Pa was old for a long time before he crossed over. He likes old things. Old photos. Old paintings. Old people. These days, most of his friends are old. And he likes old buildings. It’s not surprising that he asked if we could visit The Palacio Nacional de Sintra, the palace the young engineer on the train from Lisbon had spoken to us about.
On our way to breakfast we walked by the palace.
Mid-day, after the clouds had lifted, we returned, stopping near the entrance to observe a young man deep in thought.
A painter, it appeared he was studying the two conical structures rising up from the massive complex.
Not wanting to intrude, we waited. After a while, and at Pa’s prompting, I asked about the tall white “dunce caps”. ”They’re chimneys,” the young man said in a careful English. “For centuries they served the King’s kitchen.” Recognizing our interest, he proceeded to share his fascination for the palace and its history.
He explained that the palace was constructed on the site of a Moorish castle which King João I destroyed in 1415 to make way for the existing structure. For nearly five hundred years it served as a royal residence.
The young man went on to say that within the palace walls an Islamic artistic influence, known as Mudejar, co-exists with what’s known as the Gothic-Renaissance style.
After offering our thanks, we made our way inside, moving slowly from one impressive room to the other. Intricate Moorish tile complemented European paintings and tapestries. Pa, a lawyer by training, regretted that he’d never studied medieval art or architecture. I admitted I had the same deficiency.
Of all the rooms, the one we found most fascinating, was the “Heraldic Hall” where King Manuel had his coat of arms placed at the top of the room’s dome.
His message was, that as King, he was the center and top of a society that was both hierarchical and interdependent. Manuel recognized that his power was dependent on the support of the nobility and the nobility obtained its social status from the King. For that reason the nobility is represented by the coats of arms of the 72 most important families. Try as we might, neither Pa nor I could identify the coat of arms of Vasco Almeda’s family.
Giving up on our search, we focused our attention on a young woman, high up on a scaffold. With pain staking exactness, she applied a mixture of paint and plaster, bringing to life the century old reliefs.
Moving on, we visited the Royal Kitchen
then made our way outside, wandering the paths of the garden where, we’d been told, the royal children had played.
As fascinating as it all was, we grew weary, and made our way to the Lawrence Hotel, just in time for High Tea. We knew nothing of high tea, assuming it was merely English black tea accompanied by cookies perhaps. Carlos, one of the two refined gentlemen we met the day before, disabused us of that notion, serving us an incredible selection of sandwiches, fried prawns, spring rolls, French cookies - the name of which I forget - and other sweets, accompanied by juice, and tea of course.
There was no doubt we would forego our evening meal.
After returning to our room for a late afternoon nap, we made our way back to the palace to enjoy its nighttime splendor.
The Palace as you described it was in much better detail than Rick Steve’s’ description on PBS this morning. Yes, he was in Sinatra.