Euros Ate My Dollars

Once upon a time in a far away land there was a beautiful (/intelligent/self-sufficient/independent) peasant girl on a mighty quest. She was seeking a magical castle deep in the enchanted forest, where Prince Charming (who appreciated her for her wit and personality) awaited to sweep her off her feet and make her the princess she longed to be. And THEN it would be perfectly socially acceptable for her to wear tiaras every day of the week and NO ONE could say ANYTHING because SHE’S A FRIGGIN’ PRINCESS, OKAY?

And then reality dawned, at the moment I realized I’d paid to enter this park, had been wearing the same shirt for a week, and my Prince Charming was running around up ahead pretending he was Link from Zelda. Theme song and all.

Although we really were in a forest. On our guidebook’s recommendation, we’d hopped a train from Lisbon to Sintra, a nearby small town that contained several noteworthy and picturesque palaces. The sight that most intrigued me, based on pictures I’d seen, was the Palace of Pena, a monastery-turned-royal-residence on the outskirts of town.

So after disembarking from the train in Sintra (okay, and after a brief stop at Pizza Hut because I was craving some good old American grease. Note: don’t eat at Pizza Hut abroad, where breadsticks = dry toast), we hopped a rickety bus to the top of a mountain where the palace was allegedly located.

Which is how I found myself trudging through a forest in the middle of Portugal, without a clue where to go and very much regretting my decision to let Ben lead. Although that forest really did seem enchanted — with dappling sunlight and moss-covered stones and so many other woodsy clichés. I felt that if I burst into song all the sprightly woodland creatures would bound of the forest to perch on my lap. I may or may not have tested this theory with the only song I could think of at the moment. FYI, “Who Let the Dogs Out” does not inspire nature to flock.

At the point I became convinced there was no way we were getting out of these woods alive, the towers of a gigantic castle emerged above the treetops just ahead of me. It was everything I knew a castle could be — and more! It is the castle out of every fairytale you’ve ever read. Seriously, people, check this out:

Now THAT is what I’m talking about! It looks like this awesome My Little Pony castle I had when I was little, with its pink, purple and lemon-tinted facade. But that one ALSO had a basket-lift for the purple baby dragon, which Pena was lacking.

Ben and I spent hours exploring the battlements, buttresses, and ramparts of Pena Palace. Okay, so I have no idea what those words mean, but I generally associate them with castles, so, you know, whatever. I mean, I probably saw those things, right? I was going to write as if I knew what I was talking about even though I have no idea (we’ll call that Ben-style writing), but then I figured it’d be really embarrassing to be called out on my own blog. I should really disable comments.

Visitors to Pena have a surprising amount of wandering capability when it comes to Pena’s exterior (we’re used to a large percentage of the sites we visit being closed to the public), but the rooms of the well-preserved interior were mostly roped off. Which meant that I couldn’t search for secret passageways like I’d planned, which was a bummer. Though the red-velvet-oil-painting-19th-century-esque decor starkly contrasted with the castle’s whimsical exterior, and I was quickly bored.

We then wandered down the mountain road and back a few more centuries to the ruins of an old Moorish castle. When we’d heard that the castle was ruined, I’d figured it was really ruined, along the lines of the Roman Forum. But entire sides of the defensive walls remained intact! And the scenery was incredible: the town of Sintra below, Pena on a neighboring hillside, misty mountains in the distance… unlike the ruins in Rome where, no matter how many times you tell me that those column bases once supported a temple to Zeus, I’m never really going to be able to get that, it was very easy to imagine Sintra’s Moorish castle in its prime.

Unfortunately, upon our return from a land called Honah Lee, we had some practical, real-life things to take care of to prepare for our trip to Thailand. Things like prevention of disease and imprisonment. So we promptly visited the local Thai embassy in Lisbon, having been informed that you need a visa for a stay in Thailand longer than 30 days. We showed up at the door of a building that looked a family home in what was a very residential neighborhood. But a small, gold plaque to the left of the gate confirmed it was indeed the Thai embassy. After ringing the doorbell (yes, a doorbell) for five minutes, the gate clicked open and we were permitted entrance.

We explained our situation, filled out all the proper paperwork, made copies of our passports, and were nearly finished our application when the old Portuguese woman behind the counter pushed a slip of paper towards me with a number written on it in a blank after the word “Amount”: 50.

“Fifty euros?!” I said, aghast. “EACH??”

“Yes, of course.” she replied.

So then I backpedaled. We were never entirely positive we needed a visa, but wanted to be overly cautious when it came to travel in SE Asia. It’s very hard to get into the nitty-gritty of Thai immigration law with a Portuguese woman who doesn’t speak the best English, but we were able to (eventually) confirm that you do NOT need a visa if you’re traveling in Thailand for less than 28 days at a time. This essentially means that we can stay in Thailand for 28 days, hop into another country like Laos or Cambodia for one night, and the next day be permitted back into Thailand for another 28 days, if we want. Seriously! It’s a nonsensical system, but it saved us $150. So it looks like we’ll be going to Laos or Cambodia and it might be time to actually consult a SE Asian map.

Our next stop was a Lisbon health clinic that our Portuguese friend Joao had contacted so that we could obtain Hepatitis A vaccines (I know, I know. This is stuff that should’ve been taken care of BEFORE our trip). We hiked up the stairs of the office building, took a number, and waited. When we were finally called, we quickly assessed that no one behind the counter spoke a lick of English, nor were they particularly concerned with helping us (pretty much the only grumpy Portuguese you’ll encounter are the ones who are working). But when it became clear to them that we weren’t going away — particularly when Ben kept attempting to pronounce “Hepatitis A” in various accents in hopes they might help us if he said Ehp-AH-Tee-Tees-Ah a couple dozen times — a large man lumbered over from behind a partition and grunted in our general direction.

“Hi.” I said. “We’re here for a Hepatitis A vaccination. We called this morning.”

“What is your address?” he replied.

“No, no. We don’t live here. We’re traveling.”

“Where is your hotel?”

“My hotel? I’m not sure of the street name.”

“What neighborhood?”

“Um, the Bairro Alto, I think.”

“We can’t see you.”

“What? Why not?”

“Health clinics divided by neighborhood. You must go to the Bairro Alto clinic.”

“You mean, because my hotel happens to be a couple blocks that way, you can’t see me?”

“Go here,” he said, shoving a piece of paper with a street name on it into my hand. Despite our attempts to say that we were just kidding! Our hotel is just downstairs actually! They wouldn’t see us. So we managed to achieve nothing we’d set out to do with only a week left before we hopped a plane to Bangkok. Oops!

We did see a few more sites in Portugal — a couple more ancient and priceless monasteries and palaces, none quite as impressive as those at Sintra. But mostly we ate, delighting in the fusion of foods Portugal offers, from South American to Northern African. I surprised myself with how comfortable I am eating fish that are served to me with the head still on. I also ate pig ears because Ben happened to leave that fun little detail out when he sat a plate of food down in front of me. He knows I can’t not eat food within my reach!

The final leg of our European journey was in Paris, where we were meeting my family and catching our flight to Thailand. Next on E.A.M.D.: our worst transportation experience yet!

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