Point2Point

Tomar is a small pleasant little town. It’s not at all cluttered, in fact the streets are quite wide compared to some other Portuguese towns. Most of the buildings are whitewashed and well kept yet have a very old look to them. The black and white chequered central square has a statue of Gualdim Pais, founder of the town and judging my the engraved Templar crosses a member.

“Look up there!” said Melissa excitedly, pointing up to the lush green mountainous backdrop behind the town. On the top of the mountain was what looked like a castle. A near mirror image of what Sintra had looked like.

Oskar was acting like he expected the town to be party central. As we began to climb up towards the castle he started to sweat profusely. His large frame was not used to physical exertion.

“I hope they have a shop up there,” he grunted in his polish accent. “I need a rest. Too much beer before bed last night I think.”

As we approached, what had looked like a castle from below, now took on the guise of an small fort or fortified church. Made up of faded grey limestone and equally faded sandy coloured sandstone the masonry was impressive. We stopped by a small ticket booth that offered no literature nor guide, the place was devoid of tourists. Inside the main grounds there were small green leafy gardens and gravel strewn pathways. We entered into the sparse main courtyard area to find stone archways leading upstairs and out to other areas. Oskar headed off by himself as Melissa and I walked over to an inscription above one of the archways. It was in Latin, but above it was a helmet and a Templar cross. It was indeed a place of the knights at one stage. We split up to look for the well.

I headed off into another adjoining courtyard. What was striking about the courtyards was that they were so empty looking. There were no people around and the bare grey walls matched the grey stone floors. Yet at the same time the architecture was so very different. The stone floors were divided up into squared areas by both huge square blocks in the ground and thin long rectangular blocks. There were more Templar inscriptions dotted along the walls and as I passed by a column I caught a glimpse of a fountain with stagnant green water. The fountain was made from dark grey stone and had little arches around its base. Then through another archway I saw the a most unusual of staircases. It was a spiral staircase made of what looked like pure marble. As if a huge column of marble had been carved out and a stairwell created in it’s centre. I ascended the smooth steps.

The stairs led me too another floor of stone balcony’s and small empty rooms. In each of the four corners there was another similar spiral stairwell. I ascended again and was soon on a flat roof. The roof area was in light brown sandstone, yet years of weather beating had faded some areas while staining other parts into an orange hue. The architecture here was dramatically different. Several huge stone towers surrounded the roof. Each one ornately decorated with a truly unique style. Nowhere before have I seen a tower with a giant stone belt and buckle strapped around it.

I walked around the roof marvelling and this unique and original workmanship. There were areas crumbling away that I gingerly made my way around areas where the roof had literally fallen away to reveal grass filled courtyards. I wondered where the others had got to and descended down one flight of stairs. Following a balcony I walked through several rooms until I got to an open area overlooking another courtyard. I froze on the spot and stared down.

My mind rushed with memories and realisations. Below me was the fountain I had passed by earlier. Its green stagnant waters more vivid than ever. From high above the fountains true meaning was visible. That dark stone and tiny small archways when viewed from above reveal the unmistakable Templar cross. I remember reading somewhere before about building and sculptures that were only visible from high above. I remembered the the square and rectangle shaped blocks in the floor from the other courtyard. I knew what it meant.

Rushing back up the stairs I searched for Melissa again. She was there staring out from the rook into the distant horizon.

“Did you see the fountain?” I asked grabbing her excitedly by the shoulders.

“Si,” she shrugged. “Is dirty.”

I waved my hands in frustration. “No, I mean did you see it from above?”

She looked at me as if I was overreacting. “No, is a fountain, not a well you know.”

I took her my the hand and headed back down to the second floor. “Trust me Mel, I figured it out.”

She looked at the fountain and nodded in mild agreement. “OK so is the cross,” Then she poked me hard in the arm “But is not a well!”

I smiled. Then feared I might be wrong about what I was about to reveal. “Come on follow me. We have to find the other courtyard from up here.”

It took only a minute before we passed through another archway along the balcony that led to another area that gave a full view of a sparse courtyard below. My eyes filled with the vision below. We had walked right over the well. There below the large square blocks were cut though by a slightly different shade of rectangular blocks that made up the unmistakable sign of the Templar cross. There were other shades of stone as well that were not noticeable from the ground. It was huge. Taking up the entire open area. At two ends of the the cross were small circular stone slabs. At the end of one of the remaining cross ends was a larger raised circular stone slab. While at the final cross end was an circular stone wall. From above we could see it had a stairwell leading down. It was the well.

Like the exited amateurs we were, we ran back down the stairwells and rushed through the courtyards. In our excitement we’d taken a wrong turn and head into a roofless courtyard area. It didn’t matter, there was an ivy covered open gate that led into the yard we wanted to be.

“Hey guys guess what!” Oskar loomed our in front of the gateway. “I found the old toilets they used to use!”

We looked at him, slightly stunned by his comment and priorities. Melissa laughed off his comment and walked past him.

“Wait,” I said looking behind her.

As she had moved forward a small stone hut like building caught my eye behind her. It was covered in ivy but in otherwise good condition. There was an old rusty iron gate with some steps that led down to darkness behind it. I don’t know why but the steps and the stone ivy coloured hut told me it needed to be investigated first. Moving forward I tugged at the iron gate. Though it had a padlock on it, the loop on the other side had fallen our due to corrosion.

“Where you going?” Said Melissa, confused as we were so close to the actual well.

I looked back and took out my flash light. “Never let this type of opportunity go by Mel. Come on, let’s see what’s down there.”

Oskar signed loudly. “You guys are too much. Is meant to be locked.”

“But is not baby, come on,” replied Melissa as she followed be down.

It was dark and dank. Moss was growing on the walls, and there were white cobwebs everywhere. Stretched out in front of us was a white cotton looking streak of webbing. I poked it with my torch to see if there was anything of alarming size about to jump out.

“There!” shouted Melissa behind me.

I spun around and pointed my light at the hole she was staring at. A spider. A not so big one at that. But still a rather spiny looking one. I also just discovered that Melissa seemed to have a thing for them as she was none to happy at being so close to the beasty.

Using my torch I tore back the cobwebs and stepped further down until the torchlight caught the reflection of water. Shining the light out into the darkness I could see we were in an underground chamber of a kind. The others crowed around behind me and shone there torchlight in. The chamber was about a hundred square meters. With the added light it was possible to see that there was at least a foot of green water covering the entire chamber. Directly across from us on the other side was a small stone platform. Above it was a heavy looking door, shut tight with a mixture of rust and moss covering it. There were about six stone pillars within the chamber giving it support. The walls were glistening with moisture and a few had inscriptions. Even when we shone out torches together it was impossible to make out the inscriptions clearly. Though we could see another Templar cross, and a helmet on a far wall. I thought about wading into the green waters. What was behind the heavy door on the other side was niggling me. But the idea didn’t last long as the others urged me back up. The real well was above us.

We scampered into the open courtyard we had seen from above. It was sparse aside from the now obvious raised round blocks of stone. If one were to walk through it like we had done earlier it was obvious why you would not dwell on the place. We followed the lighter shade of stone blocks inset into the floor to the other side where the only obscure object stood. A small circular low set wall the had an opening on one side that had a tiny gate that was looked good more for aesthetics than purpose.. We looked over the edge. There was a spiral staircase leading down.

Melissa headed down first and I followed right on her heels. There was a terrible stagnant smell coming up from the darkness below. She stopped suddenly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is a gate.” She said quietly.

I looked past her and saw the rusty iron obstacle. Reaching forward to see if it would open I heard the slap of water against my foot.

“Is flooded.” Melissa said looking at me blankly.

I tried to hold back my smile curious conspiracy. Melissa did the same. We reached out together and hugged.

“We did it Mel,” I whispered into her ear. “We found the well.”

With a big smile she looked up at me again and blinked. Her eyes showed a little sadness, yet still sparkled in joy. We had found what we were looking for and were yet denied any reward other than that.
“Are you guy’s finished now?”

It was Oskar, he was bored now. We went back up to the courtyard area and looked around. There was an inscription in an archway close to the well. It was of course in Latin and we all we could make out was the Templar helmet. But tit did seem to contain more words then the others we had seen.

“Something about people that have been here.” said Oskar looking up at it. His polish roots an studies of language didn’t cover Latin but he cold make out a few words.

“Que você está fazendo?”

We looked over to an archway as an old man in a brown caretakers coat appeared holding a newspaper. We spoke again, and only Oskar could answer. They had a brief exchange before Melissa finally wanted to know what they were saying.

“He just want to know what we are doing?” Replied Oskar, smiling at the old man to reassure him.

I looked at the man, then the inscription. “Does he know what it says?”

Oskar translated the question and answer. “No. He doesn’t speak Latin.”

The old man spoke again. “He wants to know what are doing?”

I looked at the old man and grinned. “Finding the Knights Templar Initiation Well.”

Oskar looked at me blankly as if unsure whether to translate of not. When he did the old man looked at each of us in turn. Then started to walk away.

Melissa said something in Portuguese, which from my knowledge of Spanish sounded like ‘we found it, yes?’. The man stopped. He turned a little but never made eye contact. Then he spoke pointing briefly out towards archway we came in through. Oskar translated.

“A few years ago some Americans came. He says the place has been flooded you many years now. Keeps people away. But the American's brought diving equipment. Crazy people. Nothing down there. We call the police before they go down.”

The old man threw his head back, nodded once to himself. Then walked away.

Some background:

I was already en route to finding a home when an old friend announced she was coming to Portugal for a holiday. We had just returned from a desert trip to Moroccowhere our half hearted joke to find a link between the roman ruins in Volubulis and the Knights Templar had come up empty.

A return to Sintra.

The last time I was in Sintra I never did this starting point for my overland journey justice. Melissa was keen too. The Knight Templar Initiation Well was the second most talked about thing between us. The train to Sintra was only forty five minutes from Lisbon.

The morning was as picture perfect as it could get. A deep blue sky, flowers in full bloom and a clear fresh breeze. We wandered through the idyllic maze of narrow stone streets that wound their way through the hillside town. I took Melissa to the look out point I had sent her a text about being in the most romantic place on earth. She said nothing. Her dark Sicilian eyes just soaked in the views of majestic palace towers, spires of bright colours and magical looking castle grounds that surrounded us.

We headed to the main Regaleira Palace grounds where the Knights Templar’s Initiation Well was located. Melissa had brought with her an Italian guide book that gave us a brief history of the place. The initiation well was where new members of the fabled order of knights would be inducted into the secretive fraternity.

At one point it was believe that the knights had carried the hidden Holy Grail from Africa into Europe via Portugal and this had been one of the hiding places of the religious artifact. The book then told of adventurous caves and great hidden wall that if pushed would move to reveal the hidden well itself. It was similar to what my Lonely Planet had said, and had me inspired for months.

Indeed the whole area looked like it was straight out of a legendary fairy tale. Picturesque towers, statues and underground caverns were strewn around the well kept palace gardens. We crept into the caves and followed them deep into the mountainside.

Stepping over chained off areas, and squeezing by rusty underground gates that blocked off routes. Our little pocket torches giving us just enough light over the rough terrain. Bat’s would rush by our heads and sending us ducking for cover. We circled around and often ended up finding small exit’s dotted around the area. One particular exit was a little different though, it ended in an under ground pond of thick green algae filled water.

The edge of the pond had a stone trail which we followed as it developed into a stone pathway that led us out into an open area. The stone trail led off in many directions but we chose to follow the path that led through another, clear, pond. We seemed to be in a mini valley of sorts, on one side a steep grey rock face rose up, while on the other the mini valley meander over to a picture perfect little wooden bridge that2 lead elsewhere. Above us on the grey rock face we could see through the hanging vines and blossoms at several more caverns. A perfect setting for a secret garden.

Before long we were back in the green open and heading over to an area surrounded by large grey stones and rock. There were a few people around, mainly groundskeepers. Curious as to where we were Melissa asked a man dressed in light brown coveralls. His reply was in Portuguese. But the our grasp of Spanish was good enough to recognise the words similar Portuguese world of. “Poço Iniciático.” We’d found it.

Melissa headed though a stone archway first. A large stone slab stood in our way. There were gaps above and below it though and and Melissa pushed the slab we realized we had finally found the entrance way. The large stone slab rotated forward and from my angle I could see that there was a rust cover metal rod going straight through it acting as a pivot.

Melissa turned around with a huge grin as she walked through. “We found the door.”

I laughed and passed through myself. It was good to finally find something you only read about in a brief passage that had inspired you to come. Though it all felt a little too easy. Surely a real Templar Well would be hidden. Or maybe that was just my amateur archeologist mind talking. The place had definitely been renovated. It was clean, and everything had this strange look as if it had been built for display rather than as a religious hideaway or home. That didn’t take away from the fact the place was still quite incredible and a masterpiece in design.

What was on the other side of the doorway was a scene even more reminiscent of fabled legends. We were standing on a spiral stairwell that surrounded what looked to be like a hollowed out tower built inside a mountain cavern. We peered over the balconies ledge to peer down at the base of the tower some nine floors below. It was unmistakable, there staring right back up at us was the Templar symbol.

Coloured brick and tile made up the symbolic cross in black, red and white. We followed the stairwell down to the base of the well. Heavy stone arches acted as banisters on route down. Thick Green moss has set into the well’s stone work and ivy hung in long stretches where even light shone in from the top of the well.

At the base the floor just looked like a regular tiled floor, nothing special. It was only from above did the templar symbol display itself to the eyes. We left through another archway and made our way though yet another cavern. Not content with seeing it once, we headed up the hillside to the top of the well for a look down. In what was a largely unkempt area was reached the upper portion of the hillside. Strange stones were placed around the top of the well, and there looked to be an old mechanism made of metal there at some stage.

We walked back through the lush beautiful gardens to the main palace. We took out time and reveled in what we had seen. I picked up a brochure and we spent some time looking around the ornate palace before having dinner at a local restaurant. I read over the leaflet I had picked up.

“So you happy now?” Asked Melissa with a smile of her own.

I nodded, “Wow, it’s quite incredible. I told you...”

My mind snapped in realization as I read over a small excerpt from the palace leaflet. It was the history section.

“What’s wrong?” asked Melissa.

I read from the leaflet. “The History of Quinta da Regaleira e Jardins. It’s classified as a world heritage site. Its history only dates back to the seventeenth century.” I paused to look up, “The templar’s were thirteenth century. Somethings not right here.”

Melissa frowned and urged me to read the rest. “Apparently some guy Carvalho Monteiro bought the place and hired an Italian architect to build a place with hidden symbols of world renown sects. The Templar’s being one of them.”

“Is fake?” said Melissa raising her eyebrows.

I placed the leaflet down on the little table. The place looked too perfect to be real. Too well renovated to look so old. She was right, it was fake. It did not take away from the sheer beauty not architectural genius of the place. But it was not what what we were looking for. The Roman ruins in Morocco had been a tantalizing joke of an excuse to travel there. But Sintra was what I had pinned my hopes on.

The Templar’s had lived in Portugal centuries ago and must surely have left something more behind. There was an initiation well in Italy that was real. So why not here? Surly the architect must have been inspired by something here. But then again he had been Italian so maybe he had taken inspiration from home and brought it all the ways here.

Something was bothering me about it. There was so much fable surrounding the templar’s in Portugal that there must have been a real templar site nearby. They were known for ornate architecture too. Was this well in Sintra just to distract from something else?

By the time we got back to the apartment I had convinced Melissa not to give up on the idea just yet. The fact that I was leaving in about a ten days helped spur me on. I wanted distraction. The large Polish student living in the same apartment provided us with help. Oskar was enthralled by our story about Sintra. He’d been studying the Portuguese in Lisbon for over a year and had never been there. Nor had he ever heard of the Knights Templar. What captivated Oskar the most was the fact that we needed him to translate for us. He was bored most of the time, and a bit of computer nerd so the idea of searching for information on-line was appealing to him.

It turned out that our Italian architect at Sintra may be the wrong lead to follow. According to history after the knights templar had been disbanded by the Roman Church, Portuguese royalty had gathered a legion of the knights templar together. Their intention was to aid in expanding the Portuguese navy for colonization across the seas. The navy now had a new fleet consisting of the ‘Knights of Christ.’ The caravels bore a near exact replica of the Cross of the Knights Templar.

Melissa and I had gone to the central tourisim board in Lisbon to inquire about the Knights Templar in Portugal. The girl at the reception desk handed us a leaflet on areas of cultural interest. Sintra was listed, but no mention of the well nor the knights. They knew of nothing else. We even returned to Sintra for a morning. There was another tourist office there. We asked about the Templar’s and the well. Again we were met with blank stares. Either the word ‘well’ was not translating correctly or else people genuinely didn’t know.

At least that was Melissa’s take. Mine was more along the roads of no one wanted to tell tourists about the place, if it did exist. Maybe it was protected by a church for historical purposes only. Though we all like a good conspiracy my mind did not drift much further. Yet surely something like this would generate a tourist trade? So why hide it, or at least not acknowledge its existence.

With our snippets of information we returned to the apartment for our last hope in finding some truth in this matter. The church. Oskar was searching through Portuguese websites looking for religious and navy references. The Knights of Christ belonged to the Order of Christ, which Oskar found reference to in a Portuguese article about ‘Ordem de Cristo’. There headquarters was Convento da Ordem de Cristo in Tomar, Portugal, a few hours away from Lisbon.

Oskar knew little about the history of the initiation well which we sought. He translated various websites on the Convent and found plenty of references to the Knights Templar and the Knights of Christ, but nothing about the sacred well.

Melissa was sure the answer was in religion. “We looking in the wrong places. We should look at the church sites in Portugal. They’re the one that’ll tell us something. Not tourist or old history sites.”

Oskar threw his hands in the air. “What the hell I know about this?”

The Pol was about twenty two and a sported a huge frame. He was seriously overweight and had one of those thin stringy beards that looked like it needed a good wash. Or better yet razor blade. He was likable chap. His round fave has as animated as it I have seen, and his loud curses were never meant to be offensive.

“Is shit. I don’t know what to look for.” He said chugging down half a can of cola.

“I don know,” replied Melissa in a thoughtful manner. “Maybe just look for the history of the Portuguese church?”

Oskar started a new search. His Portuguese was excellent and in no time he had located the Portuguese diocese website. It had a listing of all the historical churches in Portugal.

“ Convento da Ordem de Cristo in Tomar, is here again.” He translated.

“Have a look.” I said, “Maybe it says something in Portuguese the tourist sites don’t.”

“And read aloud so we know.” snapped Melissa in frustration.

Oskar frowned at her with his blue polish eyes. She gave him an apologetic smile and touched his shoulder. Like all the men I have seen he melted to her charms instantly and began reading aloud a translation of the website.

It mentioned the roman ruins it had been built on. Some historical references to who took over it, who conquered it, and who owns it now. How the architecture was of particular note, with elaborate arches, courtyards and a deep underground vault.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Underground vault ...”

“No...” Melissa stated, “No, a vault is different no?”

Oskar scratched at his head, “If you two let me finish.”

We looked up at him, waiting.

“It says in the layout section that there’s water in the vault.”

We lurched forward. That was the place. It had to be. We were so caught up in our mystery that nothing else mattered at that time. We found the train times and prepared to head to Tomar the next morning.

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Part II of this story can be found here A Tale of Lost Legends and Hidden Dreams
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After reading this you should be aware of a few things. Firstly this all happened a few years ago, for various reasons I have never been able to find the time to write about it. Also there were other people involved and I wanted to make sure everything was ok there. Not that it's bad in anyway. But because of personal feelings around that time.

I was also not going to mention the location of the main place we were looking for. Not only did I think it would spoil our own memories of this secret little place we enjoyed so much. But also because I thought it might become bombarded by tourists. That was one of the nice things about it. No tourists. But then I figured the same had happened in Morocco. Daily flights from the UK and Europe have taken away from the romanticism and untouched elements that Morocco had a few years ago. It's also a little claim to us, the people who found this little ancient secret. Which probably isn't a secret, but even today if you search for things to do on this subject. You will be hard pressed to find the exact information on what we discovered. So let this be the first account.