On Wednesday night Jennifer, Daren and I left for Madrid by taking an overnight train from Barcelona-Estacio-Sants to Madrid-Charmartin, with tickets we booked 2 months ago in Denmark (55€ per pax return). When the train pulled in to the station promptly at 11pm, we boarded it to receive a semi-rude shock, as the cabins were compacted with 8 facing seats and narrow overhead compartments with which we “could” put our luggages, if not for the fact everyone else had done the same.
The 9 hour overnight journey was as unsurprisingly uncomfortable, with the train chugging across the vast expanse of land at a low speed - way too slow for the uncomfortable nature the cabin offered. But I survived, and when I did get my 15 undisturbed minutes of snooze, we arrived in Madrid-Charmartin. Bummer.
After some difficulty trying to locate the Metro to our hostel, we finally realized there was no direct connection from Charmatin to Anton Martin since the line hadn’t been built yet! However, prominent signs all over the station directed us otherwise. In the end, after following the Metro signs back into the Renfe, we realized the only “exit” was to take another Renfe train to the next station to make the change in connection to the Metro.
We finally arrived at our hostel around 10am, a little too early to check in. We left our backpacks in their storage room, and headed out for a walk around town. At first there was a tinge of regret leaving Barcelona for Madrid when we saw how “dead” it was at 11am on a Thursday. Shops weren’t open and streets were void of people despite the good sunny weather. However, in an hour’s time, when we had arrived in Plaza Mayor, everything and everyone had sprung to life. People flocked to Plaza Mayor to enjoy a good lunch in good weather and good company, amidst all the busking at the open square.
Jen and I decided to explore further around the heart of Madrid, putting our stomachs on hold for food until we completed a bit more by foot. We walked until Park Retino and El Prado, until our hunt for landmark attractions morphed quickly into one for food. But as Murphy’s Law would have it, looking for food equates to food not wanting to find you. We somehow managed to contain our hunger an hour more, when we finally trekked back to Plaza Mayor, where a nearby food joint offered cheap sandwiches and my favorite Tortilla Espanola which went for just 2€.
We walked on, heading eastwards this time, towards the Royal Palace and the Park where the Tempo de Debod was. We didn’t enter the palace since we wanted to wait for Qiuchan and Min Ding to arrive from Barcelona the next day. So we figured we’ll leave the more “attractive” tourist attractions like the Palace and Amusement Park till Friday when they both arrived. By evening however, we found our way back to Plaza Mayor, 10minutes away from our hostel. We checked in, dumped our backpacks, and headed out again.
Just when we thought we had seen the whole of Madrid, what caught us by surprise was the huge crowd gathered along the streets around the main square of Plaza Mayor. As we walked on in hope of finding dinner, we saw a huge crowd that lined both sides of a street, yet with a few unknowing tourists like us wandering within. After 10 minutes of walking down what we felt like was “red carpet” hospitality, we realized what was about to happen. The procession for the Good Friday/Easter weekend celebration was just about to start, and the local old folks starter to yell at us for blocking their view once we stopped walking.
On one hand, we felt embarrassed to be wandering about a soon-not-to-be-empty street lined with crowds on both sides, yet a large part of us felt discriminated that these elderly folks standing by the curb seemed to hold the “right of view”, and we ought not to obstruct their precious view since they made an effort to reserve their spot on the curb while we didn’t. It was even hard trying to get off the road and onto the curb when the crowd wouldn’t budge. Seconds later we found our way into the pavement, and planted ourselves behind those adamant elderly folks, awaiting the sacred and significant procession of the season of lent, or year for that matter.
After an hour or so, our patience was rewarded when the first signs of the procession were heard from afar; drum beats echoed the start of the procession, and “soldiers” on horses led the way, inch by inch. What I felt was disturbing was how every participant in that procession was suited in a purple coverall, masked with a Ku Klux Klan-like conical hat, and armed with a long candle, marching down up the slope. Every section that marched past had an accompanying band, including the statues of Jesus and Mother Mary no less.
The saving grace of visiting Madrid was really the procession, and coming from afar to witness this spectacular embodiment of the faith without prior planning was truly breathtaking, and a memory etched in my heart and mind for a long time to come. All that squeezing and standing amidst a enthusiastic yet patient crowd paid off when we finally saw the section with 40-odd men carrying the statue of Jesus, marching to the beat and synchronizing each footstep and swaying movement to the beat of the drums and harmony following behind. Each man (and those included some 40- or 50-year old worshippers) shouldered the heavy burden of the Lord above, while marching in step with his comrade in front, behind, and beside. You have to ask me to show you the video when I get back, but watching it won’t do justice to the atmosphere and spirit we felt whilst we were there in the heart of Madrid.
And on our way back to the hostel, while looking for food, we realized why Madrid was that boring in the day, because everything came alive after dark.
Madrid Day 2
We met Qiuchan and Min Ding who arrived from Barcelona at 10am at Sol, before heading towards the Royal Palace. That being a Good Friday, everywhere was crowded, and every shop (not cafes and restaurants however) was closed. Our first stop was Rastro, along Riberia De Curtidores, where a large flea market took place every Sunday.
Following that, we headed over to the Royal Palace and joined the queue for admission, which took us an hour. While queuing up we took turns to enter the adjacent church, Catedral De La Almundena (Our Lady of Almudena Cathedral), to see the interior and set up for that evening’s service.
An hour of patience paid off and we paid a discounted student rate of 3.50€ to enter the Palacio Real (Royal Palace).
"The Royal Palace in Madrid was built after a fire in 1734 destroyed the former Alcazar of medieval origin, which had been inhabited and enlarged by the Habsburgs in the 16th and 17th centuries. Juvarra and Sacchetti were responsible for the new palace, which was begun under Philip V, being completed under the reign of Charles III, to whom the Palace owes much of its interior decoration. After being remodeled on various occasions during the 19th and 20th centuries, it is now the venue for the most solemn Crown functions."
Honestly, every room/chamber/wall/ceiling/cutlery was so elaborately intricate it got to a point I got bored of that entire grandness.
We wanted to visit the Parc de Atracciones (Amusement Park) but figured it wasn’t worth our time walking all the way there and paying 24€ for an all-day admission and multiple-ride pass. So we suggested watching a bull-fight in the evening. Initially we hoped to get some information back at their hostel, but later Daren’s sms to me indicated the bull-fight only happened in the morning and we all missed it already. So we altered our plan to satisfy our stomachs instead. Being our last day in Madrid, Jen and I encouraged Qiuchan and Min Ding on for a food hunt around town, eating authentic Spanish food and drinking our favourite Sangria.
By the end of the walk, we had accomplished all that we set out for, with Tortilla Espanola, Calamari, Sangria, Paellas, and sherbet ice cream. Satisfied, Jen and I headed back to grab our luggage from our hostel and hit the metro to catch our 10pm train at Charmartin back to Barcelona.
That night, Jen and I entered our train cabin and met this (shabby-looking) Spanish guy, who at first tried to strike a conversation by asking if we were “Har-pan-knees” (the Spanish pronounce their “J” with a “H”, so he was in fact asking if we were Japanese). When we declined and told him Singapore, he kept asking if we were from “Har-pan” and “Har-pan-knees” again. After a while, we got on “talking” terms by our use of hand actions (I can’t explain how, it was just difficult to understand each other, so we probably only nodded just to get the conversation going until it ended – quickly!)
This German girl then entered our cabin and sat down one seat away from him (because her ticket said so anyway). He later used some hand action to indicate he was going smoke and asked if we minded, to which we obviously minded. Lucky for the German girl who spoke some Spanish, and who we later got to know as Livia, she explained to him we all minded and invited him outside.
But…
He started taking out his weed to roll and started to light up, within the cabin! He explained to Livia he couldn’t smoke outside the cabin because the train inspector would notice, and so his only alternative was to do it within the confined air space of the cabin (note that the windows couldn’t be opened). How logical. We told him if he wanted to so it we’d leave the cabin until he’s finished, and he finally understood our demands to leave. And so he did, leaving the cabin to smoke outside and in between the carriages. Livia, Jen and myself thus stayed put in our cabin, before her friend Lebo arrived.
We 4 had a hearty conversation and spoke quite a bit before deciding we should head outside into the cafeteria area in order not to disturb the other 2 passengers who joined our cabin some time later. I learnt that Livia was from Berlin, and only 18 years old, while Lebo was from Minnesota and studying in Barcelona for a couple of months. Both Livia and Lebo met in a hostel in Madrid and soon became good traveling companions soon after. A good hour later, our conversation soon simmered down, prompting me to pass a remark, “if only I had my playing cards we could play some games”, which suddenly seemed to perk everyone’s senses up. I took out my post-its and everyone armed themselves with a pen to start drawing one of the 4 suits of a deck of cards. How cool is that!
Jen and I taught them Bridge and Dai-Dee, in return we also learnt 2 games from Livia (to which I forgot the name of). We played through the night as the slow train chugged into the dark, but soon succumbed to fatigue by 3am, so we decided to head back into our cabin for a short snooze before we reached Barcelona in less than 4 hours’ time.
Upon arrival at the station, we bid each other farewell and went our separate ways. It was a pity Livia would only return to Berlin on Thursday, 2 days after I was scheduled to leave the same place, else I would have found some opportunity to look her up.
Jen and I headed back to Barceloneta to find the guys’ hostel, dumped our stuff and took a stroll along the beach for my first and “last” time before leaving for Berlin. After check out, the guys and I seemed to play a game of Amazing Race when we found ourselves rushing to the airport, barely arriving just 45minutes before the 1.40pm departure time. What happened just an hour before was this scene:
At Sants-Estacio, I asked the staff guarding the gates if this were the platform to the Aeroport, to which he said yes (in Spanish) and showed his hand indicating platform 5. SY followed suit behind and asked the exact thing, and he showed him the same hand gesture, indicating the next train at platform 5. We got down the escalator and looked doubtful despite the platform full of people carrying luggages. When the train pulled into the platform, YH, SY, YS got on the train but Lin Chang and I continued sounding desperate in asking strangers if this were the correct train to the Aeroport.
Our hunch and last comment from someone indicated there was no direct connection to the airport and so Lin Chang and I frantically tapped on the train window to get SY, YS, and YH’s attention and their asses out of the train before it took them somewhere remote. The trio jumped off and all 5 of us took the escalator up to the main concourse and asked another security how to get to the Aeroport.
He directed us outside the station where a bus would take us directly to the airport, reason being the particular line was under construction or something like that. Finally, we stood in line awaiting the bus that would take us to the Aeroport directly, so instead of taking the same connecting train from Sants-Estacio back to the Aeroport like we did on our way into Barcelona, we found ourselves hoping we weren’t wrong.
1pm.
We jumped off the bus and ran into one terminal, and then into the other (correct) one before checking-in to Easyjet’s “Last minute check-in”s counter. Only after that and clearing the security at the departure gates did we breathe a sigh of relief and marveled at our Amazing Race skills.
For those privileged few who received a postcard from me from Barcelona, appreciate it, for my ugly handwriting proved just how nervous, and how little time/space I had in scribbling something on that 35 minute bus ride. And I thought the Amazing Race was supposed to be fun. *Breathes*
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