From the Journal – An Unprepared Madrid Arrival
After spending a month in Barcelona and almost a week in Valencia, Krissy and I have got this thing down, right? I mean, how much different can one Spanish city be from the next? I know Madrid is the biggest of said cities, but we’ve figured out the NYC Subway for christ’s sake, this should be easy.. So I spent my time on the high-speed AVE from Valencia cleaning up the hard-drive, playing Clash of Clans, you know, the regular… Problem is, at 193mph, we met our destination city in about an hour forty-five, and to say the least, our Madrid arrival was a little unprepared…
Madrid Arrival
All signs looked foreign… Well of course! We’re in Spain, right? But after six weeks in the Catalonia region of Spain, where the language and signage is not actually Spanish but Catalan, we’re staring at signs that looked so completely foreign that all that self-studied Español just flew right out the window.
I forgot to check the address… So we arrive in Madrid, and we’re standing in the middle of the major Atocha train station… This place looks more like a major airport terminal than any train station we’ve seen, making the Barcelona Sant station (where we’ve had past difficulties) look like chump change. Plus, it’s rush hour in Spain’s capital and largest city. These homebound workers aren’t messing around. No time for a couple of young(ish) foreigner punks to slow their way home. So here we are, with little or no internet signal, lugging around sixty pounds each, AND we don’t even know where we’re going!
On Our Way?
But eventually, we did find the address. We even figured out how to buy a ticket, and even crammed ourselves on a metro car headed in the right direction… Then somehow, I phased out. All we had to do is go three stations, hop off, make a transfer, then two more stations and we’re home free… But when I came to, we were already at the fifth station. I lunged at the exit handle but it was already locked, and the Metro was taking off… The train’s velocity paired with the weight of my baggage hurled me towards the rear of the train, and I made my first Madrileño friend…
We climbed the exiting steps of La Latina station and were greeted by the funky, multi-colored domes of Mercado de la Cebada. Had a peek through the port-holed, corrugated steel fence, revealing hipsters hooping it up in the market’s courtyard, and we were on our way to negotiate the winding streets. Exhausted, sweat-drenched and thirsty, we finally located our home for the week. A few more frustrating no-signal moments, four flights of stairs for good measure, and Pablo let us in.