Skip the tedious interior furniture tour unless you worship dusty velvet chairs. The real move is sprinting straight to the Planet Hall; those manic, occult-adjacent ceiling frescoes carry the entire ticket price. Spend an hour roaming the massive gardens instead—the resident albino peacocks are the main event, not the standard Baroque architecture. Go on a weekday morning to avoid the inevitable crowds. It is way more rewarding than staring at 17th-century portraits.
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