is full. I have climbed enough hills for one day.
I collect my husband from the park and we take the tram to the river. We still need to walk home through Alfama. The haunting sound of fado drifts through the twilight. I am a little slower on the stairs tonight. The last hill before home seems the steepest…and the sweetest.
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When Your Train is Going Nowhere: Travel Goals
We get up early and head to the train station for a trip to the seaside. I have maps on my phone and lists of things to do. We head into Cais Sodre station and notice that the gates to the train platform are open. The trains aren’t running. A quick translation of the schedules just says “undetermined” by every train. People are standing around looking confused. I ask a man in a transport uniform if the trains are running today. He shrugs in the universal symbol for who knows. After a half an hour, we decide to scrap our plans and just explore the nearby neighborhoods of Baixa and Chiado.
We head into the city and past the Santa Justa lift. I thought taking the historic elevator would be fun and save us a walk uphill. The line was so long we decided to walk anyway. After all we aren’t sure where we are going so any road is fine.
We have tickets to the Museu Chiado, a modern art gallery as part of our multi-museum purchase. We don’t love modern art but decide to give it a try. It is a very small museum with only a few galleries. We try to make time to appreciate the pieces. But it is hard to love abstraction, especially pieces that look like I could easily create them. I find a few that interest me, but realize that I appreciate skill more than concept. I also value history. The only thing historical is the building that houses the museum.
Underwhelmed, we head back uphill and visit stores in Chiado. We find a Scandinavian dollar store where we spend way to much time playing with the unusual inventory. We try to shop, but clothing here is not my style. I am kicked out of a department store because I am holding a cup of coffee (it even has a secure lid). Rules are rules.
We find a McDonald’s. While I don’t love Mickey D’s, it is fun to order from the giant screen and to see all the things they offer that we can’t get at home. It is also fun to order a full quarter pounder meal for less than $6.00. It is not fine dining by the sea, but we have to make our own fun.
We try to decide what to do. We are not prepared for this neighborhood and are unsure of our options. We are close to a mini golf course and decide to check it out. We enter and pay. We are told that half the course is downstairs and half the course is upstairs. We walk down alot of stairs into a room about the size of our living room. They are the tiniest courses I have ever seen arranged in little boxes throughout the room. It is hard to even stand in the box to putt. There is another American couple attempting to play. We laugh and try to figure out how to make this tiny golf situation work. A few holes simply require you to drop your ball in a tube and hope for the best. We take it in stride and make our own fun.
After golf, we walk down to the river and follow the shoreline. The day is a little overcast and windy. Birds line the rocks. A few homeless men stack rocks in the hopes that tourists will leave coins. The gentle lapping of the water is relaxing.
The crowds pick up at the Terreiro do Paco. People jockey for a position to take pictures at the water gate. I wait my turn. It is good day, as the water level seems lower and more steps are accessible. We sit and people watch for awhile. This day is nothing like I imagined.
Eventually we decide to take a tram toward the Convent do Carmo. We haven’t been on this line yet and we are pleasantly surprised when there is no line. The tram is empty. We can pick our seats. We can sit in all the seats. This is so very different than our usual cram packed ride on tram 28. We celebrate by taking a number of silly photos.
The Convent do Carmo is just ruins with a small museum attached. After the earthquake of 1755, the convent was never fully repaired and in the 1860’s it was given to an archeological society. We look at the sky through the open roof and read inscriptions on tombs.
In the small museum we watch a film and gross out after an unexpected encounter with a Peruvian mummy complete with teeth and hair. The museum collection is eclectic and most of the signs are in Portuguese. My translation skills are improving as many of the words are similar to Spanish, but there is not much of interest. I am happier among the ruins outside.
We linger in the courtyard. My husband stops and points across the street where I was heading to visit a church. A car is stopped in the middle of the street. Two older men are yelling at each other and chasing one another round and round the car. At first it looks like a joke or an Abbott and Costello comedy sketch gone wrong. We notice a women at the corner looking worried and begging one of the men to stop. It is clear that one man is angry. The other man is faster and more provocative. He looks smug. We watch this little farce for a long while, until the angry man gets in his car and drives away. The remaining man smirks and joins the woman who is speaking very fast to him as they walk away. She looks angry. We will never know what just happened.
By the time I make it to the Basilica, I am tired. This day has been full of surprises. I sit and contemplate. The ceiling is beautiful and lovely to stare at. Why do we let things like missed trains and traffic make us so out of sorts? I count my blessings and resolve to be more patient and kind. I realize that surprises are part of life. I get to choose how I react to them. When your train is going nowhere, decide that where you are is the place to be.
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Lost in Lisbon: Travel Goals
We start the day with confidence as we no longer feel lost in Alfama. We don’t know all the roads but we can identify landmarks that keep us moving along the rabbit warren of streets with at least some confidence we will end up near the river and reasonably close to our destination. We even know the bus stop and the bus number that we want to take on today’s adventure. That is all we know about the day.
We take the stop for the Museu de Arte Antiga and are put out on a median, barely big enough for a bus stop sign, in the middle of a multi-lane highway. We look across the street and do not see a road. The gps is clearly directing us across the street. I am confused until my husband notices the stairs. I cannot see the top of the staircase and that is not good. Since there was no way but up, we begin to climb. Halfway up the stairs, we rest on a landing and then climb some more. At the top we find a park with amazing views and a sign that tells us it is illegal to feed the Pombas (pigeons). Poor pombas.
We wonder around and look for the art museum. Signs are not really a high priority in Lisbon. With my trusty GPS, we find the door. The museum is full of Portuguese furniture. Lace from the 1100s, chests from the 1400s, chairs, clocks, and objects from the colonies line the galleries. We admire the artistry, craftsmanship, and ingenuity. I am reminded that people in prior centuries were every bit as skilled, smart, and technologically savvy. In many ways, I am saddened by what has been lost in the era of mass produced goods. But that is a thought for another day.
Putting thoughts of corporate greed out of my head, we head into the galleries of religious art. There are panels of the apostles that capture my attention. They are life like. Each man’s personality writ large on canvas…fierce, loving, protective, pensive. All other works pale in comparison, but we head deeper into the museum. With no signs and no map, we try to follow a path. A gallery is shut off. A stairwell leads to a parking garage. An open doorway leads to a sad little outdoor garden. Eventually we find our way out.
Based on the google map, we are near Estrela. We laugh because google maps says 15 minutes and mostly flat. I don’t need google translate to tell us that this means 30 minutes walking down roads that are uphill roughly the same distance they are downhill. Mostly flat in Lisbon is a euphemism for not straight uphill the entire way.
We eat near the Basilica de Estrela at the Cafe Estrela. There is a line to be seated, always a good sign. All locals and no one speaks English, also a good sign for authentic local food. Ordering is a challenge, but with smiles and goodwill we muddle through.
After an hour of good food and people watching we cross the street to visit the Basilica. My husband thinks it is my mission to visit every church in Lisbon. Perhaps he is right. The church doors are closed, but a tiny side door is open. A man smiles and asks for a few euro. We pay and he points to a door to his left. The basilica is to the right. We go left and find a small door in a dark tower. “What did we pay to do? I thought you wanted to visit a church?” So I did.
I step into the dark and see only a winding stone staircase. I laugh. How bad can it be? We have to know what we paid for. We go up, landing after landing. About halfway up we pass panting German tourists on their way down. My German is terrible but I am sure I hear something like, “I thought we would get to see the church…”. Where are we going exactly?
We step into the light between two giant bell towers at the same time the bells begin to chime. I scream and my husband catches his heart with his hands. We laugh because we are so startled and it is so loud. I feel like Quasimodo at the top of Notre Dame. We are on the roof. There are spectacular views of the city. We see the Castelo and the sea. There is a glorious blue sky. The only view we get of the church is from the inside of the dome. The doorway is open and I peek at the altar. It is a long way down and not at all what I was expecting when we paid to visit the church. Never the less it is oddly peaceful up here away from the crowds.
Across the street is the Jardim de Estrela. After climbing hundreds of steps, whiling away a sunny afternoon in the park seems like a good idea. We sit for awhile, but I am ever restless. So I wander, taking photos of statues and birds. I smile at dogs and small children. My husband waits patiently on a bench in the sun until I return. We find a small cafe. We rejoice that the tram stop is only steps away.
Our return trip is unexpectedly cut short. Tram 28, which should run all the way to our house comes to a halt two stops after we get on. We are all told to get off. Everyone looks confused. After some time, a tram driver tells us that there is a protest in the Praça Comercio. No trams can get through. No one is sure when the trams will run again. This is not great news when you have been climbing hills and basilicas all day. It is worse news when it is the only way you know to get home.
Ever resourceful, we walk to a bus stop that can get us to Graca. At least Graca is at the top of a hill. Walking the rest of the way home will be a downward journey. We love Graca. The Igreja de Graca stands watch over a peaceful park and a lofty Miradouro. We settle into “our” table at Mouriscos and order dessert. I can’t decide, so I take one Pasteis Natale and one biscuit cake. We share. Some time later after sweets and Sangria we are replenished enough to walk home.
We are feeling so much better that we take the long way to the Portas dol Sol. The views are beautiful here at the end of our street. We made it home to Alfama. We can hear the protest far away and detached from our lovely view. There is singing and serious voices over loudspeakers. Some one says it is a teachers strike. Ever an educator, I wish them good luck. I don’t even begrudge them the transportation disruption. If we hadn’t been lost in Lisbon there would have been no biscuit cake and I likely would not be enjoying this wonderful view. Sometimes lost is an okay place to be.
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A Short Train Ride to Fairytales: Travel Goals
Standing on a train platform and waiting with anticipation, we are alert for the train to Sintra to arrive. I check and re-check that we are on platform three. It doesn’t make the train come any faster. Once the train arrives, we select our seats near the large windows and in view of the display board that will announce stops. The ride is only forty minutes but it is our first time venturing outside of Lisbon. Anticipation is high as I catch a glimpse of the aqueducts. The ride is uneventful and before we know it, we are queuing to exit the Sintra station.
It is a barrage of tuk tuks and tourism office representatives at the train station gates. We are overwhelmed by picture cards shoved in our faces. We try to walk away as quickly as we can, but we need information. I ask a man how to get to the national palace. He says left and then follow the road to the right. We follow the road but I can see the national palace (it’s smokestacks are unmistakable) on the right. It is tempting to go right. Bu the tourist office man said to turn left, so we turn left. On the road We pass a man dancing and yelling “Carnivale”. He is having a great time but seems a little crazy. We cross the street and hope we are not lost. We climb another steep hill and wander around the hillside some more. We are good at wandering around. A castle peaks out further up the mountain. Palatial homes dot the hillsides along with statues and Moorish architecture. I find a throne to sit on among the pieces of public art that line the roadway.
Eventually we reach the national palace of Sintra. We enter and follow the tour path. A palace has sat on this spot since the 8th century under the Moors. By the 1100’s, during the 2nd Crusade it was again under Christian influence. Subtle arches still whisper of Moorish roots. Numerous additions bear witness to the reign of Portuguese royalty.
Upon entry, we are agog at the painted ceilings. Swans wearing crowns hint at the marriage of John I and Philippa of Lancaster. Their initials entwined, linking Portugal and England. There are mermaids and sailing boats looking down from above. There is even a room crowned by magpies. It is said that King John had one magpie painted for each lady at court to shame them for gossiping that he had kissed one of the queen’s lady in waiting.
The rooms are not overly large, but the views to the sea are lovely. As you move through the palace you move through additions planned by subsequent Kings. There is tile and ceramic art. Priceless furniture in a fairytale setting. I realize that life in a palace is not always glamorous. Endless narrow staircases, no indoor plumbing, cold rooms in winter, hot rooms in summer…but always on a grand scale.
In the 16th century wing, King Manuel ordered construction of the magnificent coat of arms room. Beautiful tile and intricately painted domed ceiling merge into a fantastic whole. The coat of arms of each noble family emblazoned on panels under the royal seal. In a not so subtle message, the noble houses are depicted as stags in the King’s hunting lodge. In one stroke, their importance is both affirmed and put in context. I am silenced in such beauty.
We press on to a chapel under restoration and more modernized sections of the castle where the last of the monarchs set up residence. Always a romantic, I prefer the older sections. Although indoor plumbing has its appeal. Perhaps the most fascinating room of all is the massive kitchen. The entire room is a massive oven. The two large smokestacks vent this room. Every surface is a stovetop or an oven. Fires could be built directly on the floor under massive spits. I try to imagine the heat endured by the army of cooks who kept the fires burning and the food flowing. I look up into the giant smokestacks and realize how many people this palace supported.
Humbled, we make our way outside to wander the garden along the hillside. Sea views through graceful pines tease my senses. But we are hungry, so we begin our quest for food.
We read several menus and reject them. He won’t eat seafood. I don’t want tourist fast food. We move deeper into old town and find a simple room tucked behind a wine shop. Charcuterie, simple cheese, Portuguese sausages, bread, olives and jam…..perfection on a plate. Good music and good food replenishes our energy.
Rejuvenated we decide to visit Quinta da Regaleira also known as the Palace of Monteiro the Millionaire. It doesn’t look too far away. Looks can be deceiving. We trek ever upward. We reach the gates to property but the entrance is up the hill. We round the corner. Upward still. We rest by the side of the road. Upward still. We finally find the ticket booth. Upward still. I want to find the Templar Initiation Well. Upward still.
We reach the well and the climb is worth it as we encounter an inverted tower leading into the earth. I feel like I am in a movie as I start a descent. Water drips and flows. Daylight fades with each downward step. I climb down and then down some more. We find the bottom of the well and underground caverns.
Caves and garden follies dot the hillside. Waterfalls and statues of Greeks gods great us at every turn. There are miles of trails but we are tired and we haven’t yet visited the house. So we head downhill and encounter a fantastic chapel. It is small and enchanting, like a fairytale encounter.
The house is large and whimsical. We trudge through appreciating as much as we can nearing exhaustion. It is all a blur really. My husband sits down and I trudge on over hills and around small lakes. The day is warm and I am determined to conquer all.
All good things must come to an end, so we head back to the train station. Down the hill and to the town. Through the narrow lanes lined with shops. Down the hillside to the national palace. Up the hillside and past the fountains. Down again along the ravine. We pass the dancing man. He is hoarse and dancing a little slower, but still smiling and chanting “carnivale”. Perhaps we have been in a fairytale after all. We should catch that train before the clock strikes. I don’t want to find out what happens when he decides to chant “rumplestilskin”.
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Beauty and Destruction: Travel Goals
The Museu National do Azulejo is not much to look at from the outside. Looks can be deceiving. The inside of the museum is a treasure chest. Tiles from across Portuguese history are on display in the rooms of this former convent. Beauty awaits at every turn.
Tiles in colorful scenes from the Bible line the walls. The nativity, archangels, lives of the Saints and the many stories of Jesus come to life in tile. A uniquely Portuguese art form, humble and beautiful, unassumingly on display.
After many galleries of tile, we enter the chapel of the former Madre de Deus convent. It is an unexpected riot of beauty. Tile walls and carved and painted art adorn every available space. Golden carvings at the altar draws attention to the Madonna and child. Gilded domes lift my eyes to heaven. I need to sit and absorb the grandeur. I am again overwhelmed by the beauty of a sacred space. I was not prepared for this encounter. I can’t process the experience. I leave and then return for another look. It is so…. I have no words.
We visit the rest of the museum. History in tile. An ever evolving art form, the tile is influenced by contemporary encounters. The museum ends in a room with the entire city of Lisbon painted in tile. We walk the length of the room picking out our neighborhood and landmarks across the city. What kind of talent does it take to produce a work this accurate and this massive? There is a lot to ponder as we sip coffee and enjoy pastry in the cafe. Seldom do we encounter so much beauty in one morning.
Returning to Apolonia station, we select a nearby restaurant for lunch. I choose Balcalhau (cod), a local favorite. My husband opts for a turkey steak. Simple pleasures in a simple space. The television in the corner is broadcasting Vladimir Zelinski as he addresses the British Parliament. The people here are solid supporters of Ukraine, their democracy relatively new and hard won. Coverage is at the forefront of local news. I watch the images of destruction and I say yet another prayer for my friends in Ukraine. It is hard to reconcile this harsh reality and the beauty of the morning.
A short walk away is the National Military Museum. Housed in a former palacio, the museum contains artifacts from the span of Portuguese history. Canons from early explorer’s ships line the entrance. Knights in armor are stationed at the stairs.
It doesn’t take long for the little boy that watched Combat and played with little green army men to surface. My husband is lost in the World War I galleries. I smile and watch as he moved from display case to display case. Hand grenades, gas masks, and endless varieties of fire arms capture his attention and he takes pictures with abandon.
Practical tools of war and decorative weapons of mass destruction are on display in room after room. Cannons and swords from across the centuries line the galleries. I am amazed at the ancient weapons of mass destruction. Power and conquest. The clash of cultures throughout the world. Endless ways to kill and subjugate.
I shudder as I look at guns, knives, and cannons used to kill and maim. I giggle at the displays of hats and ribbons and medals. Warriors turn to peacocks. It is hard to look ferocious under a mass of feathers and horsehair. Big guns and even bigger medals are prevalent.
At days end, I reflect on the day. This morning I was surrounded by unimaginable beauty. Our afternoon was spent studying tools of destruction. The arc of history is strange. Nations taken by force become sources of wealth that pay for building projects that in turn create beauty. The grandeur of public art creates national pride. Nationalism in turn fuels more exploration and conflict. And so it goes…
I can’t help thinking of the beautiful places I have visited in Ukraine. Spectacular golden domes churches in Kiev juxtaposed with the images of the bombed out cities that I saw during lunch….friends in the line of fire…beautiful people in a beautiful city…..power and domination …..the fight for freedom…..and so it goes…
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Of Castles and Cathedrals: Travel Goals
Today we set out to find a castle. Castelo Sao Jorge casts a shadow over Lisbon. It is only a few blocks from our apartment (supposedly). Yet we have been in town for several days and have yet to see its walls except from afar. And in those instances it seems very, very far away.
An alley leads us to a doggie daycare drop off. Another alley takes us up a hill past a bus stop labeled Castelo. We are here and I still can’t see a castle. We enter under an arch and find ourselves in a ticket office. Cruise ship people in front of us get out of line when they realize they have to buy a ticket. I’m not sure why you would travel halfway around the world and then balk at $5.00 but what do I know?
We enter the grounds and I still don’t see a castle. I see a lovely plaza. It has dazzling views in every direction and pine trees. There are statues and a cannon. We take photos and look for landmarks across the city. I find peacocks and Glenn finds an American college basketball fan. Both are entertaining in their own way. We wander through a tunnel and up some stairs….. I found the castle.
It is large. There is a dry moat and a large gate. There are wall walks and a keep. Guard stations along the battlements beckon. I try not to think about the number of steps required to circumnavigate the walls. They are there and must be conquered.
People have lived here since the 8th century B.C. There are archeological remains in every direction. Phoenician, Carthaginian, Roman, Moorish, Celtic, Goth…an international locale throughout its history. The castle was reclaimed by Christian knights in the 2nd crusade and became a seat of the Kings of Portugal. It was here that Vasco de Gama was received after his return from Portugal ( you didn’t really think I would leave him out?).
Apart from the beautiful ruins, there is not much left of the Castelo de Sao George. We take in the views and laze away the morning. As we descend the steep streets, we are stopped by an old man paid to encourage visitors to a local wine bar. He is talkative and wants me to understand that he was a young Casanova back in the day. He describes in some detail how he learned English and the effect he feels it had on American tourists. We make our escape before his story gets any worse.
Se cathedral beckons. Built in 1147, it is the oldest church in the city. We pay a small fee to visit the museum spaces and immediately have to climb several fights of stairs. Our knees are already numb from the Castelo, so it doesn’t phase us.
At the top of the stairs we are able to visit an outdoor balcony (where a bishop was tossed to his death for supposedly colluding with Spain). Once inside we encounter a spectacular rose window. Jesus and the apostles glimmer in brightly colored glass. We also get an aerial view of the interior of the church in all its glory.
We see thrones used by the Patriarch of Lisbon and relics of Saints. We wonder how many fingers St. Vincent actually had since every urn we have encountered across the city supposedly contains a knuckle.
There is silver aplenty. Candlesticks and reliquaries on endless display. The wealth locked away in these rooms is staggering and yet probably only a fraction of what was once here. Even as some sought to feed the poor, others in the Church amassed wealth and power. It is a dangerous thing when Church leaders confuse politics and religion.
In spite of the questions about power and greed, I love these spaces. These massive cathedrals remind me that I am small in the presence of a beautiful and almighty God. I can feel the whisper of the Holy Spirit in the tranquil spaces and the echo of marble. The grandeur is inspiring. The silence is holy.
Each side chapel brings many questions. Who is the knight with the dog? Who is Saint Roche and why is he always baring his upper thigh? Why does Jesus look like such a creepy baby in all medieval art? St. Anne, St. Sebastian and St Vincent all make appearances. But the most beloved saint is clearly Saint Anthony, a local boy born just up the street.
We circle the altar and visit each side chapel and crypt. Near the door, we find a sacristy glittering with gold. Green silk robes and golden mitres await clergymen. In the main chapel, people pause in prayer. I fish some coins out of my bag to leave with the begging old woman I noticed on the way in. She smiles and I say a prayer to ask for God’s blessing on both of us. Castles and cathedrals from centuries ago have touched my imagination, but I am very thankful for my present reality.
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Prisoner of Hopes 