“Praia das Maças” Tramway

Today I went from Sintra to Praia das Maçãs. I followed my childhood line all the way to the beach. Remembering Sunday mornings at 8am, arriving at the beach, and the little seagulls’ tracks in the sand.

I remembered the fresh air coming downhill and creating a july fog along the journey, covering the tramway track. I remebered the tramway track from the Village to the beach.

Today I saw the tramway track urging with bushes, and some men cleaning the line so the tramway could pass. A line opens as a tourist course in the summer to underline the hills all the way to Praia das Maçãs.

I riminesce the wooden benches and the tramway’s bell ring. Me in a bathing suit, towel on my shoulder, the bag with the sandwiches, my family, and other families in the tramway going to the beah, as the fog came downhill, transforming the voyage in a dense mistery. And when the tramway emerged from the fog, some D. Sebastião returning from Alcacer Quibir to save the motherland, we where facing the tablet which said “Praia das Maçãs”.

Today I went from Sintra to Praia das Maçãs. Who never went from the Village to Praia das Maçãs, and had lunch by the beach?

I saw the men testing the tramway along the way. It’s red, enamelled and polished today. I think it’s not even electric, but I saw it being tested along the way. I remember it wasn’t red, and looked dirty, ugly, old and used, but sounded like beach. It was sign of vacation, sign of a good day, even if it broke down, and we had to walk to the beach, with the towels and the baskets on our shoulders.

I remember the tramway to be open, and in the blossoming summer we touched the shrubs and trees along the way, showing, happy and rejoicing, the leaves and branches that we collected.

I came down from Sintra to Praia das Maçãs today. Stopped at Praia Grande to see the beach that often is empty of sand, encased within the cliffs, entrapped by the earth, turning to the Atlantic, always revolted. I had lunch there, it was Wednesday, and the fish was good. You always have a good meal here, in the midst of memories of when eating out was “for the rich”, but is now accessible (expensive, but accessible).

Going up to the Village I saw the Pena Palace and Mouros Castel (why do they call it like that?), and the immense forest, a micro-climate that embraces the hills, happens here and nowhere else. This forest was planted here, full of mystery, clouded, and shaded with light and shadow (more shadow than light), a little cold, dense and dark.It reminds me of things I can’t recall, ghosts, mysteries in the moonlight, kisses in secret, historical romances, romanticism without limitations. And it always reminds me of something I can’t recall.

I went to the Village for a stroll, coffee and cake, amidst the tourists that always flood the Village.

Walking though the Village centre, I saw souvenirs of the tramway – the front, the headlight, little models of it, even from the ones at Lisboa, even a T-shirt. I bought a fridge magnet that I have in my fridge at home. It always reminds me of the beach trips as a child, the fog, the bell, and the towel on my shoulder.

I saw in the newspaper that the tramway has Spring, Summer and Autumn schedules, and I already decided to make the travel, taking the kids, the family, and reminisce my childhood, and who knows even their own childhood. Who doesn’t like to relive himself? See the pictures, and glue them to a frame, on walls and wallets? I glue them on my fridge, take them on T-shirts, have them on my furniture, and my breakfast mug.

See our Sintra Tram Collection

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