Moving on to Portuguese Princes

Because now I can understand Portuguese. ;) 

I awoke this morning to no alarm and no set plan of what I was going to do. Today is All Saints Day (or all Souls) and I wasn't sure what would or wouldn't be open. I figured I would walk around Alfama and just enjoy getting lost in the narrow twisty streets that not only go horizontally but vertically. Yes, you read that correctly. Vertically. Great views and great street art. 

View while walking around 

I walked towards the castle and was hopeful that it was open when I saw crowds of tourists waiting in line. The views are spectacular up there and the weather cooperated (tomorrow night rain). I even took a short talk/tour in Portuguese vs waiting in the ridiculously long English line. I could understand way more than I thought I would. 

Probably where my prince sleeps

All this traveling is getting to me - my throat aches. Need to find a pharmacy or continue drinking alcohol to kill whatever ails me. Tomorrow is Sintra and reading this excerpt, you know why it's right up my alley:

From the tour guide (so cliche I know but it isn't mine, it's in the hostel library). 

Sintra has been a centre for cult worship for centuries: the early Celts named it Mountain of the Moon after one of their gods and the hills are scattered with laylines and mysterious tombs. Locals say batteries drain in the area faster than elsewhere and light bulbs seem to pop with monotonous regularity. Some claim this is because of the angle of iron in the rocks, others that it is all part of the mystical powers that lurk in Sintra’s hills and valleys. There are certainly plenty of geographical and meteorological quirks. In the woods around Capuchos, house-sized boulders litter the landscape as if thrown by giants, while a white cloud – affectionately known as the queen’s fart – regularly hovers over Sintra’s palaces even on the clearest summer day. Exterior walls seem to merge with the landscape as they are quickly smothered in a thick layer of ferns, lichens and moss. And its castles, palaces, mansions and follies shelter tales of Masonic rites, insanity and eccentricity that are as fantastical as the buildings themselves.