No one should ever have to get up at that ungodly hour. It's still dark out, the floor is yet cold, and your eyelids feel like weighted sandpaper. It's animal cruelty is what it is.
But I struggled up and out of bed, showered, then made breakfast for my parents. See, my residence hall serves breakfast from 9 to noon on weekends and we had a tour at 8:30. My parents' hotel didn't serve breakfast until 8am so they came over to my place where I made them peanut butter toast and the three of us split an orange. I also made a cup of coffee for them to split and we wandered out into the soft morning light a little before 7:30 in the morning.
Off to Plaza de España we went where we found Julia Travel, the company we were going through, with enough time to buy a 2 euro coffee and take a quick bathroom break at the cafe next door.
TIP: To those of you who dream of opening a cafe/coffee shop/bakery, open it next to a travel agency and you will make millions on all the people who want to take a quick pee before they jump on a bus for a several hour trip. Just tell them, like we were told: no purchase, no bathroom.
It was rainy and freezing cold when, after an hour, we arrived at El Escorial monastery. There we toured ancient medieval bedrooms once belonging to the Hapsburg family who ruled Spain before the current dynasty (which is the Bourbons if you were wondering; yes that's a French family, but that's how royal European marriages work). We were shown religious areas as well, and also several tombs. Apparently it's a must to visit tombs when you do mini day trips like this.
When we left El Escorial, it was time for a bus ride up a mountain to the Valle de los Caídos, or Valley of the Fallen. It was made to commemorate the soldiers who died in the Spanish Civil War. An estimated 500,000 Spanish lost their lives in the bloody three year war (1936-1939) that preceded World War II.
That Saturday that we visited though was beautiful. It was softly snowing as we drove into the clouds perched around the peaks of this and the surrounding mountains. A light layer of snow lay on the grass between the trees along the sides of the road.
Getting off the bus we saw, at the tip of the mountain an enormous cross. And cue the snapping of thirty tourists' cameras all at once. Our guide informed us that this is the highest cross in all Christendom. Good for you, Spain.
We walked about five minutes up this small path that roped around the side of the mountain and, turning the last curve, found a wide expanse of flat, open stone, a huge plaza the size of about 2 football fields by my estimation. Still snowing, we took pictures and video clips (to be posted in a few days) and then did a 180 to look at the larger than life monastery that was carved into the side of the mountain. Gray stone pillars formed an arch that met beneath a several hundred foot statue of Mary holding Jesus after his death. Below this famous mother-son pair were oaken double doors that we entered to view the commemorative monument to Spain's most tragic war.
I have no idea how far back the tunnel went; probably more than five hundred feet straight into the mountain and it was about four stories tall. It had taken three generations to complete and it was not difficult to see why. We stood in awe of the place, commenting on the tapestries hung on the walls and the chiseling patterns on different parts of the ceiling.
Our time was limited though; we were given only 30 minutes to admire the Valley of the Fallen and then we were all loaded back onto the warm bus. We arrived back at 2pm to Madrid where we were realized for a 50 minute lunch break; after that, the touring would resume!
I took Mom and Dad to a cafe that I knew of in the area called Cafe Jamaica. After filling up on ham and cheese sandwiches (staple Madrid fare) splitting an apple muffin, and sipping warm coffee, we headed back to the bus stop for a 2 hour bus trip around Madrid.
Can I confess something? We all started falling asleep on the bus tour. Thus, when we stopped at Hard Rock Cafe for a 15 minute break half way through the bus ride, me and the parents bailed, booked it to the metro and went to Sol to do a little shopping at the stores between that plaza and Gran Vía.
At 5:30pm I led my parents to Museo Chicote, a bar that first opened in 1931 and that I'd been dying to try as soon as I read that Ernest Hemingway himself had not only written there, but also dubbed the place "the best bar in Madrid". Decorated in lounge style with green leather half circle benches and no food just booze, it was exactly the type of place that I could envision Hemingway in. Exactly the perfect place to grab a few very strongly made drinks (thank you bartender) and warm up for a bit.
We were plenty warm when we left Museo Chicote and headed a few blocks away to a restaurant that my Dad had spotted from the one of the bus tours and had made a mental note to try at the next opportunity. We got there around 7ish and spent the next two hours having a leisurely dinner, splitting a French onion soup, getting one more drink each, and then it was burger for Mom, steak for Dad, and chicken paella for me. Yum! Probably the best meal of the trip.
Moseying back home amidst more protests, we arrived home around 11pm and collapsed into bed, knowing that only one full day together was left. Not knowing that it would be a 17 hour escapade that would begin, once again at the crack of dawn.
To Be Concluded . . .
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