Getting To Madrid

I finally did it. I finally took my first weekend trip outside of Italy... I went to Madrid.

Which is kind of funny considering Spain was not on my original list of places I wanted to visit. I had no intentions of going there until two weeks ago when Bethany and Caitlin decided they were going and asked if anyone wanted to join.

Because I took four years of Spanish in high school and because my favorite Spanish teacher Sra. Taylor talked a lot in class about how beautiful Madrid is, I decided to go.

But I haven't decided yet how I felt about it.

Don't get me wrong. Madrid is very possibly the most beautiful city I've ever seen. There is so much to see and do. It's like a cleaner, Spanish-speaking version of New York City (at least I think it is - I've never been to the Big Apple) and I would never in a million years persuade anyone against it.

But some of the things that happened in Madrid tainted the whole trip. So let's begin at the beginning. This will take two posts.

Day One: Thursday. Bethany, Caitlin and I skipped class to take a train to the Pisa airport just after 11 a.m. This was my first time on an airplane since our transatlantic voyage in January and I totally forgot about the no-liquids-over-eight-ounces-rule. So when my brand new bottle of body wash got confiscated at the x-ray machines, that was insult to injury. The latex-gloved woman at the scanner held my bottle at arm's length and asked me if it was okay that she was going to throw this unopened bottle away and if I understood why this was necessary.

"I mean, I guess it has to be," I said. "Do I have any other options?"

"I can escort you from Pisa and return this bottle to you from a safe location. Would you prefer that?"

"I mean, not really. I'd rather not."

"So you understand that I am going to dispose of this contraband?"

"Yes."

"I am disposing of this."

"Cool. Great. Nice talking to you."

This came roughly ten minutes after I paid a €65 boarding fee because RyanAir didn't believe me when I told them my online boarding pass would not print. Even though I had the receipt. The woman at the ticket counter was pretty unpleasant about the whole thing and acted like I was an idiot who made the mistake of not having a working link to print my boarding pass. Cool. Grazie. Nice talking to you.

By the time we got through security at Pisa and into the line for the plane to Madrid, I was steaming. Some woman standing in line behind me patted my overstuffed backpack and asked in Italian if I had a puppy in it. I yanked my backpack away from her and moved it to the front of my body where I could keep an eye on it. This crazy, flamingo-pantsed senior citizen probably wanted to steal my puppy/money/clothes/journal/Italian One book. I was kind of in a xenophobic mood by now. I stared her down and didn't answer while Caitlin and Bethany snickered into their sleeves. Finally this woman with the wild pants turned to her equally Q-Tip-haired friend and began complaining about me in Italian. I know she was complaining because she sounded affronted and kept saying "Americani" and "ragazzi."

When we finally got through the line, we had to get in a shuttle bus to ride down the tarmac to our plane. Which was highly therapeutic for me because such an endeavor is a no-holds-barred free for all in Italy. The gates open and you have to kick and trip and elbow and claw your way through the throng to get in the shuttle before it leaves and you miss your flight. It's cutthroat.

So I threw some people down and jumped on the shuttle for the roughly one minute ride to the plane. Once on the plane, we didn't have assigned seats, so the three of us had to climb over other passengers and fight our way to the first trio of seats we could find.

At last, we sat down and I listened to music until I began to hate RyanAir a little less. The rest of the two hour plane ride was uneventful, until the last half hour or so when I got plane sick. With Ticket Counter/Body Washgate preoccupying my immediate attention, I completely forget to take my motion sickness pills. Lovely.

So I stared straight ahead, willing myself not to be airsick while the plane rocked and boogied its way through major turbulence and a bumpy landing. When the plane finally landed and the doors finally opened, I physically climbed over an entire camera-happy Asian family to be one of the first people on solid ground, where I promptly fell on my knees and kissed Spanish blacktop.

Welcome to Madrid.

Caitlin and Bethany eventually made their way off the plane and met me in the airport cafe where I was nursing a ginger ale. They got sandwiches and I tried to remember how to breathe without losing my lasagna. Cool. Bravo.

By the time I was ready to walk in a straight line, the girls were ready to hop the metro to Gran Via and find our hostel.

The metro was another adventure in throwing 'bows and breaking noses, but we got on without any problem and made it to Gran Via just before 6 p.m.

Gran Via Madrid looks like Times Square. Our United World International Hostel was located between Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts and across from a gigantic theatre advertising "Grease" the musical on its luminescent marquee. Two doors down from Dunkin, another theatre advertised "El Rey Leon" the musical. Seeing those skinny antelope guys and creepy mechanical baby Simba on the flyers outside really made me want to shell out the Euros.

But I refrained. Instead I settled for the next best place on the street: United World of Are These Really the Only Bathrooms In This Whole International Hostel.

The hostel was situated in what clearly used to be a very nice, upscale apartment complex. We're talking East Egg, but after it's been fried. What used to be super swanky, I'm sure, was now swank buried under layers of "What did you expect for the cheapest hostel in Spain?"

We made our way up to el tercero piso and rang to doorbell to check-in. We were greeted by a young woman who was obviously very upset that she had to interrupt her Facebook time to check-in some spoiled American tourists. She handed us room agreements with an expression not unlike what prison wardens probably wear upon ushering in new inmates.

While we read through the paperwork ("You can rent a towel for €2 and place one phone call to the outside world"), Nurse Ratched handed out keys for us to get in the front door and green wristbands for us to wear all weekend. As we followed her down the lone hallway to our room (appropriately labeled "America" with a hand-drawing of Mount Rushmore sketched over the water-damaged eggshell paint), we saw several of our fellow lodgers sporting their neon bands. It was like entering the world's most depressing amusement park.

To my surprise, our room was not bad. It was painted pink with flowery white curtains and three pairs of bunk beds jammed together along the walls. Each of the top three bunks were graced with a folded piece of paper, one of our three names printed on each paper.

I got bed #1, decorated with flowery green sheets that I actually really liked. Laying in bed that first night, I came to the conclusion that this sleeping arrangement was in fact much more comfortable than most of the Workcamps I've been on. So that was good.

What was not so great was the fact that there were 36 people in the hostel and only two bathrooms. Each bathroom had one toilet, one sink and one shower. I showered once the whole weekend and it was in the middle of the day Saturday. I showered in pitch-darkness because there was no window and the motion-sensitive lights could not detect me in the shower unless I leaned all the way out and waved my arms. Just another way Workcamp has prepared me for college.

Moving on...

As we surveyed our surroundings, the door opened and two of our roommates - Ashley and Kylee - came in. We lucked out this weekend with roommates. Ashley and Kylee left Friday afternoon, but we talked for a long time Thursday night. The pair are sisters from Australia who have been backpacking Europe together since October. They had been in Madrid all week and recommended some sights for us to see.

We talked to these two until almost 9 p.m. when we left to find dinner. Bethany had heard of an area with great tapas, but we couldn't find it, so we settled for a little bar we found a little way from Plaza Mayor where all the food was fried. We split fried cheese topped with jam for an appetizer. Caitlin and I shared fried mushrooms with ham and Bethany had fried calamari. Then we had cake and ice cream (not fried) for dessert because we had barely eaten all day.

By the time we got out of dinner, it was nearly midnight, so we went back to the hostel (our third roommate, a guy who said nothing but "hello" in heavily-accented English, was sitting in bed doing math problems by flashlight while the Australians slept) and went to bed.

Worry not though. Our weekend improved considerably after only a few meltdowns Thursday. All for one giant problem that kind of tainted the whole weekend...

Because this weekend was too much for one post, I now present to you The Rest Of My Weekend In Madrid. Enjoy.