Madrid and the Train Ride to Zaragoza
My first travel adventures in España continue
Photo by Isak Gundrosen
An electric kettle was provided for the instant coffee that was also provided. Not our personal choice for a morning pick-me-up but it was better than having to get dressed and go to the coffee shop two blocks away first thing in the morning. It would do until we could wake up enough to make that short trek.
While at the grocery store where our luggage had been stored, we had purchased items to make our own breakfast, like sweet rolls and eggs. Of course, the sweet rolls didn’t need to be cooked, and having a workable stove top would have been moot, but the eggs certainly did.
We had a sleek black glass cooktop to figure out. It was somewhat like the one we have back home, but without any delineations for where the heating elements were located, nor directions as to how to turn it on. There was just one small circle painted on the side.
The only thing we could think to do was touch the circle to see what would happen, hoping that a glowing sign would appear giving directions. No such luck. Just a small line popped up in the circle. But then another touch made the line move. Another touch made it move another way. “Ah!” Marty announced with inspiration, “This shows which corner will heat.”
We were used to old-fashioned knobs that did the job of showing where and how much heat to apply. This was more like sci-fi stuff…very high-tech. And that was what the toilet made me think of…high-tech flushing; push a button for an instant whoosh with nothing left behind. I was amazed and impressed by the technology.
_________________________
We were to meet our long-time friend, Kum, at Puerta del Sol, the city’s main plaza, at the statue of the tree and the bear. Kum was born in Madrid, but we met him in Mexico years before and it was great to see him unchanged, except to have a few grey streaks in his hair.
I questioned the meaning of the statue where we met and he explained that it represented what the country looked like before Madrid was built and before the countryside was overtaken, destroying the trees and the habitat for the bears. That made me very sad to hear, but progress and commerce prevailed. And from the look of the multitudes of people dressed in fine clothes and with smiles on their faces, the pre-city history seemed to be a moot point to them.
We had lunch and beer at one of Kum’s favorite restaurants while catching up on the years that had passed. It was lovely, and we were sad to leave his company.
Back at our tiny apartment, we rested before getting ready for an evening at a nearby gin bar where Marty had made reservations. When we arrived at 7:00, I wondered about the interior as the façade was peeling paint and had a hand-painted sign. But the inside was warm and cozy with tables down a long hallway and in small side rooms. We got a room at the rear near a greenery-covered wall and Buddha statues. Our waiter, Sam, was amiable and helpful with a fun sense of humor. We each ordered one of their special gin drinks, mine being a grapefruit and cardamom with gin, while Marty chose a more basic gin and tonic.
We ate the offered tapas before dinner of olives, cheese, and bread, and my delicious drink went down fast. I needed another, but this time ordered a lemon with cardamom and gin. I couldn’t decide which of the two was the best, but I couldn’t order more to satisfy my curiosity, as they’d hit hard.
Thank goodness our dinner came quickly and I was able to soak up some of the alcohol with flavorful meats and veggies, then had only a block to walk back to our place and to our bed.
Photo by Ester Lamberti
The next day was cold and blustery when we went to the Prado Museum. But because we had prepaid tickets, we didn’t have to wait in line out in the cold.
The place was massive and we didn’t think we’d make it through the whole museum, which would have taken most of the day. We decided to just seek out our favorite artists like Ruben, Picasso — although there was only one Picasso on display at that time — and Hieronymus Bosch. We saw much more, but when many of the paintings began looking alike because the artists of the period began copying each other, we decided it was time to leave. I was an art major in college and should have been more appreciative and interested in the basic differences between each, but I had too little energy from the walk around the gallery with the remnants of our jetlag still clinging to care about the nuances of the artists.
That night we had made reservations at a tapas bar for 8:00.
That was a fun experience. The place was cozy with lots of old polished wood with tables packed together closely, but we were seated by the window at a small round bistro table with tall chairs. The table to our right, which was in the middle of the room, had a group of four people who seemed to be in very jolly moods and kept us entertained with their merry mirth. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their laughter was contagious.
Before we were ready to leave, I asked them if anyone spoke English, because I’d wanted to make a comment to them and my Spanish was not good enough to tell them what I wanted to say.
One woman spoke up and said, “We’re from England.”
I laughed and said, “Of course, you do. I just wanted to tell you how much we’d enjoyed hearing your laughter and how much you were enjoying yourselves. It made our dinner even more fun.”
They appreciated the comment, chatted for a bit, and we left.
Later I asked Marty, “Which night did you enjoy best; last night’s gin bar or tonight’s tapas bar?”
“Mmmm,” he began thoughtfully, “I think last night at the gin bar. It was cozier, more intimate, and the food was fabulous. How about you?” he asked.
“The same. But I especially liked the attention our waiter was giving us there. He seemed to enjoy talking to us in his broken English. But I especially liked his sense of humor, especially after he looked up some translation on his phone to show me in response to what you two had been talking about before you went to the baño about friends supporting friends, or businesses, or whatever. The translation said, ‘The one who does not support does not fuck.’ I thought it was hilarious and interesting that he would be so direct.”
“Yeah, me, too. He must have felt comfortable enough with us to want to make that point. It was a good night.”
_________________________
The day we were to leave the apartment, Marty had made reservations for us to go to Barcelona on the Bullet Train, with a stopover for the night in Zaragoza, which was midway to Barcelona.
Photo by Pedro Sanz
A taxi took us to the train station because we couldn’t figure out how to work the Metro system to get us there, and there was no one around to show or tell us.
At the train station, we had to go through customs just like at the airport and show our passports along with our ticket that was displayed on our phone before we could wait for the train to arrive. But first, we had to see what terminal we were to go to for our train, which took a long time to pop up on the screen. When the gate number appeared, the crowd was like that of a grand opening for a super sale in a department store…all rushed forward to see who could get to the cars first. Crazy, since we all had arranged our seating already.
Our seats were comfortable, and we had the opportunity to buy a soft drink, beer, or wine along with snacks on our two-hour ride to Zaragoza. It felt a lot like flying, except there were no seatbelts to buckle, which felt odd to me.
There was one stop at a town called Campo Tarragon to let off and pick up passengers, but that didn’t seem to take very long and we were off in a rush. Marty noted that the lighted sign showing time, miles per hour, and other pertinent information about the trip, had shown us going over 300 miles per hour at several points. That train experience was amazing. Even the corner toilets were roomy and interesting — like the ones on planes, but larger.
_________________________
At Zaragoza, the cab driver who took us to our hotel in Old Town told us that Zaragoza was considered the wedding capital of Spain, and had hundreds of weddings throughout the year. He said the wedding festivities were quite a sight because they were often very elaborate.
Our hotel was a remodeled old building that melded the modern aspects of a remodel with the old original building itself. The antiquated brick walls were whitewashed in strategic places to show what was behind the new modern walls. The décor was the same mix of old baskets and wood with modern leathers and suede sofas. It was very charming and comfortable. From our third-story room, we could look down on the busy main street where the metro train had a stop just below. It was fun watching the people.
As we walked the streets, looking for the recommended place to have lunch, we noticed that the streets were not any straighter than some of the streets in Madrid, which were like a maze.
Curving alleyways with quaint shops — many not open at that time of day — seemed hidden from potential customers, although we figured that the locals would know where they were, or the stores would not be in business. After curving around one alley into another, we were surprised to find a big courtyard with benches, trees, and a few sitters feeding the pigeons. It was cold out, so the place was not heavily populated, but there were a few old die-hards who seemed used to the chill in the air.
Photo by Alvaro Calvo
The restaurant we were seeking was on the left side of the courtyard, so we got a window seat to watch the people stroll, or hurry by, as well as the old timers feeding the pigeons. It felt like we had been placed in a movie set of a historic European city with the requisite church standing grandly across the plaza and the old storefronts within the square ready to do business at the right time of day.
We’d learned that stores were often open in the mornings but closed after lunch to open again after 4:00 or later. And regarding eating hours, we’d learned that many Spaniards didn’t often eat breakfast as early as we did in the States. Breakfast hours are generally between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 11:00, and lunch was the largest meal of the day. There’s a mid-afternoon snack between 2:00 to 3:30 — the Merienda; the Aperitif between 5:00 and 6:30; and dinner between 9:00 and 11:00 p.m. I doubted that we could ever adapt to those eating hours because it seemed like we’d become quite overweight and uncomfortable going to bed after eating so late. However, we noticed that the greatest amount of Spanish people were fit and slender, so who were we to know about our customs being more sensible than theirs? Not us. We also noted that the Spanish people walked a lot, which could account for their fitness.
Regardless of who does what, beyond what we were used to, I was loving Spain.
_________________________
Read Parts 1 and 3 of this story series by clicking one of the links below:
Part 1 - España — My First Trip Away from North American Soil