Ten Weeks of Travel in Spain (Our First Week in Madrid)
Sunset over Madrid, Spain — Photo by J. Sharland Day
In mid-October, ’24, we flew to Madrid for a ten-week tour of Spain in a rental car. Last year, we flew into Madrid with our daughter and son-in-law as a hub for a five-week tour to see some of Spain’s great cities: Barcelona, Zaragoza, Valencia, Cartagena, Granada, Sevilla, Cádiz, and then a dip into Portugal for a week in Lisbon. This year, we wanted to see more of the country we didn’t have time for last year, making central Madrid our starting point once again.
Since we were familiar with the layout of the airport, we easily retrieved our luggage and found the cab queue. This year, we had a cab waiting for us. Our hostess in charge of the apartment we rented for a week told us she would have one waiting for us. It was great to walk outside and see a man holding up a sign with our names written on it.
Seeing the cab driver and the sign made me think of the line-up of guys from all-inclusive hotels in Cancun, Mexico, who waited with neatly printed names on placards for people they were to pick up. People who were eager to stay in a place where they could enjoy fun-in-the-sun without having to worry about anything except which activity to join or which delicacy to pluck at the buffet table, not bothering to discover the real Mexico.
We had spent several winters driving to Mexico and when we flew into the Cancun airport, we were always amazed at the number of tourists ready to give those all-inclusive hotels their hard-earned money to keep from having to go anywhere else. For twenty years we had our own piece of paradise an hour and a half south of Cancun, which allowed us to get to know the people and the area well instead of sitting in a single space and never leaving its perimeters to explore another culture. I never understood that desire.
But, after those 20 great years of going to the same place year after year, we decided to sell our winter home to venture out and see what the rest of the world had to offer; hence our second Spain trip. We wanted to start with the Iberian country because we’d loved it the year before and wanted to see more of it.
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As we drove away from the airport, my husband, the Spanish speaker, began chatting with the driver who, surprisingly, spoke a bit of English for my sake and had a lot of knowledge about Madrid and where to go. I love cabbies who don’t mind chatting and are eager to give out information about their areas who also seem interested in us foreigners without a grudge.
On this trip, the cabbie was interested in knowing our thoughts about our upcoming election. Having voted before we left our country, we were very concerned about the upcoming results. Taken aback by the man’s interest, my husband asked him why he knew so much about it. He told us that most people in Spain were interested in the outcome of America’s election because it would affect them, as well as other countries, in many ways. No one that he knew of liked Trump and they were hoping Kamala would win. We were very surprised at this bit of news but didn’t take the conversation deeper because we came to a tunnel we hadn’t been through before and were aghast by its length and many outlets beneath the surface of the city.
The cabbie explained, “The tunnel is called the M-30 Manzanares tunnel, built in 2007, and is part of a group of four tunnels that make up the M-30. It circles the central districts of Madrid, and is over 43 kilometers long.”
We were stunned by the amazing feat of engineering.
M-30 Manzanares tunnel in Madrid, Spain - Photo by J. Sharland Day
When we arrived at our apartment, we were once again amazed. This time, by the stunning view we had from our large ninth-floor window that looked down to the streets and out of the city for miles. We couldn’t help thinking that if our trip continued to stun and amaze us, it was going to be time and money well spent.
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The first few days in Madrid consisted mainly of catching up on sleep and getting rid of our proverbial jet lag. After a couple of sleepy days, we knew we needed to try to get our walking legs in condition to be able to do a lot of it. Last year, we averaged five miles a day walking wherever we needed to go. Of course, we had the train to save us time for longer journeys, and later a rental car for cross-country explorations, but walking was our main source of getting from place to place within cities. We hoped we could regain enough stamina and leg muscles to continue that trend.
Remembering how delicious the food was, I couldn’t wait to find a good restaurant. Since we’d flown into the airport at 4:25 in the afternoon, waiting for our luggage, and then driving to the other side of the city, it was dark by the time we got to our apartment.
We asked the concierge about a nearby place to dine that was open, because in Spain most places are closed from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00, which is siesta time. He walked with us down the street to a restaurant called The Dublin. Expecting an interesting menu, we were disappointed to find that there was no Irish fare, but simply fries, eggs, chicken, ham, some beef, and sandwiches, all typical Spanish offerings. We had a chicken patty and fries. Bland, boring, and disappointing.
We were to learn that many places served much of the same menu items, and breakfast nearly always consisted of tostadas (toast) with a choice of Iberian ham, pureed tomatoes, queso, or marmalada with juice and coffee. Period. That was it. No bacon and eggs or pancakes.
During that week, we shopped for dressier, warmer jackets for both of us, as the nights were cool in Madrid, and since we were going into the winter months, we thought something dressy but warm was what we needed. We had read that the Spanish people dressed for the season, not the weather, and were always well put together, even when they wore more casual attire.
There was a large multi-floor department store down the street from our apartment that had everything a person might need to shop for — groceries, household and office goods, children’s needs, as well as higher-end clothing on the upper floors. We bought our dressier outerwear — in black for me and brown for my guy. Each of us could dress up in anything we chose to wear…slacks, skirts, or jeans.
I didn’t want to come across as an unknowledgeable, underdressed, flashy, and colorful American, like I am in the States, and was in Mexico. My husband generally wore denim jeans or shirts or shorts in those places. In Spain, I thought it best for us to look more subtle and blend in.
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Ready to do some sightseeing, we were told that not far from our apartment was a lovely city park on a small hill that featured an Egyptian temple called the Temple of Debod. The temple, which was built in 200 BC south of Aswan, Egypt, was gifted to Spain in 1968 as a sign of gratitude for Spain’s participation in the International Campaign to Save the Monuments of Nubia, which saved several ancient and historically important buildings from going underwater and being destroyed from flooding after Aswan High Dam was built.
The temple was dismantled for transport and eventually rebuilt in the Parque de la Montaña in Madrid from 1970 to 1972. According to my information about the building, it is one of six works of ancient Egyptian architecture to leave Egypt, donated to countries who helped save the monuments. But the Temple of Debod was the only one that was rebuilt outside, in the elements, which makes it one of the most authentic and atmospheric Nubian rescue projects in the world.
Of course, we had to see it.
It was a good walk and worth the effort. Although small, compared to what I had imagined it would be, thinking pyramid size, the building was impressive. First, because this very old building had been moved from another country, and second, the setting, with two large monumental gates that stood independently on a long walkway in the middle of a large pool of reflective water with a background of lush, green grass, and trees overlooking the city. We couldn’t go inside the building, unfortunately, because it was closed, but we would like to return to see the adornments it holds inside at another time.
Breakfast in Madrid, Spain — Photo by J. Sharland Day
On our way back to our apartment, we found a Middle Eastern restaurant called Parsi that we thought sounded interesting and turned out to be a great experience. The food was delicious and the wait staff from Iran were helpful and friendly. We were happy to have found a place with something different to consume.
We also came upon a churro and chocolate shop. We had to stop, no matter how full we were after just dining. What a treat! I had my first taste of this combo last year when I fell in love with churros dipped in thick, hot chocolate. Yum! My favorite dessert that we didn’t often see, even though it was a sought-after item throughout Spain.
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After a few days of recuperation and getting our leg muscles going, we made arrangements to go on a tour of the nearby famous town of Toledo. I was very excited to see in person what I had read so much about in some chapters of James Michener’s book Iberia. The book was written 56 years ago and I was curious to see how much of his descriptions would still be the same.
In the early morning, we stood in a queue waiting for the bus to arrive in a large alleyway and chatted with a British couple who were also excited about the tour. On board the packed bus looking out the windows, the countryside passed by quickly and then the scenes outside became more ethereal. It was foggy at that elevation at that early hour and it seemed mystical, which made me even more excited at what we would see when we arrived at the city.
The bus parked and instructions were given about timing, staying with the group, and when to return to the bus. We were then instructed to go to the escalator that we were relieved to see would save us from climbing the many steps to the steep side and the upper part of the Alcázar of Toledo — the castle — built in the fifth century.
After the escalator ride, we had to climb more steps up to a concrete terrace-like area that, I guessed, was built to hold the massive amounts of tourists from the many buses that kept arriving before we crossed the road that took us into another century.
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Our Spanish travels continue in my next story!