through the looking glass, and what she found there

Wonderland (a.k.a. the town of Sintra)

I spent a day in Sintra with María and Luis, a Spanish couple I met at the B&B who invited me along as our plans coincided. It made for a lovely day with pleasant company, and though they took very few pictures themselves, they didn't seem to mind my halts and wanderings. And if we went along at a slightly faster pace than I normally would, well, at least we got to see more. Even the weather cooperated, giving my first glimpse of sun all weekend.

Sintra is a little storybook town about 20 miles outside Lisbon. The streets are walled by azure blues and cotton candy pinks, saffron yellow and sunset orange…. Even the ruined, tumbledown houses were enchanting. We saw one we dubbed the Casa Fantasmas, or the Haunted House. It was all moss and broken windows, vine-covered gates held shut by rusting locks and the sheer weight of ivy. It was right out of a gothic novel—lushness and decay intertwined, melancholy writ in leaf and stone. As a town, Sintra reminded me vaguely of Segovia—old, quaint, comfortable—only more vertical, and with the color setting on 150% saturate.

It has an odd palace with giant conical kitchen chimneys (various theories on these include a prescient vision of a particular Madonna costume…) right in the center of town. The city itself is also studded with miniature palaces and giant mansions, including the Quinta da Regaleira with its mysterious gardens and tile-decorated tunnels. And if you start on a steep hike up the mountainside, you’ll find even more impressive palaces.

We stopped at the Castelo dos Mouros, the ruins of an 8th or 9th century Moorish castle that sprawls across the mountain, overlooking the city.

A slightly strenuous walk further up, and we arrived at the spectacular Palacio da Pena, which seems to have been inspired by an Easter egg. Let me rephrase: el Palacio da Pena seems to be a giant Easter egg, only with turrets and battlements. You sort of have to see it to believe it. I found the giant red, yellow, and blue walls enchanting rather than gaudy, and I even liked the ghoulish sea monster guarding the main gate. And inside… let’s just say it’s good to be the king. Or queen. Or lady-in-waiting. Or head secretary to the ladies-in-waiting… You get the picture.

These monarchs must have had a phobia of blank space. Even every corner of the ceiling was ornately decorated. Jaw-droppingly decorated. Chandeliers shaped like vines, complete with flowers and translucent leaves; bronze statues of Turks bearing candelabras; intricately carved and gilded desks; walls painted to look like carvings; a teak-filled India-themed room; even a room with papier-mâché furniture, of all things! (The little informational plaque neglected to mention if this last was fully functional or not.)

I could have easily spent another day in Sintra, exploring the subterranean passages under the Quinta da Regaleira, combing the back alleys of town, visiting the other castles buried in the surrounding mountains—perhaps next time.


...and now, the rest of the story.

So, overall, everything went swimmingly—except for the return flight, which was delayed by 3 hours or so, and I got home ridiculously late and tired. Even that had a high point, though: when we were finally on board, the pilot apologized for the delay of “aproximadamente dos horas”—and all the passengers erupted in a chorus of indignant voices “TRES HORAS!” When the pilot repeated in English “approximately two hours”, one lone voice cried out from the back of the plane “THREE HOURS!” No, it wasn’t mine. I just muttered unpleasant things sleepily to myself and went back to my book.