On Wednesday evening I joined other travelers from my hostel on a tapas tour. The guide took us to three different restaurants for three rounds of tapas and three drinks for only 13 euro. The food was amazing, and the sangria wasn't half bad either. The Spanish love their potatoes and octopus. I think my favorite tapa in Madrid was easily the one pictured on the bottom: french baguette with quail egg and chorizo underneath.
The next day I woke up feeling more comfortable in Madrid than before. Being from a small town in Iowa, Madrid was pretty overwhelming at first but my lengthy walking tour calmed my nerves quite a bit. Therefore, I woke up with a newfound bravery and set out to further explore. My hostel in Madrid was in a great location, just ten minutes from Los Museos Renia Sofia y Prado, and less than five from Plaza Mayor and Puerta del Sol. I spent the morning roaming around the Real Botanical Gardens of Madrid. As a student admission was cheap and the royal grounds were magnificent. I found refuse in the greenery there amidst a hustling and bustling city.
That afternoon I befriended Sia, a German girl on holiday from Hamburg. Sia is an art history student and agreed to accompany me to the Prado Museum. We elected to wait until the museums free admission hours from 6-8 pm so we spent the early evening exploring the student area of Madrid where we found a positively charming cafe the best carrot cake this woman has ever tasted. The basement of the cafe was a peaceful stone cellar with carefully selected decor. It was so adorable that I simply must post a photo.
After espresso and carrot cake we trekked to the Prado Museum. I should preface this visit by saying that the Prado has over 100 (at least) of my second favorite Spanish painter's original works. Below are some prints of a few of his notable paintings. Meet Goya.
My trip to the Prado was much more informative than it would have been thanks to Sia's presence. She was very knowledgable about the societal characteristics of each period in history that influenced how various artists portrayed their messages. After the museum, Sia and I enjoyed dinner with two of her friends, Saskia and Tobias. I had gazpacho (a cold soup) and torta (basically bread with a meat on it), shown below.
Despite my noisy roommates (I had 19) I managed to get a little sleep last night before my 6 am wake up call. I should warn you: Here begins a saga of easily avoidable mishaps that made my commute to Bilbao a trying one. I checked out of my hostel and took a taxi to the Atocha train station with about a half hour before my train to Bilbao left. As it were, my train actually left from the Chamartín station. This left a frantic Jenna sprinting to the nearest metro train to get to Chamartín in time to catch my train. Of course, I had no idea where Chamartín was or how to get there. I trusted my instincts and hopped on the first metro that seemed sensible. After about 3 stops, a feeble old man grabbed one of my suitcases and began to lead me off of the metro in broken English. Was I being robbed? By this frail, 90 year old human? I thought so for at least a minute until he explained in Spanish that there was a MUCH faster metro line to Chamartín. He carried my suitcase to the correct platform and sent me on my way. My own Spanish angel.
I arrived at Chamartín approximately 3 minutes before my train's scheduled departure. I ran about half a mile with both suitcases and my backpack to the correct platform and just barely made my train. I was sweating and exhausted upon taking my seat and thoroughly looking forward to remaining seated for the six hour ride to Bilbao. The natural landscape of northern Spain is positively breathtaking. Our train zipped through green mountains speckled with red roofed, stucco country homes. Most of the other passengers were staring at me because of the stupid grin on my face for the entirety of the six hours. I hope these photos do it a little bit of justice.
I already like Bilbao more than Madrid, and I liked Madrid. The city is very clean and the Basque Presence is felt in every neighborhood. For those of you who don't know, the people of Basque Country were native to this region of Northern Spain separate from the central government. They have many distinct cultural differences, but the most notable is their language. It is the only language in the world with no other known related languages. In addition, it cannot be traced back to the Indo-European language as most other languages in Europe/the Americas can be. Anyway, every single sign here is written in either in only Basque or Basque and Spanish. This wasn't a problem until I tried to use the restroom at a cafe where one bathroom was marked "S" and the other "W," instead of the Spanish "M" and "H." The bartender saw my expression of confusion/horror and directed me to the corrected bathroom with a giggle. Thus far, I have had only positive interactions with the residents here, and I am pleased to that Bilbao is not much of a destination for tourists. I think I'll get a more authentic Spanish experience here, and coincidentally much more practice in the language.
Thanks for sticking with it if you read all the way through! I promise my entries won't be as long when classes begin on Monday.
P.S. LOOK WHAT I FOUND IN MADRID:
I went inside to ask about the "Nebraska" restaurant, the manager said that they simply randomly chose a location on a map. I don't know the story behind "Iowa," but I consider the serendipity of finding both of these establishments within a block of each other a sign from the universe that everything is working the way it's supposed to be.
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