EmD

We spent one of our days in Portugal touring a few towns on the outskirts of Lisbon. Bill set us up with a fantastic driver, Gaspar, who knows more about Portugal than you could imagine. He was full of stories and random facts, and even stopped the car on the side of the road at one point and made us get out to inspect a cork tree (which was quite a relief, because I had just finished watching the season finale of the Sopranos and I was pretty certain that Gaspar was going to off us right there on the side of the road in nowheresville, Portugal).

The first stop of the trip was the Pena Palace in Sintra. The palace was so colorful that it looked like something out of a Disney movie (but much cooler). Evidence:

The Palace had so many artistic features. Not only was it colorful, it was also textured...

... and tiled ...

We were also able to tour the inside of the Palace, which was especially cool because it was filled with random knick-knacks and tchotchkes. However, we had to find the entrance to the place first, and that proved harder to do than you would think. Theresa and Bill figured it out right away, and had no sympathy for our pathetic attempts at getting inside. They just smiled and waved at us:

Mostly we walked around the courtyard repeatedly...

And also around the parapet surrounding the castle...

(I look so small!) And took fun pictures....

But the view was incredible!

That's the Atlantic in the background.

After the Palace tour we headed back to the center of Sintra for some afternoon wine and cheese, which was followed up with delicious Portuguese pastries and port.

So happy! (yes, and pretty)

After a hearty (and oh-so-healthy) meal of cheese and pastries, Gaspar drove us to Cabo de Roca, the westernmost point in mainland Europe. As I stood at what was once the edge of the world, the ocean wind kicked up a bit of wanderlust and I thought of all the explorers who had stood at that exact point and wondered what lay beyond the great blue sea. It reminded me of the poem by John Masefield:

A wind is in the heart of me, a fire's at my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon wheels;
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.

Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street,
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,
Oh I'l be going, going, until I meet the tide.

And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.

Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,
For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels.

There's nothing like the salt water to make you dream, eh? Or maybe it just makes you a little crazy. Either way, I was wishing I had a sailboat.

Cabo de Roca was beatiful, but a storm was rolling in, so we headed on out.

We made one quick stop on the way back to Lisbon in a small town called Cascais. We stayed just long enough to hop out of the car, look at the harbour, and take a few pictures. It reminded me of Naples, but prettier.