Un dia en Madrid, solo...

Well, I have returned - from sleep at last, from a day without sleep while touring Madrid alone. I left on Wednesday night at midnight, drunk on wine and new friendship at the palace (the hostal I'm living in now), and caught the 1:30am bus to Madrid. I wrote a poem at the bus station that was interrupted when a black dude from Madrid started chatting me up. He gave me a cigarette and in exchange I gave him a phony phone number (he'd asked for my digits).

I arrived in Madrid at 6:30am, exhausted and a bit confused from lack of sleep. I had a cafe at Estacion Sur del Autobuses and waited for the U.S. Embassy to open at 8am. Then, I hopped a taxi to the Embajada (Embassy) and sat in line for an hour (notary service doesn't start until 9am...good to know). While waiting, the lobby played a looped video called, "I am America." I was sitting amongst all these ppl waiting to get U.S. visas. The video showed all the stereotypical patriotic shots of my country, tis of thee. It was surreal. When I got to the window (finally), they informed me that because I didn't have a printed copy of the document I needed notarized, they couldn't help me. They gave me a crappy map with hi-lighted directions on how to get to "The Work Center," a photocopy shop. So then I got lost looking for that place, walking the Madrid hills in the early morning among business men and women, construction workers bustling and whistling as I walked past. I almost didn't get the prints I needed, but then it worked out, so I somehow found my way back to the Embassy, took another number, and got back in line while the America video was still playing.

The notary ended up working out, although it cost $30 U.S. dollars (20.40 in euros), plus the bus and cab fares, plus the copy costs...you get the idea (not cheap). At this point, I had six hours to kill in sunny Madrid. I decided to visit the Prado, but first I needed sustainence. I found a bagel shop and had a coffee, some water, and a bagel bocadillo with jamon serrano and cream cheese (quite good, actually). I fed some birds and started walking in the general direction that I thought I had remembered the Prado was in. Along my walk, a young girl approached me with a clip board. She motioned that she was deaf, and could I sign her petition. I started to sign and then noticed in the far-right column a space for "donations." My eyes got wide, and I told her I only had 2 euros. She let me contribute anyway and told me I had a beautiful face.

I had trouble finding the Prado (as goofy as that is). Madrid is huge! I kept stopping to look at my map, realizing that I'd past my intersection or turning point, somehow I'd gone in the wrong direction or veered off incorrectly. The biggest problem I had was the roundabout intersections - it's very easy to start walking in the wrong direction when you cross them. Plus, they put street signs on buildings here, so often there's no sign telling you what street you're even on. Lots of backtracking, LOTS of walking in shoes that probably were't made for walking.

Eventually, I found the Prado. I took a picture of my victory finding (the ticket/aceso booth). I saw paintings by Velasquez and Goya, sculptures and works spanning the length of Spain's artistic history. It was a bit lonely. I saw the "midget" paintings my father loved so much - los bufones, as they're called here. I laughed with him on the inside.

It was only 2pm when I left the Prado, and my bus didn't leave until 4:30pm. I decided to treat myself to a nice meal in Madrid. I wandered off the beaten path (knowing that as far into the city I went, I would need time and energy to walk out again) and found la Pizzeria Cervantes - I'd been DYING for real Italian pizza. The wait staff giggled when I came in and said only, "Uno." The Argentinian casero complimented my Spanish and asked where I was from. I had a pizza verde with asparagos, alcachofas, broccoli, and oregano and loads of fresh mozzarella. A glass of tinto, and I was on my way to hail a cab and head back to Granada.

Met some interesting folks at the bus station, one black girl from Chicago who hadn't figured out the Spanish bus system yet, and an older Spanish woman from Granada who seemed to adopt me as her "nina" (she called me this several times throughout the bus ride). I didn't even catch her name....

Anyway, I took a video of part of the final bus ride. I got back to the palace at 9:30pm, ate some leftover pasta, and crashed out until noon today (Friday, but I keep thinking it's Saturday). This was my first real travel experience abroad, totally alone. It was liberating, and I was talking in Spanish all day, so I came back very eager to continue speaking and thinking in Spanish. At least now I know that travelling alone, though of course a bit lonely and intimidating, can be quite thrilling, and for some reason the most tiny little parts of my day are so vivid and memorable. I guess it's because I didn't have anyone to share them with, so my mind was filing it all away, taking notes of it all.