Bloggo Andalusia Uno: Arrival and Jet-lag Day

I'm a bit embarrassed to be looking at my blog after many months of...not looking at it. I had intended to write about the ups and downs of my trip to Portugal in May-June 2017, but somehow never got to it.

Let's see if I can remedy this (and if anyone cares) by writing about where I landed a week and a half ago: the southern edg of Spain.

For some reason that I cannot quite put my finger on, I became ambivalent about this trip, after of course I'd booked flights, hotels, trips; and in the days leading up to the trip began to be angry at myself for deciding it. I won't continue in that subject, though I might write another post at some point re love and fear of the three week stints abroad I have become accustomed to since retiring in May 2012. Don't hold your breaths, and I doubt many of you will.

I usually introduce Dottore Gianni at about this point in my posts, but he has become so frustrated with my ditherings that he's disappeared... temporarily I hope (or do I?). So this time around all you get is my own thoughts, and who knows? Given my own confusion/frustration they may confuse and possibly even frustrate you as well.

So let's dive in. On Thursday 12 October, I flew from Greenville SC to Charlotte NC. Both flights were comfortable. I bought into TSA Pre-Check recently, and while I find it hilarious and not a little weird that for $85 dollars you gain a stamp of approval from the government. Having plopped down some cash I now deseve not a threat to my country.

The flight from Charlotte especially was fine, as I was on a nice big Airbus and not a cramped Boing ( I know I've not spelled that correctly but am not about to quit only a few paragraphs into my first blog in nearly a year!). The Airbus was only half booked as well, so there was legroom and the ability to spread oneself - aaahhhh!

Landed in Madrid, not as promised at 7 am the next morning their time, but an hour early. 6 am! Killed some time at the airport with a good strong coffee and croissant, and hopped the airport bus - excellent service and cheap - 5 Euros! for a 40 minute ride. Taxis are now charging a standard rate of $30 for the same ride, just FYI. I was dropped at Atocha Rail Station and did have to pay another 8 Euros for the ride to my hotel, but so what!? to which I arrived at 8:30 am.

In case you wonder, 8:30 am is not any hotel's favorite time to receive a new guest, and they were polite if a little short with me when I told them that I knew it was far too early to check in, but whether I might hope for noon or one pm instead of the obligatory two in the afternoon.

So off I went, already dead tired, on a sweet (if forced) little trip down memory lane. What else was I to do? I had spent a week in Madrid back in 2013. My hotel was located only a few blocks from Calle de Huerta, from which you can get easily (except for dodging trucks which were not made to fit such a narrow roadway) from the Prado all the way to Plaza Mayor. I was much nearer the grand Prado than the grand Plaza, which meant a slightly uphill hike. Still it's a charming road. If you've ever been on it you can look down (taking care that no trucks are barreling through) and see quotations by famous Spanish authors of the past in the very pavement of the road. And the street signs in Calle de Huerta and Madrid in general are painted colorfully on tiles, meant to tell the passer-thru the meaning of the street in pictures as well as in print. So that was all very nice.

For some reason I took no photos of either the quotations or the tiled street names, probably because I knew I'd done it all before, on the trip in 2013 - "thrift, Horatio, thrift"! Instead on the way to Plaza Mayor I found myself whipping out my camera, stopping, then deciding against, sticking it back in its pouch and proceeding once again on my way.

I DID take a photo or three of oddities, or things I'd missed the first time around. The first was this: A very clever and certainly catchy visual. Except that I at least took it the wrong way

at first, because I saw the gigantic arachnoid (oh dear, I find myself writing as Dottore G might have done - "spider" will do, idiot! "arachnoid"? Please!) BEFORE I caught the title of the play - musical actually - that Teatro Calderon had on offer - by the way if you don't know who Calderon is you should damned well look him up! Only one of the greatest of all Spanish playwrights of the Golden Age, his finest achievement the bewildering and brilliant Life's a Dream. Whoops! Just gave it all away, so less work for you, alas.

To make a long story even longer, my FIRST thought was that the play on the boards at the Calderon was Kiss of the Spiderwoman! I could be forgiven for doing so, I suppose. Instead it was a miserable little musical called The Addams Family, a lousy re-working of a very fine and funny TV series. Not that Kiss of the Spiderwoman was much better. Another musical of which one must wonder, "Why would anyone do that to such a wonderful, dark film?" (Answer: Chita Rivera.) And who would let that anyone put it on Broadway? Ah well.

Aside: for those of you who are reading this blog for the first time you may not know that I am a retired professor of theatre history, and KNOW whereof I speak. And if you don't agree with me you can just go...on reading. 

The Plaza Mayor is a wonderful open space, but less so at this ungodly hour of the day, when everywhere people are setting up frantically for all the other people, especially tourists, so that they can have a thrilling experience. I was nearly knocked or run down by any number of humans and/or vehicles. That lessened my own thrill slightly, and I took no pics of that place either. Thus even though this is meant to be primarily a photo blog, so far it is failing to be one. Apologies.

From Plaza Mayor I walked on to the charming, much smaller Plaza whatsitsface, which features the oldest door in Madrid, a small statue and some lovely old buildings, and from there forged forward still until I hiked almost as far as the cathedral. Realizing that I'd walked all that way I turned round and headed back in the general direction of the Plaza Mayor toward the Plaza del Sol, another grand public space, and where I had stayed at a hotel on my first trip to Madrid. No photos there either, not even of the plaque in the pavement proving that Madrid is the epicenter of Spain, and thus its capital. Another one that, let's face it, I already have.

I found the spot just off Plaza del Sol where in 2013 I caught the hop-on, hop-off tourist bus, just as one of them was pulling up. People waiting at the stop jostled each other rudely and fought to be first on the bus, to secure a seat on the upper level. I thought for a moment of joining the jostling. Thinking back on it perhaps I should have, as riding the bus would have given me a place to sit for an hour or so. I wouldn't have fought for the top of the bus, instead relax seeing just about nothing, which is all you are able to see on the lower level: just about nothing.

But I didn't. Instead, oddly, I followed the route of the bus for a time, in the mid-town shopping area that is not my favorite. I trod forth (my pleasant stroll to pass the time was rapidly becoming a death march) and finally found myself at one of my favorite roundabouts (as long as I didn't have to drive on it) in the city, with a glorious statue that I had snapped twice on my 2013. Both shots back then turned out to be marvelous. Sorry, didn't take any this trip.

I headed down the long, elegant tree-lined road that takes one to the Prado and other wonderful museums, and on to Atocha Station. I

stopped at the Prado, just on the hope that the typically long lines would have miraculously disappeared. (Book in advance or horror of horrors with the tame, nearly blind herd, slow-moving and oblivious; aka a group) Of course the lines had not disappeared. They never will. Instead I found a shady place to sit and relax and watch said lines, which seemed never to lessen. I DID however, find another photo op, a statue of the great artist GOYA in the museum's courtyard, and actually snapped another photo! Of course I'd photographed the more obvious statue of Velasquez in 2013 (what didn't I do on that trip?) but somehow I'd missed an artist that I admire even more. I'm a true believer of Goya. The first time I was in Madrid I took a pilgrimage to the church where Goya was buried (it's a bit out of center) to pay my respects and to see the fine murals he painted there.

From the Prado I went to one of my favorite walls in the world. Nothing like the asinine wall that's to be built across our southern border - the brainchild of the man who would be president but has no clue how (to build a wall or to be president) - but the lovely living GREEN wall (the Donald seems to want to get rid of all things green as well - you might say these days in the US that "it's not easy to be green) at the Caixa Forum, on the road between the Prado and Atocha Station. And here, although I have a perfectly acceptable photo of it already, I took another! Three in fact, of which I will display only one for you now.

I simply love this wall. It dazzles me. It MUST do, as I actually snapped it! Thrice!

It is only a short distance from the Caixa Forum back to the bottom of the Calle de Huerta. At this time it was about 11:30 am. Yes my friends, it had been a long march. And it wasn't over yet. I decided to find a place for lunch near that calle, because it was near to my hotel, then returning to the hotel at about 12:30, betting that by then it would be ready.

One of the most obnoxious things about me as a traveler is that I cnnot for the life of me make up my mind where to eat lunch! (or supper - breakfast is almost always included in the hotel bill, so that's easy). I retrace steps over the same trails, staring at the menus, debating whether to eat inside or out. So that while the distance was rather short to the area near my hotel it took me nearly a half hour to decide on a place; one I'd passed at least three times. A simple place on the beautiful Plaza de Santa Ana, where statues of of Calderon - you know a bit about him, but you should know more, so look him up - and of Federico Garcia Lorca - look him up as well - not going to tell you about him, though his story is as heartbreaking as his plays are great, so I insist that you look him up, or you've lost me as a friend. One of Spain's greatest theatres sits on that plaza as well.

The placeI'd chosen advertised brunch - perfect! There were I think four choices and this is what I had:

A simple but delicious meal, and washed down as you see with a little bubbly, also VERY fresh freshly-squeezed orange juice - you could make a mimosa! And I did. I may have been exhausted but I was determined to celebrate.

I took a shot of the place itself:

and the outdoor seating, where I chose to dine:

After that it was all I could do to get back to the hotel (I suppose the bubbly hadn't helped) to find that the room was indeed ready! I managed to get myself up to it, and almost immediately fell heavily onto the bed and into a deep sleep.

Some hours later, after a shower, setting up wi-fi (sometimes easy, sometimes not - for me almost never easy), setting up the safe in the room (again sometimes easy, sometimes not even a wee bit easy), doing this, that and the other, I decided to head out on the streets again just to find a sandwich to bring back to the room.

(Where I et - you can actually see the entrance to my hotel adjacent)

After my obligatory long look around, and finding no sandwich shops I liked, I said to hell with it and went to another place that I'd been eyeing

again and again to have a sit-down meal (on the left, a view from my table). I was fortunate to have as waitstaff one of those women who is a true pro. Attentive and sharp as I was punchy and dull, she asked what I wanted. When I said "A pizza I think" (I'd come in thinking I'd have a salad I saw on the menu outside), she waited a moment, and noting my stupor said, "Want to know my favorite?" Sure. And that's what I had. What would I drink? "Vino tinto," I replied - I do know a few words in Spanish. She asked what kind, I paused again, and she said again, "Want to know my favorite?" Of course. And that's what I got.

It was one of the tastiest pizzas I have ever eaten, tomato base with a gorgonzola-like cheese, Iberian ham (heaven) and slices of pear (!). The wine - she poured a Rioja - accompanied it perfectly. And the entire meal (of course I had a second glass of Rioja) came to about 17 Euros.

Thus ended the first day - jet-lag day - of my trip to Spain. Thus also ends this post. Next up, if indeed I continue, Sevilla! Ole!