050908 – Spain, Valencia to Madrid

Waking after a well needed sleep-in, I shortly said farewell to Konrad and started to make my way to the train-station. It looked like there were plenty of trains to Madrid and that it should only cost about 35-40 Euro. Throwing caution to the wind, I lashed out for some Hungry Jacks (well... Burger King..). it was horrible, but worth every bite... Dinner had not occurred last night, as sourcing a place to sleep was a little more pressing.

Back on the street, my mystical belt of weather control seemed satisfied with the culinary tribute. It was a nice walk to the train-station, about midday.

In fact, almost exactly midday...

Once I had lined up to get the train ticket, the british guys in front of my had gotten to their turn and were ordering.. Request done, they got money out.. the attendant looked straight past them, at the clock, and slammed the shutters down in front of him.

It was Siesta time... everyone else can go to hell...

Turning around in amazement, the three of us used detailed phrases to discuss the situation in the very finest Queen's English.
Indeed, I was back in a third-world country.
A passing guard pointed out that you can not buy tickets from an automatic machine in Spain. We were welcome to try the internet, but it was not always reliable, or go across the street and try the travel agent. Otherwise, the staff at the ticket stalls were away till 3pm.

A little more Queens English preceded the digging out of a british laptop. Reconsidering the reputation of Spanish IT, the growing group of us made the trek across the courtyard to the travel agent.

One by one, the english speakers baulked at the price and the travel times, choosing instead to wait for the ticket booth to open. Weighing up the price, and the hamburger in my stomach that appeared to be turning with the weather, I lashed out the 75 Euro for a first class ticket to Madrid. Now I just had to wait two hours.

Dumping my pack in storage, I wandered the inner part of the city. Stopping for an ice-cream and sitting in a park for a while, I did my best not to second-guess the actions this morning that might have prevented this. Eventually the first hour and a half was up and I started to meander back. Not sure if it was the hamburger or a return of the nasty-butt, I turned the meander into a dash..

One problem with Spanish rail tickets is the number system. Using an empirical numbering system for trains is great, whatever.. Making them look like departure times is just mean... Having sat down for a minute, with a supposed 45 minutes to go, I got a sudden sense of paranoia and set out to double check my train details..
Just as well! I was in my seat and the train left less than 15 minutes later. Spanish Rail, I declare you a FALSE PROPHET!!!

Travelling by rail in first-class is a little different to second class or tourist. Once I dislodged the man pretending that it was his seat, I discovered that there is a little more leg-room, a dodgy DVD was played, there was food that was several steps above the fair offered on Ethiopian Airlines and complimentary beverages.
Forcing myself to eat the meal (I'd paid an extra 40 Euro for this.. NOM NOM NOM), I felt a little too toxic to make use of the bar. It appears I was paying a very dear price for that hamburger, and the steaks were rising at every turn (get it? hamburger... STEAKS... yeah, it's lame. don't care. it's my blog so I'll write what I want :p )

Arriving in Madrid about 5 hours later, I'd failed at sleeping and resorted to staring out the window. I was sad that my memories of the Spanish country side were grander than they appeared this time. I'd travelled this exact train 8 years ago, but it had been much more... impressive? then. Following the masses off of the platform, I got instructions for getting to the hostel and called Emma and Josh.
The walk to the hostel was long and hard, I appeared to take a very convoluted route and was feeling dodgier at every side-street. Finally getting there, I checked in and dumped my gear in the spare bunk. I assumed the other two were Emma and Josh plus a miscellaneous. Immediate needs handled, I started to wonder where the others were.. They knew I would be here soon, in fact I was late. Giving up waiting in the room, I went to find the kitchen. Maybe they had been in town and would be here later?

Mad hostel is quite an impressive place to stay. There are several levels of accommodation, including a lift with a sign warning that it is only a little lift, and more noticeably a giant courtyard down the centre of the building. The courtyard can be covered with a perspex shield on the roof in bad weather, but is typically open. WiFi is free, along with the breakfast and there is a laundry. You have to use their linen, are recommended to keep everything in your locker and all major security points are controlled by an electronic bracelet. All in all quite cool.
Entering into the spacious common room, I saw an Emma that appeared to be in an unfit state to move. Leaning down to give her a hug, Josh appeared not long after. Announcing that they were currently in the middle of the city on a pub and tapas tour, they had no plans for the rest of the day.

Thus begun Madrid.

Having discussed the finer points of laundry, Spain and plans, I met Charlotte who would be our room mate for the next few days. Charlotte is a pretty German girl from Munich who was hunting for an apartment in Madrid. She would be studying for the next semester. Unable to join us for the evening, the rest of us changed and went hunting for something to eat and something cold to drink.

Emma played navigator, possessing the relevant pages from Lonely Planet for this part of the world (excised from the parent volume in a pseudo-surgical manner), with mixed results. After a suitably scenic tour of the finer points of Madrid, we arrived at “the” tappas place. The first round of beers were refreshing but failed to provided more solid nutrients. Emma returned with an additional beverage and announced that tappas needed to be purchased. The bar itself was quite trendy, everyone was well dressed and appeared to be having a good time with the assistance of drinks, tappas and cigarettes. There was even the token “so cool for skool” who was reading a text book at a nearby table. The bar staff were fun and the drinks were cheap.

This stage of the evening was not long-lived. Having had a little to eat and drink, we retreated to the hostel and I crashed for the night while the others went out. It had been a very long day. Indeed, even the nasty-butt had returned, shepherded in by some Spanish rain, by morning.