Let's start from the beginning, shall we?
The flight was just over seven hours long, nonstop thank goodness, and we landed in Madrid on Sunday, the 20th at about 7:30am (Madrid time). I found my way to the baggage claim and Lady Luck was with me; they hadn't lost my luggage!
I made my way with my "baggage trolley", as it was labeled to the taxi queue outside; a line of probably about 50 or more taxis snaked back from the exit all the way out of sight down the street. I was instructed by an attendant to go through this roped off area where the next taxi in line would pick me up and take me to my destination.
So here's where it became quite interesting. I know a decent amount of Spanish--enough to get by, but I'm certainly not fluent. The taxi driver was a balding, bespectacled madrileño and he spoke not a word of English. I was able to ask, "Cuánto cuesta la transportación a la Universidad de Carlos III in Leganes?" ("How much does transportation to the University of Carlos III in Leganes cost?" FYI, Leganes is essentially a suburb of Madrid; it's about 15 or 20km south of the city).
"Cincuenta," he replied. (Fifty).
I only had 60 Euros on me so I figured that I would just make it, even with the tip. I agreed, even though he'd already thrown my luggage in the trunk and was getting into the driver's seat. Of course, he asked me for the address I needed and I gave him the address of the dorm.
Unfortunately, I did not know how to correctly read Spanish addresses.
He kept asking me for the street. I kept replying, "Fernando Abril Martorell", which I later found out was the name of the dorm, not the street. Confused, the driver assured me that that street was not on his GPS, but he took me to the University anyhow, charged me 50 Euro and dropped me off.
There I stood, at 8:30am, the sky just beginning to lighten, on a deserted campus in a foreign country with two suitcases and a satchel slung over my shoulder. And not a clue where to go or what to do. I had not been given any phone numbers and I only had the one address.
Grabbing the strap of my large suitcase, I began rolling my luggage through this deserted courtyard, surrounded by large brick buildings. All were labelled in Spanish and although my Spanish is decent, I only recognized one word, "biblioteca" which means library. A small group of students were clustered outside, many of them smoking cigarettes, clutching books, and laughing amongst themselves.
I went over, told them I was an exchange student, that I was lost, and showed them my slip of paper with the dorm address.
Thank goodness for iPhones. A guy and a girl started trying to help me by looking up the address. The guy laughed, showed me the map, and I saw that I was a good 15 minutes walk away from the dorm. Shit. The girl began to draw me a map, realized that the paper she had wasn't going to be big enough, and--after only a moment's hesitation to his credit--the young man (probably in his 20's, like me)--said that he would take me to the dorm. He even grabbed my carry on case and began rolling it down the sidewalk as he led me through the small, crooked alleyways.
The streets of Spain are maze-like. There are no rules, they're not in a grid, the streets are all named, not a number to be found. Without a guide, I would have been entirely screwed. (I have an international GPS, but it wasn't working at the time).
And let's clarify about the sidewalks. The Spanish apparently do not believe in pavement, other than their streets. Sidewalks are all brick, chunks of stone, or cobbled. So rolling my nearly 60lb suitcase over all that was exhausted, not to mention my satchel was heavy with books and such so it was digging into my shoulder pretty painfully.
I should also mention, as my guide explained to me, that the Spanish go out and party, or socialize, or what have you, until 6 or 7am most nights. Ergo, the streets were entirely devoid of people as we made our way to the dorms. All the shops closed up, no cars going by, no buses, nothing. "The city will not come alive until 11 or so," he told me when I asked where everyone was.
Finally though, we arrived at number 12, Palmera Street. On my slip of paper with the address it said, "C/ Palmera, 12" which I had not understood to mean calle Palmera, numero 12. Calle means street.
The gentleman walked me to the door, said he had to be off, and left with a handshake and my extremely grateful, "Muchas gracias!"
Needless to say, the dorm seemed like a sanctuary. I rolled my suitcases up to the administration desk in the lobby, exhausted and still shaking from nerves. Behind the counter was an older Spanish woman who greeted me with a smile and my registration forms. Between her little bit of English and my Spanish, we managed to straighten out all the details.
Of course, I was shaken, my heart still beating wildly from nerves--being lost, having to trust a stranger to take me to the dorms, hoping he wouldn't steal my luggage, or worse. But it all worked out in the end and thus begin my adventures in Madrid. :)
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