Going Mad In Madrid

Madrid Day One: Friday.

We got up around 9 Friday morning and went to Cafe Nebraska down the street for churros and chocolate caldo (super thick hot chocolate; like hot icing to dip the churros in) and to plan our day.

Our first stop after breakfast was Las Ventas bullfighting arena. The bullfighting season doesn't begin until April, but we got a fantastic tour of the arena. Our guide showed us the names of the most famous matadors to ever fight in the arena and told us some of their stories; like Antonio Bienvenida being carried out of the arena on the shoulders of a parade (the highest honor) eleven times in his career and another matador being gored through the heart and killed in his first Las Ventas match. The most interesting story was about an older matador in the early 1900's who was so popular, Spain would not allow him to retire when he wanted to. And when I say "Spain," I mean he was legally not allowed to retire by order of the King and Queen.

His solution? Throw a bullfight. He let the bull win and it cost him his life. I'm sure you can imagine how that went down.

After these lovely histories, we got to sit in the expensive season ticket holder seats (in the shade), then walk around the arena to see where the bulls are let in, where the matadors stand to wait for the bull and where the backup on horses enter the arena.

We then moved to a back hallway to see the matadors' dressing room, the arena emergency room where they operate on gored matadors and the veterinary hospital where they inspect the bulls to ensure they are in perfect health before going into the ring to meet their deaths. How warm and fuzzy.

Lucy, our tour guide, told us that in the arena's history, only four fighting bulls have been spared this brutal fate. A bull can be spared if the matador thinks the bull is unusually smart and brave. The matador can stop a fight to ask the arena manager for the bull's life. The manager then polls the audience and if he and the audience agree that the bull being fought is too majestic to kill, the match ends in a draw and the bull is sent back to the breeder to be used as a prize stud.

In every other case (which is essentially every case) the matador fights the bull in three stages, ending with the bull being stabbed through the shoulder, into the heart and out the chest cavity, supposedly the quickest and most human way to kill this animal. If the matador does well, he can be awarded in one of four ways.

The first way: He is allowed to cut off one ear from the bull to keep as a trophy.

The second way: He is allowed to cut off both ears for trophies.

The third way: He is allowed to cut off both ears and the tail for trophies.

The fourth way: He is carried from the arena on the shoulders of the fans in a giant parade through Madrid.

Naturally, the better you fight, the more prizes you get. It's fairly uncommon for a matador to get one ear, so anything beyond that guarantees you a spot in the record books. If you get carried out, forget about it. You'll be a national hero longer than there will be bulls in Spain. It's a big deal.

After a very thorough tour, Bethany, Caitlin and I asked Lucy if we could go back into the arena for photos. She had to take us because we weren't allowed to be there unsupervised, but she was very cool and talked to us for about twenty minutes after the tour ended, answering our additional questions and talking about how she fell in love with bullfighting when she was twelve. Born and raised in England, Lucy saw her first fight on a family vacation to Madrid and moved to Spain specifically to work in Las Ventas when she graduated university. She finally passed the audition for tour manager two months ago and lives and breathes bullfighting. Lucy addressed how even in Madrid, many people view bullfighting as a form of animal cruelty (which I can agree with). But she also explained how revered the bull is in Spain and how its a symbol of the strength of the Spanish people. The bull is sacred, in a way. There is a very technical art to bullfighting that triggers strong emotions in the audience, and those emotions are what bullfighting is all about.

I thought this was a very interesting answer and, even though I don't fully agree, I can understand now some of the deeper meaning behind these fights.

After talking to Lucy, we went to the Las Ventas museum to look at the matador costumes on display there, then walked across the city again to El Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, best known for its Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali collections.

If you are ever in Madrid, go to this museum. I know you probably don't like modern art, but this museum is sweet and the almost the entire second floor is dedicated to Picasso and Dali paintings and sculptures. So you know it's good stuff. Also, there's a series of movies filmed in the mid-1800's showing old Spanish men drinking and playing cards and some girl spinning around in a flamenco dress (two different movies; don't get ideas). As far as movies go, these are each about thirty seconds long and really boring, but the novelty of seeing really early film was something that I at least could appreciate.

After this museum, we took a metro back to the hostel. And this is where the weekend took a very fast, very bad turn. The three of us were about four stops from home when the metro stopped at another station. A man who had been standing near us got off the metro, then turned and looked directly at Bethany. He said something in Spanish, but since I wasn't expecting it and was a few people away from the man and Bethany, I couldn't understand him. Bethany asked what he said and he repeated himself, then turned and disappeared running into the crowd. This time I understood the word bolso, Spanish for purse.

"Check your purse," I told Bethany as the man vanished.

Bethany looked and her purse was wide open. Caitlin and I exchanged some dark looks, both of us realizing what happened as Bethany began shoving the contents of her purse into our hands while she searched for her wallet.

"It's gone," she said, panicking. "It was right on top."

We knew what it was, of course. By this point we were one stop from home. One of us told Bethany to put everything back in her purse and zip it shut until we got somewhere safe.

It was a really tense ride home with Bethany having a silent meltdown and Caitlin and I wondering how, if possible, we could console her.

When we made it safely back to our hostel, Bethany dumped the entire contents of her purse onto her bed, but the wallet and everything in it - money, credit cards, drivers license, insurance card, keys to school and to the hostel - were long gone. We reported it to the hostel manager, but she said there was nothing that could be done, which we understood. We already knew there are no security cameras on the metros or in the tunnels.

Since Bethany clearly needed some time alone, Caitlin and I walked around for about an hour looking for souvenirs and exploring the neighborhood shops. We got home in time to shower and get Bethany before dinner. The three of us had new roommates now: two girls from Philly and a girl from Boston. We talked to them for a while (we were so lucky that five of the six roommates we had this weekend were wonderful), then went to a flamenco club called "Las Tablas."

Las Tablas was another spectacular deal. For €22 each, we got sangria, tapas and a nearly two hour flamenco show. The drinks and food were good, but the show was excellent. I was surprised that the dancers were all older (two women and one man, all in their mid to late 40's), but they were really talented. They each danced solos while a flamenco band sang and played behind them, then all three danced together for the finale. The two women wore about eight beautiful costumes between the pair of them and they put on a very entertaining show. The three of us were especially impressed when the man danced because he moved his feet so fast it didn't seem humanly possible.

Even Bethany left the show in a very good mood. We got out of Las Tablas around 11 p.m. and tried to find somewhere to go dancing ourselves. Unfortunately, in Spain you can't get into any clubs if you're under 18 and since Bethany no longer has any I.D. with her, we wandered from place to place being rejected. Apparently we look younger than 18? We finally found one bar that let us in, but the crowd there was not our style, so we didn't stay an hour. Instead, we wandered around observing the nightlife from outside before going back to the hostel and going to bed.

Madrid Day Two: Saturday.

We went to breakfast at Dunkin Donuts Saturday morning. I got a maple glazed donut and black coffee. It tasted like America. As we sat on the restaurant's street-side patio eating our donuts, we planned day two.

The plan ended up to have no plan. Instead we walked all day. We saw street performers and a wedding in Plaza Mayor, Palacio Real and Los Jardines de Sabatini (Royal Palace and Gardens), the Gay District, the Shoe District (conveniently located just outside the Gay District), Puerta del Sol, San Francisco El Grande, and El Parque de Las Vistillas, where we watched the sunset along the edges of Madrid.

After the sun went down, we wandered in search of food since - again - we had been too busy touring all day to eat anything. We managed to find a restaurant where not a soul spoke English, which meant the food was going to be authentic. I ordered something unidentifiable that involved lobster and nothing else I recognized. Caitlin ordered an assortment of tostas, or open-faced sandwiches, and Bethany closed her eyes and picked something.

What I ended up with was a plate of many things resembling hush puppies, filled with pureed lobster. They were good once I got past the puke-like consistency and discovered that they were most definitely pure lobster rolled in oil and bread crumbs.

Caitlin got three types of tostas: Raw salmon on brie, seafood salad and liver pate. Caitlin does not eat seafood, but she pushed through anyhow. She ate the bread and cheese and picked at the fish. She ate all the liver because Bethany was able to convince her that it was oddly colored cheese.

Bethany did the best out of all of us, ending up with steak and french fries even though she definitely ordered some kind of tacos out of the seafood section of the menu. Caitlin and I were very jealous of this dinner until Bethany cut into the steak to discover that it was - in typical European fashion - completely raw inside. At least by now we know you can eat totally raw meat in Europe, so she survived, albeit being somewhat letdown.

We ended up all sharing our plates so that no one ate too much of something vaguely threatening. Needless to say, the menu this weekend was a far cry from the nachos and enchiladas we had expected from a Spanish-speaking country.

We were home by 11 Saturday night since we had a plane to catch at 9 a.m. We left the hostel just before 7 in order to ensure we had enough time to make our plane. As it turned out, we needn't have gotten up so early: our RyanAir flight was delayed by two hours. We spent that time talking to a girl from Texas who is engaged to a guy from Florence and was visiting friends in Madrid for the weekend. She talked about how she met her fiance while he was studying as an exchange student in San Marcos and about the language/cultural barrier between her and her non-English speaking in-laws. We all talked about the biggest differences we've found between American and Italian culture and about how rude Europeans are. It helped pass the time.

We finally got to Pisa around 1:30 and took a train home at 2, where Bethany and I promptly ran home to eat since we'd had nothing but snacks all day. I don't think I've ever been so excited to see a bowl of penne and 59 cent tomato sauce.

So that was Madrid. It was high highs shadowed by low lows, but all in all, I'd say it was a good weekend. It sure beats being back in Ohio.

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.