Good afternoon everyone. First of all, apologies for what has now become a leitmotif of this blog: I am so much behind that it’s not even funny anymore. This blog used to be interesting (I hope, at one point, when I was travelling through exotic places), or at times even funny (Tinder made me lose hope for the future of mankind, but gave me the best writing material), but this last year there’s been mostly silence and I have to admit it was probably for the benefit of the readers. I could say I’ve been busy (which I have, between fencing and cycling), I could say that the political development and general state of the world has been so bad that even I haven’t had the strength to rant coherently (which is also true), but the main reason is that I have been on a downward spiral so steep, that I have been unable to squeeze out anything remotely worth publishing, other than stuff that would potentially make some people who read this blog worry about my mental health (which hasn’t been great either, but it’s always been work in progress). Still, I think the photos taken in the last months are worth seeing, so I will just dump them here in the following posts and will keep the writing to the bare minimum, at least until I find my voice again.
When I was moving to Madrid five years ago, I thought that weekends in Portugal would become a regular feature in my new sunlit jet set lifestyle. There have been two occasions, so far. Partly because my life hasn’t turned out to be all that glamorous – mine and everyone else’s, given the C-situation that kept us locked at home for the best part of two years, but mainly because Spain offers a lot to discover without the necessity to board a plane or drive for 7 hours. Yeah, that’s right. The country with the second vastest hish speed train network in the world (after China) doesn’t have a decent rail connection to the neighbouring capital. To embark on the only service that runs between Madrid and Lisbon, the Lusitania, you have to be a true romantic at heart: brace yourself for a journey of 625 km over 11 hours. If you crave a trans(s)iberian experience without the hassle of obtaining Russian visa, this is your best bet. This is not Spain’s fault. The studies and the projects are all in place, but the Portuguese haven’t been keen on spending for their part of the infrastructure. Well, maybe one day.
Same as the last two times (here and here), I ended up in Sintra again. I will have to find other destinations eventually, but this was the closest thing to holiday I was going to get, so anything would have worked.
To you the photos, starting with Convento dos Capuchos, officially Convento de Santa Cruz da Serra da Sintra, a 16th century monastery of the order of Friars Minor Capuchin. It is, in my opinion, the most interesting of the monuments in Sintra. It’s stunning, hidden in the mountains lost among lush vegetation, and peaceful (compared to the busloads of tourists in the other palaces, but the pouring rain might have helped). If Hobbits decided to take the cloth, they would settle somewhere like here.
Praia di Guincho & Praia das Maçãs – one of the life’s most valuable lessons: never miss a swim.
Castelo dos Mouros
Exercises in style
Palacio Nacional de Sintra
Quinta da Regaleira
Tholos do Monge – this short hike ranks among top ten most magical experiences of my life. When the mist from the ocean started to seep into the woods and transformed a sunny day into thick white silence in a matter of minutes.
Santuario da Peninha – the sactuary itself is nothing special, but location is fantastic and the views are unbelievable. And I must come back on this roads with my bike at some point.
Wildlife
Kacenka on the road 