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Travelogue: Spain and Portugal
Madrid: Getting There
We had first class seats on the train to Madrid, and it soon became clear to us that this is the way to do long-distance train travel in Europe. We were in a non-smoking car with cushy seats, free headphones and movie, and waitress service for lunch. It was comfy.
The day was very clear with light I can only describe as "crispy." There was no haze or smog of any kind, and even faraway things looked as sharp as a tack. The scenery was very dramatic, full of hills and cliffs and old ruins, and lots of wide open spaces between the cities. It reminded me a little bit of Nevada, with shrubby, stunted vegetation, though it's probably a bit less dry. We passed two nuclear power plants, one that was some distance from the train tracks and then another that was very close by.
When we got off the train, we were surprised to find it was cooler in Madrid than in Barcelona. We had expected the flat, interior plain to be hotter than the northern coast. The difference was probably due to the to the lower humidity—we definitely did not feel as sticky as we had in Barcelona.
The Puerta Del Sol
Our arrival in Madrid was marked by a hair-raising taxi ride to our hotel in the Puerta del Sol, one of the major plazas. The Hotel Europa is just off the plaza and right in the heart of things, convenient to the metro, museums, restaurants and such. The plaza was very crowded, and I instantly felt on edge. I continued to get a bad vibe every time we were out in the Puerta del Sol for the rest of our stay in Madrid.
The hotel had very friendly and courteous staff, and was clearly going for the Old World effect: red carpets, chandeliers, ornate mirrors. The floors look like a cross between tile and parquet, made up of small squares which in turn were made of strips of wood, all very highly polished. Our room had a patio that looked out onto Calle del Carmen, one of the pedestrian shopping streets that radiates from the Puerta del Sol.
After we got our bags settled, we went down to the plaza for a snack, keeping it simple by going to the hotel's bar/cafeteria. Now, this place bore no resemblance to either a bar or a cafeteria that you would see in America. It was more like a café that served small meals. The waiter wore "traditional" dress—black pants, a white shirt and a striped gray vest. Dan ordered coffee and a giant trifle-like dessert with flan, cake, and ice cream for each of us. It was interesting and pretty tasty, but I didn't eat very much because I still wasn't feeling too well.
While we were eating, several different street musicians were competing for attention. The group nearest us was playing South American music. One man was playing the guitar, a flute/pipes sort of instrument, and a kick drum. Next to him a small boy was playing a very tiny guitar-like instrument and singing. At the same time, we could hear another musician playing a harp—mostly covers of Simon & Garfunkel.
Many people in the plaza were wearing orange. Orange pants, orange shirts, orange backpacks. Dan and I counted something like ten people wearing orange that went by in just a few minutes. Maybe orange clothing is the Spanish national fashion in-joke, just like skin-tight red pants seemed to be in Italy.
After our snack, Dan went off to explore the neighborhood, and I went back to our room for a nap. I rested a bit and watched some CNN and BBC World, broadcast in English without subtitles. After a week of being nearly illiterate and having only your travel companion (darling though he is!) for conversation, it's comforting, somehow, to see almost anything in your own language.
Dan returned after a little while and we went off to find the Restaurante Puerto Rico, which was just a few blocks away, for dinner.
