Not a good start to the day,
got up early to get fresh bread rolls to make sandwiches with for lunch,
instead came back with something or another (don’t know what it is called)
salami type meat embedded into the dough before being baked. Ursi cracked up;
by the time she put the finishing touches to the rolls with avocado, cheese and
lettuce, it tasted ok as discovered later over lunch. On arrival at Sintra
station, we decided to get some lubrication at the café opposite, extra hot
decaf for Ursi and Americano tea for me to make ourselves more approachable.
After consumption, made our way to catch the 434 bus to take us to two of the 3
palaces on the agenda for the day. For the third, 435 was the one to take. Rip
off, if you ask me; Euro 6.90 and 5.00 respectively. Back to the 434, after
settling into our seats, realised that we didn’t have our backpack with us; got
off and ran back to the café and sure enough, it was there. Goes to show, there
are honest people all over the world, mind you in some countries, an unattended
backpack would have triggered a call to the terrorist squad. We live in strange
times. Back on the bus, we had to stand right next to the driver (nice guy) who
was multilingual and we were the first Aussies he had come across for a while.
He enjoyed watching Bondi Vet and Trucks in the Outback on TV. First stop was
at a very colourful palace high up on a hill in lovely gardens, which we didn’t
get a chance to enjoy as it was covered in fog.
Next up was a palace in a
middle of a township;
after the tour of the palace sat on the steps to eat the
weird bread rolls for lunch. Tasted ok. Back on the 434 to take us back to
Sintra to catch the 435. The experience to board the 434 was something to be believed.
We had 10 people in front of us in the queue and yet it took us the best part
of 20 minutes to board. At times like these, patience can be a virtue. Back in
Sintra, paid our Euro 5 to board the 435 for the third palace, (my favourite)
previously owned by Francis Cook.
It had quite an interesting recent past, during
the 2
nd world war. It was there that I started feeling unwell;
difficulty breathing, loss of energy and exhausted. We hastily made our way
back to catch the bus to take us to Sintra to catch the train back to Lisbon with
me sleeping most of the time. Maybe it had something to do with the lunch of
that bread roll. On the way back to the apartment, called in to see my new
Bangladeshi mates for a chai; Ursi had a cold beer. Anyway, we got talking to
another guy from Bangladesh (as you do) with a camera that one would need a Phd
to use it. Was living in Faro, worked in a panel beater spraying cars; was up
in Lisbon to lodge some papers to get his wife across from Bangladesh to join
him. Had previously lived in England but was much happier in Portugal. His was
planning to move to Germany once his wife joined him. A chicken biryani, couple
of samosas and onion bhaji later, I was feeling as good as new. Long live chai.
Said our last farewells to our new friends. On arrival at home, we measured our
day’s walking distance, which recorded a respectable 10.12km. I was made up
that night, watching my beloved Liverpool win 5-2 against Roma. Nice way to end
a day that didn’t start too well.
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