The Madrid Experience
Worst.Flight.Ever… Figures. I had a plan. Of course, it goes to shit. The flight was scheduled from Amsterdam to Madrid at 17.00, so I should leave my house and head to the airport around 15.00. I have a class from 10.30-12, and wanted to get some practicing in and finish up some packing. If I woke up at 8, practiced, went to class, I’d then have enough time to not feel too rushed getting to the airport, as I have the last several times. Well, as it turns out, my friend Francisco had a friend in town and was going to a really good concert of a composer doing some very interesting things at the moment, and premiering a contemporary violin concerto. So, I went… and afterwards, knowing how it is when you have friends in town and want to show them a good time with your other friends, I stayed out with them for some beers. We didn’t stay out too late, but alas, I didn’t wake up in time to practice. And, I didn’t even go to class. Oops. But, I got everything else done and to the airport with time. Unfortunately, this time I didn’t need it, as the flight was delayed 3 hours. I later found out it was because Transavia had to divert some flight in Italy because of weather, and it bascially fucked up everything with the airline. They did give me a voucher for free coffee. Yippee… I would rather be at home getting more things done. Oh well. So, I head to the security gate, and there was a massive line. Maybe it was good my flight was delayed. I’ve never seen it that bad at Schiphol. It’s normally such an efficient airport. Of course, I also found out it’s a holiday weekend for the whole country (and later, found out it was really the whole continent), not just me. So, we’re finally on the plane, start to pull away… and then back in again. They needed to offload the bags of some people who didn’t board the flight. They expected it to be quick. Half an hour later, they said the job was done, but we now had to wait because we had to leave within a certain time window to be able to land in Madrid, and we missed it. Another half hour later, we took off. Two hours later, we start to descend on Madrid… and then pull back up. There was another plane on the runway, not moving out of the way fast enough, so we circled for another half hour before landing. So, rather than arriving at 19.30 as planned, it was now midnight. Glad I decided to stay in Madrid for the weekend, rather than trying to book all the way to Marrakech on the same day. Maybe not worst flight ever, but shitty nonetheless.
I grabbed my bags and headed to the metro to get to Cats Hostel, which turned out to be great. Beautiful interior, lots of rooms, decent beds, a bar w/DJ’s or live music downstairs, cheap beer, free internet terminals and Wi-Fi, and breakfast included, for €18. Not bad at all. Dropped off my bag in the room, and headed straight for the bar downstairs, just in time, as they were closing. It was only 1.00, very early for Spain nights, but it was a hostel. Luckily, my 1L of beer (2 pints) for €3,50 would help. Cheap beer again! Finally! The bar is open to the public, not just hostel guests, so I hung around watching and drinking as the place started clearing out, formulating my plan. Before long, an Irish lad, Hazer, asked if I knew of any parties. I told him I just got there, so didn’t know of anything yet, but was up for it if found. He was with another Irishman, Mick, on their way back from a month in Argentina. Also at the hostel were two Argenetinian boys, on their way back from Ireland. We all headed out and ended up… at an Irish bar. Not so much on purpose as coincidence. They were closing up as we finished our Guinness, so we needed to find elsewhere. As we were leaving, we saw a fight break out down the street. Not exactly sure what it was about. I think some guys were talking to some girls that were with other guys, and then they ended up attacking the guys they were with. One kid took a nasty kick to the head. Not sure if he was originally involved, or trying to break it up, but Hazer ended up talking to him and his friends. They were Spanish, and we walked with them a bit.
The streets of Madrid were quite lively, as can be expected of a Spanish city. I had no clue where we were heading, but didn’t really care. The madness of mingling with the people around on the streets was keeping me entertained. Eventually our new Spanish friends had to head home, and the Argentinians had already gone back to the hostel for an early morning. We were still up for a bit, and searched out a club, ending up at the Bourbon Club. €9 entry, but got you a free drink… and after I found out drink prices, made it rather worth it. The club enticed us in with salsa and samba, but then duped us with a downward spiral of shitty track selection. We headed home somewhere around 5.00 or so.
Breakfast was from between 8-10.00. I meant to try to get some… didn’t happen. If you haven’t noticed yet, mornings really aren’t my bag. So, after readying myself, I left the hostel. No agenda, just checking things out. I got all of 10 metres when I saw Mick in a cafe next to the hostel. He waved, so I stopped in to say hi, and when I smelled the coffee, found myself sitting down for a bit. Hazer showed up a bit later, and breakfast was mentioned. I was down. They were also trying to find the James Joyce Irish pub where they would be showing the Ireland-England rugby match. It was apparently an important game. We found the pub, and they served a full Irish breakfast, so we took it. Damn good and damn big. Wandered around more, and they had to find a bed for the night. They stopped in a couple places as we walked and eventually found something off of Santa Ana Plaza. They made out well, €48 for a double room for 2 nights. €12 each a night, and they said it was a decent room with a balcony, too, but not en suite bath. I’ll have to keep the place in mind if I ever need it. As they went back to get their bags, I hung around the square to check it out more. We reconvened later, and Hazer and I went to an M.C. Escher exhibit while Mick met up with a Flemish girl he met the day before, Stephanie. Hazer’s an art dealer, so he was rather interested in going. I’m glad he told me about it, as it was fantastic. Many, many of his works from throughout his life displayed. There was also a film, in Spanish, and I was able to catch most of it. And when they showed clips of Escher himself speaking, it was, of course, in Dutch… being as he was Dutch, which I didn’t know prior to the exhibit… and subtitled in Spanish. I was happy because, between the two, I understood most of it, as well. The exhibit itself was amazing because of the production work put into it. It was by far one of the best curated exhibits I’ve seen. It was actually designed in Escher style, and had copies from prints covering the floor, and a whole room of black and white squares with mirrored walls, although the mirrors were bent in such ways that it gave the illusion of the shapes shifting, as they do in his works. Really great job. And, with my student card, only €2, €4 full price. We waited in the queue an hour to get in, and spent nearly two hours inside. We were supposed to meet Mick at the Irish bar for the rugby game at 18.30, but it was now nearly 19.30. We got to the pub just as the game was ending. Ireland stomped ’em. Woo! We had to wait to get in because it so packed of Irishman, but made it eventually. It was a good time inside. Tons of happy Irish, the bartender started throwing out t-shirts and Guinness bar towels, a live band played, and we talked with some Irish lasses a while. One, Anne-Marie, was living in Madrid teaching English and the other, Kyra, visiting. Later, two more friends of Anne-Marie’s that were also teaching showed up. Sarah, an ethnically Asian (Korean?) Canadian, and Ida, a half-Gambian Swede. We were quite the mixed group. As hunger set in, we ventured off for food. They had a place in mind, but by the time we got there, the kitchen was closed. We ended up at VIPS, a chain store that’s a combo bookstore, grocery store, and restaurant. Strange… but the food was good. Ida kept raving about their pancakes.
Though getting late and tired, the girls wanted to go dancing. Serrano 41 was where they told us to take the cab to. I didn’t realize, but we were in Salamanca, a trendy barrio. Mick and I were denied entrance because of our shoes. Even though mine are merely a week old, very clean tan and minimal Puma’s, they were sneakers… no dice. So, I was a mature Detroiter about it… I flipped off the bouncers, spit at them, did the Italian chin flick thing, and and talked shit about their mothers. I may have also spit at them as I walked away, as well. The totally mature thing. But, fuck em. I avoid clubs with dress codes for a reason. As Mick and I stood by the street deciding what to do, one of the bouncers walked our way. I thought we were going to have to throw down, but he stayed off to the side talking to someone. I could tell he was talking shit, so I gave him the Evil Eye and contemplated cold-cocking him and ripping his balls off. My better judgment kept me from it. After a bit, the bouncer went back, and Hazer came back out after saying bye to the girls on behalf of everyone. We just headed back home, as it was late, and we didn’t feel like trying to find anything else open. We said our good-byes and parted our respective hotels. I had trouble getting to sleep, as I was still riled up, which pissed me off more because it was over completely stupid shit. And I hate it when I allow that shit to affect me… but sometimes you can’t help it. I was still pissed, and when I finally did sleep, I had violent dreams. Fuck em. Oh well. I was fine mañana.
Actually made it up in time for breakfast in the morning, and saw Stephanie there, as well. Mick was in the lobby waiting for her, as they were going to the market together. I still had to shower and check out, so I declined the offer to go, but decided I’d head there on my own later. El Rastro is apparently one of, if not the, largest open-air market in Europe, happening only on Sundays, and is a bit of a social gathering in Madrid. Lots of the same stuff as in any other market, but still quite large. It’s mostly only one (long) street, but it extends into the surrounding area a bit, covering quite a bit of territory. There were also street performers around (new video clips added to Live Music from Street Performers Around the World!), and the bars and cafes were all packed as people wandered in and out during their shopping. Quite the social experience. By 15.00, I headed back to the hostel to collect my bags (which they not only allow you to leave after check-out, but actually ask if you would like to), checked some things on the internet, and got on the metro to head to the airport to catch my 18.30 flight to Marrakech. Morocco, here I come!
Tags: Europe, Madrid, Spain, Travel
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