Another early morning begins with a visit to church! Though the mesmerising Capela dos Ossos (Chapel of Bones) is not what most people would expect find in a church. The eery feeling begins with an inscription above the entrance that translates as: we bones here, for yours await. The walls and columns of a small room, tucked behind the huge Gothic structure of Igreja de São Francisco, are lined with the bones and skulls of some five thousand people. Whether you find it artistic, ghoulish or beautiful, this invitation to reflect on the transitory nature of the human condition is certainly thought provoking.
With much to think about, I hop on my motorbike and follow the aqueduct out of town in search of the perfect photograph of this impressive structure. Despite not finding the picture that is in my head, I happily follow the aqueduct for several miles as it carries water across this arid land.
My journey also unearths another impressive sight. The Cromeleque dos Almendres stand in a beautiful landscape of cork trees at the end of a rough sandy track. The Iberian equivalent of Stone Henge is a collection of huge oval standing stones spread down a rough slope which seem to have some astronomical alignment.
I continue on a country route that brings home the unspoilt nature of much of rural Portugal and play spot-the-differences between Spain and Portugal. The blue-and-white tiles and terracotta roofs of the Pueblo Blancos in Portugal are the most distinctive difference and, dare I say, more picturesque.
It is not only time that differs between the Spain and Portugal; it is also timing. In Spain, everything starts later. Shops there open at about 4.30 after the long siesta; in Portugal it is after lunch at 3pm. Staying at a Spanish guesthouse near the mountains, I am told that dinner would be served from 10pm; now in Portugal, they stop serving at 10pm. My belly is beginning to get confused!
Satiation is found in Restaurante O Primo Chico. Chico appears to be something of a local celebrity when I count the number of framed articles featuring his smiling, round, moustached face that adorn the walls of his charming restaurant. He rustles me up another one of Colin's suggestions: Bacalhau à Brás. Another bloody good feed :D
I decide against staying in Lisbon tonight as I am not really in the mood for a big city, so I nip under a replica of Christ the Redeemer statue and across a copy of the Golden Gate Bridge on my way to the fairy tale land of Sintra.
I arrive to find that all the imposing castles and glittering palaces that form the Unesco Heritage Site are closed for the day. So I kick back with a Super Bock and continue to digest my meal...
With much to think about, I hop on my motorbike and follow the aqueduct out of town in search of the perfect photograph of this impressive structure. Despite not finding the picture that is in my head, I happily follow the aqueduct for several miles as it carries water across this arid land.
My journey also unearths another impressive sight. The Cromeleque dos Almendres stand in a beautiful landscape of cork trees at the end of a rough sandy track. The Iberian equivalent of Stone Henge is a collection of huge oval standing stones spread down a rough slope which seem to have some astronomical alignment.
I continue on a country route that brings home the unspoilt nature of much of rural Portugal and play spot-the-differences between Spain and Portugal. The blue-and-white tiles and terracotta roofs of the Pueblo Blancos in Portugal are the most distinctive difference and, dare I say, more picturesque.
It is not only time that differs between the Spain and Portugal; it is also timing. In Spain, everything starts later. Shops there open at about 4.30 after the long siesta; in Portugal it is after lunch at 3pm. Staying at a Spanish guesthouse near the mountains, I am told that dinner would be served from 10pm; now in Portugal, they stop serving at 10pm. My belly is beginning to get confused!
Satiation is found in Restaurante O Primo Chico. Chico appears to be something of a local celebrity when I count the number of framed articles featuring his smiling, round, moustached face that adorn the walls of his charming restaurant. He rustles me up another one of Colin's suggestions: Bacalhau à Brás. Another bloody good feed :D
I decide against staying in Lisbon tonight as I am not really in the mood for a big city, so I nip under a replica of Christ the Redeemer statue and across a copy of the Golden Gate Bridge on my way to the fairy tale land of Sintra.
I arrive to find that all the imposing castles and glittering palaces that form the Unesco Heritage Site are closed for the day. So I kick back with a Super Bock and continue to digest my meal...
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