Enchanted castles and palaces. Luxuriant nature. Beautiful and majestic Sintra is usually associated with scenes from fairy tales.
Sunday Autumn also becomes the stage for an incredible story of trickery. Victims no longer be counted on the fingers. Who will be next?
- 'Tlim, tlim'. The clatter of the coin falling into the container is heard throughout the car of the train Lisbon / Sintra.
- 'Thank you. God will reward your good soul. " I look around me. A small man outlines a cynical smile of gratitude. It has about 40 years. Limps noticeably. Numerous wrinkles furrow his dark and shaved face. The tiny brown eyes resemble crevices. Hoarsely clouded by fatigue, continues his litany:
- "Please help the hobler. I am alone in the world, I have no money to survive. " The reaction of people is surprisingly different. Some people do not hesitate to put money into the old cup. But one also hears voices angry:
- 'I bet you have no disease. Go on and work, your lazy. "
Already on the station platform, try to spot the 'hobler'. An unsuccessful attempt. Quickly, I arrive at my destination. Sintra hugs me without reservation. His gentle and serene touch makes me forget the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Declared World Heritage by UNESCO, this place whispers many exuberant secrets. The National Palace (also known as the Royal Palace or Palace of the Village), for example. Adorned by giant chimneys twin cone-shaped, was the residence of the Moors during the Arab occupation of Lisbon. From 1147 until the proclamation of the Republic in 1910, became a royal residence.
The afternoon has been born. As I walk the thin streets of beautiful historic center, I meet an unassuming restaurant. The perfect place to reassure my empty stomach. After gobbling up the best bargain of cod in my life, I gather energy to continue my route.
The rascal lurking in the hills
Next destination: the Pena Palace. A real fairy-tale scenario. The dazzling fills up my soul. Considered the finest example of romantic architecture of our country, date of 1839. Inspired by the Schinkel Castles of Central Europe, its architecture combines the genius' styles Moorish, Gothic and Manueline.
Inspired, I go way to the Moorish Castle. Located three and a half kilometers from the historic center, was built by the Moors in the eighth or ninth century AD fully restored by D. Ferdinand II in the nineteenth century, is an inexhaustible source of surprises. The ossuary. The underground cistern. The watchtower. The citadel. And the walls to the horizon tracery. Erected in two peaks of the Serra de Sintra - formerly known as Moon Hill - offers breathtaking views.
My eyes are gaping. But the surprise is not from the fabulous scenery that unfolds in the distance. It should, instead, to a sudden vision – the hobler in the train from Lisbon / Sintra walks ahead of me. Without any difficulties. It sits in a corner. Surreptitiously, takes a pair of sunglasses from this wallet and coveres himself with a blanket worn by time. The same voice hoarse with fatigue clouded intones the familiar litany:
- "Please help the blind man. I am alone in the world, I have no money to survive. "
In shock,I blink one, blink twice. The hobler turned blind. No doubt, it's really him. The small stature and frail. The wrinkled face and dark. I try to verbalize my anger. Without success. I'm changing action and words.
- 'Tlim, tlim'. The clatter of the currency to fall in container echoing around the castle gardens.
- 'Thank you. God will reward your good soul. " Amazing! Does not even bother to change the way of thanks. The same cynical smile appears on his lips. Triumphant, just fool the first generous spirit of the afternoon. Second, third. Many are the victims of this rascal.
Juggling of the street-smart aside, my journey continues until the Farm of the Regaleira. A mystical place, full of charm. The castle of dreams (three floors in Manueline). The lush gardens. The numerous sources. The caves 'haunted'. And the wells. The Initiation Well. Extended 27 meters below ground, resembling a tower instead. The story goes that the epithet comes from having been used in initiation rituals of Freemasonry.
The aftenoon ages slowly. It is time to return to the city in order to taste the famous cheese. Unforgettable!
Sitting on the train to Sintra / Lisboa, I think of all that I’ve beheld. What I had no chance to see (the promise of a return). One day in a magical fairy tale scenario. But no princes or princesses. Only a rascal, a bad rascal. Manquinho morning. Blindie afternoon. And their victims, totally unrelated to the fact that they are bribed. Attention, dear reader, there are many parasites in the wild. Shrewd, whiners, whining, they are experts in the art of doing nothing in life. Who will be the next person to be cheated?
