Gooooood Morning, Madrid!

OK, so technically I didn’t sleep. It’s a good morning anyway!

I went to El Corte Ingles about a hundred times, mostly because it just has everything. And at the Metro stop where I am (Sol) there’s 3, count ‘em, 3 Cortes Ingleses. One has a main floor, 7 upper floors, and 2 basements. That’s the one that has the post office (I mailed a post card) the supermercado (I bought some cheese and melocoton juice) and the travel agency (I got an adaptor for my laptop ’cause I have no clue what happened to the last one.) Not the converter thing–my laptop has its own. Just the do-hickey that changes the plug from flat-prong to round-prong. And I had a devil of a time describing it, because I totally don’t know the word for “prong”. So I picked up a European plug, pointed to the round metal prongs, and said (en espanol, of course) What do you call these here thingamabobbers? And the cashier blinked, squinted, shrugged, and said, “I don’t know.” So I said, “I don’t know either, but mine are flat and I need an adapter to make them round.” And he said ohhhhhh and gave me the right thing. So I’m fine now.

At the other Corte I bought a AA battery charger, because the last two times I brought a US one, I fried them on accident. Figured I might as well suck it up and get a European one so I don’t have to worry about it. The 3rd Corte is a massive bookstore, which I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to go inside, since the last time I did, Bri and I ended up paying exorbitant “your suitcase is too heavy–what the hell do you have in there?” fees at the Charles de Gaulle (Paris) Airport.

None of these trips happened at the same time, of course, so the sales force got to see me return again and again and again. That’s all right. They’ll probably see me tomorrow too.

Today I hiked down the road that my hotel is on until the road ended (2.5 mi) and back. That was fun, but I realized belatedly that my hiking shoes are all ripped up on the inside (how does that happen?) and now the backs of my heels are threatening to get blisters. No matter! Blisters or no blisters, a-hiking I will go. El Corte Ingles has a parafarmacia stocked with bandaids, so I’ll be just fine. (Toldja they’d see me tomorrow.)

I also wasted some time going to Atocha at about 7pm. This was stupid of me and I should’ve known better. I was thinking, “Oh, I’ll reserve my train tickets in advance like a good girl” when I should’ve been thinking, “Everyone’s out of work by now, bet the train station is *crazy town*.” You have no idea how packed that place gets. Especially since I’ve stood in that monstrous line before. Well, I got there and took a number from the paper number distributor dealy, and I got A410. I waited for 15 excruciating minutes while they helped A198, A199, A200 and A201. I was still 209 numbers away. At 3 minutes per person (which is *fast*), that would be something like 10 hours to wait. So I left. I’ll try tomorrow. I’m a little disappointed, because my initial plan was to get to El Museo Del Prado first thing in the a.m. and now it looks like I’ll be trucking over to Atocha instead. Oh well. As long as they can beat a 10 hour wait, who am I to complain. =)

Plaza Mayor is the same as I remembered–pretty, and somehow both busy and relaxed at the same time. However, the place where I got my SIM card last time was no longer there. (I wandered around every side street for an hour or two before I finally conceded its disappearance.) I was forced to go to the FNAC and switch my plan from Avena to Movistar. (pronounced “movie star”.) But at least now I can call the US even if I don’t have an Internet connection, so that’s a good thing. (And with an internet connection, Skype is a good thing!)

Now I’m sleepy, but I’m trying to stay up until at least 10 so I can keep a decent schedule, and maybe wake up without my alarm clock.

Tags: hiking, lost in translation, shopping, technology, trains

Versaille, France

I took the Metro to the train station. Here let me briefly describe the Paris Metro system. There are two networks, the numbers and the letters. The alphabet lines are more expensive, and run inter-city. The numeric lines are cheaper, and run intra-city. For some reason, the train station, like the airport, is not “in” city proper, so it took me one of each ticket to get there. (At least it was still in France, seeing how the Cincinnati, OH airport is actually in Kentucky.)

Each Metro stop is not only clearly marked, but also cleverly themed. The stop for the Louvre actually has art in glass cases in the Metro stop. (That would be stolen or spraypainted in about 5 seconds flat in the U.S.)

So, I get to the train station, wander around a bit, and come across the reservations room, where I go to buy my upcoming tickets. I wait in line for the International counter, and when I get there, what do you know–she doesn’t speak a word of English, so I had to explain everything in my pitiful French. She was very patient with me and everything worked out fine until I mentioned Budapest. “Where’s that?” she asks. “Um, Hungary?” I answer cleverly. (I had no idea how to say Hungary in French.) Nope, never heard of it, she says again, and hunts it up in her book. There it is–Budapest, “Hongrie”. “There it is!” I point, excitedly. She shrugs. “I don’t know where Hongrie is. You’ll have to buy that ticket somewhere else.”

Now. First of all, she’s a freaking travel agent for international sales. Secondly, it’s only two countries away, on the same continent. It’s not like I said Mozambique or anything. And lastly, who cares if you can find the place on the map! If it’s in the book, why can’t I get a freaking ticket?!?!

(Unfortunately, my remedial French prevented me from saying a single word of this snappy diatribe, so I smiled, said thanks anyway, and left.)

I hopped on the Metro for Line Yellow C (alphabet=out of city, remember?) and headed for Versaille. It was pretty easy to get there, but the doors to the train opened way before the train actually stopped. I cowered back in horror as people jumped out the doorway anyway, having to hit the ground in a stumble/run so as not to fall face-first to the ground. I was the last person off the train since I (very uncool-ly) waited for it to stop before disembarking. (Years of themeparking has brainwashed me. I cannot exit until the train has come to a full and complete stop.)

Versaille was beautiful, but very expensive. Each room in the palace cost 8-12 Euros to enter, and although there was a day pass I could have purchased, I didn’t, and contented myself with wandering around the outside. The gardens were pay-to-enter, too, although you can walk along the perimeter without a ticket.

The bathrooms, though, were the last straw because they were *also* pay-per-use!

When I left the palace grounds, McDonald’s was a welcome sight for the first time since outgrowing happy meals. No matter where I am in the world, the golden arches only mean one thing to me–public restrooms.

Also, this was the first time I tried to use my cell phone outside of Spain… And calls didn’t go through. I tried Florida, I tried Brussels… nothing.

At this point, it’s safe to say I was less than pleased. The store swore to me it would work in any European country. And sure, it does… if by “work” you mean that the power button turns the screen on.

To save you the suspense, I was only able to use the phone in one other country–Belgium. And that was only for in-country calls to Brussels from Brussels. No, I don’t get it either.

Tags: castles & palaces, technology, trains, travel tips

Málaga, Spain to Madrid, Spain

This morning, we packed up all our stuff and taxi’d to the train station to head to Madrid. I bought my own ticket (technically, I put it on my Eurail pass) so I was in first class. They brought by little glasses and a bottle of some sort of alcohol and asked me if I wanted any. First class = free, so I said sure, why not. It looked a little like bubble-less champagne. I took a healthy swig and almost died. (Clearly: not champagne.) That’s the last time I sample unknown alcoholic beverages on trains. I think it was straight alcohol, with a touch of artificial coloring just to throw tourists off track.

I had another little adventure when trying to go to the WC (WC = Water Closet = bathroom). I tried to swing open the door, but it was apparently a non-swinging door. I tried to pull it open and it didn’t budge. I tried to push it open more forcefully and nearly smacked into it. Finally (much to the amusement of the passengers watching this spectacle) I tilted the handle diagonally and the door magically slid open all by itself. (And closes automatically, too, so don’t stand there too long wondering at the marvels of technology.)

I also got to watch Shark’s Tale (in Spanish) on the train. It was a cute movie, but since it was dubbed, much of its humor got lost in translation. For example, the “rastafari” accents and the “italian mafia” accents just don’t have the same effect when spoken in Spanish.

So, we get to Madrid and taxi to the dorm, where a few more of Forspro’s truth-stretching shenanigans come to light. (If you’ll remember, the first part of the trip was allegedly in Málaga, but was actually an hour away.) The dorm isn’t actually *on* the University, but it is on the same street. And it’s actually in a “colegio”, which may *look* like “college” but is actually the Spanish word for high school. (The students are gone for the summer, which is how Forspro could rent out the rooms.) The school, however, is run by nuns. That’s right, instead of a university campus, my summer courses are actually being held in convent/housing for girls. (All of this might have been good to know ahead of time. There were several people who said they felt especially uncomfortable, since their religion – Jewish, etc – did not jibe with the Catholic surroundings.)

It turned out to be OK, but at first was a bit of a surprise. Especially since the rooms Kristin and I were first given were extra sketchy. They were old, to say the least. My tiles were cracked, and there were no toilets in the bathroom. (A shower, though.) The rest of the Málaga girls were on a different floor, and each of their rooms came with toilets and Internet hookup. I about died. After a bit of arm twisting, we were able to switch rooms and I hear we were lucky – other people later tried to switch and were not allowed.

Eating hours were posted: Breakfast from 8-9, Lunch from 1:30-2:45, and Supper from 8:30-9:45. The washers and dryer (that’s right, 2 washers and 1 dryer for the whole dorm. And each one is 1.80E per use.) were right next to the pool, which, humorously enough, also closed for siesta from 3-6 every day. (???)

We put our stuff away in our rooms and headed to El Corte Ingles, where I made an excellent purchase: an oscillating fan for 20E. (Oh yeah – the rooms and classrooms have no a/c.)

If it sounds like I’m bitching.. well, I probably am, but I got used to it, and it really wasn’t all bad. I especially liked having my own room (having never previously had college roomates), and the Internet hookups were truly a stroke of good luck.

Tags: lost in translation, technology, travel tips, wine

Málaga, Spain

This morning, we had class from 9-1:30 instead of 8:30-1, having talked the professor into giving us an extra half hour of sleep, since the hotel’s patio entertainment lasts from 8 or 9 until midnight every night, and the noise reverberates around each room, making it completely impossible to a) study or b) sleep. (Also, for the first time in my life, I heard Spanish yodeling. It is indescribable, and the hotel dj/singer does that number at least once every evening.)

After class, Ula left before me to catch the train, while I packed a backpack with the essentials (bottle of water, Purell, camera, fistful of batteries) and headed out. Yesterday, while I was messing around with the doctor and my swollen hands, the rest of the group went to check out the Picasso museum and had a great time, so I couldn’t wait to go see it.

When I got to the train station, Ula wasn’t there, so I assumed she’d made the previous train. (Local trains come every half hour.)

In Málaga, I stopped at an information booth and picked up a map and made my way towards the Picasso museum. It took me nearly two hours to get there because I passed so many interesting side streets, buildings, churches, statues, fountains and parks along the way, and of course I had to explore (and take photographs!) of everything.

I ended up hungry and on Calle Larios, which is amazing and massive and completely puts Rodeo Drive to shame. In between all the shops were various cafes, bars and bakeries, all with outdoor seating at little round tables with umprellas for the sun. I saw a menu on an empty table at one cafe and wandered up to have a look. I was just reaching out for the menu when the person at the next table suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. I about jumped out of my skin until I realized – it was Ula! We laughed about the coincidence of running into each other in as big a city as Málaga, and I decided to go ahead and eat there, since she was sitting there anyway.

I ordered a cafe con leche and a veggie sandwich. The coffee was great, but imagine my surprise when the veggie sandwich showed up with a big slab of ham on it! The waiter was surprised that I was surprised (don’t all veggie sandwiches come with ham?) but amiably agreed to make me a new one. After lunch, Ula left to walk around, and I finally made it to the Picasso museum.

The ticket was 50% off with a student ID (4 euros) and cameras had to be checked. The buidling itself was very cool looking, square in shape with a center courtyard featuring a pretty garden. There were tons of his works, ranging from when Picasso was a teenager to near his time of death. There were drawings and paintings and sketches and mixed media and lithographs… I have seen lots of pictures in books of his cubist works and it was surprising to see what a photorealistic portrait he was capable of making. It was also very interesting to see his studies (sketches) that he used to practice and experiment with before making his more famous works, like Guernica (which was not there, but is in Madrid, so I intend to see it then.)

I bought a little something at the gift shop and then left to wander around Málaga some more. Unlike Costa Rica, all the streets in Málaga are named. As a matter of fact, even 3 foot wide alleys have names, and all of these “streets” appear on the maps just like highways, making me more thankful than ever that I’m on foot and not trying to drive. (I’ll just turn left here at the… hallway?)

I saw a vendor selling post cards and decided to have a look, when I caught sight of someone standing on the other side of the post card rack looking at souvenirs. It was Ula! “You again!” I exclaimed and she jumped, then we both laughed, but in a way, we were kind of weirded out, since we were now nowhere near the cafe or the Picasso museum and managed to run into each other yet again.

I bought a few postcards and then headed off again. I found the tourist bureau and picked up a few brochures. I walked by the Alcazaba, an amazing, sprawling spread of an ancient fortress and castle, complete with towers and high, narrow windows. it looked like it came straight out of Arabian Nights. I couldn’t wait to explore it, but it was nearing dinner time, so I figured I better take the train back to La Colina since dinner is only served from 7:30-9:30 and here it was 8 already and I had a 30 minute train ride ahead of me, followed by a 20 minute hike back to the hotel. I headed to the Renfe and through the turnstile, and who should I run into amidst the crush of people waiting for the train? You guessed it – Ula! What are the freaking chances??

That night after dinner, I hopped onto the hotel’s worthless Internet kiosk. It charges one euro per 10 minutes, which may or may not sound like much, but it gets real expensive real fast (especially considering the exchange rate.) Not only this, but there is no place to plug in a USB device, it has no CD burner, and it erases all new files every time you log off anyway.

I did find another Internet cafe nearby that charges 7 euros for 5 hours to use their PCs, which do have USB ports and on which I can save files and install programs. The problem is, to use my laptop would cost an additional 10 euros and they are closed for siesta from 1 til 4:30, and are open in the evenings only from 4:30-8:30, weekdays only. But, this at least gives me an option.

Tags: castles & palaces, cathedrals, food, museums, music & concerts, shopping, technology