The Rain in Spain…

…is pretty much non-existent, as far as I can tell. It was warm and dry when I arrived on Oct. 8 and nothing has changed.

This is the first time I’ve been in Spain since I came with Cindy Triffo and a YUUUUGE (the nearest I’ll come to political comment) bunch of students in, as nearly as I can figure, 1994. That trip was… well, we’ll just settle for the word “interesting,” a word that doesn’t do the trip justice, but will have to suffice for now. It was so long ago that I can’t remember where we stayed. I do remember that several of us got sick during the trip and that we arrived back in Chico the day before Christmas Eve, almost all of us.

I’m happy to report that in the ensuing 22 years Spain is still here and Spaniards still speak Spanish. My Spanish has not much improved, and if it has, that change is attributable not to studying the language, but to studying Italian. Which is to say that I speak neither language well, but at least I have a greater understanding of the mistakes I’m constantly making.

I took a cab in London from the St. Giles Hotel to Victoria Station, where I was able to catch the Gatwick Express Train south to Gatwick Airport. I had considered walking with my luggage to the nearest Tube station from the hotel, but when I learned that it would mean 2 changes of trains during the beginning of rush hour I demurred. My legs were still (ARE still!) feeling the effects of that long walk in London. My phone app tells me that I took 23,320 steps while walking 10.3 miles. I haven’t walked that far since I did Rim to Rim in a day with Kurt Reichel and Phil King, and I’m older and weaker and fatter now. My calves are still punishing me.

I won’t be receiving texts or calls from Don on this trip because he left his phone at home, which probably won’t surprise Elaine Ellsmore and didn’t much surprise me, as he would commonly leave for class in the morning and then have to return to his office for something he’d forgotten. We started calling it “doing a Don.” In fact, as I was leaving Chico to drive to Seattle I had to turn around and go back home to get something I wanted to bring, and I texted Myra and told her that I had just “done a Don.” But I did get a text from Myra while I was waiting for my flight out, telling me that they had arrived in London– so for a few minutes we were all three in the city, although we were probably 40 miles apart.

Seems they had missed their connection in Newark and opted not to stay the night in New Jersey– even though Christie would probably have taken them in– but elected instead to catch an alternate flight via London. Their plane to Madrid was still on the ground when they rushed through the airport after arriving from SFO, a scene I imagine looking something like  OJ Simpson — the commercials, not the knife thing– but they wouldn’t let them board even though they had no baggage to check. United Airlines, if you’re interested. Instead of being three hours or so behind them arriving in Madrid, now I was winning!

A bit over two hours of flight took us to Madrid’s Barajas Airport. Off the plane, down to Baggage Claim, out through Customs (perfunctory glance at my passport, stamp, “Next…”) and I was following the signs– “Salida”– for the exits and I was in the lobby. I got a few Euros and found an information booth to ask for recommendations for the trip into town to Atocha Station. I had read online that the C-1 train was the easiest, but the woman Informer told me instead to take “the Yellow Bus.” I deferred to her expertise and went out through the doors into Espana! (Sorry, purists, but I haven’t yet figured out how to use the tilde.) I missed the first Yellow Bus but noted from the posted schedule that they came every 15 minutes, so no worries.

The bus came, we boarded it, and 30 minutes later we were getting off at the Atocha Station where bus lines and the train lines meet at Madrid’s main train station. It’s really big. My sense is that it dwarfs most other train stations I know, with the possible exception of Rome’s Termini Station.

I got out my trusty phone and checked Google Maps and set off for the hotel, which seemed a very short distance. All five of us  (Don and Myra, Richard and April, and I) are all staying at the same hotel, the Urban Sea Hotel Atocha 113. I headed off in the right direction but was quickly confused when I came to a big roundabout, and I came out of it at a slight tangent, walked a block, passed the Reina Sofia Museum and found Ronda de Atocha. I headed up the hill– not particularly steep but it was hot and I was pulling my carry-on– and after a couple of blocks without finding the hotel I began to sense that something was wrong. I looked again at the map and realized that what I wanted was CALLE de Atocha, not RONDA de Atocha… I backtracked, made the right turn and quickly found the hotel. Success! It was recommended to us by our friend Rick Steves, who probably never stayed here himself…

Later came a text from Myra saying they were on the ground. I told them to take the Yellow Bus (suddenly I was the “expert,” a title I didn’t deserve or want) but their main concern was simply finding their way out of the airport itself. Apparently they had come into a different terminal than I did– the main clue being that they described theirs as “brand new and beautiful,” neither word an apt description of the terminal I came into. They went up and down elevators, found escalators that didn’t work, went down stairs to dead ends, but finally by dint of consistent and relentless effort they managed to escape, find the Yellow Bus and text me that they were coming. I set the timer on my phone and when it had counted down from 30 minutes I walked to the station and met them. Perfect timing– we all arrived in the same minute, so the trip is about 40 minutes. I guided them back to the hotel because I was concerned that they’d make the same mistake I had made without the benefit of enough time to have even slightly adjusted to jet lag, the main effects of which seem to be making foolish errors in judgment if you use me as an example.

We went out that night and in spite of my suggestions for KFC or Burger King or McDonalds, we found a small restaurant close to the hotel and I had what the restaurant called “lasagna” and they had salads and a little pizza apiece. Then back to the hotel to try to sleep. I say “try” because I don’t seem to be able to sleep more than four hours at a time, possibly mimicking my home sleep patterns, and Don and Myra had a room at the front of the hotel just above the Under-18 Disco Night celebration that they say went on until 4 or 5 AM. Different causes, same result.

I finally managed to get back to sleep around 5 and slept well until 10 (!) I texted them but there was no response, so I got up and walked around the neighborhood. Across a nearby street (Paseo de Prado) was a narrow lane that was closed to traffic and filled with shops, and on one side was a line of booksellers peddling their wares. Revelation: People READ in Spain! Would that it were true in the USA…

On the other side of the little mall were different sorts of shops, selling food items and cloth and assorted tchotchkes and souvenirs.

By now it was 11 AM and I texted them again to see if they were alive. No response, so I called at 11:30 and woke them up! As Macbeth said, “‘Twas a rough night.” They needed some time to get organized so I went back out and found my new favorite coffee shop, Vertical Caffe, just around the corner in a little plaza across from a big “living wall.”

I was desperate for some caffeine so went in and ordered “un caffe grande, fuerte y negro,” and got my big, strong, black coffee and sat in a window seat to drink it. I had just ordered my second cup when Myra texted and said they were ready to go, so I gave them directions and they came and met me. They had had hotel coffee from a machine (!) so they eschewed the coffee in Vertical, but they got energy drinks instead.

Then we took a long walk. Long… We walked up the Paseo de Prado toward the museum, and along the way we passed fountains and what looked like a police graduation ceremony in the street, with throngs of people.

Finally we arrived at the Prado, but decided to save a visit for another day.  We did take a few pictures, though. Here’s the museum and a photo of Myra in front of a statue of Velasquez.

This was one of my favorite sights of the day, though, combining two of my favorite subjects: kids and national flags:A little farther down the street was this beautiful church, the Parroquia de San Jeronimo el Real Madrid:

About a block farther down the street we came to the entrance to El Retiro, the amazing city park, and entered. Fall is definitely here, but there was still plenty of greenery. What we found most interesting, though, was how many people were using the park, especially families with children.

Juniper trees sculpted into odd shapes…

I remembered that when I was here last it was a cold, damp day and there were no boats on the water. Our group of students were walking around the park being led by a guide holding up an umbrella for us to follow, and the kids were wondering what we were doing in the park in the rain. As we were moving along the edge of this pond, a man dressed in a long, black trench coat approached me and as he got near he said, “God is a concept.” Without missing a beat I gave him the next lyric, “By which we measure our pain.” He lighted up with a big smile and said, “You know John Lennon! We are brothers!” I didn’t do any family visiting with him, but it was something to recall…

No, he’s not urinating in the fountain, he’s climbing.

Some kind of variation on Punch and Judy. The kids were completely engaged, though, especially with the fart jokes.

Vomiting iguana fountain.

A small bicycle mishap. No blood and Mom and brothers were taking the accident in stride. No tears from the boy!

Myra wanted to go to the Atocha Station to check on timetables for later, so we walked down the short distance to the station. It’s like a mall downstairs, and there were also some obvious differences from what I remembered. The main change is that there is a security check now before you can enter the actual departure area. You have to get your bags scanned before you can get on a train. I suppose it’s a necessary step given the current state of the world…

We took a short break then and then walked over to the Reina Sofia, the National Museum. It was free– not sure if it was because it was Sunday. It’s too big to see much of it so we concentrated on Picasso’s “Guernica.” No photos of the interior because they don’t let pictures be taken, and I (evidently alone) obeyed the rule.

Then it was time to eat, so we found a street cafe and Myra and I each had paella, while Don had a salad. The food was ok– seems almost every restaurant has the same pictures of the same paella on their menus, and I suspect that they are all pretty similar. No photos of the food– I don’t do pictures of my dinner.

Back to the hotel to regroup and then we went out for another short stroll from the hotel to the Plaza Mayor. It’s a straight shot up the Calle de Atocha, and was as I remembered it, very large, as the name would indicate. I think I read that it used to have be a plaza de toros, a bullfight ring, but no longer.

It was fully dark by the time we got to the Plaza, so we saw some of the nightly paseo, plus a lot of people wandering and eating. Spain is famous for late dinners, often not beginning until 9 pm or later. Here are some random shots in and around the Plaza Mayor:

Then off to the hotel to bed. 19,132 steps, 7.3 miles! This trip could turn out to be a very successful and very expensive weight-loss program…

I went right to sleep but then woke at 3am and started this. Now it’s 5:20. Yikes!

Richard and April are supposed to arrive around noon today, and I think Don and Myra and I are either going to visit the Prado or take a bus tour of Madrid. Stay tuned!