Finally found Estacion de Rossio, but it wasn't as easy as it looked when the concierge marked it on my free map. It's an impressive looking building, all right, but why didn't I recognise it as the station I was looking for? I took photos this afternoon to try to solve this mystery.
In fact, the station name was marked on the outside of the building but it wasn't called what I was told it was called, and, anyway, I couldn't read the script. Here is a close up of the name of the station, carved into the arches.
What do you make of the name? After a bit of staring, I managed to make out "estacio" on the left, but nothing I did could make the word on the right say "de Rossio". In fact, Wikipedia cleared up the problem; apparently Rossio is a kind of nickname for the area and the station. I think the word on the right might be "central".
In fact, I stumbled on the station by mistake. I was lined up at Starbucks--decided I needed a coffee before continuing the search for the station--and noticed a sign marking the "Estacion de Rossio Starbucks".
When I arrived inside I found a great crowd of tourists all lined up at machines and ticket windows; I joined the end of one of the lines. It was taking a very long time: no movement at the front for ten minutes. I had a flashback to the incredibly non-intuitive Spanish ticket machines, and the inscrutable train and metro system there.
Come on! Come on, people! I didn't even know whether I was in the right line, and I couldn't ask anyone because most of them appeared to be French, and so quite difficult to approach.
The couple at the vending machine finally stepped away with tickets in their hands. I started to wonder whether I wouldn't be better off staying in Lisbon for the day, and trying to find my way back to
the hotel at the end of it.
Up stepped a family, who called up a member further back in the crowd. After he pushed his way through the heaving throng they began their own struggles with the machine. Finally it was my turn to go through to the front of the queue. But this was not the machine I needed. It was for buying or topping up a multi ticket.
I went to the end of another queue. I bought a ticket from a human being--and I felt like kissing him--and here I am on the train about to arrive in Sintra.
Will have to delay the start of my exploration when I arrive, though, because I have to swallow some Panadol. The joy of being in a place where I could have a drink!
Yesterday, I had the Clingon order a white wine on the one- hour flight from Casablanca. I had his and my own, and another at dinner. . . And I guess I'm not used to drinking so much since Morocco.
It's now the evening after my afternoon in Sintra. I probably should have stayed in Lisbon. Sintra was a total tourist scene: something I've come to dread. Very few Portuguese locals anywhere in the vicinity. The day was a nightmare of trying to coordinate bus and train timetables. (Note to self: if it looks too hard, choose the simple option.)
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