So its said and done,  I do not like Spain.  Well that´s a lie, I love Spain.  I do not like the way that the Spanish treat those that do not speak their language.  I fully understand that I am at fault for not knowing a word of Spanish, I went into this trip knowing that fact.  However, everywhere else in Europe I have been able to find people who were willing to take their time and help a tourist in need.  Not in Spain.  In Spain you get snubbed for not knowing the language and the people were less then helpful.  But after a 16 hour train ride, I arrived in Lisbon.  The train ride was a bit brutal as the seats did not recline and I had to wedge myself into the window to get even a couple of uncomfortable hours of sleep.  However, I made it to the capital of Portugal.

Upon arriving I took a cheap taxi (all taxis in Lisbon are ridiculously cheap) to the Hotel Marriott where my sister was staying.  This is not like any US Hotel Marriott, this is like your parents’s dream Hotel Marriott.  With people offering to carry your bags to your room, or your sister’s in my case and with a fully complimentary concierge service that will send postcards for you without any problem.  Either way the place is sweet.  Upon arriving we got right back on a train to go visit Sintra, a village on the outskirts of the city.

Sintra is hope to the old palace of the King of Portugal, well until he was assassinated along with his son.  I am guessing someone was a bit angry with his tyrannical rule of the country or something, or they were just wildly jealous of the lavish home and lifestyle for which he lived.  From there we walked down to an ancient Moorish Castle that looks straight out of a fairy tale.  I scaled all sorts of walls and sentry towers and secretly wished I was born in 600 AD.  I mean I already got to wear the chain mail and have a full out knights battle with Lindsay and Seth, I am still not entirely sure if we are ever welcomed back at Plankenstein Castle.

We returned to the hotel to sit by the pool for a little while and soak in the Portugese sun.  My defined farmers tan is slowly becoming less defined and I am looking less like a working stiff and more and more like a local.  I can’t imagine anything better after a month of uprooting myself every day or two.  I still miss everyone, but I can live like this for a week or so.  I have to go reserve a train to Paris, which will apparently take the better part of a day to arrive at.  21 hours in a sitting position, I am sure that is good for Thrombosis or whatever that blood clotting disease is, but that will put me back in one of the most amazing cities in the world.

Today I think I am goign to Belem, of which I am not entirely sure what it is, but Frommer seems to approve.  So a week to the day until I return stateside, and I am not at all ready.  Theres something to be said about having a regular place to return to for more than a a day or so that make you feel comfortable all over again, or maybe its just the pool and sun calling my name.