For the more detailed version, read on…
Thursday, November 8th
This trip was planned with Ben, the hardcore Quebecer. We checked in at the airport and even got priority boarding (to not have to play the fight-for-the-best-seat game on the plane) because we only had a backpack each. On the plane, we met a guy our age from Marseille, Olivier, who was on his way to visit his girlfriend in Madrid. They met while on exchange. When we arrived in Madrid, we took the metro downtown and Olivier showed us this great little place to get these mini-sandwiches with absolutely ANYTHING in them, and so the three of us sat to eat a while before Olivier needed to leave to meet his girlfriend. Smoked salmon + Spanish cheese = delicious! White chocolate + cranberry jam = most AMAZING thing that will ever happen to your taste buds!!!
Food and how you eat it will tell you a huge amount about a culture. The fact that we all ordered separately, but all our food came on the same plate surrounding a pile of “patatas fritas”, shows you how close everyone is and how much of a communal thing eating actually is in Spain!
We wandered a little on our way to find out hostel and dropped off our bags. MADhostel (in the picture) is a nice place: very clean, rooms of four, sheets, towels, massive individual lockers that are activated by this watch-like bracelet that you wear that also gives you access to the hostel and the common room (tv, pool table, sofas and a bar).There was a girl from Alberta in our room and a guy from New Zealand. The girl had been travelling for 3 months already, and I guess it had caught up to her because she was sicker than a dog. Couldn’t even sit up without getting nauseous. My thoughts at the time: Poor girl. She better not be contagious. (I don't remember in which order they came to me.)
We headed to el Parque del Bueno Retiro, a 162-acre park that features botanical gardens, many rollerbladers, many couples, and even a place where couples, friends, and fathers and daughters could rent small rowboats to paddle about on the enormous pond bordered by a massive monument. It was quite charming.
As it was already dark when we finished wandering around, we headed to eat a “snack" since people in Spain don’t eat dinner until around 10 or 11pm. We went to what appeared to be a Spanish chain restaurant called “El Museo del jamón”: The Ham Museum! It was great though, because it was a very non-touristy place and no one spoke a lick of English. All the locals were standing around the bar, there were some chest-height tables on one side, so everyone ate while standing. We ordered some jamón (obviously) and some calamari. Ben’s glass of beer cost him €0.80 (MORE expensive than a glass of water)!
Back at the hostel, we had a nap before heading out to eat at 11pm. We wandered in search of a good tapas place (preferably another place with no tourists). It was delicious. Croquettas are mouth-watering fried balls of goodness filled with cheese and ham! The sangria was also nice.
Friday, November 9th
Ben, being the art history major, insisted on visiting the Prado. Since I had heard that it gives the Louvre a run for its money, I had no objections to going.
I’m going to be truthful: I’m writing this after the fact, and what happens on the day following this one totally overshadows this day. Therefore, all the details of this particular Friday, November 9th in Madrid aren’t quite clear in my mind. I do remember the size of the museum, the amount of time we spent in it, and the lunch we had eating the best paella I’ve ever had, with an assortment of treats for dessert. We walked into the Madrid train station that has a jungle growing inside. We wandered downtown past an enormous church and the royal palace. I’m banking on the fact that what we ate for dinner was also good--that seems to be the trend with Spanish food.
Saturday, November 10th
Since we had done the Prado the day before and didn’t have time for the more contemporary Reina Sofia museum, we decided to start the day out with the Reina Sofia when it opened at 10am and stay ‘til noon (and no later), hop on the metro, and head to the airport. Ben was fully aware of the plan.
The morning at the hostel started out as planned. I even got up at 8am, packed up my stuff, and headed down early for the provided breakfast and so I could use the internet. Ben met me downstairs later when he woke up. We checked out and headed to the Reina Sofia. We explored on our own. (Fantastic, by the way. I liked it better than the Prado, though that was really good, too.) At noon, I went to find Ben, who had only just finished the first floor (there were two floors and two temporary exhibitions). He begged for an extra 30 minutes so he could quickly do the next floor and go to the boutique. I said okay, and that it might be pushing it, but we would just have to boot it afterwards.
With a story like “we missed our plane”, those of you who know my tendencies to be tardy might naturally assume that it was MY fault. But no, I take things like flights seriously! So I took the extra half an hour to visit the temporary photography exhibit (I think it was my favourite part) and glance at the over-priced boutique. Ben came in, bought out the boutique, and then we left and headed quickly to the metro station. On the way there, Ben said he was hungry and that he hadn't had his traditional kebab yet (he gets a kebab in every city he visits), so not only did he start looking for a place to grab a quick bite, he actually started frantically searching for a kebab store (we’d seen dozens, but of course, when we're looking for one specifically, there weren't any in sight). He didn't find one, and because I was checking my watch every 20 seconds, he settled for a hot dog place. He ordered a whole meal--fries, drink, and all--and then we headed to the metro station.
(On a side note, as we were getting onto the metro, we felt a huge push coming from behind. As I’m wrapped my arms around my backpack that I was wearing on my front, I heard Ben behind me saying to some guy “Hey! Gimme back my wallet!” Ben got pick-pocketed, and this sleazy guy and his friend were totally playing innocent. I didn’t know what had happened because I was in front of them, but Ben was convinced that this was the guy who had taken his wallet and kept asking him for it. The dude was stupid, but finally gave in and gave him back his wallet. Then he stood there beside us for they whole way until getting off at the next station. Now yes, Ben is a smart guy and he’s wise enough to be conscious of the tricks that pickpockets use, but after the dude taking his wallet out of his kangaroo pocket, Ben slipped it into his front jeans pocket. And right before the sleazy guys left the metro, the sleazy friend snatched the wallet back out of Ben’s front pocket. I hesitate to say “lucky” for Ben’s three-pound wallet because it’s easy to feel when it’s being taken out. Ben caught the second guy and grabbed it back out of his hand in mid-steal. The whole situation terrified me [and Ben, I would imagine] and just disgusted me, to tell you the truth. Having a money belt under my clothes is definitely the way to go. I feel safer that way.)
Back to the flight-missing story… so Ben ordered his food, hopped on the metro, nearly got pick-pocketed--twice!--and then lost his appetite because of what had just happened. The metro took us a while. The airport was huge, and we had to get to the furthest end of it. AND in the heat of our sprinting, we passed the 300’s and ran all the way to the 100’s only to realize that the RyanAir check-ins were in the 300’s. We ran all the way back. It was 1:33 and the flight was scheduled to leave at 2:00. The RyanAir people told us check-in shuts down 40 minutes before the flight. I knew that. Ben knew that. These people weren’t going to make an exception for us. I was choked. Really, really, freaking choked.
The next two hours spent in the airport are sort of fuzzy. We checked into other flights to Marseille for the day. We checked into flights to Toulouse--a 5-hours train ride from Marseille. We met another couple who were in the same situation as us, and together, we looked into taking the overnight train. We even researched renting a car and driving to France. It was a weird couple of hours. When Ben asked me “Are you mad at me?”, I was still in shocked-at-missing-a-flight and now-working-on-finding-every-next-option mode. I replied that I was frustrated with the situation. It hadn’t even clicked to appoint blame and that the blame should be on him, so yes, I was steaming mad at him. Oh well, it would have been stupid and useless to the situation for me to say that. Factoring in gas, toll fees, food, and hotel, believe it or not, paying 75€ for a flight the next day and staying for one more night in a hotel or hostel, was actually the “cheapest” option. I was not pleased.
Ben and I, and the other couple and their baby boy (it was a black couple, in their thirties, from Martinique, a French country in the Caribbean), went to go hunt for a hostel/hotel, and after several unsuccessful attempts, we luckily found one after my nothing of Spanish getting us through to this one-star hotel-owner who was the nicest lady in the world. She didn’t speak a lick or French or English, but she was so patient and really was trying her best to help us. She didn’t have any rooms for the night (the common theme of the night, seeing as it’s a long weekend in Madrid, so Spanish people from all over the country are here for some random holiday or something) but she actually went upstairs a few floors with us to another hotel and asked the lady there. The couple and their baby were in one room and Ben and I were in another room. Two rooms. 35€ for each of them. Two beds in each room. It was even slightly cheaper than the hostel.
Now, one of the rooms was only accessible after 8pm, so we all left our stuff in one room, and then we went out with the couple for dinner (after wandering around with a stroller and baby for over an hour because Ben thought he knew where he was going) and then we did groceries for breakfast in the morning, and went back to the hotel. Ben read. I went out for a walk at 11:30pm. I came back at 1am. (The city was still buzzing. Apparently people don’t go to bed until about 6am.) I needed some time alone for myself to de-stress a bit.
Extra costs to this trip:
- Plane: 10€ original flight + 75€ for tomorrow’s flight
- Metro ticket: 2€
- Hotel: 17.50€
- Dinner: 9€
- Breakfast tomorrow: 3€
- Zanda’s de-stressing chocolate fix: 3€ (and it was even a Spanish specialty--churreros!)
- Metro ticket back to airport tomorrow: 2€
- Total: a fortune!! None of this mastercard “priceless” crap. With what I spent on the original trip and food, it came out to be quite a lot.)
I mean, sure, I missed the flight too, so I guess I have to take some of the blame for missing the flight. I could have left Ben and just headed to the airport, but that would have been a really catty thing to do, so I didn’t seriously contemplate that idea. (Although on the second attempt at catching the flight, I wouldn’t have even blinked an eye to leaving on my own early to get checked in and through security early. I learn quickly.) The next morning, after eating the stuff we had breakfast in our hotel room, we left with the other couple and arrived HOURS early for the flight, and as it turns out, the check-in and security lines took us about an hour and a half! With very limited and tense conversation between myself and Ben, we made it back to Marseille and then back to the comfort of our own rooms in Aix.
Anyhow, it’s a funny story, eh? Hah. Hah. I wasn’t laughing at the time, but I suppose it gives me a good story.
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