Rick Steves' Blog Gone Europe
Sweet Sweet Sintra
By rick_steves on July 26, 2009 at 1:00 AM
On our last day, Jackie and I agreed to go to a small, charming, picturesque town — without any type of itinerary. With clothes on our backs and books in our bags, we rode the train to the last stop — Sintra. It was a destination we had been told would be criminal to miss, so we committed the entire day to it. We were feeling melancholy about our impending departure from one another (and for me, from Europe entirely), but it made our last hours together all the sweeter. Sintra immediately lived up to its reputation for beauty and charm. After walking not more than a few minutes, we saw on our left a stone wall, and on the right a breathtaking panorama. The town was built around a valley, and the valley had pretty structures amongst lush vegetation. Palm trees and a diverse array of statues, all by different artists, lined the road. The road ended in a hilly cobblestone-street neighborhood. Little winding streets were lined with shops selling touristy merchandise and restaurants boasting, "Real Portuguese Food" and "Hamburgers and Hotdogs."
We found ourselves a delightful little reading nook next to a pretty fountain and parked there for an hour or so, leaving reluctantly, slaves to our hunger. We retraced our steps, passing the train station to venture in the opposite direction we had initially walked. After some routine restaurant-choosing dysfunction, we sat down in the one restaurant in town that really did not want our business. After we had been seated in this particular restaurant, the waiter told us we could stay for 15 or 30 minutes. We respectfully scarfed our chow mein and cashew chicken.
After lunch, we returned to a spot we had scoped out on our way to lunch — shaded benches, pigeons, and a killer view. As usual, my book was not as captivating as my surroundings. Jackie and I grew restless quickly and headed home, eager for our night of food and fado — a genre of music we had heard much about.
No one could have prepared me for the romance that awaited me on our last night in Lisbon. Rick had alerted a restaurant-owner friend of his about our visit, and we were welcomed into his restaurant with open arms. We were ushered into an intimate corner and presented with bread, cheese, and tuna. Rick's friend insisted that everything on the menu was good, something we didn't doubt, but still probed him for specifics. Seafood rice was ordered, and it arrived just as the lights dimmed, and a blind fado singer and his guitarist took the "stage." In the dim red light, listening to the melancholy music, eating the freshest, most delicious seafood, Jackie and I agreed it was the most romantic date of our lives. Three performers and four servings later, after having pronounced ourselves stuffed, a frothy coffee-flavored dessert was ceremoniously served. Of course we obliged, just as we obliged when we were invited to his son's bar right above the restaurant. The son made us deliciously weak mojitos, and then argued confidently that music accompanied by lyrics was not, in fact, music. We exited the bar soon after our table was infiltrated by a frighteningly intense teenage boy with braces.
The streets were filled with young people with drinks and cell phones in hand. We worked our way through the crowd, striking up a few conversations here and there. We ducked into another bar so I could use the bathroom, and I am pleased to say it was there that I was finally mistaken for Portuguese. There isn't much of a story there, but it must be noted as a victory. The day having been one success after another, we were content to go home at a reasonable hour. We informed a couple of boys wishing to…get to know us better that we were going to walk home so, sadly, could not go dancing with them. They feigned astonishment, exclaiming, "Alone!? No, we will walk you." Without explaining to them that they could not act as our protectors, as they were what we needed protection from, we dashed off and hurried home. I was jealous that waking up the next morning meant the rest of Europe for Jackie and Home for me, but I left Lisbon content with my whirlwind of a trip. I knew no real goodbyes were necessary. Spain and Portugal haven't seen the last of me, and Europe hasn't even seen the beginning! I left confident knowing my friendship with Jackie will never fade, and neither will our drive for adventure. When we hugged goodbye in the airport, I couldn't help envisioning our next journey together…
' Zoe
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