Sintra and the Football World Cup Finals

After reading the responses on my previous posts I came to the conclusion that people don’t want stories about drugs and aimless walks anymore. Maybe in the ‘60s or the ‘70s that was exactly the selling point for a blogger, who would have to curve his posts on paper, put them in a bottle and throw it in the sea (actually by this method you can access as many readers as most bloggers have). This is 2010, and people want practical advice like power plug types, voltage levels and airplane ticket bargains. They don’t care about your photoshoped iPhone pictures, they would be as pleased with a few cart-postal pictures of the main sites, the ones you can find everywhere else. I’m pissed with you people, and that’s why I decided to punish you, by going to such a boring place as Sintra and writing about it. Actually, the reasons I'm going are not that clear, but we will come to that later.

The town of Sintra, Portugal.

Sintra is a nice village a few minutes by train from Lisbon, so I had the opportunity to use a train in this country as well. It stoped to some Lisbon districts, like Benfica (If you are not a football fun, this name won’t ring a bell - and by football I refer to the sport most people on the globe call “football” - since it is played mostly with feet and a ball: foot-ball, get it?). While at the train, I wondered why I’m going to Sintra. Maybe my friend, who is sitting next to me, knows the answer.

- Dude, why are we going to Sintra?
- I though it was your idea!
- Why should I suggest to go to a place I didn’t even know it exists?
- Is this rhetorical?
- Dude, I’m telling you, I didn’t suggest Sintra or any other place. The first time I ever heard about this was this morning, when you said “OK, get ready, we are going to Sintra”.
- Yes, but I thought we planed that yesterday, when you said “hey, let’s go to Sintra tomorrow”.

Was that true? I had to find out.
I couldn’t remember much from the mythical “yesterday” night, but maybe my pal would.

- Dude? What happen yesterday?
- You don't remember?

I couldn’t say I had a hangover, but I woke up after 14:00,  which means it was fixed by heavy sleep. It also means we were out all night long. I remember that we started by dinning at dockas.

Dockas is used as a dock for leisure boats and a place to dine and have coffee or a drink.

Dockas was a nice experience. The old Lisbon docks are now full of coffee places, lounge bars and restaurants. We decided to try an expensive-looking fish restaurant and order the crab and some lobster. It worth it (about 40 epp). Just after we sat at our seats, we were approached by a waiter with a plate full of fish. On top of all the fish was a big red crab.

Crabs look scary but they are actually the suckers of nature, even ants can beat them. We needed to eat this poor 1.6 kg bastard (yes, metric). To be frank, I didn't expect to fill my stomach with crab. I had the impression that crabs are mostly bones and inedible parts, so you had to eat something real afterwards. I was wrong. This 1.6 kg crab, accompanied by a couple of bread baskets, was enough to feed three hungry persons. The lobster wasn’t necessary (but was eaten nevertheless). The wine was a green (verde) Portuguese wine that tastes like green apple juice with bubbles. I don’t think I will order it again, but it is good compliment to crabs and lobsters.

The crab was delicious. The crab belly was open and stuffed with a matching sauce. Each person is given a white hammer, like the one on the left of the plate, to smash  some crab feet or claws.

After Spains triumph over Holland, we moved to a lounge bar a few meters away, where we enjoyed some cocktails. There we met a couple of girls we knew, who invited the three of as to a place where “the guys” would be. I don’t know who the guys are. Maybe my friend knows.

- Dude, last night we went to a party, to see the guys. Who are “the guys?”
- Zoao and his friends.
- Do I know any Zoao?
- Everybody is called Zoao here. It’s Portuguese for John.
- So, is this guy some particular Zoao or the idea of Zoao?
- It doesn’t matter. You will never meat him again anyway.
- Why’s that?
- He left the country. That’s why he was having that party, remember?
- No.

Sintras roads are narrow. The visitor will often admire a fountain or a wall covered by  traditional colored tiles.

But I remember there was a party. People talking and drinking, some of them dancing. it was staged at the terrace of an old 8-store building without an elevator. Once you get there, you would think twice before leaving and coming back. The music was too electronic and vibrating for my taste, but not something I couldn’t stand. I met some people, I don’t remember their name or gender, but there they are in my memories with their blurry faces and figures.

My pal had an epiphany

- I remember now. It was this greek girl.
- What greek girl?
- I don’t remember. Maybe Pena or something.

- Pena is a Greek name?

- Apparently. She said it was nice at Sintra. We had to look for a palace or a castle. You said we have to go and find it.

- Will she be there?
- I don’t think so.
- Is she pretty?
- I don’t remember.
- Me neither.

After reaching Sintra station we approached an information desk for, well, information. There we found out that “Pena” is the name of the palace, or at least one of the palaces and castles you could visit at the general Sintra area. The girl named Pena was probably suggesting we should go there. And I doubt if that's her real name. The guy at the desk suggested we should take the bus and visit at least 4 of these castles, but we decided to walk. Later we realized we could hardly reach the closest of them before the sunset. We should have listen to the desk guy (who is actually called Zoao, IIRC). 

Most Sintra houses are impressive!

I haven't regret my Sintra trip, because the place is beautiful. It is calm and medieval-ish, and you can also admire some of the most amazing rich peoples houses (as well as their expensive cars - something absent from Lisbon center). We had a cup of tea at a lovely place we found by luck. We admired some interesting sculptures at the road side. We used our cameras. We had a pleasant conversation about thinks I ‘m not going to bore you with. It was an excellent hangover.

The walk from the train station to Sintra town center is pleasant because of the deep tree shadows protecting you from the burning sun, and the art pieces put at the side of the pavement.

I almost never re-read my posts (the response I usually get to this is “yes, I can tell”), but I did this one. It’s not about Sintra, it is about how I spent the night of the Football World Cup Finals of 2010. Btw this post is dedicated to Diego Forlan.