The Beginning of the Nine

Ahhh the life of a traveler . . . at once exhausting and exhilarating. Both have negative and positive connotations in this instance. I shall let the reader be the judge for the follow tales of Spring Break 2013: Nine Days of Intrepidity.

The trip begins with a character other than myself--surprise beginning, I know. Nick, my friend from back home, flew from our home base of O'Hare to London Heathrow only to be taken to the wrong hotel, forced to take (and obviously pay for) another cab to the correct hotel, only to get there in time for three hours of sleep before drudging back to the airport for another several hour flight to Madrid's Barajas Airport, the world's 19th busiest airport based on number of passengers served and according to the 2012 statistics. 

From there, the lucky guy was picked up by moi and therefore permitted to lapse into what I call the traveler's "post advanced Calculus exam" mode. If you've never had the displeasure of taking an advanced Calculus course and then been subjected to sitting in a 90 degree rigid chair-desk-connected contraption for three hours plus then watched in a haze as you turned in your paper and wondered vaguely what the burning wetness around your eyes was all about--tears of agony, you would later come to realize--

If, as I said before, you've never been through all that, then I suppose "zombie mode" will have to suffice although I do insist that something is lost in this translation; no one is more brain dead and guide-less than an overworked collegiate trooper who just had to find the volume of a squiggly cone type shape on a 3D coordinate plane. 

I digress. For more on Calculus, especially for a more positive outlook, in all seriousness check out the Khan Academy. You can Google them and find thousands of free videos on math, physics, etc. Extremely helpful resource that I used countless times, I can't even tell you. 

Back to Nick-- the lucky devil followed me in a haze along two legs of Cercanías Renfe trains, then to the metro, then one long walk across the empty sand field where now handfuls of large anthills are beginning to crop up as our weather starts to take a turn for the warmer. 

That Saturday was an easy day; we both napped, took a slightly cold dinner at the residence cafeteria (we didn't realize that the dinner times had changed for the holiday weekend and so arrived late enough not to be able to receive hot food, but early enough to get something). Still, it wasn't satisfying so we boarded the metro and found our way through the steady, cool rain to a tapas bar named El Tigre and which Nicole only just recently introduced me to. For 3.50 Euro on weeknights and 6 Euro on weekends, you can order a large jarra (jar) of sangría and get two big plates of fairly typical tapas to split between your group. It's a great deal and as such, we found the joint so crowded that we counted ourselves blessed to stumble upon--and then claim like 15th century explorers-- a tiny card table shoved in the corner by the mop buckets and haggard brooms. 

Nick fell in love with sangría, a love at first sip type experience, and for the rest of the trip searched for it at nearly every restaurant we visited. 

Sunday we visited El Rastro, the enormous and ever lively street market that Madrid hosts across various streets and alleyways (see former post, "El Rastro and the Prado" for more on that, I won't repeat myself here). The weekend was a peaceful one. 

Monday not so much. We were up at about 8:30am and never stopped running for the duration of the day. Quick showers, quick breakfast, finish up packing then bam! on the metro, from there rush to the Cercanías, transfer lines, bam! to the airport, oh but you're at the wrong terminal, shuttle, oh you missed your terminal, shuttle back, security lines, find the gate--please can we stop to go the bathroom, dear goodness--, oh and there it is, get in line, "Boarding passes and passports ready please!", through the never-seems-altogether-stable-tunnel-leading-to-the-plane-but-we're-okay-with-it pathway, oh look we're sitting together that worked out well, buckle up!

Then we arrived in Zurich Airport. The Swiss really have transportation down to a T. That was the cleanest, most efficient, friendliest airport that I have ever had the pleasure of sitting in for three hours while awaiting a flight to Rome. 

Quite a prestigious title!

After making our way through security, during which I was frisked because apparently my new boots have metal in their soles, Nick and I found ourselves a nice restaurant in the center of the airport, and, thanks to his generous grandfather who dropped Nick off at the airport and handed him a 100 with a, "Take Megan out to a nice meal", we ate very well: beef, sauteed mushrooms, red cabbage, scalloped potatoes, carrots, and to cleanse the pallet, a glass of pinot noir for me and a white wine for Nick. With the traditional Spanish toast of, "Salud!" (health) we drank to our benefactor, to our trip, and to lots of other things, past, present, and future. Simply said, out of the entire nine day trip, that moment witnessed the height of my contentedness. 

We left Zurich regretfully, wishing to explore Switzerland, but as happens so often to so many, Time was not on our side. Makes you wonder whose side Time is actually on and whether or not they're taking advantage of it. One hopes. 

Roughly two hours later we landed in Rome. Tired, but still a long way off from our hotel, we made our way through the airport to find a line of cabbies, the first who informed us that it would cost 90 Euro to get to our hotel with his excellent service, but 60 Euro by shuttle if we were so inclined. 

In neither direction were we inclined, but, being savvy, world-wise young folk we made further inquiries, discovered a shuttle service that would get us to the center of Rome and charge only 4 Euro a piece. From there, yes, we would have to take a cab, but the rate would be infinitely cheaper from there. Thank you woman behind the desk at the bus company stall. 

An hour later we were dropped off at the shuttle's only stop, Termini, the center of Rome's metro and train life. Practically dragging ourselves around, we found another line of cabs, asked our typical price and time limit questions, and finally agreed to the 35 minute, 30 Euro estimate of one particular gentleman. 

I should mention our extreme luck that Italians seemed to, for the vast majority of our trip, understand my Spanish as English was not as prevalent there as it seems to be in Spain. It was a good thing too since neither one of us knows a word of Italian. 

Another 35 minutes went by and in the darkness we drove down a small graffitied alleyway, up the street a block or so until we stopped in the parking lot of the three star Hotel Arcadia. We paid and went inside. 

Check in was uneventful; we absorbed almost nothing the front desk clerk said, it being past eleven o'clock at night and given our day of metros, trains, shuttles, planes, and cabs. Finally he gave us a key attached to a large rubber knob of sorts with the number '303' written on a white sticker in black pen on the top of the knob. One elevator ride later, we arrived on our floor, found our door, the knob of which did not turn and was located in the center of the door, unlocked it, and veritably stumbled our way in. 

Oh the adventures we were to have. Oh those nine days of ups and downs and of course, required of every world traveler, Intrepidity.