I’m Not the King of the Castle


The Castelo de São Jorge sits on a hilltop overlooking Lisbon and has successfully repelled all enemy attacks since 1147. Judging from our own experience, this is almost certainly because the invading hordes couldn’t find the flamin’ entrance.

Susie and I wandered the dizzying labyrinth of streets surrounding the castle, looking for a way in for what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to 47 minutes. This was particularly frustrating as I was near enough to see and even to touch the lucky few who had passed through the gates. I only held back from doing so through fear of being labeled a ‘tourist caressing pervert’.

A completely unstaged photo of Susie looking for the castle entrance.

Finally, through a filmy haze of relief sodden tears I spied the ancient entry turnstiles (circa 1994) and stumbled theatrically towards them. My gratuitous attention seeking was curtailed by the unsolicited attentions of a security guard. He indicated through the international language of pointing that we should go back in the direction we had come from to find a ticket office and buy, perhaps predictably, tickets. Like the merciless advancing armies of yore, we really couldn’t be bothered anymore so went for a beer instead.

You won’t get this kind of quality journalistic insight with yer Lonely Planet you know.

If the Lonely Planet editor is reading this, I am prepared to consider travel journalism commissions on a cash-in-advance basis.


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