First Impressions of Madrid

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Today was one of those day where nothing quite goes right to start with, though it turns out all right in the end. Luckily my wake-up call at 7:00 am was right on time and I’d packed the night before. Even getting to the airport by taxi turned out okay, although there were big trucks in front of the parking area so the taxi had to stop in the middle of the narrow street and we held up traffic while we loaded up my gear. There was just something in the air all day. Perhaps it was because I wasn’t quite with it, because of getting up earlier than I’m used to for the past little while.

At any rate, I stumbled over to the only open kiosk at the airport and bought a precious bottle of water and one of their pre-made sandwiches, then headed towards the security line-up. I was turned away in Spanish in no uncertain terms because taking water through was not permitted (and I seemed to be trying to go through the staff security gate).

I immediately turned around and tried to return the bottle of water to the kiosk only a few feet away, but the attendant wouldn’t take it and made it clear that she didn’t know I was going to try to go through security with it, so it wasn't her problem even though she'd watched the whole transaction. (I hadn’t had to worry about taking water on a plane since I’d left Canada. Who started that dumb rule anyway?) C’est la vie….

I realized I had plenty of time before I needed to go through security, so I sat down to drink the water and nibble on my breakfast sandwich….alas, the bread was very dried out around the edges and the only filling was in the centre. I gingerly ate a few bites from the middle and gave up on having a morning meal, thinking I’d be having breakfast on the plane….at least that’s what my ticket said. Alas, the online info was wrong…no breakfast. Sigh! At least I was full of water!

I boarded the plane and took my window seat, pleased that I’d be able to see the geography of interior Spain as we flew. All at once another passenger arrived and insisted I was in her seat. She, in Spanish, told me I was to move, but I in English said, ‘no, I’d asked for a window seat and I was sitting in Seat A to which I'd been assigned.’ After a few minutes of back and forth with her insisting seat B was by the window, she gave up and sat down with a final shrug to her shoulders that said it doesn’t matter, but she obviously thought I was an idiot. A short while later a flight attendant came by and I asked her….I was in my proper seat. This seemed to appease my fellow passenger and we had a pleasant 45 minute flight.

I discovered from the air that I was quite right and the greenhouses for grapes go for miles and miles. Some days I wish I had a camera with a wide angle lens….I just couldn’t capture the extent of the operations, but all the white patches are greenhouses for growing grapes which will eventually become Spanish wine.

For the past few days while staying at the B&B I’ve been trying to do some writing of the third book in my series of “Secret” books (The Secret of Sentinel Rock, The Secret of the Stone House), but I’d been struggling with it. Creating the plot around a mirror that I’d already described in the previous book was proving to be a problem and I spent a great deal of time researching various aspects and potential story lines, but mostly thinking, instead of writing.

Wouldn’t you know it, but I suddenly had an inspiration and I just HAD to write while I was in the cramped seat on the plane. I dug out my small 76mm by 127 mm notebook and pen and began scribbling for all I was worth. The second chapter was writing itself and melding into the third one, which I’d already written sometime earlier....feverously I wrote, filling tiny page after tiny page, but alas I had to eventually quit, because we'd arrived.

I caught a cab and gave the driver the name of my 'hotel', but he didn't know where it was. I dug out my laptop and started it up to find the address, but it took so long to boot up to my files that he eventually phoned someone and found out.

I arrived smack dab in the middle of old Madrid and stood on the sidewalk stunned by the view. An apartment building with rounded sections that joined together, many historic buildings with their intricate architecture and relief designs, one after another.

I finally entered the hotel after taking a few photos and it looked quite comfortable and cheery. However, they couldn't find my reservation. Once again, I dug out my laptop and looked for my online confirmation (I hadn't had anywhere to print out any of my travel plans). That's when we discovered I was at the Hotel Astoria not the Astoria Hostal. Big Sigh!

Fortuitously, my accommodations were around the corner and down the block, four stories up, I was told, which seemed rather odd to me, but heh, that's the kind of day I was having.

I hauled my luggage down the street searching for the sign everywhere. I finally spied it at the very top of a building. (It's the tiny white sign at the top of the building behind the big, long Hotel Santander sign in the forefront.)

I discovered a very narrow little doorway between two shops and entered a long hallway. It turned out the place I was aiming for was five floors up, which really meant six, because they started counting at zero.

My prayers for an elevator were answered. Around a corner and down the hall I found a tiny half-glassed in lift of the old-fashioned kind that I could barely squeeze into with my luggage, but I was grateful to have it. The alternative would have been gruelling. The lift groaned its way up and it was dark and creaky and spooky. I could feel another story coming on...but I was scaring myself, so I'll have to wait until I leave the place before I write it....

As I travelled upwards, I realized there was a different hostel on each floor (above the bottom row of shops and cafes). At last I reached the top. I pushed the outer elevator door open and stepped into a hallway that looked like I was in some very old office building from the 1940s, though there were no signs. I opened the door slightly to my left and entered.

I was assured by a perky young woman that I was in the right place though I felt like I'd stepped back into time in an old detective novel. Everything was quite rustic and small, though tidy and clean, from the little wooden counter to the wooden pigeon holes that kept the keys.

Okay, so I'd booked myself into a hostel instead of a hotel...not so bad, I figured though a little 'rustic.' I could use the experience. I just about backed out though when they led me to my room. It wasn't much bigger than my little writing room at the B&B, but dark and gloomy with a small bathroom at the end of it. There was only a tiny little drop leaf counter that hung precariously by a couple of chains from the wall, about 12" square and not big enough for my laptop. I began to panic....I wanted to write now, had to write, what would I do? I'd feel buried alive if I stayed in there.

Eventually we toured around the various rooms and found the one I'm in now with a small desk and a window with a view that's not particularly inspiring, though I'm sure I'll use the description in my writing someday. The room reminded me of a 1950s bedroom with well-worn wallpaper that had scrapes and scuff marks and moisture drips on it, but still a serviceable room--clean but tatty. The bathroom was so small it only held a half a bathtub with no room to dry oneself off...more like a laundry tub. (I'll see how the bed is tonight!)

As per usual, I dumped my luggage and immediately went out to explore, and to find some breakfast/lunch. The buildings were fabulous and I spent most of the time staring upwards trying to capture and remember what I was seeing, sometimes stopping dangerously in the middle of the street while I gawked.

At last I found a little restaurant which I thought might be good. They seemed to have a fairly decent menu with a great deal of choices...big mistake. They handed me about six different menus with tons of items from pasta, soups, and stews to meat dishes and pizza. I spied paella on the menu, about 8 different kinds, but I wasn't taking any chances. I could be patient and find a more upscale place and pre-order.

Good thing too, as I'd chosen what looked like a delicious pizza and ordered it. (I knew in the back of my mind that I should have waited until I got to Italy before eating pizza). That's when I saw them take the pizza out of the freezer and pop it in a toaster over. The fact that they didn't have a kitchen should have been a clue...but I hadn't noticed that until later. No wonder they could have such an extensive menu....it was all pre-made stuff, frozen.

The one great thing they had was freshly squeezed orange juice which I watched them make. The pizza? cold in the middle, hot on the outside and the crust burnt. It was otherwise tasty.....Another sigh!

I went back to the hotel for a short while to regroup and get myself a map, then I headed out again to explore in the other direction, enjoying the sites: a palace that had been turned into a hotel, (The Palace Hotel), old buildings that were now art galleries holding work by world famous artists, and office buildings for 'official' things, and a park down the centre of the boulevard of a very wide main street, the Paseo del Prado.

The most magnificent sight was a palatial

building that was now what they referred to as their telecommunication building, but was really just the post office. They used the entire thing for the post office.

It was immense inside with about 3 dozen wickets for various things, and another bunch with tons of mailboxes in the basement. The details on the exterior were impeccable and awesome.

So far I haven't been able to find out what the building was used for in the first place, but I'll keep asking.

By the time I got back the gentle mist that had been in the air had turned into a light drizzle, and I decided to stay in my hostel to continue writing....and until it was time to search out another place to eat my supper and find more agua (water).

Then I discovered a drink machine where I could get water at a reasonable price. By 8 pm I was hungry and also tired, so I didn't go far to find my supper...just next door...an Italian restaurant...yeah, I thought I should wait 'til I'm in Italy, but the place looked authentic and was actually excellent with service from waiters that could speak 4 or 5 different languages. Besides now I can compare it to the real thing! They were out of tiramisu, but I promised them I would be back tomorrow to try some that they were going to make fresh.

The greatest part was that they had a non-smoking section that was entirely away from the smoking section, and it was wonderful to enjoy my food without second hand smoke swirling around my food. Spain seems to be more progressive that way than many of the other countries I visited. In fact they have small smoking rooms in their airports, at least the big ones, and the rest of the place is non-smoking. They're also big on recycling here, which is great to see.

Like most European countries (as well as Egypt) the card keys they give you are also used to stick into a slot that starts the electricty in the rooms. The problem is though that sometimes you just want to pop out for a few moments and don't want to turn everything off, including the computer. In this hotel there is no alternative, but in some of them I've found other cards will work in the slots....the towel card at the hotel in Egypt worked fine to keep my fan going so it wasn't stifling in the room when I returned.

I've learned a few tricks on my travels and encountered a few twists too. All part of the great adventure and many laughs!