Early Friday morning, Alex and I met Megan at the station to catch our 9am bus. Arriving in Madrid by 11:30am, we noticed an odd aspect of the Madrid bus station upon our transition from the platform to the metro. Where an escalator would have proved a world more sensible, a steep moving ramp was instead. Imagine crowds of people scrambling up a tractionless lift with rolling suitcases, purses, and duffels. With this image in mind, it’s easy to understand how a 60-some-year old woman fell backwards upon us during the ascent. Not one time, not even two or three, but FOUR times. As soon as she seemed regrouped and steady, the backwards, stumbling began again. If it hadn’t been for Megan’s ready arms, the domino effect would have sent us along with plenty of others into a dog pile at the bottom of this cursed ramp. We tried hard to resist laughing, but not surprisingly, we had little success.
We hopped on the metro and made our way to the hostel. I can't even begin to describe how stressful the bag-lugging process was. Let's just say if you're handicapped in ANY way, shape, or form, the Madrid metro is absolutely out of the question. I wouldn't be surprised if we went up and down more than 15 flights of stairs with those duffles. I guess that's what you get for a 1-euro ticket. Even though we got off at the wrong stop, hailing a cab was easy and inexpensive. Eventually, the cab driver gave up and let us out NEAR the hostel because we couldn't find the exact location. This meant another 20 minutes or so of wandering around aimlessly with our huge bags. Finally, we found Bull's Hostel and went in to put down our things so we could go explore.
We hopped on the metro and made our way to the hostel. I can't even begin to describe how stressful the bag-lugging process was. Let's just say if you're handicapped in ANY way, shape, or form, the Madrid metro is absolutely out of the question. I wouldn't be surprised if we went up and down more than 15 flights of stairs with those duffles. I guess that's what you get for a 1-euro ticket. Even though we got off at the wrong stop, hailing a cab was easy and inexpensive. Eventually, the cab driver gave up and let us out NEAR the hostel because we couldn't find the exact location. This meant another 20 minutes or so of wandering around aimlessly with our huge bags. Finally, we found Bull's Hostel and went in to put down our things so we could go explore.
Bringing with us our packed lunches from the madres, we made our way over to the Plaza Mayor to picnic and lay out in the 70-degree weather, underneath the clear blue sky. If my blonde friends and freckles didn't give it away, I think our 17 metro/city maps and tour guide brochures once again gave away our foreign status. I hope our families realize the intense planning that went into their visits! Here, people sit, even lay, directly on the cobblestones...so when in Spain! Two hours later, I woke up to wings fluttering just inches from my face. A man behind me had decided that my head served as the perfect pigeon feeding ground. I shot him a mean glance that said, "Thanks, bud."
Returning back to the hostel, we were led to a back room with a chinese folding door. A straw 5-foot tall folding screen was the only thing separating us from the randos. A gust of moderately-strong wind would have pushed that thing over. Can you really call it a "room" if it doesn't have a door? Isn't that part of the definition? Walls, window, and a door. Yeah, pretty sure that's it. You don't realize how wonderful a seemingly frivolous thing like a door is until you're forced to go without one. What would keep someone from stealing all our stuff? And what about changing our clothes? We soon found the latter to be a legitimate problem as the storage closet was also conveniently located in our room. Mid-shirt switch, the guy at the front desk made no warning for his entry into our side of the Asian screen to put some likely unwashed sheets and towels away. Is there a WELCOME sign on this folding thing?! At least, it seemed, we had our own private bathroom...right behind the Asian screen. Maybe this was the trade-off.
After a while, we left for dinner at a cafe right across from the hostel. Alex and I shared pasta and an egg sandwich, Megan got a chicken platter, which went beautifully with a bottle of white wine. After dinner, we strolled down Gran Via (like the Spanish Main Street) and stopped at a beautiful fountain in Plaza Espana. We returned to Bull's Hostel to be well rested for our parents the next morning. Oh but how naiive we were! Long story short, that was NOT our own private bathroom. As would be typical after a Friday night out in Madrid, Spain, we heard the waves of drunken people rushing into the bathroom every 20 minutes throughout the entire night. On the other side of that paper-thin wall, I heard all different types of pee streams that went well with the yelling and laughing and slamming and banging. I guess no one took into account that there was ANOTHER BATHROOM DOWN THE HALL! No doubt the highlight of the evening was trying to fall asleep to the steadily creaking bed across the hall. Although the earrings we found in Megan's sheets were a nice touch too.
Had it not been for Megan and Alex's wiser judgement, I would have gladly given the front desk a piece of my mind. Walking out the door, we were all thankful to never have to spend another night in Bull's.
I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t all too eager to impress my mom and sister with my Spanish skills, taking great pride in ordering for all of us. They needed me. How could they POSSIBLY survive in Spain without my skillful help?! It was during this clouded mindset that the waiter talked me into ordering the café’s delicious specialty dish. When I asked what was in it, I heard him answer, “Something, something, PEPPERS.” Hey, I like peppers, I thought. And besides, it’s the special. “Si ponganos uno de eso tambien” (Yes, bring us one of those as well). Minutes later, we were taken aback by what looked like octopus tentacles on a wooden slab. With hesitant fingers, I picked one up and began to chew. Have you ever tried eating rubber? I haven’t, but I imagine it would feel a lot like this. Well, this was definitely special. The only thing peppery about the dish was the spicy seasoning on top. I worked on chewing that rubbery fish for a good 3 minutes, hoping I could get it down and swallow it with my pride. I simply couldn’t do it. That sucker came right back out and sat on my plate until we got the bill. Leaving all but two of those nasty things on the wooden slab, I summoned the waiter for the check. This was another adventure. It’s only appropriate to mention that in Spain, prices are rarely listed. It’s even considered impolite and cheap to ask the price of individual items. The thought is that if you’re so concerned about saving money, why are you eating out? As soon as we got our check, it was obvious why the waiter had been so adamant about selling us that nasty racion since it had a 17-euro price tag. With my foot in my mouth for the remainder of the evening, I realized that even after living in Spain for 2 and half months, I STILL have so much to learn. Rubber fish quickly became the joke of the week, my mother convinced that I would order more for them throughout the week.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time at just outside of La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t all too eager to impress my mom and sister with my Spanish skills, taking great pride in ordering for all of us. They needed me. How could they POSSIBLY survive in Spain without my skillful help?! It was during this clouded mindset that the waiter talked me into ordering the café’s delicious specialty dish. When I asked what was in it, I heard him answer, “Something, something, PEPPERS.” Hey, I like peppers, I thought. And besides, it’s the special. “Si ponganos uno de eso tambien” (Yes, bring us one of those as well). Minutes later, we were taken aback by what looked like octopus tentacles on a wooden slab. With hesitant fingers, I picked one up and began to chew. Have you ever tried eating rubber? I haven’t, but I imagine it would feel a lot like this. Well, this was definitely special. The only thing peppery about the dish was the spicy seasoning on top. I worked on chewing that rubbery fish for a good 3 minutes, hoping I could get it down and swallow it with my pride. I simply couldn’t do it. That sucker came right back out and sat on my plate until we got the bill. Leaving all but two of those nasty things on the wooden slab, I summoned the waiter for the check. This was another adventure. It’s only appropriate to mention that in Spain, prices are rarely listed. It’s even considered impolite and cheap to ask the price of individual items. The thought is that if you’re so concerned about saving money, why are you eating out? As soon as we got our check, it was obvious why the waiter had been so adamant about selling us that nasty racion since it had a 17-euro price tag. With my foot in my mouth for the remainder of the evening, I realized that even after living in Spain for 2 and half months, I STILL have so much to learn. Rubber fish quickly became the joke of the week, my mother convinced that I would order more for them throughout the week.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time at just outside of La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
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