Aventura 37: Sintra

Wormholes: The name given to hypothetical tunnels through hyperspace that might connect two distant places in our universe.

(The Cosmic Perspective: Astronomy Textbook)

I'm sitting at my computer in Puerto Rico, almost a year after I departed for Barcelona and am desperately wishing I could find a wormhole.  A way to get back to Barcelona, to Lisbon, to Sintra. I want to find a secret tunnel that will take me there.

Yet, funny enough, I have found myself going back to Spain while here in Puerto Rico.  Entering the airport and seeing the Spanish language everywhere.  Exploring, adventuring in the rainforest, meeting new people, trying new foods; not the same adventures, of course, but adventures in and around the Spanish language, that are triggering many memories.

And you know what? At least for now, I think I have found my wormhole.  And that is memories.  Memories triggered by songs, by new adventures, by photos, by colors, by a language, by a place.  Memories are the way I can walk between here and Barcelona, between here and Sintra.  

So this post is just going to be fragments of memories.  But these fragments pieced together will create a bridge, a walkway, or a tunnel, that connects these two distant places in our universe.  

Catching an early morning train at Rossio Station in Lisbon, taking the escalator up through a sea of green and blue tiles, hitting up the ticket stations to grab train tickets, not expecting the huge lines, and almost missing the train. Arriving in Sintra, walking down the side of the train station to get away from the huge crowd of tourists, sitting down for a little while to let the crowd disperse.  Then, walking back to the information station, grabbing a map that was very helpful, and setting off way behind and way away from the crowd. Following the signs into the town of Sintra, spotting a small kiosk with a juicer - we have to try it - and maybe it's not the best pineapple mango juice...but it's a memory. Running into a friend, Min, from my Knox program. Small world.  Armed with a map, we start the winding path through the town, past stone sculpture on the road, a garden park below us, climbing higher and higher, past another colorful imaginary sculpture garden, not really knowing where to turn - I think we are actually following the car route? Okay, here's a fork.  Left? Right? Cars left.  So...pedestrians right! - Entering through a stone archway and suddenly finding ourselves alone trekking through a forest that feels worthy of old fairytales of knights, kings, queens, and trolls.  Passing a group of Spanish boy and girl scouts hanging out. 
Walking under the arch of the entrance to the castle.  I can imagine it being an old fortress, you are able to see for miles and miles, so no one can really sneak up on you.   And it's so well worn...the rocks crumbling in places, moss growing over the rocks, covering up what was there, staircases that don't lead anywhere.  But that seems to add to the mystery of stories it holds.  Sitting on a cardinal turret, watching out over the town below, eating our lunch: linguicia fried rice. Exploring the castle, in and out of turrets, up and down winding staircases, sitting for a while on rocks, discovering crumbled windows, having good and bad luck in taking photos through these windows, balance beam walking on the moss-covered wall, imagining a sword fight, looking down, down, down to where the enemy could be. "Expect Less, Dream More." Words graffitied onto the rocks.  At first, I thought this was a pessimistic idea, until I thought about it more.  Expect Less.  Don't expect things to always work out.  A job. An adventure. The way a person should act.  Lose that weight of expectations onto everything. Instead, Dream More.  Dream about what you want to do with your life, about who you want to be with in your life, about the adventures you want to take - in whichever direction you want.  Dream and imagine and inspire more. (One of those memories that didn't actually happen on these stone walls, but for some reason, helps complete the tunnel of Sintra).
Seeing the palace, thinking it'll be a short walk there, and only after about 1.5-2 hours do we finally switch places.  But it's a walk through green forests, over bridges, and by ourselves - no one else around. First impression of the Sintra palace: this would be an awesome place to play hide-and-go seek.  Man, could you imagine living here? I really can't.  But then I see the colors, the bright pinks, yellows, purples...and the patterns, everywhere.  And this place quickly became somewhere I could love to spend time.  In the same way the colors and patterns of the fish on the coral reef in Australia inspired me, these colors and patterns would later inspire me in some of my own metals artwork. 
Something about cookies and camas and turrets.
A room just for reading? A room just for writing? A ball room? A dressing room? A bathing room? Finding a quieter spot of the palace, overlooking the moorish castle, straddling the edge of the walls, and taking out a snack: banana and nutella.  The bananas aren't too too squished, the nutella is delicious, like always.Watching a little girl follow her mom and dad around the turrets.  Blond hair, ponytail bopping along.  I hope she was letting her imagination run wild with the thought of being a princess here. Watching the sun and the shadows touch the different layers of the trees, forests, and houses in the "backyard" of the palace. Sitting in the horse-shaped arches, watching all the tourists around, imagining what it would be like to live here, but also just....not wishing I were anywhere else.
Leaving the palace, walking over to the cathedral in the forest park, the actual backyard of the palace people.  About four pm, and the light is coming through the trees in the way that I love: long shadows, long sun rays, the leaves seem to sparkle, the nature around is quiet and reflective, a place where you feel alone but not alone at the same time.

Exploring the rest of the park, until we see a giant statue with two real men atop a huge rock.  I have to get up there.  But how? Walking around, twice, the hug rock formation, until finally we just have to make up the route, clambering up the not-so-steady little rock steps to the pride-rock like formation.  Drawing the knight of the rock, who overlooks the palace.  A giant who watches over the sunsets, the same colors reflected in the palace itself.  A giant who watches over adventurers, giving them a nudge when it's getting a little too late and they should start heading back home - because in this place, it's so very easy to lose track of time. Walking back down to the town of sintra, trying to find a short-cut that turns into a long-cut, some help with portugues directions from a father and his kids playing in the street before dinner, some fast walking on curvy, speeding roads, and a little bit of luck choosing the right direction (we know, at the least, we just need to go down.) The secret relief of finally recognizing where we are. Boarding the train to go back to Lisbon, just in the nick of time.  Falling asleep on the train ride home, figuring out those final memories to finish up constructing the tunnel that is able to take me back there next time I want to go to Sintra. 












el 10ish de marzo 2012