Today’s post is set to be a long one, but don’t worry, there will be photos to break up the text and make it bearable. To start with I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading this crap every time that I post something. The primary incentive to write all this was a competition I entered after Christmas whereby the participant with the most views by May 1st would win £250. The big day has passed and the winner has been announced……..
It wasn’t me, but actually I’m not that bothered. Somehow I’ve come to enjoy writing the posts you read and sharing the fun experiences with you all, so rather than jacking it in and stopping writing now that I can’t win anything, i’m going to carry on till the bitter end of my year abroad, as there will be plenty of things to write about yet to come. But thank you anyway one and all, I hope it’s been as interesting and fun for you to read as it has for me to write, and I hope you’ll keep reading too.
Now back to business- this past weekend has been what is known as a Puente (bridge) weekend, as Thursday was a national holiday across Spain, and the school I work in decided they should take Friday off too and get an early start on the weekend. A 4 day weekend basically, with Friday acting as a bridge from Thursday till Saturday, hence the name ‘puente.’ Pretty logical really… Having been to Portugal only once before and thoroughly enjoyed the short time I spent there, I thought that with such a nice long weekend to waste I might as well waste it in the glorious 30 degree Portuguese sun, and in the words of my friend who came with me ‘why not?’ We set off on Thursday rather early, at an ungodly 4:30 AM from Vigo on the bus to Oporto, where we were supposed to get a connecting bus within half an hour down to Lisbon.
However when we arrived, having not slept on the bus due to insane GTA driving and terribly uncomfortable seats that didn’t recline we were told by a grumpy b*stard in the bus station in Oporto that the next bus wasn’t for 2 hours and we had to wait in the cold waiting room while he slept under blankets spread out over most of the seats. Cue 2 hours of cold shivering on hard plastic seats while grumbling under my breath. Eventually the bus did indeed arrive and we were able to get on and sit in the warm, although once again the seat I happened to choose failed to recline any more than half an inch. This became somewhat of a recurring thing over the course of the weekend, much to my annoyance and my friends delight, as every other seat seemed to be cooperative while mine were constantly mugging me off.
Having decided that so far the weekend wasn’t going to plan and being both tired and uncomfortable, we eventually arrived in sunny Lisbon and headed out towards Sintra, the first stop on our (sort of) tour of the greater Lisboa area. I won’t go into detail about how long it took to get tickets sorted to Sintra, nor how many times I walked straight past the ticket office without even realising. Instead i’ll pretend that it went without a hitch and the next thing I knew I was on the train being whisked away to what is said to be the most romantic place in Portugal.
Sintra is a small town outside Lisbon, about 45 minutes or so on the train, where the former kings of Portugal and the Moorish lords before them built fantastic holiday homes in the forms of great castles and palacial houses in the middle of a vast expanse of woodland, which are crawling with tourists like myself, wishing we could afford to live somewhere quite so nice.
The history of the area is long and fruitful, but on the recurring advice of my travelling companion I won’t go into it here, instead i’ll let you read about it in your own time- http://www.thenational.ae/lifestyle/travel/myths-and-history-unfold-in-castles-among-sintras-mountains
Upon arrival in Sintra I was taken about by how quaint and pretty it was, small winding streets with little cafes and restaurants tucked away round ever corner and trees everywhere, which is great if you’re from the countryside like myself and like to feel at home. After pottering about for a moment to get some kind of bearing on where we were we got a taxi to take us to the hotel we would be staying in, which took alot longer than either of us expected. It transpired that the hotel was roughly 10km outside of Sintra town, literally in the middle of nowhere stuck on the side of a road with nothing within half a mile left or right. Hardly suprising it was so cheap really. All was not lost however as the hotel had a pool and a fantastic back garden for sunbathing, or sun burning in my case. So the swimming shorts came out and the deck chairs were covered with the bouncing bomb towels. (For those who don’t know, that’s a reference to a beer advert back home. Carling Black Label if you’re interested to watch it) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuIJqF8av6I
I enjoy swimming, but not in a pool where the water temperature is less than a 10th of the ambient temperature outside, it makes for quite a chilly and short swim. And so for a few hours on Thursday my friend sunbathed under a cloudless sky and I fought with frostbite in the pool, things seemed to be looking up after an all together unsuccessful journey down from Vigo at 4:30 in the morning.
Having heard about the town a mere 3 km towards to coast from the hotel where there were nice restaurants and bars.
I thought it might be worth checking out, and being an Erasmus student the first thing I went looking for in the town was a bar to get a beer, and it didn’t take long to find one. Well, more like 5 than one really. Should have known something big was coming when the waitress said ‘i’ll bring the machine out’ which could either mean they were going to brew the beer there and then, or alternatively..
It was only 3 litres, which isn’t too bad split between two people, but still got us some fairly odd looks from people sat at tables all around. It took a lot less time to finish than I thought it would, and soon we were on our way.
The next day was a gloriously sunny morning, and spent rambling around the Parque Pena (pena park) in Sintra itself, where the biggest palace and terraces are to be found. Again, rather than delve into its long history i’ll merely post this- http://www.paisajelibre.com/2014/05/palacio-da-pena-palacio-vila-sintra.html (It’s in Spanish but I’m sure Google translate will do fine)
I can see why some people call this area the most romantic in Portugal, as walking through the trees by the ‘lakes’ (which are actually more like fish ponds in reality) and taking in the lovely views and sounds and smells is really rather relaxing. However I was overly hot and a bit sun burnt from my swimming without sun-cream (bad idea for any pale person) and for the impromptu sun session that morning, so I found myself too busy trying to scratch my chest and legs to properly enjoy the woodland stroll. I did manage to snap a few photos of the nice views though, so you can get an idea of what I saw between scratching frenzies.
After a nice long wait in the sun for the bus, which just like back home involved waiting for nearly 40 minutes for one bus, only to have 3 arrive at the same time, I was even more itchy than before, and getting restless. I was keen to get to Lisbon and roam around the city, and it wasn’t long before it all came together. Bags dropped at the hostel, sun cream actually applied for a change and clean shirt put on we set off out into the town. One of the things we definitely wanted to do was to go up the Santa Justa Lift (Click here for information) at dusk, to see the city at sunset, however things kept getting in the way. One such thing being alcohol and live music in a bar round the corner with a table of drunk British tourists from somewhere in the north, who put on quite a show of great British restraint by singing along loudly, clapping, and waving their lighters in the air as if they were at a Status Quo concert. The musician wasn’t too bad, but from the way the women were behaving one would think they were about to throw their underwear across the bar at him. Does anyone ever actually do that? I’ve seen it in films and such but really, does it ever truly happen?
Saturday saw even more glorious sunny weather and a day of dossing around Lisbon drinking copious amounts of fruit juice and the occasional beer to keep the spirits up. My friend pointed out that this time we hadn’t been to anything really cultural, apart from Sintra. But we hadn’t been to any museums or art galleries, and our parents might be a bit disappointed. So I took it upon myself to visit a museum while my friend had a siesta. I returned to the greatest museum I’ve ever seen, the beer museum.
Yes mum, I know, it doesn’t count as a real museum, but let me put it to you the way my friend articulated it- ‘learning about Portugal’s liquid empire’ (that’s not word for word accurate but I’m struggling to remember it exactly)
Once again like the last time I went to Lisbon I was offered vast amounts of Cocaine and Hash on every street corner, and enough fake RayBan’s to kit out a cruise ship despite the fact the sellers could see me sat there wearing a pair of sunglasses already. Saying ‘I’ve already got sunglasses mate’ didn’t seem to deter them, but rather encourage a debate about how many sunglasses a guy could need, and how I’m dangerously low on the food chain for only having one pair. And also how I would need some weed or LSD to go with my new sunglasses, as if I wouldn’t find such a bargain deal in spec-savers…
For the second night in a row we failed to make it up the Santa Justa Lift for sunset, but rather had dinner and a drink or two nearby. On Sunday morning however we did make an effort to go up the lift and to the viewpoint on the very top, from which one can see some of the best views of the city and over the river. It would have been amazing to see at dusk, which just gives me reason to go back again I guess… But time was against us to get the bus back to Vigo, so we headed out to the bus station ready for the terribly exciting 4 hour journey to Oporto, where we battled with the idea of staying another night and calling in sick at work on Monday. There really aren’t words to properly articulate how amazing both Oporto and Lisbon are, I could easily spend a week in either place and still feel like I had missed a great deal when it came time to leave. If I ever get the chance to travel in Portugal without time restraints I shall most likely be there for months, as there are so many more places to see and things to do. But then it’s the same anywhere really, there are always more things to see and do than time in which to do them.
Having returned to Vigo on a bus from Oporto late at night, which just like every other bus in the past 5 days offered me a seat that fails to recline at all, while my friend was all but horizontal next to me and laughing away before promptly falling fast asleep for the whole journey back, I find myself back in my room cold and tired, but satisfied. On the whole the weekend wasn’t a complete disaster. There were of course bumps in the road and the occasional worrying moment as with any holiday. But not a bad way to spend the puente (bridge weekend remember?).
Now it’s back to work and preparations for the school trip to Manchester next Thursday, so this is it for now. I’ll just leave a few more photos from the weekend here to tide you over till the next post.
¡Hasta Pronto!
If you have small children nearby don’t keep scrolling yet, get them out of the way first… Should probably have said that before the previous photo, but this time you’ll understand why…
Now to end on a nice photo, the city square by night:
The Rain in Spain... 