Building love in Lisbon

Lonely Planet recommends Lisbon as the "perfect Valentine's date", in no small part because thelegacy of Europe's second-oldest capital is shaped by the antiquated structures that straddlecobblestone lanes, engendering a vintage vitality.

The edifices that conjure this charm hike up the hills that hug the Tagus River that tickles the city'ssouth. The knolls are snarled with flagstone streets that unravel from their peaks.

But perhaps the most striking feature of Lisbon's landscape is that its edifices are sheathed withmiles of tiles that radiate colorful geometric patterns flamboyant enough to make a peacockblush. These testify to the area's Moorish legacy, although are sometimes tweaked to portrayimages rather than just configurations of shapes, as realistic depictions were banned under theIslamic empire.

Indeed, the passion Portugal's capital constructs isn't limited to buildings designed during theperiod when the romantic movement was most adored in the country.

It's a polyamory of neo-gothic, neo-Moorish, neo-baroque, neo-classical, art-deco, art-nouveauand generically medieval structures. They bestride flagstone streets along which century-oldtrams rattle, adding percussion to the city's romantic soundtrack.

Melody is underwritten by melancholy fado, a haunting folk genre performed by caped musiciansthat floats through ancient alleyways, bouncing off buildings like the anthems of gloomy ghosts.They're actually ballads of love.

Another cheek-kiss for kissy-face romantics-this charming miscellanea of buildings breaksagainst an ocean shore like the waves that, in the other direction, explode into aerosol againstcoastline cliffs.

Marinas bob with boats and a connect-the-dots of lighthouses trace the coastline. Palm frondsgreet visitors with waves animated by sea breezes. Pinball games of seafowl play out insapphire skies, punctuated with pearly clouds that project flashing apparitions of themselves onthe roiling ocean.

The Castle of the Moors indeed defends its position among Lisbon's most ancient and esotericconstructions.

It was erected to protect against Christian invaders but never was besieged.

Ironically, it was abandoned after Christians conquered the settlement in 1147, having puncturedthe state security apparatus from elsewhere.

The stronghold was built by boring holes into rock that cleaved when wet wood was inserted andswelled.

King Ferdinand II, who reigned from 1837 to 1853, later built a second layer of walls to protectvillagers who moved near the castle for safety.

The nature enthusiast planted 2,000 tree species in the area. In the spirit of romantic thought,these were never manicured but rather left uncultivated and are today wild woodlands ofburgeoning biodiversity.

Again, the romantic movement was rooted in nature's spontaneity, childlike curiosity, adventure'sadulation, unbridled imagination, and amorousness for its own toe-curling and hair-twirling sake.It seized life with more than an inkling of abandon-an ethos that lives on in the city today amongits buildings of yore.

A balcony sundial not only homed rays to tell time but also concentrated beams through a magnifying glass to ignite gunpowder to declarechowtime. It's a pyrotechnic take on the dinner bell.

The compound Ferdinand II reconstructed on the ruins of a medieval monastery is ultimately a sanctuary of romanticism.

It, too, hosts a 96-hectare garden left to grow wild.

Indeed, Ferdinand II lives up to his name as the "artist king".

He not only drew the merman likeness of the Greek sea god Triton's statue above a main gateway but also rendered the complex into ashrine adulating romantic philosophy.

The palace is packed with the movement's major motifs-nature, kids and an amalgam of architecture that would otherwise make no sense.

Stone turtles crawl around elves. Carved vines wrap banisters.

Pillars and arches painted on the walls make the Arabic Room appear like a huge Middle Eastern complex-an embrace the muddling ofstyles, of exotic destinations and of illusion, since the modestly sized room appears to be a vast compound.

Indeed, the palace proves romantic beyond its architecture, as it's still a popular wedding venue.

Like the rest of Lisbon, Pena is a place dedicated to marrying different ways of thinking.

And that's what love is about, isn't it?

But before the era of love was a time of war.

The castle's tower was where the Moorish chief was stationed. He was essentially the king in areal-life chess game. Capture him and-well, checkmate.

Hence, the "betrayal door".

The fortification-which, as a stone bulwark, resembles small sections of China's Great Wall-had an escape channel for if defeat was imminent.

But the two-way tunnel isn't only a double-edged sword metaphorically. It could put you at theliteral edge of a weapon.

A blade caressing a captured absconder's throat could turn a soldier more concerned with flightthan fight into a stoolpigeon. They must reveal the shortcut to checkmate or be cut shortthemselves.

An equally explosive yet less dire reality of the design of the nearby Pena National Palace is thatlunch was announced with an actual bang.