Baaarthelona

Ugh. Maybe I am just getting tired of moving from one place to another, or maybe I expect more from people in terms of service and friendliness, but I have to say, my introduction to Barcelona was not pleasant.

Getting here was fine. I took the subway from Plaza del Angel (my apartment) in Madrid. No problem. My backpack was a little heavy (I am not sure why, since I now have this extra bag and have unloaded several items of clothing along the way), but I managed, carrying it down the stairs to the platform. Once I arrived at Puerta de Atocha Station, the main train station, I took an elevator to the departures floor.
I was very early, but I was all packed up and ready to go by 9 this morning and thought it would be better to leave early before the rest of the city started waking up if I was going to take the subway to the train station. I stalled a little, but arrived at the station by 10.

I noticed signs pointing to the memorial for the victims of the Madrid train bombing 3-11, and went to look at it. It was a medium-sized room painted blue with a hole in the ceiling. Inside the hole in a kind of circular form, was plexiglass or something with words calling for peace in many different languages. I think there might be something visible from the ground, this was just the view from below, but I am not sure (google it). There were a few other women there and we were all watched over by a security guard. Security was very tight. We had to enter an entrance and could not enter the room until the door to the entrance was closed. Weird.
I went through the security check and sat in the waiting area for the departures. At around 11, they started boarding my train.

I was traveling first class, as I did from Seville. Since I had a train pass it was not that expensive to go first class. It was worth it.

I was a bit disturbed when a whole girl’s sport team boarded our car. They were, as you can imagine, pretty noisy. But I was prepared with my MP3 player, which drowned out all of their noise and the noise of everyone else who may have been talking. It made for a very pleasant ride.

After we passed Zaragoza, they served me lunch. It was decent. A salad, pasta with some kind of chicken in tomato sauce, wine, bread, cheese. I had some sort of herbal aperitif which was quite nice. It took about 3 hours to get to Barcelona by high speed train.

Train travel is really so much better than plane travel. There is less hassle boarding and the trip itself is so much nicer. You don’t have to get to the train station two hours early (even though I kind of did), you don’t have to strip when passing through security (there isn’t always security, but apparently in Madrid, there is), and there is more room than on a plane. Plus you are not breathing that stale recycled air, and it has a low carbon footprint. I hope we can get more high speed rails in the US.

When I arrived in Barcelona is when the aggravation began. I tried calling the number I was supposed to call, but nothing was happening. I tried several times, cursing the whole time because if they had just let me go to the apartment directly (this is what the guys in Buenos Aires do), it would have been so much simpler. I could not figure out what I was doing wrong.

Fortunately, there was a tourist information center right next to the phones. I went over and showed the girl the number and asked her how I had to dial. She said I needed to dial 00 before the 34 and then the number. (34 is the prefix for Spain, so I was surprised I had to dial it).

I went back and tried that several times. No luck. I moved to a different phone. No luck.

I went back to the Tourist Information Counter and asked a different girl. She told me it was a mobile phone and I should omit the 34. I asked, “no 00?” – no 00. Seems I was given the wrong information by the tourist information center.
So I went back, now after struggling with this for 15 minutes and finally got through.

Some French guy answered. When I told him I was at the station, he told me he could not be free for 45 minutes! I was kind of pissed at this point, partly because I had to call in the first place, and partly because they gave me this number to call but didn’t tell me I didn’t have to dial 34, and now I had to wait!???

I told him I had sent my arrival time and didn’t understand why I had to wait. He didn’t seem to care. He told me he would be there at 3:45. I just hung up the phone without saying good-bye. I was thinking about just ditching the whole thing because every interaction I have had with these Feel Barcelona people has felt wrong.
So I went and sat down in the station and tried to connect to the internet, and surprisingly, there was free WiFi! I got an update from my sister-in-law on my Dad’s condition, and it sounds hopeful, sort of. I checked rates for the Axel Hotel and it was way out of my budget. So it seemed I was stuck with my Almodovar apartment and the Feel Barcelona people who felt not so good.

In the mean time a stinky old couple came and sat down next to me. I am not sure why they smelled bad, but they did. And they were very loud. They were shouting across at some other old people on the other side of the station. I was in a serious state of dishevelment and was ready to snap. I didn’t. I just complained about them in an e-mail to my sister-in-law and finally got up to go get my taxi.
I have no idea where I am. I think I am in a section of Barcelona called El Raval. I’m not sure. It feels a little funky. It is definitely not L’Eixample, where I thought I was staying. I wanted to stay in L’Eixample because it is the gay neighborhood (they call it gayxample), and I have learned that gay neighborhoods are good, and also it is where most of the Gaudi stuff is, and that is the main reason I am here. But I am not in L’Eixample. I am in some funky, out of the way neighborhood, and I don’t know where I am.

So I sat on the stoop and waited for Frenchy to arrive, and of course, he was late.
He was a young guy, probably working for Feel Barcelona. He opened the door and bolted up the three flights of stairs, not even offering to take one of my bags. I struggled with my very heavy backpack, and my not so heavy, but bulky other bag. It was hard. The flights were long and the bag was heavy. By the time I reached the top I was completely out of breath. I think I may have suffered a mild heart attack (seriously, my chest hurts, but in the center, so maybe it is something else). I was not happy. So far, there had been not one inkling of an effort at making me a satisfied and happy customer. Instead e-mails with BIG BOLD LETTERS emphasizing the rules over and over again and now this very awkward check-in which was really just about getting the money and laying out more rules for me (if you leave any garbage, you will be charged 50 euros, if you make noise, you will lose your security deposit, etc., etc…) I don’t think I was ever welcomed to Barcelona and I was not told anything about where I was, where I might find a supermarket, subway, given a map. Nothing. These people sucked in terms of vacation rentals.

The apartment looks like it did on the website. It is quite stylish. I love the big poster of Penelope Cruz in the living room from Volver, I love the kitchen, and the living room and I love having two bedrooms. It has always been my dream to have two bedrooms, so that I could just throw clothes in one and keep the other one clean. And that is exactly what I did. I chose the one I would sleep in and in the other one, I unpacked my bag and it is a mess! I love it.

The bathroom is very small. I have to straddle the toilet like I am getting on a horse or motorcycle. It means when I sit on it I cannot have any pants or underwear on. It just won’t work. But all in all, the apartment is good.

Except….there is no internet. I can’t believe there is no internet. I thought all vacation rental apartments had internet. I’m guessing that the location (who knows where I am) and the no internet are the two reasons why this very nice two-bedroom apartment costs less than Amsterdam and Madrid. It is 1/3 the price I paid for two weeks in Amsterdam and half of what I paid in Madrid. And I am in Barcelona! Originally, Barcelona was going to be my base instead of Seville, but the apartments I was finding were so expensive I couldn’t afford it. I put Barcelona at the end of the trip and at the last minute before I left, I found this apartment. I never questioned why it was so cheap until I was ready to leave Madrid.

Once I was unpacked, I went out to look for a supermarket. I wasn’t finding it as easily as I thought I would. There seemed to be nothing in the neighborhood. When sitting on the step waiting for Frenchy, I saw several people walking by with bags of fruit and vegetables, so I knew there was something, I just wasn’t finding it.
Finally I did find a produce market. I got some apples, bananas, oranges and red peppers. It was enough to make sure I didn’t starve. On the way home I stopped at a little Arab run grocery store and got a bottle of water (I have found the tap water in Spain to be really nasty). And then as I passed the Chinese restaurant on my corner, I decided to go in and get some food to go, hoping it would not be too bad or too salty.

There was one family eating and three Chinese people standing around. I ordered noodles and kung pao chicken and sat down to wait for my order.

A dark-skinned guy, who I thought might be Indian, stuck his head in and made a surprised face. The woman working behind the counter said something about there being one table and that is why they were open. I realized it was siesta hour and they should have been closed.

I enjoyed sitting there and listening to the conversation between the Chinese woman and this guy, who turned out not to be Indian at all, as he spoke Spanish quite fluently. I didn’t think he was was from Spain, but I don’t know. The Chinese woman’s Spanish was pretty good, obviously she spoke with a Chinese accent, and she didn’t use the past tense, but she was pretty confident and fluent.

The woman was asking him if he had electricity earlier. Apparently he works across the street. He said he didn’t know because he wasn’t working. She said she lost her electricity from 1:30-3:30, during her peak lunch hour. She said she had to cook by candlelight. It was such a funny conversation, I couldn’t help laugh with the rest of them when she was telling the story. I was beginning to feel better about my neighborhood. It was nice to observe this interaction between two (probable) immigrants to Barcelona. The guy had a coffee and then a shot of scotch. I guess he was gearing up to go to work.

I came home ate my Chinese food, which was quite good and not too salty, and decided to go out and try to find a Locutori (that’s what they call them here) to check my e-mail and also to alert folks that I am internetless.

On the way back, I stopped in the Arab grocery again and picked up some tuna, vinegar and oil and yogurt. I now had a pretty good selection of healthy eats.
It was only 7 p.m. and I thought it would be good to explore my neighborhood a little before it got too late. Barcelona has a serious reputation as a pickpocket haven. I left my wallet and just took a little cash with me.

I walked to the corner to a street called Avenida Paral.lel . I don’t know why they spell it Paral.lel. I walked in the direction of Placa Espanya. I don’t know how far Placa Espanya is or if I ever reached it, but after a while I got tired and walked back.

I enjoyed reading the signs in Catalan, the language they speak here in Barcelona and the rest of Catalonia, which is an autonomous region in Spain. Under Franco, Catalan was banned, but since then its revival and autonomy have been important gains in Catalonia and other autonomous regions in Spain (which have different languages). Catalan is a Romance language and it looks like a mixture of Spanish, French, Italian and Portuguese. I have no idea how to say even hello in Catalan, and since I don’t have an internet connection, I can’t even look it up. It is amazing how dependent I have become on the internet on this trip, but without it, I couldn’t have done half the things I’ve done.

Avenida Paral.lel, is a nice Avenue. There were lots of shops catering to immigrant types, shops selling wigs and hair products for African women, Chinese and Arab run groceries, and a bunch of other stores, mostly restaurants. The people here seem very diverse, and I am definitely in an immigrant area. I started to like the neighborhood the more I walked.

And so now I am back, blogging without an internet connection (I am hoping on Monday to get some sort of wireless card that will enable me to connect and post my blog entries, learn how to say hello in Catalan, etc.) and ready to make some popcorn and see what is on TV.

It’s been a rough day and I am so ready to get back to SF and begin my travels in the other direction where I know things will be easy, pleasant, and oh so friendly. But for now, I am in Barcelona and I will do my best to enjoy it.

Stranded in Segovia

Well, it turns out I was not tied down by my 5 p.m. skype call yesterday, so I was free to go ahead with my plan to visit Segovia. I wanted to see the aqueduct, which is monumental, and as an added bonus, the castle that inspired Walt Disney in his creation of Cinderella's castle in Disneyland.

I started by researching the trains to find the times I wanted to go. I knew (I thought) that this was Cercanias - the local trains, rather than Renfe - the trains that go longer distances. After writing down the times I wanted to go and return based on their availability and price, I took the subway to the train station (I could have walked, but thought I'd use up my 10-trip subway ticket and I would be walking enough in Segovia).

I arrived at the Cercanias ticket office at about 10:15. I was an hour early. I stood in line and watched as most of the people ahead of me were sent to a different place (silly tourists) because they wanted to go to Toledo.

I confidently stepped up to the window, knowing what I wanted and where I was going and said, "Segovia?", perhaps a little doubt in my voice.

The woman in the window told me the next train was not until noon. I asked her about the 11:15 train and she said it was from Chamartin. Ah, Chamartin raised its head again! From behind me I felt an insistent pushing. Was I taking too long? I ignored it, and cointinued my questioning. Can I buy the ticket here? She said yes. I then asked about the return. She told me I could do that at Chamartin. Then the total appeared on her cash register - 1.20 euro. She was selling me a ticket for the Cercania train to Chamartin.

Just then the pushing from behind became forceful enough for the woman who was pushing me to push her way up to the window. She asked if the 11:15 train to Segovia was "rapido". The woman in the window said yes. Then the pushy woman looked at me and said to be sure I take a "rapido" or else it would take me two hours. I thanked her for her advice and chuckled at the whole scene.

I walked to the train to Chamartin which arrived within two minutes (so far, for all subways and local trains in Madrid, I have not had to wait for more than 3 minutes for any of them. Amazing!)

Within a few minutes I was back at Chamartin station. As I exited the Cercanias line, like before, there was a woman in uniform standing there to answer questions (something else I really love). I asked her where I could buy a ticket to Segovia. She directed me to the upper level, same as before when I went to Avila and Salamanca. I asked her if it was Cercanias, and she told me no, it was Regional. I guess my research was all wrong. So much for being a know-it-all.

I went up to the ticket office and there was actually a window designated for the 11:15 train to Segovia. I bought my ticket with my 18:20 return. Thinking that four hours more or less was enough time to see Segovia, have lunch and return, maybe giving me enough time to make one more visit to the Reina Sofia museum.

The trip was quick, about 30 minutes, and we arrived at Segovia Guiomar station. Was this it? I thought we were going to Segovia. What was this Guiomar? I watched and some people who looked like they were tourists were getting up. But what did they know? A lot of people who were getting up looked Spanish. I got up, but didn't want to get off at the wrong station. Maybe the Segovia I wanted was the next station. I asked a Spanish looking man if there was another station in Segovia. He brusquely answered "no". So I got off.

I exited the station and there were two number 11 buses in front of the station. For some reason people were getting on the bus behind the first one, i.e., the second bus. They were both number 11. I went for the one at the head of the line. A German-looking couple got on and said "Segovia?" the driver said yes. I thought it was a silly question, I mean, where in Segovia were you going. So I got on and asked, "al centro?" and the driver said yes. The fare was 88 centavos. Drivers provide change on buses here. Good thing. Can you imagine having to always have exact change?

We sat for about 15 minutes as the rest of the crew from my train made their way out and piled on the bus, I imagine each one of them asking the driver some questions such as "Segovia?", "al centro" and "how much"? The people who got on the bus behind ours eventually got off and came onto our bus. We were now packed in like sardines.

We started heading through this deserted landscape, nothing but brown soil and roads. In the far distance was a big yellowish building. An Italian woman sitting behind me said to her companion who was sitting next to me, "is that the cathedral?" - the guy sitting next to her said yes.

I couldn't believe we were so far from the city. Nothing I had read told me I had to take a bus to the center. I just did it because it was there and I am kind of getting tired of walking so much (and I knew I would be walking in Segovia). But on we went, through barren countryside, suburbs, and finally arriving at the giant aqueduct that signaled the entrance to the old historic part of Segovia.

Immediately past the aqueduct was the tourist information center. I had seen people getting on the bus with these nice tourist maps and I somehow missed getting mine, so I went into the TIC, which I had read was one of the most helpful in Spain and asked for a map. The woman gave me a map, opened it, showed me where we were, circled the cathedral and showed me how to get to it, and circled the Alcazar (the castle) and showed me how to get to there from the cathedral. She then went on to point out several other parts of town I might want to visit and mentioned a few other buildings worth checking out. I was going to ask questions, but she went on for some time with my orientation. Finally, when she was finished I asked about tourist buses. She said there was one that made a tour around the outside of the city, but to really see it, you had to walk. Added that it was an easy walk.

I then asked her about going to the top of the aqueduct and she told me just to go up the stairs to the left of the entrance and then showed me on the map how I could walk from the top of the aqueduct to the cathedral without having to come down the stairs again. It was true, this was by far the most helpful tourist information center in all of Spain, perhaps in the world!

And so I started my exploration, first climbing to the top of the stairs to see the aqueduct from the top. The thing was gigantic! Really a true wonder of engineering. It was built without mortar and has stood for about 2,000 years. And at one time actually transported water! How is it that it has not fallen down? I read that the Moors destroyed a part of it and parts have been restored, but I could still see many sections that looked unrepaired. Quite amazing!

From there I walked to the cathedral, noticing the interesting patterns on the buildings, which were quite different from other cities I've been to in Spain. It was a lovely day. Perfect temperature, sunny, and quite fresh at this high elevation.

The cathedral was not terribly interesting to me, so I didn't go inside. I wanted to see the castle. So I continued my walk, stopping along the way to take photos.

I finally arrived at the castle which looked out over the fields and village below. Trees were just beginning to change color. Most were yellow or yellowish, but some were turning red or orange. In a few weeks, it would be a vibrant burst of color. Too bad I was early, but still it was lovely, with the trees below giving way to brown fields which stretched out to the mountains in the distance.

The castle itself was not a disappointment either. It sure did look like Cinderella's Castle (or is it Snow White's?) at Disneyland. Not that I've ever been to Disneyland, but I've seen pictures. As I approached, I was walking next to three Asian girls I thought might be Japanese. Suddenly a wind blew and one of the trees on the path let go of a flurry of leaves, which fell gently to the ground like cherry blossoms. "Aaaaaahhh...oooooohhh, sugoi!!!!" cried the girls next to me. Yep, they were Japanese.

I know I've been complaining a lot about my fellow tourists. I need something to complain about, but I have to say, the Japanese have been a delight to find out the tourist trail. Their reactions to things are priceless, they are always polite and unobtrusive, and surprisingly they don't travel in large groups (or at least I haven't seen them in groups). The most I've seen have been groups three or four. In Belem, a cute older Japanese woman in line behind me at the pastry shop asked me in English what was good. I told her I didn't know, and she got quite a chuckle. Then when she got to the counter she pointed to the pastry she wanted and said two in Portuguese. I was very impressed. As a foreigner in Japan, I found them a bit unwelcoming, but as tourists, I think they are among the best!

Anyway, back to the castle. It was quite impressive. Everything a castle should have, dungeons, shining armor, towers, cannons, the drawbridge was stone (I imagine at one point it was a real drawbridge). I climbed to the top of the tower through a very narrow winding staircase that was very claustrophobic and because of the high altitude I began to become very breathless and felt like I could have a panic attack when I realized I was encased in this stone tower with quite a distance to go up or down to get out. So I stopped and caught my breath, and slowly went up to the top where I was treated with a fantastic view.

I was enjoying myself immensely. Segovia was not as beautiful as Sintra with its lovely woodsy setting, this was a city with cobblestone streets, buildings, etc., and the trees were outside, but still, it was lovely.

I walked through the Juderia, the old Jewish quarter, because I have always found them to be among the most interesting parts of old Spanish cities. But I found I wasn't really sure where it actually was. If I was in it, it didn't look the same as in Toledo or Seville, where it was very distinctively different.

It was 2 p.m. and school was letting out. Parents were going to pick up their kids to take them home for lunch. There was a flurry of activity around me, children running in all directions as I made my way back up to the cathedral and then began looking for a place for lunch. I figured I would eat lunch, take another short walk and then head back to the train station for my 4:20 train.

And then it hit me. My return train was 18:20. That was not 4:20. Somehow I had bought a return ticket for 6:20. What was I going to do for another 4 hours?!!!

I found a place to eat lunch and it turned out the Italian couple from the bus was there. It was funny because in Italy I kept comparing the shabby, dorky tourist outfits to the chic and elegant (even if they were casual) Italians. And I looked over at this Italian man who was wearing tan travel pants (they are those quick dry, non-wrinkle type), sneakers, bright blue fanny pack, travel shirt (another no-wrinkle, quick dry thing) and baseball cap. He looked like all of the dorky tourists I saw in Rome. I guess it doesn't matter how they dress at home, when they hit the road, all tourists shop at the same store - REI, or some equivalent.

My lunch was okay. The menu was weird. They had raciones, large plates of tapas, but no half raciones or tapas. That meant I could get something like garlic shrimp and pretty much have that be my meal, unless I wanted to pay more for a salad or some extras. I didn't want to do that. They had some combination plates that all came with fried eggs. I was not sure why. Finally I decided on pork tenderloin with two fried eggs and fried peppers. I figured I haven't eaten many eggs lately and even though I am not a huge egg fan, it would be an okay lunch.

It was just that. Okay. The pork was tasteless, the fried peppers were okay, and actually the eggs were really yummy. I also had a beer, which hit the spot.

I was starting to get tired and thought about having a coffee and maybe desert, but decided since I had time to kill (more time than I thought), I would walk and see if I could find another place for desert.

Before I knew it, I was back at the aqueduct. Segovia was not a very big place. I decided to stop into the very helpful tourist information center to see if I could get my train ticket changed. They told me at first that if there were seats it was possible, but then they said there were no seats on the 4:08 train. It looked like I was stuck there until 6:20.

I walked through the newer part of town looking for a place to sit and have a coffee or a chocolate and hoping I might find a place that served that delicious Moroccan mint tea I had in Ceuta and in Morocco. No luck. It was basically a pretty boring pedestrian shopping mall with a view of an amazing aqueduct.

I walked back and settled on a cafe right at the foot of the aqueduct. I ordered chocolate con churros. They were out of churros and offered me from their selection of donuts and breads that did not look very appetizing. I settled for just the chocolate.

As I was sitting there in the shadow of this amazing monstrosity in awe of its size and the fact that it was still standing after all these years, the tourist bus appeared at its base. Perfect timing!

I walked over, paid my 5.70 and climbed aboard. Even though it was going to go around the outskirts of the old city, I thought it was a perfect way to kill 50 minutes. And it was.

We rode around the base of the wall that surrounds the city and then went further out into the countryside for views back at the city, the castle, the cathedral. It was lovely. The sun was beginning to fall down in the sky and there was a beautiful afternoon glow set over the fall landscape of brown fields and trees beginning to change color. It was one of the most pleasant open-air bus rides I've had on this trip. I felt like I was riding in a convertible (well, I was sort of). It felt great having the cool, fresh wind blowing in my face, the sun shining, and circling around this majestic city on a hill.

After the tour, I took one more walk up to the top of the aqueduct, took a few more photos with the shadows of the aqueduct now stretching long on the city below, walked up towards the other end and found a chocolateria! It was now after 5 and a quick snack of churros and chocolate was the perfect thing before I made my way back to the train station.

A French family from my original train (I remembered seeing them in Chamartin station and in my coach on the train) was sitting outside of the chocolateria. The father went inside to order, so I followed his lead.

The guy working inside looked kind of like a young Pavarotti. He was wearing a red and white striped apron that reminded me of a barbershop quartet. He seemed very busy, even though there were only a few people there.

Finally, he recognized me and said, "diga". I have to say, this is one of the most annoying things I have found on my trip. Waiters who say "diga". Literally it means speak. I just find it really rude, even if it is culturally acceptable in Spain. They don't say it in any other Spanish speaking countries I've visited. I want to bark like a dog when they say it.

Anyway, I spoke, and said "churros con chocolate" and was about to say "on the terrace" when he cut me off with the price.

He did not look happy. I felt like I had done something wrong.

I paid him and stood waiting for further instructions, such as, "okay, go sit down, and we'll bring it to you". I thought maybe I was supposed to wait, and carry it out myself, since that is what I had done at the place I had the chocolate earlier. Mr. Pavarotti-lookalike just ignored me as he sighed and grunted while doing things with his fancy computerized cash register. I looked at the different selections of chocolates. Read the sign that said "do not touch" which made me want to touch the things on display, but I didn't.

Finally, he looked at me indignantly and said something like, "is there something I can help you with?!!" I told him I was waiting for my churros and chocolate. He said, "Huh?" I thought maybe he had forgotten, so I explained that I had ordered churros and chocolate. He said brusquely, "go sit outside, we'll bring it".

I muttered "asshole" under my breath and went outside.

In a few minutes a waitress appeared with a cup of steaming, thick chocolate, threw an ashtray on the table and said the churros were coming. Mr. Pavarotti lookalike came out with the churros. I did not like the atmosphere at this place at all, even if their chocolate was good and the churros came as close to the ones I had in Granada yet (they were a bit greasy).

I only had enough time to gulp down the churros and couldn't finish the chocolate because it was too rich before heading over to catch the number 11 back to the station. It turned out the extra time in Segovia was a blessing. Aside from the grumpy service at the chocolateria, I had had a really lovely time and was really happy I had the opportunity to experience Segovia on such a beautiful day.

Today it is supposed to go up to 78 in Madrid. Good thing because I washed my one pair of jeans last night and they are still drying. I can wear shorts today. Perhaps I will take a walk in El Retiro park after I finish my morning chores and have lunch. Tomorrow Barcelona. This part of the journey is almost over.

Missing Lisbon

I got back to my apartment very easily yesterday. We arrived at Madrid airport at 3:00 p.m., and I was home by 4, at a cost of only 2 Euros. I was pretty impressed. There is a subway line that goes through the airport terminals (it has other destinations) - I had to take that and two other subway lines to get home, but it was quick, easy and cheap. Not something I would want to do with a lot of luggage, but fortunately, I had only my one small carry on bag.

It was good to be back in my apartment and cook dinner without adding salt. My ear was beginning to feel full and I had to take extra medicine. Portuguese food was yummy, but eating out always means too much sodium.

So today I had nothing planned. I had a 5 p.m. skype call, so that kind of limited what I could do. I want to make a trip to Segovia and was planning on tomorrow, but skype froze on me today so my 5 p.m. call is now tomorrow. Guess I have another day in Madrid and Segovia will be on Friday. My last day trip from here.

What I had today was a mission. I like having missions because they get me out with a purpose, which is different from getting out and just wandering around. It was kind of a frustrating mission though, I needed to find a Banesto ATM, and I wasn't having any luck.

First I went to Corte Ingles to buy a little food - some salad stuff, tuna, Wasa crackers (high fiber) all to help me get rid of the extra poundage I might have picked up in Lisbon and also to get my sodium levels back on track. I was hoping I'd pass an ATM on the way, but I didn't. So, from there I walked around looking for one on my way home. I found none.

Instead, I think I saw the funeral of the King (or maybe the King's father) or some royal person who I think died. I saw a flash of news yesterday while I was waiting for one of the subway cars until it broke in with lottery results, so I didn't get the full story. I tried looking in Yahoo News (Spain) and the only thing there was some news about a fat baby in the US and Brad Pitt's motorcycle accident, but I swear I saw news about the king dying.

So today I walked down to Plaza Mayor and when I didn't find an ATM for my bank (other banks were plentiful but charge a surcharge, and since I wasn't desperate, I wasn't going to pay). When I didn't find one, and since I was carrying a bag of groceries I headed home, walking past some ministry building. There were a lot of police and a big crowd gathered. I saw some women I thought I saw on TV yesterday - I think they called them the enfantas - maybe the daughters of the king. They were under a makeshift type of building and receiving people who were going up to them and shaking their hands, I guessed offering their condolences. The police were very aggressively doing crowd control, so I was pretty sure that was the Royal Family up there, unless I completely misunderstood the news yesterday (it is like I dreamed it).

Further down the street a church that looks like it was once a mosque had a really long line of mostly women, waiting to go in. They'd go in and come out. The line ran to the end of the block and around the corner. I guessed they were viewing the king's body. Either that or buying lottery tickets (on Monday in Lisbon I saw an equally long line and it turned out they were in line for the lottery).

After lunch, I went out to try again. I walked along major streets and saw all of the banks, but no Banesto. Finally, on Gran Via I found my bank. A woman was taking forever at the ATM but finally I was able to withdraw 300 Euros. I have about 300 left in my account. I have come to the end of my money for this trip and have just about enough to get me through 10 days in Barcelona if I budget wisely (I've already put aside the money for my apartment there).

I headed back towards Plaza Mayor and passed a little alley I had never seen before and I could see a Chocolateria. After my tuna salad lunch, I was craving something else and churros and chocolate on this lovely little alley seemed like just the ticket.

I chose a table away from everyone else so I would not have to eat my churros with cigarette smoke and settled in for a nice relaxing afternoon treat.

Just then, three young guys walked by and bummed a cigarette from an older guy who was walking with a toddler, probably his grandson, who had a pacifier in his mouth. They then stood one table away from me and proceeded to roll something in the cigarette, maybe hash, while having a very loud conversation (often the three of them speaking at the same time over one another) in really annoying, bad Spanish. I could hardly understand what they were saying but what was clear to me was they were not pronouncing things very clearly. I imagined this was a kind of hip, tough, young, street-smart way of speaking, but it was getting on my nerves. Then they sat down at the table next to me and started to smoke.

I was really annoyed, so I got up and moved to sit next to a French family that had 5 boys, the oldest looking very preppy with sweaters tied over their shoulders, and none of them looking like they were going to light up a cigarette at any point before I finished my chocolate (they were too busy enjoying their churros and chocolate).

Walking back, this time with my camera, I walked past the ministry of whatever building to take a picture of the Royals, but they were gone. The line still remained at the church. I thought it was an odd church to lay out the king if he really did die, so maybe it was a lottery or some kind of feast day or holy day like when people get their throats blessed (that was always one of my favorites). I guess I need to turn on the Spanish news to see if I can find anything out.

I got home and had received an e-mail from Tony, an agent from the rental company I am renting the apartment in Barcelona from. He e-mailed me last night and wanted to know URGENTLY, my arrival time on Saturday. I e-mailed him back, and like I did with the folks here in Madrid, asked if I could simply hop in a taxi from the train station (because unlike the airlines, trains are pretty reliable) and they could estimate my arrival time in taxi from the station, rather than calling. And like the folks in Madrid, he said, no, I have to call when I arrive in the train station to confirm my arrival time to the apartment. What a pain! I have tried to find a telephone card to use with public phones but they only have international cards. And I don't know how much a phone call is, but in Seville, I put in 1 Euro, which is like $1.50 and got cut off during my call, which is why I don't want to call. I'm getting really tired of Spanish rigidness and so looking for the sweetness of the Balinese who respond to every e-mail I send them with lovely things like "we are so looking forward to serving you and hoping we can do everything to make your stay pleasant" - instead with the Spaniards, I get e-mails demanding urgent information and no willingness to work with me to make things a little less stressful.

Then on top of all this, when I looked in my yahoo mail file where all of my e-mails I got before I started using my laptop are stored, I noticed they were asking for a 300 Euro CASH deposit to be returned upon my departure. This is not good. First of all it would completely blow my budget, and secondly, it would mean I'd finish my trip with 300 euros that I would not be able to spend.

I was starting to worry because if they insisted I had to leave a 300 euro cash deposit, I was not going to stay there, but then I looked at other options for Barcelona and I couldn't find anything as cheap as this apartment (and I am wondering WHY it is so cheap) - I wanted to just skip Barcelona, and in fact, I wanted to go to NJ where my father is in the hospital right now and then head back to SF to be with my friends for my long-awaited week home.

I wasn't getting a response from the agent, after I sent my e-mail telling him I could not pay the cash deposit, and explaining why, so I called the office (thank goodness for skype). Tony was not in, but the woman I spoke to eventually gave in (after saying she was not authorized to make that decision) when she realized I was only one person (their policy is 2-bedroom apartments or apartments with terraces all must leave a cash deposit - I am not sure why).

So, now I am a little more relaxed and hoping Barcelona will enchant me as much as Lisbon did. While I love the subway system in Madrid, my little walk today could not in any way compete with the walks I took in Lisbon. I walked across Plaza Mayor with Mickey Mouse making animal balloons and several human statues including a guy in a coffin playing a guitar all trying to get money from tourists, and remembered the plazas I crossed in Lisbon that instead of big, hard, gray cobblestones, had lovely little black and white stones arranged in beautiful, complex patterns, with fountains in the middle and the plazas full of life, not feeling cold and lifeless like Plaza Mayor felt to me today. The standard has been set, and either Barcelona will rise to the standard, or not. I'll find out on Saturday.

Sintra

I think I love Lisbon more today than I did yesterday. Too bad I am leaving tomorrow, but I am also ready to go, and come back! I want to study Portuguese, come back when it is cooler with appropriate clothes, walking shoes and a guide book! I came on the fly with no knowledge other than a little information a friend sent me, and I still had a great time. In fact, I had the best time here of any country I have ever visited (maybe.... I need to think about that when the wine wears off).

Well, today I woke up early, around 7:10, because I went to bed early last night, and also we are two hours behind Madrid, so it was really 9:10. It's really only one hour difference, but we fell behind on Saturday night. Also, the bathroom fans in my hotel are very noisy and someone on my floor was up bright and early and woke me up.

It was all good. Breakfast starts at 7:30. I was there when they turned the lights on, ate my breakfast and headed out.

I walked to a big square (I don't know the name) where I bought pao de chorizo com queijo yesterday - bread with chorizo and cheese - it was a good snack to have in my bag. Since I was going to Sintra and my friend Yaari told me there wasn't anything good to eat there, I wanted to be prepared.

But, I could not for the life of me find the bakery. I walked around the square three times and I could not find it. I was sure the bakery was on that square yesterday! Frustrated, I decided to head to the train station hoping there would be a place to buy the same thing in the station. I walked down a street behind the square. I passed an open door and looked inside and it was the bakery I had been looking for. So I went around front and there it was. I had missed it three times!
Maybe I should start drinking coffee again!!

This time I knew where and how to order. I like the system. You order, and they put this little plastic card in a machine and add your items, then if you go to a different counter ( I guess they have a counter for sweet and a counter for savory and maybe another one for coffee) they add all of your purchases, then you go to the cashier and she totals it up and you pay!

So I went to the savory counter and asked for two chorizo breads and a bottle of water. There was a new cashier, but like the one yesterday, she was extremly cheery and helpful! Unbelievable after the sourpusses in Seville! I was holding a 10 euro note ready to pay and she (speaking to me in Portuguese) said, "Oh, no, put that away, it is not going to be that much" (rough translation). She told me it was three euros. I obediently put away the 10 euro note and pulled out the change I had in my pocket. I gave her three euros, but she wanted more. She wanted another five euros in change (of course she was going to give me a bill), but I didn't have it. She was so cute though. She thanked me profusely, and then when she gave me my chorizo bread and water, she went over to the napkin holder and pulled out a bunch of napkins, thanking me again. I swear, she thanked me more in the one transaction than I was thanked in a month and a half in Seville!

I walked to the train station, a short walk, and it looked like there was a train to Sintra every 10 minutes. I bought my ticket (3.40 euros round-trip), climbed aboard and off we went. It was so easy.

Upon arriving in Sintra, I did not know what to do. I had read that I should go left and left, but a sign pointed right. I followed the sign. I arrived at a big beautiful palace that looked like it was the town hall. I thought there might be a tourist information center, but there wasn't, so I kept on walking.

Sintra was so green and lush and the air felt so fresh, cool and clean. I walked along, allowing the others who got off the train with me to move ahead of me, so that I had the street pretty much to myself other than the occassional car. I passed some really beautiful sculptures (public art project) and a lovely little arabic pavilion that had a spigot with water coming out. People were filling up water bottles. I walked over to get a better look and a woman who was filling up lots of jugs with water asked me if I wanted a drink. I pulled out my half empty water bottle and filled it up. I sure hope that water was safe to drink!

I continued walking. The hills were dotted with beautiful storybook castles and palaces and the sky was speckled with little dots of clouds. It could not have been a more perfect day and I was overwhelmed with the beauty of the place.

I knew I could not walk all the way up to the castle, so when I came across the tourist information center I asked if there was a tourist bus. I was informed that there was a public bus that would take me to the top and I could hop on and off at different stops all day. The ticket was 4.50 euros.

The bus came and on our way up these amazingly narrow winding roads (for such a big bus) we passed a really beautiful moss covered gate with a sign that said "dos lagos" (the lakes) - when the bus stopped everyone went up the hill but I didn't know where they were going. I went down, thinking how cool I was for taking the road less traveled.

I snapped a picture of the moss covered entryway and peeked inside. There was a sign that said "saida" (exit), but there was no one there, so I went inside. There was a beautiful little lake with a castle turret inside and a few ducks and an amazing black swan. I was snapping pictures when out of nowhere a man came and asked me for my ticket. I told him I did not have one. He told me I had to go up the hill and buy one and that I came in the exit. I still was not sure where the entrance was. He got inside of this little booth and struggled to open the window. I waited, thinking he would sell me a ticket. It was very Wizard of Oz. He opened the little window and then sort of yelled at me that he was not selling tickets. I had to go up the hill. Go get the broom of the wicked witch of the west was what I heard.

I went up the hill, not intending to return to the lakes, and got a combination ticket. I was not sure what it was for. I was at the Moorish palace.

I entered and found a beautiful green path with big moss covered rocks leading to a big fortres wall with an incredible view of Sintra and the hills below. I didn't explore too much because my legs and feet were telling me not to over do it.

I left, returning to the bus stop and went up to the next palace. I forget the name - Pena or something like that. It was a true Cinderella castle with all kinds of fun stuff going on in the design. I unfortunately got stuck inside, not knowing what I was doing, I entered and found myself in the little stuffy rooms filled with all kinds of old junk, I mean antiques, but I wanted to get out and see the outside of the castle, which I found more interesting. So I pushed past groups of little kids and French and German tourists who were taking their good old time reading all of the signs and discussing every piece of furniture until finally I was back in the fresh air.

I had a great time actually, and really loved seeing these castles.

I hopped on the bus and the next stop was a palace I had already seen from the outside and I thought I would end up in more stuffy rooms, so I just stayed on the bus and went to the train station.

I got on the train and was back in Lisbon in time for lunch.

Today is Monday and the city was so much different from yesterday and also from this morning. It seemed so vibrant and so diverse. Lots of Africans hung around the big square where I went to the bakery this morning. People were hanging out in cafes and traffic was buzzing about. I wanted to find a good restaurant that served piri piri chicken that was away from the tourist traps.

I walked into the old Moorish neighborhood, thinking that would be the place to find traditional food and get away from the other tourists. I walked up a little winding cobblestone street. The layout of this neighborhood was the same as the Albaicyn in Granada, and Santa Cruz in Seville. It was clear the Arabs had built it.

But as I climbed the hill it didn't look like I was going to find piri piri chicken. More likely I would get mugged or lost, so I came back down, passing lovely scenes of Lisboans chatting, resting, living their lives beyond the view of most tourists. I could not believe the old people coming down that hill, which was difficult for me!

Finally I did find a restaurant that served piri piri chicken. Piri piri is this oil with hot peppers in it. I had it in Brazil and loved it. I got my chicken, which was just grilled chicken and a bottle of piri piri. I thought it would be something different, but it was still good. It was a huge meal. Chicken, french fries, rice and a salad, and water, all for under 10 euros. And it was good. Only complaint - I was sitting outside and people would come out for a smoke, right next to me. But I am loving Lisbon so much I am even starting to like the smoke! Weird!

I walked to the Plaça do comercio and got on the little tourist tram for one last ride. It went up the winding hills through the old Moorish neighborhood where Fado was born up and down hills through the Alfama, another neighborhood I am drawn to and finally to Porto do Sol, a big plaza with an amazing view of the city below. I got off, took a few photos and started walking, following the tram tracks, thinking I would get on again and get off at another stop.

Instead I walked down the hill and found myself in the Baixa, the downtown area where I started off. I decided it was time to head back to my hotel for a nap.

But then I remembered the elevator. There is this big metal tower thing in the downtown that they call the Santa Justa elevator. I guess that is what it is, a big outdoor elevator. My tour ticket enabled me a free ride. So I walked over only to find a big line and two people behind me who had no sense of personal space, and no matter how many times I moved forward to avoid touching them (because I was really hot), they continued to press themselves against me (I think they were Russian).

When I saw it was going to take a while for me to get on the elevator, I changed my mind and walked up the stairs to get another look at it, and then walked down a different street, passing a little bakery with a few tables outside. I saw they had port, and decided I would try a glass of white port, which I did.

It was very nice and a nice thing to do in the middle of the afternoon.

Finally, I made my way back to my hotel, took a shower and a nap.

I asked the clerk at the hotel for a recommendation for dinner. I told him I was looking for a place that served typical Portuguese food and was nearby.

He fished around and pulled out a little map and told me it was his favorite restaurant. They had grilled seafood, meat, etc, and there were many Portuguese there.

So after my nap and watching a little MTV, I headed off.

It was near, and I liked the little neighborhood. There were no Portuguese, just two men, maybe dad and son, most likely German (they looked).

I was ready for a feast though, and it looked like this place could supply it. I asked the waiter for a recommendation. I saw they had porco a aletejano, a dish Yaari recommended that I had last night and liked, but could see how it could be REALY good if done right, but I went with the waiter's suggestion, which was seafood. I got grilled swordfish and an appetizer of octupus salad.

The octopus was good. I have decided I really like octopus, especially when it is in little pieces and marinated. The swordfish was okay but it came with vegetables and potatoes. I think it was the first broccoli I have had in over two months. It felt healthy.

For desert I had flan and got a free glass of port because I had a little map/coupon from my hotel. As I was finishing my meal two groups came in - both French. I was beginning to think there were no Portuguese who ate here. But the port was superb. Tawny. I have to remember that kind of port. Fruity but not too sweet. I really liked it to finish the meal.

And so now I am in this tourist information center because it is the only place that I have found that has internet. I had to walk past the restaurant I almost ate at last night, but changed my mind at the last minute. I walked up to look at the menu and asked if they had porco a aletejano and the woman who was trying to lure customers said yes. She seemed Russian, not Portuguese, but I sat down anyway. Then a waiter came to take my drink order. I told him I needed a minute. He also seemed Russian. I began thinking it was weird to eat in a Russian run restaurant when I was looking for traditional Portuguese food. Also, their restaurant was empty while others were doing good business. Finally I got up and told the woman I was going to walk around a little. She made a face that definitely told me she was Russian, because when I went to the Cervejaria Trinidade because Yaari recommended it for the porco and saw they didn't have it on the menu, the Portuguese waiter smiled very understandingly when I told him I thought I had the wrong place. This Russian woman did not smile. I think she silently put a curse on me.

But back to this tourist information place. I was so full I had to walk off some of my dinner before returning to my hotel, and also I am loving Lisbon so much I wanted to write about it while it is still fresh.

And that is it. I will be back. Tomorrow I return to Madrid.

I LOVE Lisbon!

Where has Lisbon been all my life?!! Who knew??

I loved it from the moment I got off the plane. Getting to my hotel from the airport was super easy and cheap, by a nice airport bus. My hotel is located on a beautiful avenue that has these amazing black and white cobblestoned mosaic sidewalks (they are all over the city), the architecture is amazing, the food is great and the people are friendly! What more could you ask for? Maybe fewer smoking tourists, but if I knew the city better, I would be able to get away from them. What I know is that Lisbon has at times reminded me of my favorite cities - Buenos Aires in the granduer of the buildings, plazas, etc., San Francisco with the hills and the views, Rome with the monuments, Miami Beach with the amazing art deco buildings (that I think have not yet been appreciated here), plus so much more.

Yesterday after checking into my hotel, I immediately went out again. I waited for the red hop on/hop off sightseeing bus that I've been taking in different places, but it didn't come, so I walked a little and found a tourist information center. They told me about the yellow bus. I had a ticket from my airport bus that said I would get a 25% discount, so I went for that.

They had a deal where you could get a ticket for 48 hours that included 3 different tours. Last night I took one, the blue tour. It took us around parts of the historic center and then we went west to Belem, a pretty little neighborhood with an amazing monastery and famous pastries. It was dark by the time we got there, but I decided I would go back today and get off, which I did.

The monastery was very beautiful and the pastries were really yummy. They were these little egg tarts that you can get in Chinatown, but they were so much better. Instead of a pie crust they were made with filo dough pastry that was buttery and crispy. I got four of them because I had to wait in line and figured I would regret it if they were good and I only had one. I ate the first one which was still warm and really yummy. As I walked to the monastery I ate another. It was really good.

After the monastery, I was waiting for the bus and ate the third. It was still good. Then I saw I had a little packet of cinnamon and powdered sugar, so I tried the fourth one with that. I enjoyed that as well.

Oh, in the middle of this egg tart feast, I stopped and had sardines for lunch. I got 5 big sardines that were grilled and salted. They came with four small potatoes and a nice mixed salad. I had a small bottle of vinho verde (green wine) and it all came to only 12 euros. That is the cheapest meal I have had since I've been in Europe (if you don't count a slice of pizza as a meal).

After returning from Belem, I got on another bus that went east. We went to some new area with big shiny buildings that was built for some expo or something. There was an aquarium, a mall, some apartment buildings, a really fancy bus or train terminal, all very impressive.

And finally, I went and got on the third tour, a little tram that went up and down the hills through all of the hilly neighborhoods. I read that Lisbon has 7 hills, like Rome, San Francisco, Istanbul and several other famous cities, but on the tram they said that was a myth. It actually has more than 7 hills.

Well, this little taste of Lisbon has me really wanting more. It is the feeling I wanted in all of the cities I have visited so far, and so far only Lisbon has given it to me. I was looking for the feeling of getting off the plane and knowing immediately that I was in the right place. Lisbon is that place.

Who knows, if I stay longer, I might not like it as much, but rather than grow to like it after a week, like Madrid, or appreciate it after leaving, like Seville, Lisbon threw all of its charm at me as soon as I stepped off the airport bus, and today it has continued to throw its charm at me, around every turn, all day long.

My plan is to come back during Christmas holidays in 2010 (since this year I will be in Asia) and also visit Morocco again (this time on my own). Then if I still like it, I will plan for my next sabbatical to come and spend more time. Who knows, I might retire in Lisbon!

Avila and Salamanca

Day 4 of my 6-day Spain Pass. I booked a ticket Madrid-Avila, Avila-Salamanca, Salamanca-Madrid.

I tried to book a trip to Segovia next week, but the woman at the ticket counter told me it was not Renfe (which is the Spanish Amtrack), but Cercanias, which I guessed were kind of local trains.

After returning from the Reina Sofia, I looked at my ticket and noticed that my starting destination was MCHAMARTIN. What is Mchamartin? I thought. Madrid train station is Puerta de Atocha.

I looked on the internet, assuming the M stood for Madrid, and there was something called Chamartin. Turned out I was right. It was another station. One site I found said it was connected by a tube to Puerta de Atocha station.

I was thinking tube meant tunnel and I was thinking that what the woman at the ticket counter was telling me was that I had to go in a different direction than I went when I got the train to Toledo, maybe Chamartin was an extension of the Atocha station.

It's a good thing I am an early bird in most things I do. Even without the confusion, my plan was to leave here by 10 for my 11:05 train.

I walked to Tirsos de Molina station, which is just a few blocks from here to take the subway to Atocha. As I looked at the map to see the two end stations, I saw that at the very top was Chamartin! Could that be where I had to go? It was all the way at the other end of Madrid!

Just to be sure, I went to Atocha anyway. When I came out of the subway, I came out at Cercanias. This was where the woman told me to go for Segovia, but maybe she was also telling me I had to go there for this train. I saw a sign that a train to Chamartin was leaving from track 2. Hmmmm.... I looked around for someone to ask. There was a woman helping at the ticket vending machines. I showed her my ticket and she said I had to take the train to Chamartin from track two. She helped me buy my ticket. She told me it was only a 10 minute ride.

Apparently the "tube" I read about was actually a subway, or not really even a subway, but a local train. Whoever wrote that post I found on the internet must have been British or learned British English. It was very confusing. I thought they meant a tunnel.

And so I discovered something new. Cercanias. This train only made three stops (I'm not sure where it came from.) One of the other stops was Nuevos Ministerios, where I need to go today to get the subway to the airport. Now I don't know if I should repeat my steps yesterday and take the Cercanias to Nuevos Ministerios or if I should go by the two subway trains I had planned on using to get there before I discovered this new option. I still have some time to look at maps and decide.

Once I got off the train at Chamartin, I found myself in a very big and varied train station. I still had lots of time, fortunately. I bought a sandwich and water, found my track and boarded the train.

I'm really impressed with all of the transportation here in Spain. Buses, subways and trains have all been clean, comfortable and efficient. While the streets of Seville were covered in graffiti, the trains are sparkling clean. And there are so many options.

I was on the train to Salamanca, but it also stopped in Avila. After about 1 1/2 hours, through mountainous and high meseta countryside, we arrived. I walked through a fairly uninteresting new town until I finally arrived at the famous wall of Avila. It was hard to miss.

I don't know what I was expecting, but when I passed through the wall, I was kind of disappointed. Still, it was interesting to see what a real medieval, walled city looked like. I was thinking it was too bad countries are not able to build walls to keep invaders out - Iraq might be in better shape today if they'd had a wall to keep us out.

I bought a ticket to climb up on the wall. It was cool. There was a nice view. I snapped some pictures. And that was it. Now what was I going to do? I didn't want to visit more churches, pay more entrance fees, etc. I looked for the little tourist train and found it, but it only made one round at 3:30. My train to Salamanca left at 3:15.

So, I walked around the old streets, found another access point to the wall and climbed up, took some more pictures, took some pictures of myself (because I could set my camera up and stand in front of it), and climbed down.

I looked at my guidebook to see if I could find a place to eat. I found a few recommendations. I eventually found one of the places, but it looked dead. Next to it, was a place that had several people eating outside. I went for the place with people.

I got a minestra de verduras, which I thought was a vegetable soup (maybe I thought it was minestra, but maybe it was ministre, minustre, minustra???), and chicken wings and thighs with potatoes, garlic and laurel (bay leaf?).

The vegetable soup was not a soup. It was kind of a stir fry with vegetables and some type of ham. It was okay. The chicken was wings and the little leg portion, not really thighs. They were crispy on the outside but really red inside. I was not sure if it was blood. Why was it so red? I didn't enjoy it. The potatoes were just fried potatoes, kind of cold. I didn't see garlic or laurel. I didn't enjoy the lunch. For desert I had natillas, which is a kind of egg pudding that is not too thick, more on the liquid side. It has a lot of cinnamon and sometimes tastes like it has rum. This was the best I've had so far, so the lunch was not a total waste.

I headed back to the train station sort of rushing, because it was after 3. I saw a bus and hopped on. The driver pointed ahead when I asked if he went to the train station. Turns out it was only two stops, but I was so tired from walking and tired of rushing.

I hopped on the next train to Salamanca and from there with the help of my guide book, found the bus that took me into the old part of town.

Salamanca is quite lovely. The old part of town has buildings that are all made of Sandstone, so there is a lovely uniform color to everything. There were a lot of old buildings, churches, monasteries, palaces, etc. The old plaza was also very beautiful but my photo taking opportunities were ruined by an ugly book fair set up in the middle.

I walked around a bit, feeling really tired from walking so much, and my feet were killing me. I eventually found the tourist train and hopped on board. We made our rounds, I saw some interesting sites I hadn't seen on foot, but mostly was bored, so I began snapping photos of myself again. I might show them to someone, or I might delete them. I don't like to see myself in photos. My idealized version of myself is much better than what I actually see.

And that was it. I had done Salamanca. The cathedral was closed when I decided to enter, and I didn't know what else to do. I went to McDonald's for a snack because it was after 6 and I knew I wouldn't get back to Madrid until 10:45 p.m., so I thought I should eat. I also knew restaurants would not be serving food at least until 8, and I needed to use the bathroom. McDonald's has saved me in that regard so many times on this trip!

After my unhappy meal, I walked a little, I tried to find the bus to go back to the train station, partly for peace of mind, partly for something to do. And then there was the problem. I couldn't find it.

Lonely Planet said you could get on it in front of the market. I found the market. I checked every bus stop in front of the market. I had come in on bus number 1. I dropped me off in front of the market outside of the main plaza, but now I couldn't find it and I couldn't figure out which direction I should be looking for it to come from. So I decided to walk, and since I had lots of time to kill, I decided then would be a good time to start walking.

I walked out of the old part of town into the newer part. It was nice to see actually. This was a mid-sized university town. It was about 7 p.m. There were a lot of people out walking around (many driving), stores were open, there was a lot of business going on. I thought about how in many parts of the US we have lost this. People go to malls now, but it isn't the same as a vibrant downtown. It's kind of sad actually, how our society has kind of degenerated in many ways in the name of progress. I like being able to walk along the street and window shop and see things like pet stores, hair salons, hardware stores, restaurants, clothing stores, all mixed together. And you could browse all of this stuff while actually going somewhere and not walking around in a circle with the smell of cinnabuns tempting you to eat something you don't need.

On the way to the station I passed two churros vendors set up outside. There were long lines at both. I stopped and took a photo of one and looked to see if perhaps I could figure out how to order. The churros looked good - big thick ones like in Granda, but I could not figure out how I would order them, so I walked on. Across from the station, I saw a bar/restaurant that had churros and chocolate for 1.50 euro. I went in, sat at the bar and placed my order. The churros were the thin crunchy ones like everywhere in Madrid, not the big puffy ones. The chocolate was good though, it had a hint of cinnamon.

From there I went to the station, where fortunately, even though I was like 40 minutes early, the train was sitting on the track and I was able to board and relax. The ride was uneventful. It was dark. There weren't many people. We arrived in Madrid Chamartin on schedule. From there I found the subway, and indeed the line that runs near me runs to Chamartin.

I went down to the track. It was now after 11. In most cities the subways would have been closed by then. In many others, they would be nearly deserted. There were several people on the track and a sign said a train was arriving in 3 minutes. Awesome!

The train arrived and I got on a car with a few other people. As we chugged along, more and more people got on, to the point where the car I was on was comfortably full. People were dressed up like they were going out. Maybe some, like me, were going home.

I was amazed that there was so much life this late at night, and that the city recognized it and continued to provide train service. In Tokyo, where people went out late and got drunk, the trains shut down by midnight. Either you made a drunken mad dash for the last train, sprung for a taxi (which could be quite expensive) or slept on the street until the first train in the morning. This seemed so much more civilized. I read that the trains run until 1 a.m., and after that buses run the same routes as the subway. I was really beginning to like Madrid.

Plus, it was after 11 p.m., and this very clean, comfortable subway train felt completely non-threatening. Everyone seemed so respectful. I don't think I could say the same about any big city in the US at that hour.

I got off at Plaza del Sol because I was tired of being on trains and looked forward to the extra few blocks walk from there. There was a gaggle of very loud American girls waking with me up the street towards my apartment. While the Spaniards were walking in small groups and talking quietly, these three girls were making so much noise and being so obvious about being American. I wondered what their parents would think if they saw how they were acting. Why is it there are so many Americans abroad who don't know how to act? The first rule of safety in a foreign country is not to draw attention to yourself. I wondered how many of those three would end up at the US Embassy to report their passports stolen, or if they weren't carrying passports (I mean why would you?) would have their money stolen. I wonder if thieves target people not so much because they are obvious, but because they are obnoxious and deserve to be robbed.

I got home exhausted, and checking my e-mail was greeted with a new flood of unsettling news, including a letter to the editor that one of my colleagues sent to our school newspaper equating "homosexualism" and homophobia. It's too crazy to even get into here. I'm just glad in Lisbon I will not have my computer, so I can take a break from some of this stuff that I am finding upsetting.

Travel is supposed to about getting away from it all, but after a certain point, you are drawn back to it. It's hard to achieve a balance between staying connected and being drawn-in, consumed, overwhelmed. Hopefully, in time, I will find that line and be able to walk it. Until then, maybe like Avila, I need some strong defensive walls.

Tumult

It was extremely windy today. Like blow your clothes off windy. Like blow old ladies down the street windy. It was awesome.

I started off the day in a funk. A funk brought on by my connection to my real life - work and family. Let's just say I wasn't happy with either.

So after breakfast, I went back to Zara, a Spanish clothing store chain, to get a down vest I saw yesterday. I tried it on and liked it, but have an unofficial policy that I won't buy anything unless I go home and wake up the next day still thinking it is a good idea. It's an unofficial policy because I don't always stick to it, but for major things like clothes, I do. It works for me.

So I woke up, dealt with some work and family crap and still wanted the vest. It was a good day to buy it. Even though I have a jacket and a windbreaker, it was really chilly and the wind was blowing like crazy, which made it feel even colder. But it was an amazing day with big puffy white clouds and an incredibly blue sky. I didn't want to stay home and get stuck stewing over things on the computer, so I decided to go out. I had no plan, I just started walking.

I walked a few blocks to Plaza Mayor, a big square that is nice, but I don't really get what it is, other than a big open space surrounded by old buildings I guess they used to come in handy for bullfights and witchburnings in the past, but it seems like just a big empty space to me now. There were lots of restaurants with tables set up outside, but in this weather, I didn't think they were going to get much business.

I walked through the plaza and continued walking in the direction of the Royal Palace. I thought I'd take a look, even though I was not in the mood to go inside. I did exactly that, I looked, but didn't go in. It was a big building that I am sure is very luxurious inside, but I had enough aristocracy yesterday at the Prado.

I continued walking to this Egyptian temple that was given to Spain at some point. I forget the story. It was not as interesting as I thought (the temple, that is), but there was a great view over the plains surrounding Madrid to the mountains in the distance. The sky was filled with those big puffy clouds and that incredible wind was still gusting. I could feel it like it was blowing the funk out of me. That plus my new affirmation were helping me to feel better.

Oh, my new affirmation. I got the idea that anytime I encounter cigarette smoke, instead of complaining, like I've been doing pretty much since Rome, I would take it as an opportunity to do a positive affirmation. I must have done a hundred of them today. Amazingly, I didn't mind the smoke. I actually welcomed it, and seeing a smoker made me smile. Funny how a shift in perspective can change so much.

I walked back to the palace and was looking for Grand Via because I still wanted to explore Chueca - the "gay" neighborhood. I stopped at Burger King for a small lunch (I know, bad, bad, bad, but it was noon and I was hungry and Spaniards don't eat until after 1, or 2), and then continued walking, looking for Grand Via.

I ended up getting lost. I stumbled across Plaza Espana, which had some booths set up with people selling junk I didn't need, but as I continued walking, I was getting the feeling that I was walking further and further away from where I wanted to go. So I crossed the street and walked in the direction I thought Grand Via would be.

At one point I asked a woman where Grand Via was. She wasn't sure, but she pointed me in the direction I was headed and told me to walk that way and then ask someone else. I asked her where I was and she said, Bilbao de San Bernadino (or something like that). I had no idea where that was, but I knew I was very far from the tourist crowds, and my apartment.

I walked and was getting tired. My feet and legs were hurting. I didn't know how much further it would be until I found something familiar, if I ever found something familiar. I contemplated taking a taxi, but I had this 10 trip subway ticket I bought yesterday, and when I came across a subway station I thought it would be good for me to try it today, since I will have to take it to the airport on Saturday.

I was pleasantly surprised. Even though I got confused and wasn't sure which train I was on, I did end up on the right train that took me to Plaza del Sol, a place where I knew how to get to Chueca from. But the trains were clean, they came every two minutes, and they were not crowded. Also, things were clearly marked. I think I am going to try taking the subway a little more if I can find places that are not within walking distance.

I got off at Plaza del Sol and walked to Chueca. This time I found Plaza de Chueca, where the subway station is, and I saw a little more of the "gay" neighborhood. As I suspected, there were lots of great shops, restaurants, bars, etc. I found one of my favorite Japanese stores. I used to call it the 'generic' store because they have lots of stuff that is plain, black, white, beige or brown, with no markings or anything - clothing, housewares, office supplies, etc. But it is actually called Muji. I went into a few different shops, and finally sat down at a cafe in Plaza de Chueca (I am not sure if that is what it is called, but it works for me).

It was still windy, but had warmed up a little, and I was sitting in the sun with my new scarf, down vest and sunglasses. I was quite happy.

I ordered a beer and a provoleta. They didn't call it provoleta, but that is what it was - a piece of provolone cheese thrown on the grill. It was not as good as in Argentina - it was not fully cooked and was a little cold, but there yummy crispy parts and I thought about returning to Argentina and having it done right.

There was a crowd of very drunk men hanging out in the square who provided entertainment, as well as a very cute dog with his owner.

From there, I walked around a bit more and finally returned home to drop off my bag of purchases from Muji.

I decided I was going to continue enjoying the day and headed first to the train station to book my ticket for tomorrow (Avila and Salamanca), and then head to the Reina Sofia museum, which was right across the street.

Since I had not had a real lunch (Burger King and provoleta didn't count) I was hankering for a snack. I knew there was a place near the train station that advertised that they had the best calamari sandwiches in Madrid. So I went there.

It was a cool place. Lots of shiny silver surfaces - counter, spigots for draft beer, mirrors, etc. The waiters shouted orders to each other down the bar. Some people stood at the bar, I sat on a stool (I don't know if that makes it more expensive, but I was tired).

I got a calamari sandwich, which was pretty good. I don't know if it is the best in Madrid, because it is the first time I've ever had a calamari sandwich. I noticed they had "sidra" which is cider. I ordered a glass. I am not sure what cider is. It didn't taste like apple cider. It tasted slightly alcoholic, a little sweet. It was good.

From there I went to the train station and got my ticket to go to Avila and Salamanca. After that, I crossed the street and went to the Reina Sofia Museum. It was free, which made me happy.

I was there 1 hour before closing, which I thought would be a good time. It was, but I felt rushed. The museum seemed bigger than the Prado, and I liked the art better too. I wasn't surrounded by a thousand images of a Jesus figure being crucified, but instead by some very interesting art. They had a whole exhibit on Russian Constructivism with films projected on walls in black and white. I breezed through it because I wanted to be sure I got to see the reason I was there - Picasso's Guernica.

Unfortunately I rushed through some galleries and eventually did find Guernica. It is a massive painting that commemorates the bombing of the town of Guernica by Franco's forces. I didn't realize it was so big. It was surrounded by a group of people who stood at a distance. It was like they were afraid to get too close. Reina Sofia allowed photos without flash, and some people were taking photos. There was definitely an air of reverence in that room.

An adjoining room had photos and posters from the beginning of the Spanish Civil war. There were some amazing photos by Robert Capa - people huddling in bomb shelters, people running in the streets as planes fly overhead (you can't see them, but you know they are there). Buildings riddled with bullet holes. I cannot imagine what it must be like to have to live through something like that. Most Americans can't imagine, which is maybe why we don't hesitate to drop bombs on other people. Maybe if we had suffered it, we might think twice.

Anyway, I really enjoyed the museum. I might go back and take a more leisurely pace. They had some wonderful paintings by Miro, who has always been one of my favorite painters. His paintings made me smile, especially one called "Spanish Dancer". It was a canvas painted reddish brown, with one little dot in the upper left, and a piece of sandpaper with a little cutout from a magazine of a shoe. He had a vertical line and an inverted V drawn on the canvas. It was so simple, so playful, and here it was in a museum! There were also some good Dali paintings, pre-surrealism, some other good Picasso's and a host of other really interesting works of art.

It was one of the fullest days I have had yet. By the time I left the museum, the wind had died down. I was feeling a little calm (until I returned to more e-mails about work and family), but I felt like the weather, the wild wind and chilly blasts were such an accurate reflection of my inner state. Just like the wind whips up by some unseen distant forces, my own sense of calm can so easily be disturbed. I guess the lesson is that one cannot control the wind. Just let it blow.

To Tip or Not to Tip????

Tipping confuses me. It always has. In the US where 20% seems like an average tip now (and I have some friends who leave even more than that), when I travel, I get really confused. I like hard and fast rules. In Japan, you don't tip. In Argentina, you leave 10%. But from what I read about Spain in my guidebook, the rule was very fuzzy. Some people tip, some people don't. Some leave small change (which was what I was told to do in Guatemala and Mexico, sort of a gesture), some leave more. I did not know what to do.

Basically, my rule was, if I was planning on returning, I'd leave something. If the service was bad and I didn't plan on going back, I would leave nothing, and then leave as quickly as I could, expecting the waiter to come running after me yelling.

This was all working fine for me until I got to Madrid. Then the doubts started.

I went to the Churreria around the corner from me the other night. The service was spotty. I sat and waited for quite a while while a waitress stood in the doorway looking out into space. Finally a waiter came and took my order. Another one delivered is, giving me the bill immediately (I liked that, but thought it was odd). It came to 4.70 Euros.

I paid with 5 Euros and left the .30 cents change in the little tray. As I was finishing my chocolate and churros, the waiter came back for the little tray that had my bill and the change in it. When he saw the change, he held it out to me with a questioning look on his face. I just kind of nodded my head towards him signaling that it was for him. Instead of my expected "gracias" he kind of frowned disgustedly at me. I wasn't sure why he wasn't happy. Was it because I shouldn't have left a tip or because I should have left more? I wanted to tell him to come back so I could just take the change. It made me not want to go back again.

But I did. The location is good - it is right around the corner - and they have tables outside, making it a good place to sit and watch people walking by.

So, the next day I went back, and I got the same waiter. This time when I paid, I took all of the change and left quickly.

I felt funny about that.

Yesterday, the little bar that I went to where I got the excellent service was a major dilemma for me. The service was so good, but the bill was so cheap, only 2.80 euros. Was I going to leave .20 centavos? If I left 10% it would be only .30 centavos. If I left a Euro, it would have been over 30%. I left exact change and scooted out, feeling very odd. I was looking around, hoping someone else would pay their bill to see what they did, but the ladies at the table talking, the woman reading a newspaper and the guys discussing films were all engaged and going nowhere.

So, today I did an internet search to see what I could find and came across a good article. Seems tipping is just not normal in Spain, unless you are with a larger group and the bill is expensive, but even then they only leave 5-10%. For my churros and chocolate, it seems that no tip is required. I still don't feel comfortable leaving nothing, so maybe at some point, if I get the chance, I will ask. The cute, attentive waiter in the nice little corner churros place seems like a good candidate to ask.

I Have a Museum Headache!

I wasn't sure what I was going to do today. I spent some time reading my guide book and checking train schedules to see if I could plan a day trip or two. I still have two days use on my Spain Rail Pass, and even though I feel like I already got my money's worth, I wouldn't mind seeing a little more of what Spain has to offer. I'm still undecided and a lot depends on the weather and how I am feeling, but it looks like I might go to Avila and Salamanca in one day, and Segovia another day.

I was planning on going to the train station to make my reservations and then from there hitting one of the museums that are nearby. I checked Rick Steve's website to see if he had any tips on visiting the Prado and he suggested going during siesta as it was least crowded. I was thinking I would go later in the day, but I took his advice. And since they were going to make me check my bag and since I was not sure if I wanted to book these train trips, I left everything at home except my camera.

It was a gray, cloudy, slightly blistery day. I'd eaten breakfast and a bowl of lentils before going out, but I thought I needed a cup of hot chocolate and some churros to sustain me while I did the cultural thing.

Walking from here to the Prado, I saw a sign advertising rich chocolate and freshly made churros. I followed it and came across a little corner bar/cafe. There were a few women sitting at a table and one woman at the counter reading a newspaper. I sat down at the counter and ordered churros and chocolate.

The chocolate was really good, very dark, thick and rich, and the churros were also good, though I have to say I prefer the ones in Granada to Madrid. Here they are more like what I can get at Mexican restaurants in SF - they are kind of thin, crunchy and have ridges. In Granada they were thick, puffy and airy and went so well with the chocolate.

My chocolate came in a big goblet type thing.

The place was cute and so was the guy behind the counter. Every now and then he'd go around and offer cookies from a tray on the counter. He also offered me a glass of water. It was the most attentive service I have had so far in Spain.

As I was enjoying my churros and chocolate and the atmosphere and the service a loud group of men and one woman came charging in. They stood right next to me loudly having an intellectual discussion about films. I was hoping they would sit down, but they didn't. They just stood there and talked, even bumping into me from time to time. I think this is the Spanish thing to do. It's what I've seen in tapas bars and one reason I haven't gone to tapas bars. I moved down a stool, but it was not enough. They had completely spoiled what was otherwise the perfect place for me.

I paid for my churros and chocolate and left, having to say excuse me several times to get past them to the door.

I got to the Prado and after having to ask several people where the entrance was, I got my ticket, and whizzed inside. It looked like it might be crowded at times as they had roped off areas for lines and several ticket windows. It seemed I had come at a good time.

I entered and had no idea where to go. From what I've read in my guidebook and elsewhere, there are recommendations as to which rooms to visit, whether to turn right or left, go up or down, etc., but I had no guide book and didn't really have anything in particular I wanted to see except for maybe the Raphael they had.

So I just walked. I passed through a Dutch/Flemish area and saw a room full of Hieronymous Bosch, the Dutch/Flemish (not sure) guy who did some very weird paintings, especially ones depicting heaven and hell. His most famous one was crowded by tour groups which made it hard to see the details like devils eating people alive, but I did get to see some of his other less famous paintings up close. Verdict? The guy was a strange one. I chuckled several times at the oddness of his paintings. Some of them were just creepy.

I also liked a few other Dutch/Flemish masters - Roger somebody who had an amazing crucifixion scene that had such crisp detail, even the cut in Christ's side looked so real it was hard to believe it was a painting, in spite of the very stylized and super real quality of the painting. I don't think it was famous though because there were no tour groups in front of it.

I found the museum layout very confusing with rooms going in all directions and in no apparent order with very few signs. I walked around several times to be sure I didn't miss anything as I soon got the impression that even though this was one of the world's greatest museums, it was not that big.

I was not really enjoying myself, to be honest, but now in retrospect I am glad I went. I got to see some fantastic El Greco paintings, which I was unable to see in Toledo since his house was closed for repairs. I also some Velasquez portraits that were kind of funny. It seemed to me that all of the faces in his paintings looked the same, but I loved his brushstroke and also a certain playfulness he seemed to have with otherwise boring subject matter (aristocrats).

I think my two favorites were Goya, who had some portraits on one floor similar to Velasquez (in fact I confused the two), but on the lower level was his famous painting depicting the execution of a group of men who rebelled in Madrid in the late 1800's - one man in a white shirt standing with his arms outstretched in an act of Christ-like defiance before being shot. And then in another room was an eery collection of Goya's "dark" paintings. I had forgotten about these, but seeing them reminded me of the one that appeared in my art history book. They were very eery, kind of scary. Monsters, strange looking people, one of a dog seeming to be sinking in quicksand, but not really clear where he was. It was clear that Goya at this point in his life was fighting some very serious demons and while I loved the power of these paintings, it was the power that also kind of gave me the chills and scared me. I didn't stay long.

I made one last round towards the Bosch room to see if I could see his garden of earthly delights or whatever it is called without a tour group in front of it, and stumbled across the Raphael. It was a tiny little thing in a frame that made it seem even smaller, but it was a very sweet little painting of Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus who was sitting on a lamb. The best thing was that apparently no one else knew it was there. There were no tour groups in front of it, and in fact, no one else but me.

I did make it back to the Bosch and another tour group was standing in front of his most famous painting. It seemed to be a group of high school students. The tour guide was explaining the three different parts of the painting - the creation, paradise and hell, while the students looked around, looking very bored, some staring off into space, others looking at the ceiling. I stood and listened for a while, but I could see why they were bored. I think the guide was over-explaining the painting and it probably would have been more interesting to get them to talk about what they saw, rather than try to explain every little detail to them.

And so now it is raining and I'm in for the day since my jeans are in the wash and it's too cold for shorts. Tomorrow I may go to the train station and try to book a trip for Friday, and then maybe stop in at the Reina Sofia museum to see Picasso's Guernica, which I am sure will have a steady stream of tour groups standing in front of it, making it very difficult to appreciate.

The Waiting Game

I had to go to the US Embassy today. I don't know why, but I was really nervous about it. I knew in this post 9-11 world, it would not be as easy as I remembered in Japan in 1994 or whenever I went before to get extra passport pages.

On Sunday night I had bad dreams about going. Last night I didn't sleep well because I didn't want to miss my 9:45 appointment.

I got up at 8, and wasted time on Facebook so that my plan to get out of here by 9 didn't quite work out. I did leave by 9:15, walked to Paseo del Prado to catch a taxi, thinking that from there it would be the quickest route. It was, but there was still a lot of traffic and all of Madrid for some reason seems to be getting torn up - there is street construction everywhere.

I arrived at the "fortress" at 9:45 exactly. I had to go through a metal detector, check my bag, pass through another set of doors, and finally entered a medium sized room that was filled beyond capacity. A lot of people were sitting waiting for their turn for interviews so that they could get a visa to visit the United States. Others were standing because there were no seats. A very fertile couple sat with their two little girls and an infant (and I overheard the girls talking about their sister who was in school). The kids were noisy. People were coughing. It was hot. I could not sit down because all of the seats were full.

A little beep would sound each time a new number flashed up on the board telling those who were waiting which window to go to. I finally figured out that there was one particular window that was handling the Ds. My number was D411. All of the other numbers started with A, and they seemed to be foreigners (mostly Spaniards, but some others) who wanted a US visa. There were two other windows on the D side that were empty. A group of people stood looking at a computer screen. I suspected that group of people was supposed to be doing other jobs and was one of the reasons why things were moving so slowly.

Every time someone went up to the D window, what could have been a simple procedure seemed really complicated. Lots of questions were asked, back and forth, and the process took about 10 minutes per person. Then the lady behind the glass would disappear, and return in about 5 minutes and call someone else up.

I watched as the numbers moved - D407, D408, D409. And then the lady disappeared for a long time.

Another woman came and sat behind the glass. D410. It was a young woman and her husband. She had lost or had her passport stolen. She had no ID and had to fill out some forms. There were a lot of questions back and forth. I stood patiently waiting my turn, thinking that maybe I should have asked for the form I was supposed to fill out before my turn. I tried printing it at the Locutorio last night, but their printer was running out of ink and it had a big white stripe down the center. Finally, at about 10:30, my number appeared.

I told the woman I needed more passport pages. She snapped at me - "Did you make an appointment?" - Yes, I had. I added that my appointment was at 9:45, letting her know subtly that they were 45 minutes behind schedule.

She took my appointment paper which wasn't really necessary because she had my name on a paper in front of her. I don't know what good my appointment was because I still had to wait.

Then she asked if I had filled out the form. I showed her the form I printed and she gave me a new one, then told me to step aside and fill it out.

I was really worried that I would then have to wait for D412 to take 15 minutes asking and answering questions plus the 5 minutes for the woman to disappear and return and finally get my turn again, so I rushed through the form, making lots of mistakes, being very sloppy and forgetting some information, but in a few minutes I was back at her window, where she asked me what some illegible numbers were and had me fill in the missing information.

Then she told me to wait and I would be called back when my passport was ready.

And so I waited, with the two very talkative little girls and the crying infant and the amazing number of people who had had their passports stolen (including a Mormon missionary) and all of the other people who were waiting to get their visas to go to the US if they passed the interview. I don't know why anyone would visit the United States if they have to go through such hassles. I would just go elsewhere. I think visitors to the US should have a gold carpet rolled out for them. If Americans had to go through such hassles to visit Europe, you know we'd be up in arms. I am traveling freely through Europe without needing a visa or even having to show my passport when I go from one country to another. Why are we such pricks about the whole thing?

And so I waited. One of the other windows now had a woman working (sort of). She was the one who was calling people up for their second call, in some cases to sign a form, in others to give them their new passports. I watched as D407, D408, D409, D410 were called. I was next. Then D414! For some reason she skipped me. And in the middle of all of this she kept floating to other windows to help people with technical problems, like the one where the lady was getting fingerprinted but our high tech fingerprinting machine was malfunctioning. At other times she was just chatting with people and sometimes she was just staring at her computer screen.

I could not believe it was taking this long for them to just put extra pages in my passport. I know how it works. It's a little booklet of extra pages and they just tape it in the passport and stamp it saying that extra pages have been added. How long could that possibly take? Why were people who were getting brand new passports being served before me?

I was going to ask but the woman disappeared for about 15 minutes. I assumed it was her break time. This was worse than the DMV.

When she came back, she entered a new number and above her window the numbers D416 appeared. I quickly went up and showed her my number and asked if somehow I had missed hearing my number. She said she didn't have my case. She asked someone else, and that woman asked someone else. The woman who originally helped me came over and finally she called me back to her window. It seemed that she had had my amended passport for quite some time.

Two very aggravating hours later, I left.

I walked back towards Plaza del Sol and wanted to see if I could find Chueca, the supposedly gay area of Madrid. I think I was in part of Chueca yesterday. There were lots of fashionable clothing shops along a pedestrian street, but I knew there should be more. Where there are gays, there is always something good going on - be it fashion, food, bars, architecture, etc.

I walked along the Paseo Castellano - a major tree lined boulevard that was mostly torn up by construction. I wonder what it is they are doing. Dodging jackhammers and bulldozers and taking detours, I finally decided to get off of that street and see if I could find Chueca.

I passed through some interesting neighborhoods with bakeries, fish markets, produce markets, etc., and finally came to where I was yesterday. I'm still not sure if I was in Chueca, but I liked the area more than where I am staying. It seemed more authentic and less touristy.

I came to the Gran Via, another major street and was really hungry at this point since I hadn't had much of a breakfast. I was hoping along my walk home to find something quick to nibble on because I have a lot of lentils in my fridge. But as I passed one restaurant that had a daily menu that included a hamburger, fries and a beverage, my hunger gave in. I walked in and sat down and looked at the menu, all set to order a bacon cheeseburger.

Then I noticed that the menu was valid from 13:00 to 16:00. It was 12:50. I had ten minutes to wait before I could order the menu.

I thought I would try anyway, since it was only 10 minutes. The waitress came over and I asked if I could order the menu. She told me after 1:00. I said, "it is only 10 minutes". She said I could order individual items from the menu, but the set menu was not available until after 1:00. I told her to forget it.

I left, thinking how stupid it was that she would not let me order the set 10 minutes early and had lost a customer.

It was turning out to be an entirely unpleasant morning.

I continued looking for a place to eat and finally came upon Miau, a restaurant a friend of a friend recommended. It's on Plaza Santa Ana, which is right down the street from my building. I looked at their menu and it looked good. I ordered pinto beans and grilled salmon and a glass of white wine. The pinto beans were actually bean soup with ham and chorizo. It was really yummy and not super salty like other things I've had here. The salmon was great. It had a little garlic on it and was grilled perfectly. I really enjoyed the meal except for the cigarette smoke in the restaurant. I realized that I was probably not aware that they allow smoking in restaurants in Spain because in Seville I never went inside to eat. I think it is disgusting and is so 1980's - I mean it goes back to before we even had smoking and non-smoking sections.

And now it's raining. I might straighten up my apartment a bit, look at my map and try to figure out where Chueca is and what to do if I go there, and take a nap. Maybe now I can sleep, now that I have extra passport pages and I don't have to worry about the Indonesians turning me away because there is no room for my visa (this is why I was so worried about the whole thing).