Unexpected Treasures

I was so determined to reach the Moorish Castle on top of that hill, especially after getting lost three times and almost getting stuck in the train station - I had climbed on the train to Sintra with no ticket (don't do that). But, after pressing the SOS button twice and sounding the alarm for assistance, the station attendant came to find me and let me through so I could purchase a 'ticket', the one I had just 'used' to get here.

Anyway, after seeing the delightful beauty of the sweet town and its magical guesthouses and cafes, I couldn't get out of it! I climbed up this way and that, going up cold, grey, mossy stairs and down some others, the town's twisty, narrow streets always bringing me back to its center. There were only a couple of us out on the streets, and all the shops had closed due to the lockdown. I found entrances to be closed and ways blocked, but eventually, I found an enchanting path that led to the forest and to the walls that surrounded the castle.

I kept on this path and climbed further up until I got as far as I could, and at this point, which was not the castle, I didn't turn around and head back, but lingered... and this, Friend, is the very essence of adventuring. I thought it unamusing and ironic that it wasn't the great, ancient, stone wall that kept me from entering the castle and its forests, but a stupid couple of wooden boards that covered the entrance, and this led to a story that I played in my mind as I took out my notepad and pen and began to scribble.

Satisfied that I had climbed as high and gone as far as any person had on this ancient hill during a lockdown, and having written a good scene of how the hero was rescued by the heroine after being shot in the back by an unknown marksman, I descended a few meters below to a viewpoint that overlooked the ocean. A few hikers passed by, one carrying a box of pizza which I thought to be rather odd but it smelled good, and after seeing the same stupid couple of wooden boards that covered the entrance, a few of them lingered, and a few climbed back down.

It was here while lingering, writing, and looking at the sea that I came to meet Marta, a fellow traveler, from Poland, filled with life and mountain air. She took photos of the little robin that hopped around us as we talked about life and God, men and travel, music, and cold Polish winters. We walked down the cold, grey, mossy path together, looked at the old church beside us, and decided that we felt more at home, at peace, and even closer to the Creator out on the mountain than we ever would in a building.

I didn't know where the determination to reach that castle came from, nor the impulse to linger, but I am grateful I did, because, though I have nothing to show you, I have the joy of a good story and the making of a friend, which have made my life rich and colorful. So, Friend, from one traveler to another: when you feel like giving up, don't. When you have reached as far as you can go, linger. The stories and friends that are found in this place are treasures indeed.