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Lisbon: The Mysterious Benedict Castle

After four months living in a completely flat country, we were a bit out of breath after bravely neglecting the quaint antique yellow trams and climbing all the way up to the highest hill in Lisbon. We passed through bright colored casas with colorful laundry hanging on the balcony, orange trees growing in between the stone cobbles, tall white cathedrals with intricate sculptures, and finally reached at our destination: Castelo de Sao Jorge. Or St. George’s Castle, for the non-Portuguese tongue.

Castelo de Sao Jorge

The Castle, and I intentionally put a capital C to denote just how important this particular castle is for me, was the landmark of Portugal and boasts a spectacular view of Lisbon. More than that, it was the first castle I have ever entered (despite having been to a castle’s courtyard in Bratislava), although to me it looks more like a fort than a real fairy tale castle. Even more than that, it was the setting for one of my favourite children adventure stories of all time: The Mysterious Benedict Society and the Perilous Journey. My very, very wonderful friend Ron understood the significance of all this and was extremely excited when I told her I was going to Portugal. With bright sparkling eyes she said, “Go and live the fantasy for me!”

So I did.

The Mysterious Benedict Castle

The four extremely talented children in the book were in mission to find their beloved friend Mr. Benedict, who was captured by his evil twin Mr. Curtain, and had to find a clue to his whereabouts in the Castle. The location of the clue was presented in a riddle, which I knew by heart but won’t recite here because obviously those I went there with already thought I was helplessly geeky as they read this piece. Well, anyway, I sought to follow the clue like the children did, so instead of directly finding the site I took my time and enjoyed the Castle.

The Castle’s courtyard resembles a charming park, with olive, pine and cork trees growing through the cracks of cobblestones covering the castle ground. Peafowls -cocks and hens, young and old-  perched on the castle wall or nonchalantly sauntered around the bridge leading to the entrance to the fort-like Castle remnants while carefully staying away from the lazy sunbathing plump tabby cats.

The Castle's Peacock

The Castle's Peahen

The Castle's Fat Tabby

The Curly Hippie and I went into the Castle, which again, looked more like a fort than a castle. It was all open air and in the middle of it was an inner courtyard, with stairs to allow us to walk through the tiny paths around the four corners. At the highest point, we were almost as tall as the swaying Portugal flag and felt like royalty looking at the sparkly Rio Tejo (or the Tajus river for us non Portuguese) beyond the red and white roof tiles.

The Spectacular Lisbon

While The Curly Hippie snapped tons of artistic pictures, I put on my fedora and opened my coat buttons so that the wind flapped it around my body and imagined being a (female) war general who bravely challenging any enemies to harm her beloved kingdom. Some of the towers had windows that reminded me of Rapunzel, if only my hair was as long as hers I would have totally lowered down my hair and see whether any prince would climb it.

As we descended, I decided that it was time to return to the Mysterious Benedict Society and follow the riddle. I went back to the front courtyard, looked at the sun, and went to the westernmost wall. A row of cannons greeted me and I went to the nearest one, the furthest away from any cork or pine tree. I kneeled down and touched the base of the cannon; that was where the children would have found the next clue to Mr. Benedict’s whereabouts!

The answer to the riddle!

Cannon fodder!

I stood behind the cannon and stared at the magnificent view of Lisbon below me, all the while basking in this weird, great feeling that enveloped me: the feeling of living in a fantasy book! Now I wonder, what would it feel like to go to King’s Cross and live out Harry Potter?

Next fairy tale adventure?

Den Haag, 9 March 2010

Gypsytoes, of a trip in January 2010

P.S: I also had a more grown up Portugal adventure in Porto!

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Gypsytoes, Seorang Kawan dengan Sayap di Punggungnya

Malam ini saya sedang agak melankolis.

Cobalah duduk di balkon membayangkan wajah kawan-kawan perjalanan terdekat. Saat Jakarta sedang agak berhujan, hal ini bikin hati senang juga. Tadi saya melamun dan teringat seorang kawan terdekat, Gypsytoes. Maka saya menulis catatan kecil tentangnya. Sedikit dari banyak sekali hal yang bisa diceritakan tentang kawan perjalanan saya yang lucu ini.

Sudah hampir enam tahun kami melakukan perjalanan-perjalanan. Pagi hari di pasar terapung Banjarmasin, senja yang merah di pulau Belitung, sampai malam yang hiruk pikuk di Pattaya. Hal pertama tentang Gysytoes, tentu tentang betapa ia anak pintar penuh semangat. Dibandingkan saya, konon  ia empat kali lebih pintar. Bahkan untuk hal-hal remeh. Suatu kali, dalam sebuah perjalan pesawat yang cukup lama, kami bermain kuis kecil-kecilan mengenai selebritas. Walaupun saya norak, gemar menonton gosip, dan seperti biasa setengah mati mencoba bermain curang, tapi bisa ditebak, saya kalah telak. Untuk perdebatan yang lebih serius pun, ia sebenarnya sering ada di pihak yang benar.  Cuma karena ego kelaki-lakian saya ini yang besar bahkan dibanding dengan kepala si Najib, saya biasanya menyerangnya dengan membabi buta. Tapi benar, berbicara dan berjalan kaki dengannya akan selalu saya kenang sebagai bagian terbaik dari perjalanan-perjalanan kami. Bahkan di Jakarta yang bisingnya minta ampun. Suatu kali kami berjalan kaki dari Plaza Indonesia sampai Pasar Baru! Berjalan kaki dan bicara-bicara. Bahkan Monas yang mulai usang itu pun, malam itu terasa agak mendingan.

One fine walk in Belitung islands

Gypsytoes punya banyak sekali prinsip yang tidak bisa dinegosiasikan. Ia benci orang yang tidurnya ngorok. Suatu hari kami terdampar di Pattaya bersama Arip dan Sekar. Karena itu hari-hari terakhir dan kantung sudah tipis betul, kami berempat tinggal bersama di satu kamar hotel yang sempit. Dan Arip mulai ngorok. Tanpa berhenti, seperti babi yang melahirkan. Dan Gypsytoes mulai mengerang dan agak menangis. Karena kurang tidur, untuk beberapa hari kedepannya ia malas bicara dengan saya.

Dia juga benci film porno. Pada sebuah sore ia mengerjakan sesuatu dengan komputer saya dan secara tidak sengaja menemukan koleksi film porno di dalamnya. Bisa ditebak, dia pun malas bicara dengan saya untuk beberapa hari ke depannya (Sebetulnya koleksi film porno saya begitu variatif dan mutakhir). Gypsytoes pun sangat anti alkohol. Ia selalu mengutuk jaman-jaman dulu dimana  saya terkadang minum alkohol dan meracau kemana-mana. Namun, suatu hari ia terkena batunya. Dalam sebuah perayaan tahun baru di Kuala Lumpur yang gegap gempita, Gypsytoes cegukan. Parah sekali cegukannya waktu itu. Ia pun membabi buta mencari minuman dan menemukan sebotol coke. Tanpa pikir panjang ia tutup hidungnya dan meneguk habis coke itu. Ia tidak sadar bahwa coke itu sudah bercampur alkohol entah apa. Setelah minumannya habis ia mulai teler dan sempoyongan. Saya pun membopongnya ke kamarnya. Saya girang sekali melihatnya sempoyongan seperti orang linglung. Waktu itu saya merasa sedikit lebih pintar.

Very Iconic Gypsytoes

Gypsytoes pun bisa menjadi sangat tulus dan baik hati. Saat Ajik (sebutan ayah di Bali) meninggalkan saya karena kanker, tanpa banyak berpikir ia terbang ke Bali. Berada di sana dan menemani saya di hari-hari terberat saya itu. Bahkan ia ikut melakukan keperluan-keperluan ritual Hindu yang tentu jauh sekali dari jangkau akalnya. Saat saya membawa abu ajik ke tengah laut, ia ada di pinggir laut menunggu dan memeluk saya saat kembali ke tepi. Ia memutarkan lagu Israel Kamakawiwo’ole, over the rainbow. Saya mengenang senja itu sebagai sebuah senja yang sendu dan khidmat.

Cheers to Heaven

Tapi kawan saya ini juga punya selera yang payah. Kegemaran kami kerap bertolak belakang. Ia sangat suka menari sementara saya adalah anak yang canggung, ia menyukai Harry Potter sementara saya menganggap buku itu bodoh sekali, saya menyukai Jack Bauer sementara menurutnya ia dungu sekali, ia adalah team Aniston, sementara saya, hanya untuk mengganggunya, masuk team Jolie. Tapi terkadang ia baik hati dan toleran juga. Suatu hari dalam perjalanan ke Bandung dilakukan pemungutan suara diantara kawan-kawan perjalanan, mau clubbing atau mau duduk-duduk saja minum teh. Sepertinya suara untuk clubbing akan menang. Saat Gypsytoes menjadi penentu , dan saya tau persis bahwa dia sedang sangat berenergi untuk clubbing, ia memilih untuk minum teh saja. Rupanya ia tidak tega melihat saya tersiksa semalaman.

Too much coffee in Chek Ukee, Banda Aceh

Sejak September lalu, Gypsytoes melanjutkan sekolahnya di Belanda. Saya ingat betapa ia girang sekali mendapatkan beasiswa ke sana dan belajar hal yang selalu membuat matanya berbinar-binar saat membicarakannya, youth studies. Tapi di antara kuliahnya tentu ia tetap berjalan, menari, dan menulis. Dijelajahinya Paris yang romantis, dinikmatinya Bratislava yang sendu,  disusurinya sungai Vltava di Prague, dan disiulkannya bossa nova dalam perjalanan ke masa lalu di Porto. Setiap hari adalah petualangan tanpa batas.  Sahabat saya ini, ia bagaikan memiliki sayap di punggungnya.

a Snow and a Retard

Hari ini ia berulang tahun ke 26. Saya mempersembahkan halaman ini untuk Gypsytoes, kawan saya yang lucu itu. Happy birthday, you weirdo!

Jakarta, 5 Maret 2010.

Twosocks

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Brat.Is.Lava

When we finally landed in Bratislava, the Mean Girl had told me everything she knew about the city. The exchange rate is super twisted, USD 1.46 was enough for the supreme executive suite in the city. A nickel given as a tip is enough to make a hotel concierge slap his boss and announce that he is now opening his own hotel. It is where absinthe is made really strong and a little overdose would make you hallucinate enough to make out with your own twin.

The tropical travelers finally arrived in Bratislava!

I really do hope you’re not buying that, since basically The Mean Girl just described the whole Bratislava scene from the movie Eurotrip!

The capital of Slovakia (ha! Bet not many of you knew that either :p ) that we met was nowhere as wild. In fact, it was so tame that we were the largest group to wander around the city together. We did see a few people, like the frail old ladies who wore fur coats but left their pale legs bare and the fur-cap wearing old gentlemen, but mostly we were left on our own. Maybe because it was a Sunday and people chose to stay indoors; maybe because it was the end of December and people drove away to livelier neighbors to celebrate the end of the year. Still, it was only two days after Christmas and it was quite a bummer to see the city so deserted.

Bratislava's Old Town Square

Honestly, we came to Bratislava because it was the cheapest way to get to Vienna and decided to spend a day there. The name Bratislava sounds pretty and certainly it was a pretty place even when explored with grey clouds hanging above our heads. Old churches and buildings graced the old town, quaint and adorable.

A Slovak Church

The Bratislava castle, or Bratislavsky Hrad in Slovak, was a graceful attraction although only the grounds were open by the time we got there. The view of the glittering blue Danube river and the city from the castle grounds was simply gorgeous, but the view of the castle looming on top of the hill from the Danube was even more intriguing.

The Bratislava Castle

Even so, roaming around Bratislava made me feel quite melancholic. Here was a beautiful city with glorious days in the past, but statues of distressed peasant women and stern looking thick-browed and pointy bearded men in the town’s center reminded me of the hardships under the communist regime.

The Weeping Women

Bratislava was pretty, but it needed a lot of further work to be a desired destination in its own right instead of just being a hub to go to other more popular Eastern European cities. The most intriguing place for me in this lovely sounding city is Bibiana, the International Art House for Children. It would be a wonderland for me to visit, but sadly it was closed when we were there. Worry not, my dearest Ron is sharing her account of the Bibiana experience here!

The Stern Gentleman

This is not to say that we did not have fun in Bratislava, in fact we had a blast with our host: the ever so kind Mr. Key. He was so nice, he even apologized for making not-so-funny jokes. Unanimously, the cheerful tropical travelers agreed that he is the highlight of our day in Bratislava. In fact, he was so remarkable a person that we might just visit Bratislava once again to see him!

Den Haag, 4 March 2010

Gypsytoes – of a trip in December 2009


P.S.: The tropical travelers continued the winter trip to Vienna.

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Porto: Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

It was almost midnight when we arrived in our first Portuguese city. The chipper-chatters stopped abruptly as the escalator brought them away from the metro and up to the city. As the first sights of Porto came before our eyes, gasps of amazement and squeals of wow escaped our lips. Sao Bento’s casas, bathed in the golden ray of lamp posts strewn across the street, welcomed us not only to another country but another era.

"Quiet nights of quiet stars..."

An era when fedora hats, trench coats and big wooden umbrellas that double functions as walking sticks are the fashion du jour. The people of Oporto, its name in the native tongue, were elegant and lived life in a relaxed pace. The pastelaries all around the city were always full with people who stood in the bar sipping fragrant coffee from little espresso ceramic cups over a plate of enticing pastries. During my three days in the city, I always saw the same old man standing in front the pastelarie around the corner from our hostel. He stood under the red-and-yellow awning in his grey trench and leather shoes, with navy tie and indigo beret over his sleeked silver hair, resting on his big wooden umbrella and a pipe in the corner of his mouth. It was like living the word ‘vintage’.

"... quiet chords from my guitar..."

The people and casas were not the only things vintage in this place. Porto is the city that lends its name to wine, where the world-famous Port wine originated from. We spent an afternoon touring one of the wine cellars across the Douro river, listening to the art of winery amidst giant oak barrels where the wine matures – and even went into one of them to feel what it was like being a wine. We learnt that port wine has three types: white, ruby, and tawny; we learnt that ruby and tawny are great dessert wines while the white suits better as an appetizer. We were offered two flutes of tawny and white Port to be enjoyed at our leisure at the end of the tour, which we sipped in style. Indeed, we tasted the wine like pros. We twirled the flute, inhaled the scent and uttered adjectives like ‘woodsy’ or ‘bouquet’, gurgled until every spot in our mouth were caressed by the wine – but we didn’t spit it out like what the pros are supposed to do. The Port was too good, even I, the ultimate alcohol despiser, loved it and drained the whole two flutes. Of course, later on I also found out that under the deceptive sweetness of the Port lies 20% alcohol.

"... floating on the silence that surrounds us ..."

"... quiet thoughts and quiet dreams ..."

Thank goodness that walking around the hilly city, under the stars and golden city lights, was a perfect remedy to post-wine lightheadedness. Across the row of wine cellars were a street full of restaurants, touristy but offers local delicacies like the lovely dessert called the Camel Spit. Sailboats were parked along the river, looking pretty and deserted. But go further from the tourist spot up to the little alleys going up and down Porto and you will still be enchanted by how the lights accentuate the city’s most mundane features. Porto was indeed a night city; it was pretty by day but simply stunning at night. We came in winter when tourists were few, so our moments bonding with the city were private.

"... quiet walks by quiet streams ..."

"... and the window looking to Corcovado ..."

As I navigated around Porto, the song Corcovado by Antonio Carlos Jobim came into my head. The bossa nova tune, known better in its English version ‘Quiet Night of Quiet Stars’, spoke about the most famous mountain in Brazil but embodies Porto’s feel so well that walking around the city felt like living the song. Like Corcovado, Porto was timeless, serene, and romantic; it was song of dreams and it was a city for dreamers. Go and listen to the song – that was how Porto felt like for me. Close your eyes, you might just be able to feel the cobbles of Porto under your feet.

"... oh, how lovely."

Den Haag, 25 February 2010

Gypsytoes, of a trip in January 2010

P.S.: the Portugal trip continued to Lisbon!