I spent a few days in Sintra, Portugal.
The city, once the summer residence of Portugal's monarchy, is built on the side of a mountain. In the morning, it is often still shrouded in clouds (and not yet teeming with tourists).
The old town, higher up and mostly touristic, connects to the newer, lower part of the city via two routes: one, zig-zagging narrow alleys leading down and up the valley separating the two parts—difficult to walk and even more difficult to drive.
On the other side are a commercial street, the train station, and a few administrative buildings. I came here to buy bread, since there aren't any bakeries in the old town.
The other connection to the old town is a long, broad curve following the side of the mountain. It's lined with sculpures and stalls selling trinkets to tourists, and surrounded by forested parks.