Young people were still congregating around closed night club doors or gingerly making their way home as we wandered down the hill from our hostel to the station in the early ours of Friday morning.
Going through railway security, a traveller was debating fruitlessly with a lady at the x-ray machine, ‘so that’s it, my knife’s gone?’. He walked off in a disappointed huff, to her indifferent stare.
“Platform one, second train!”, the officer kept repeating as he ushered us through the tourist-runs. This seemed to confuse people. How can there be two trains on the one track? Surely he meant Platform two, first train? The sign with 2 (left arrow) and 1 (right arrow) caused further dismay, decision point, and by the time we alighted the escalator onto Platform 1, heads were flicking from left to right like a flock of ponding flamingos as anxious people looked for signs they’d made the right choice.
At 7:30am, 18 minutes before our Madrid train, a suburban train arrived, hundreds of pennies dropped, and the flock settled into contented readiness, train two soon to arrive. (Carriage one of this suburban train had been upfront and, assuming consistency, we all reshuffled ourselves according to our carriage allocations).
Helpfully, train two arrived the other way around. With carriages 1 and 15 at opposite ends to train number one, just for variety we suppose.
Renewed panic ensued as the mistake was realized and hundreds of flapping flamingos shuffled maniacally in opposite directions fielding duffles, backpacks and monstrous wheely bags. It was fun to watch. Attenborough would’ve had a field day.
Three hours and two more short metro trains had us outside the door of our Madrid hotel. We had the good fortune to share one metro carriage with a hens party, each participant sporting springy ‘my favourite Martian’ antennae with small plastic penises on the ends. Madrid should be fun.
We were too early to check into the hotel in Madrid and so left our bags to take a walk through the nearby Jardines de Sabatini (gardens). It was one o’clock, 36 degrees, and the trees provided little path shade in the near-vertical light. We retreated to our air-conditioned room and slept for about 3 hours (immediately after Jeff said, “siesta? I’m not tired, I slept on the plane”).
Google suggested a ‘lively street tapas scene’ in Calle de la Cava and we headed out around 7pm, in the cool 27 degrees. Note to self, only take Google suggestions if you enjoy, tuk-tuk traffic, doorway sprukers and large crowds. We finished some mediocre Morcilla (black blood sausage) and some awful lolly water sangria before fleeing.
We’d not fully learned the lesson yet and so, after some yummy Gilders (olive, anchovie, pepper and cheese toothpicks) and a few wines at a vibrant street side bar (far from Calle de la Cava), made our way home via Plaza Mayor, a large paved square lined with 14th century red stone buildings (complete with horsed King Phillip III statue centre stage).
Moments after taking a square-side table we were accosted by sellers of flying toys, phone holders, wooden cheese boards (that converted into grotesque baskets at a flick – nice), beggers, vigorous cap toting piano accordian players and of course, rose vendors, ‘sir, do you love her?’.
In the square, more sellers had sheets laid out, strewn with handbags and T-shirts and all manner of trinkets. They held ropes, attached to each sheet corner, ready to pack-and-run should police arrive.
Meanwhile the dozen tourist blokes seated behind us were celebrating sufficiently loudly to clear the place, and we joined the departing throng.
Eventually we found a quiet cafe by our hotel and enjoyed a couple of fresh salads before calling it a day.
The next day was lovely. We enjoyed hot chocolate and churros at the Chocolateria San Gines circa 1894, were astounded by the tastfully modern beauty of the cathedral, and strolled in the shade of the Parque de Atens gardens before almost seeing Picassos Guernica at the Sofia Museum. It’s free from 12:30pm to 2:30pm, but, unbeknownst to us, clearing starts at 2:15pm. We were so struck by works of Munoz, Dali et al, that we didn’t get to Guernica until 2:15pm. ‘No! Close ed’. Oh well, our bad.
In the afternoon, after lunch, under the shade of an umbrella in the streets outside the museum, we took a short walk to the massive and stunning Parque de el Retiro gardens and relaxed on the grass under the trees for awhile. One section is open grass and large shade trees, the rest is like a wilderness of trees, grass and shrubs interlaced with gravel paths. Somewhere in near the centre there’s a square lake covered in row boats and surrounded by ice cream vendors.
A long stroll along the picturesque but hot and crowded Gran Vie warranted a siesta before going out for tea …much later, in the cool of the evening.
A single day in Madrid was probably enough for us. It’s lovely but probably not bucket list lovely and we were happy to move on, so, a taxi, two planes and another taxi later and we’re watching an almost full moon rise over the Agean sea from a little hobbit hole in the middle of the cliffs in Santorini. The trip was just long enough to learn how to say ‘one white wine and one red wine please’, in Greek. ..tested on Greek champion wrestler come taxi driver (and rose in Greek, we found, is… rose).
