#6 Hello Portugal - Madrid to Porto

23rd December, 2009.

Today I depart Madrid. I haven’t enjoyed it as much as thought I would. I think it was the near constant rain, the freezing cold and sheer number of people mixed with a little culture shock. 

As there is no direct train to Porto, the only cheap transport option was via bus.

An early bus.

I had to wake up at 6am - to finish packing my bag, hopefully have breakfast, and get to the Bus Station by 730 pick up the bus tickets. Packing took a little longer than expected (although me being me, I should have given more time to packing in the first place), so we ended up walking out of the Hostal 10 minutes later than planned. This earned me some stern “we are late, rawrawrawr” words from dad. Meh, being 10 minutes late surely isn’t the worst that can happen.

While we’d walked to Atocha Renfe yesterday, the bus terminal was a little further away - this time we would be getting the metro. Heading to the small Plaza de Anton Martin, I hoped to have breakfast at the plaza's Museo del Jamon before descending into the Anton Martin metro station.

Above: The route we would be taking to the Bus Station. Click 

here to see a larger version of the map.

Museo del Jamon was closed. Great. Not to worry, there would be more than enough time to get food at the bus station..

Our journey from Anton Martin would take us four stations down Metro Line 1, before changing at Pacifico for Line 6 to Méndez Alvaro. Looking out for would-be pickpockets, I noticed something I'd never seen before on the platform display. While it usually listed the upcoming stations, or occasionally showed "Feliz Navidad" (Merry Christmas), this message focused on the Atocha Renfe metro station.

The same message was displayed inside the train, giving rise to some concern as Atocha Renfe is a few stations before Pacifico. 

As the train slowed on approach to Atocha Renfe, we looked around to see everyone else stand up and shuffle to the doors. Ok, this isn’t good... Surely it was something minor, and we’d be on another train in no time. 

The platform looked different. Only subtly at first, but enough to put me on edge. This didn't seem right. Ascending the platform stairs, the smell hit me. It's only then that I realised what I'd been seeing. A lightly coloured haze of now thickening smoke had permeated every corner of the station.

Smoke. In the metro station?

Fuck.

Stopping momentarily to ask for directions, we ran up the final set of stairs before being thrust into a rainy pre-dawn Madrid. Uncaring cars rushed past, kicking up water while dad fruitlessly tried using his map to figure out where we were. The policeman who gave directions from Atocha Renfe suggested we catch bus no. 50 (or something like that), but given the circumstances I didn’t see this happening.

Across the road, just 8 lanes of traffic away, was the train station’s bus and taxi terminal. A taxi! That’s what we need. Waiting for the lights to change seemed to take an eternity, but we eventually found our way over to the first taxi. Piling our gear into the boot, we explained where to go some 3-4 times, just to make sure he understood.

Time was running out.

As it turns out, we made it to the bus station with 15 minutes to spare, a feat that earned the taxi driver a generous tip.With mum lined up at the Alsa counter, and dad guarding the bags, I was sent to look for breakfast options. There was one café open. While that would have done, the lines were at a standstill - we didn’t have time to stay.

No breakfast. Woo. Kit-Kats from a vending machine would have to suffice. 

A bus trip is a lot like flying – there is nothing to do, it’s uncomfortable and time passes incredibly slowly. And to make it just that bit worse, you can’t get out of your seat to walk around. As the bus snaked its way east towards Portugal, I spent my time trying to read and listening to my iPod. In the mere hours before leaving home (heh, cutting it rather close), Graeme had thankfully downloaded some George Carlin audiobooks and Jimmy Carr show recordings.

Above: On the bus, just outside Madrid

17 hours of comedy. Yay! If you haven’t heard of Jimmy Carr, check out this video. I’ve actually looked to see if he is performing while I’m in London, but unfortunately it doesn’t look like it.

Time slowly rolled along, with the monotony of travel broken by the stops at various towns – Salamanca, Ciudad Rodrigo, Tontelinko, Figuerio, Fonte Arcada - and service centres. Sometime in the early afternoon we had passed into Portugal, although I didn't take any notice.

Things however livened up after the Coimbra stop. You see, the bus travels on its route, stopping at the bus stations of towns along the way. Even if it wasn't someone's final destination, they would be allowed to get off at each stop with just enough time for a mad dash to the bathrooms or snack shop. Those who were leaving for good would of course take their bags with them.

Pulling out of the Coimbra bus station, I noticed a few people missing. Their bags were still there, but they weren’t. The bus driver had counted the number of passengers, and wasn’t bothered by it... oh well..

Then, 15 minutes later, someone got a phone call. We had soon pulled over, with a heated discussion occurring up front. This went on for a number of minutes, before the bus began heading back to Coimbra. Now the real fun began. Out of nowhere popped up an older Portuguese man, who began yabbering on loudly at the bus company staff. For a good 10 minutes he went on and on, with all the excitement and animation of a European football commentator. We learnt from a young Portuguese man, who’s English “wasn’t very good” (well, it ended up being good enough to tell dad about Portuguese beers), that the old guy didn’t want to be delayed. All that shouting for something he couldn't control.

Dude. Chill.

Having returned to pick up the missing passengers, we eventually arrived in Porto 30-60 minutes late. Without a map of the area, we relied on mum’s Google maps directions to get to the hostal, and after much arguing agreed that I would be in charge of the directions for the next stop.

Finally at our home for the next few days, Residencial San Marino, I dumped my gear on the bed before opening my window to this view.

- Andrew

#5 Madrid: Trains and Toledo

22nd December, 2009.

Today we took a daytrip to the town of Toledo, situated some 70km south of Madrid. Waking up early to find it raining again, I hoped this would give a much needed break from the weather (we didn’t know the forecast for Toledo.. so fingers were crossed).

The most efficient way of getting to Toledo is by train. The fast train – Renfe’s Alta Velocidad Española (literally “Spanish High Speed”) train service. We would be catching the 9:20am train from Madrid’s Atocha Renfe station, just a “short walk” from our hostal. Truth be told, it was a pretty short walk, but walking never seems short when out in the rain. Having breakfast on the way (yet another Bocadilla jamon y queso), we arrived with time enough to explore the more unique parts of the station.

Below: Did I mention there was a forest inside the station?

While nothing exciting happened on the journey (then again I don’t want anything “exciting” to happen to a train hurtling along at 200km/h), I was surprised to see the train actually left early. And no, not by my clock, but the one inside the train compartment!  Cityrail could learn something from this...

Above: Despite the view from the train, I always kept hope that the weather would be fine in Toledo...

Arriving in Toledo just half an hour later, I stepped off the train to discover Madrid’s bad weather had followed us here.  It was pouring.  That’s ok, we will just leave earlier than previously planned. Not so – being the efficient planner that she is, mum had pre-booked the return tickets.

For the 5:30pm train.

This was going to be a lonnnnnnnng day.

A tourist bus took us the final distance to the historic area of Toledo. Dropped off in the Plaza de Zocodóver, we oriented ourselves at the tourist info centre before going in search of the first landmark.

Actually, that should be “before dad charged off in typical fashion, leading us on a backstreet adventure with no idea where we actually were, in the pouring rain, before stumbling across the Catedral de Toledo”. Nice one dad.

Now of course photos weren’t allowed, so this part will have to get a little wordy. The cathedral, as far as cathedrals go, was very impressive. It is one of three 13^th century “high gothic” cathedrals in Spain, and considered to be the pinnacle of Spanish Gothic architecture. With construction spanning several centuries, it evolved with the tastes of the time to become an extremely large structure - It measures 120 metres in length by 59 metres  in width and 44.5 metres high. Considering that those dimensions are for the nave itself, the diagram below gives an indication of the overall size.

It is massive.

And it’s here that I’ll stop with the description, because in the end – as I’ve discovered with Buddhist temples in Vietnam and Mosques in Morocco - they are pretty much all the same. Cathedrals all have similar areas, and generally look the same to those that don’t really care to know the difference in construction that results from the various gothic architectural styles, or how decorative nuances differ from country to country.

In editing this post, I decided to remove a self-indulgent rant on the near obscene amount of gold that adorns this cathedral's interior. Let's just say that the Chapel of Treasure's centerpiece consists of some 18 kilograms of solid gold. That, and then the rest...

Actually, I do want to indulge in something. Most of these cathedrals will often have some soft music playing. I feel this music – the boring church kind – doesn’t do any justice to the sheer magnificence these buildings possess. I’ve taken to listening to a few of the following tracks on my ipod while sitting inside cathedrals and other magnificent buildings:

• Forever Today, Tiesto (the video is weird.. but you hear the right part of the song..)
• Hymne, Armin van Buuren
• La Hacienda, Tiesto
• And for Kate, Confutatis and the hauntingly beautiful Lacrimosa from Mozart’s Requiem. 

Note that the first few are from trance producers Tiesto and Armin van Buuren, but rest assured that these are either orchestral introductions to their shows, or they fit in with the general grand scale of a cathedral. 

Anyway.

Stepping back into the rain, we continued our unstructured tour of Toledo. Aimless wandering, punctuated by swearing staccatos (to the effect of telling dad that a backstreet route doesn't work when he doesn't know the backstreets..), eventually lead us to a Fransciscan monastery - Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes. A relatively humble structure, I found this to be much more interesting than the Cathedral. Maybe it had something to do with being allowed to take photos...

Above: Gardens in the Cloister set a humble and peaceful tone to the Monastery.

Sick of religious sight seeing (ha... I know. Wrong continent to be saying that...), we retraced our path back up the hill to find a small cafe. It was finally time for lunch.

Sometime during lunch it stopped raining, so the afternoon was spent wandering around other areas of Toledo. Having visited a few shops (where mum redeemed her birthday gift of "something expensive on the holiday"), we returned to Plaza de Zocodóver for hot chocolates at the Plaza's cafe. It seems as though we are trying hot chocolates everywhere we go. I'm certainly not complaining.

Since it was still clear outside, and because we were over waiting for 5:30pm to roll around, we decided to walk back to the train station. The walk, initially heading downhill along the old city wall, offered us panoramic views of the new city.

Above: Our route took us behind the houses in the left of frame, through the 

roundaboutand over the bridge before reaching the train station. 

As if to make up for the so-far lame weather, the sky came to life during the train ride back. The sun, now sweeping low across the land, coloured clouds a brilliant golden haze. But, as the photo below shows, it was a losing battle. Dashing into the darkness, grey eventually retook the sky as we returned to a rainy Madrid. Rainy.. just as the day had begun.

Below: Sunset from the AVE

- Andrew

#4: Madrid: Museums and Boredom, part 2

21st December, 2009.

So yesterday I said "I’ll just take the photos tomorrow, right?"


Wrong.

Above: My view from the hostal room balcony. It had snowed overnight. 

I awoke today to find it had snowed overnight. While this may seem cool at first, my jubilation at seeing real snow (for what… the 3rd-4th time in my life?) subsided when it began to rain. With a touch of city grit to help it along, the white icy snow was quickly turning to a grey slush.

Above: A slushy Plaza de Canaleja, down the road from the hostal

However, Madrid’s dreary attitude didn’t hamper our plans. There were more sights to see. This morning we visited the Spanish Royal Palace. While I was initially excited to see something that was not an art gallery (yay), this also proved to be a painfully long and sometimes boring experience. 

We arrived early around 930, to avoid the crowds. From the outside, the complex looked rather impressive – there was the palace itself, an armoury and a large courtyard. Relatively undisturbed snow still covered the courtyard, so I was eager to get in to take some photos.

Above: The Spanish Royal Palace

The above photo cost me a little bit of trouble. Not 10 seconds after I reached the middle of the courtyard, it began to rain. Heavily. Wanting to protect my camera, I sought refuge under a nearby alcove in the courtyard wall.

Taking a few photos while waiting out the rain seems like a reasonable idea, right? 

Well… it wasn’t according to one of the security guards. He walked halfway across the courtyard, through snow and heavy rain, to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to stand there. That I wasn’t allowed to stand under the only cover for 40-50m while it was pouring. Sure those alcoves may have housed guards 200 years ago, but now..? 

Dickhead. 

Anyway, we eventually found our way to the Palace itself and began the relatively simple self-guided tour. This is going to sound similar to my thoughts on the art galleries, but after a certain point it became kind of boring. Yes, I admit that we were seeing some impressive stuff, but each room became another display of excessive amounts of wealth. No one needs completely gold encrusted room. 

I did find one thing particularly awesome – the music room. Behind a series of glass cases was a Stradivarius string quartet (del Cuarteto Real). As compensation for my earlier photographic injustices (and as a “fuck you” to “the Spanish man”), I decided to sneak a photo in when the guard momentarily stepped outside. This photo, of the cello Spanish Court, is for Olly.

Below: Stradivarius Spanish Court Cello

- Andrew