Madrid, Madrid- A Somewhat Lengthy Update on the Beginning

Madrid, Madrid- A Somewhat Lengthy Update on the Beginning

Early Saturday morning, we hit the airport. Ed, Chris’s friend, drove us as we jammed to the new Daft Punk album, cruising with our fingers crossed for two things- that Ed’s beat-up Nissan wouldn’t explode and that our first international flight went smoothly.

It did, more or less.

Our plane descended into Madrid at 6:50am. Peering through the little window near the wing, the clouds looked like the waves of a curling ocean. A few of us pulled out our cameras and awkwardly tried to get pictures, and we all laughed. It was a long flight and nice to be rewarded with such a pretty sunrise as we landed. The Modest Mouse song, “Talking Shit about a Pretty Sunset” came to mind, and I thought to myself that not a single bad thing could be said watching the sun rise at eye-level with the clouds.

Chris and I were in a daze as we walked through the airport. His head was only two inches from crawling along the ceiling and I kept focusing on the advertisements and trying to translate the Spanish announcements as they echoed across the tile floor. I nervously approached the clerk at the customs line, deciding on how I should open the conversation.  Would a simple “Hola” suffice or should I break out “como estas?” as well? I opted for the second option and received a stern glance and my first rectangular stamp in my passport. If I had Instagram, I think that would have been one of the few times I would have wanted to use it. The stamp just felt so official. I guess it was. After all, without it, I wasn’t allowed to enter the country.

Three options hummed for getting to the center of the city hummed in the air as we stepped outside. Walk, taxi, or bus. The walk, we realized, was too far. So we tried the taxi. With our bags in the trunk, the cab driver told us it would be 35 euros. Whoa. No deal. Thus, the bus. It took about ten minutes for the right one to arrive, but that wasn’t an issue. The weather outside was fantastic, clean, and a steady sixty-six degrees.

Madrid, as a city, opened up with graffiti-ridden walls and a mix of modern and old, stone-based architecture. Rolling hills that screamed something like a Tuscan backdrop surrounded the airport, but as we closed into the center of the city they were exchanged for apartment and governmental buildings. Parks, fountains, and monuments seemed as plentiful as Madrid’s roundabouts, which, as we found out quickly enough, were quite common and confusing.

This place called Hotel de Las Letras (Hotel of the Letters) ended up saving us. With no WiFi and little understanding of the maps and streets, we needed to get some kind of GPS reference to our location. We almost didn’t try the hotel. It looked glamorous: complete with red carpets and high ceilings, ornate walls of marble and those white, shining pillars that are only in glowing ballrooms. But the people inside were kind and helpful and willing to be patient with my rusty Spanish. With access to WiFi and an outlet adapter, we found a hostel to stay in and get our bags in one place. CouchSurfing, sadly, didn’t pull through and we didn’t want to be worried about finding a bed when the sun was setting.

But first, we urged to explore some more. With big packs and booming voices, we put off the vibe of two buffoons piling our way through the streets of the city and certainly had large nametags that said, “American.” This one guy caught on. He was wearing a blue hoodie and worn jeans and had that shady aura licking his shadow. Chris and I were lumbering around with our map out and he casually stepped into our conversation, directing us toward an alleyway. Initially, we trusted his direction, crossing the street and heading that way. He followed at a short distance, emphasizing his stroll as a stroll- nothing more. That’s when I noticed three guys, wearing similar clothes, leaning against the side of an adjacent building and giving us the stare down. It wasn’t the, “Those look like two cool dudes” stare. Nah, it was the “We want to take your money” stare. So I pulled Chris off to a nearby table, dropped our bags down, and waited for our tail to pass. We got so excited about being in Madrid that we forgot to be cautious and it almost cost us. I felt like a patsy for getting marked so quickly.

The hostel. Located on Calle de Barbieri, it had pretty much everything going for it. Beds. Hot showers. Clean bathroom, clean kitchen with pots and pans, staffed 24/7 with free printing, an additional computer, and WiFi. The only real drag was that my computer seemed to be unable to come to an agreement with the hostel’s internet- it refused to connect. But it wasn’t the hostel that had the problem with its temperament, it was my little netbook. All in all, I can only say great things about this place.

My first real Spanish conversation happened at the hostel. I started casually talking to the maid, trying to remember verbs and tenses and any noun that I needed. It was a struggle at initially, but as we chatted about favorite places, the weather, and her family, I began to realize that my Spanish wasn’t so bad. We discussed Spain in general for a while and it was refreshing to hear how much she loved her country- from vacations she took to Barcelona as a kid to Madrid, where she had lived for over fifty years, the passion she had for her city was tangible. And her favorite place? The worn street of Calle de Barbieri, where she lived and worked. I thanked her for the conversation before we left.

Alright, so even though CouchSurfing didn’t work out in Madrid, I still wanted to be an active member. On Madrid’s page, I was able to find some people in the city and we got in touch with a girl from Philadelphia. After dinner, we went out to a bar called El Tigre to meet her for a drink and chat about travel and our experiences. We got there early and ordered a beer each, without realizing one wonderful thing about some Spanish bars- with drinks come tapas. Tapas are these little sandwiches built from a slice of a bagette and a slice of meat (jamon, chorizo, carne). They are delicious and greasy. But when you order a drink, the bartender smiles, hands it to you, and then gives you THREE plates full of tapas. So Chris and I each bought a drink and walked off to a table with six plates of miniature sandwiches. Awesome, except for the fact that we were already stuffed. We ate anyways, as we didn’t want to look bad for accepting the complimentary food and not doing anything with it.

Shavana, the girl from CouchSurfing, arrived shortly. She hung out while we finished our drinks and then together we walked to another bar to meet her friends from her hostel. It was a group of five or so people, two girls from India and a guy who lived and worked in Madrid. It was actually really cool, sitting and chatting with these people we’d never met. We’d share stories, each one of us adding on experiences- be them from India or Philly or Spain or somewhere any of us had traveled, the conversations were full of excitement and interesting aspects. I can see myself really liking the CS (CouchSurfing) program. It just pulls all sorts of different people together for good times.

As we walked home, the clouds broke above us and it started to rain, very gently. It was relaxing and welcoming, and a good way to end the day.

As I am getting ready to close my laptop, a group across the street is howling and singing “Feliz cumpleanos a ti”, ecstatic and excited. I can’t help but think that their emotion, that pure happiness and enthusiasm, is how I’ll remember Madrid. The people are loving, caring, and willing to help. The streets are easy to learn, once you find out that the street signs are on the sides of buildings, and the weather is like a sunny day in Hawaii with a spicier flavor.

I’ll get a post out on our second day when I can. It was great though- free museums, the botanical garden, and a lot more use of Spanish. I also want to do some reflection. But for now, I need rest. We have to catch a bus tomorrow and it takes an hour to walk to the station, so we are waking up at five to get there on time. 

For now, all I can say is adiois. To the blog, to Madrid, and to this great hostel. It’s been great and I can’t wait to return.