Encounters

I had a bit of stomach discomfort yesterday evening so I decided to forego dinner and settle for a quiet place and a cup of tea. Walking the back streets of Sintra,

I happened on the Lawerence Hotel, English, at least in name.

Surely, tea must be on its menu. I was greeted at the entrance by an older gentleman, refined in all respects. I shared with him my need. He responded that the restaurant would not open for another hour, but he would see what he could do. He returned a few minutes later with another gentleman, equally refined, who led me to a pleasant sitting room and a waiting fire. He then inquired of my preference. Green tea, I told him. A few minutes later, a young woman arrived, with a tray, a tea pot, and a cup. Her name was Amanda, and for the next while she shared her story.

Amanda is from Brazil, having left her family nearly a year ago in search of experience. Back home, she has a small English language school which she now operates virtually. Amanda loves her life here - the culture, the natural beauty, the people. She also has a passion for history and is presently working with the owner on a history of the hotel. Her part is to research, turning over any stone that might provide a piece of the puzzle.

The Lawrence, she said, is the oldest hotel in Portugal, established by Jane Lawerence in 1764. For years, the it offered comfort and refinement for those in need of respite and, perhaps, an audience with the King.

As our conversation continued, Amanda shared that she is a cultivator of medicinal herbs, a healer of sorts, and a mystic. People gravitate to her, she said, because of her particular gift. In the old days, she confided, she might have been called a witch.

Returning to my small room, I thought a lot about Amanda, and the opportunities travel provides for chance encounters. I thought of Vasco Almeda, who I’d met on the train the day before. Unbeknownst to me, until it was too late, I had boarded the train from Lisbon on the day of a rail strike. At each stop on the way to Sintra, twelve in all, the train became more and more crowded until, it seemed, our car would surely explode with far more passengers than its capacity would allow. It was in the standing only crush that I met Vasco, a young engineering student, whose hope is to specialize in green energy and contribute to our planet’s survival. For the next while our conversation ranged from off shore wind farms to the Portuguese educational system, his brother’s studies in Belgium, his mother’s famous jam, and his family’s history, dating back to the kings and queens. “Visit the Palace,” he said, “where you will find my family’s coat of arms in the circle closest to the King’s.”

When we finally arrived in Sintra, an hour later than expected,

I was intent on finding the palace, the coat of arms, and Mrs. Almeda’s famous jam.