It has been one of our longstanding ambitions to move to a Spanish speaking country and live the ex-pat life for a few years, but so far, the favorable combination of circumstances necessary to make that happen has failed to present itself. Until it does, we'll have to settle for visiting Spanish speaking countries.
That's how Madrid came to be added to the itinerary of our Eurotrip. I figured get to Europe is the hard part, so as long as we were already making the trip to England, getting to Spain should be easy. I'd also heard of all these discount European airlines where the fares cover little more than the airport taxes, so I had visions of a very inexpensive side excursion. (Turns out those super cheap fares only occur during the off season).
Once we decided to go to Spain, we had to decide which city(ies) to visit. Barcelona and Granada were high on the list, but a tenant from Salamanca and her visiting mother convinced us that Madrid and its environs would be a great trip for small kids. Barcelona, etc. could wait for a later trip, so we decided to do 2 days in Madrid proper with day trips to Toledo and Segovia, both within short train ride from Madrid.
The Flight
We took the 5pm EasyJet flight from London Gatwick to Madrid. For those of you haven't had the opportunity to fly through Gatwick, count your blessings. It's not fun. Apparently they don't assign gates to flights until the last minute. We didn't find out which gate we were leaving from until 10 minutes prior to take-off time. Consequently, we spent all the time leading up to the gate announcement standing in the middle of a large terminal with our luggage staring at the monitors, waiting for the number to appear, no idea when it would appear, all while trying to keep bored little girls from running off and getting lost (at least one of them has a prior history of that) in a strange airport in a foreign country.
EasyJet has no assigned seats, similar to Southwest airlines in the states, but we managed to wrangle pre-board authorization due to our offspring. Once aboard, it was smooth sailing. Since we wouldn't be driving in Spain, the car seats stayed in England, much to the glee of girls who enjoyed unprecedented freedom to move about the cabin.
The Journey to Our Hostel
We arrived in Madrid around 8pm. After collecting our luggage and strollers from baggage claim we set about figuring out how to get downtown to our hostel. I'd learned on the internet that a cab ride cost about 25 Euros would take a little under half an hour, while the subway would cost much less, require two train changes and take, well, I didn't know how long it would take but presumably more than half an hour. We soon learned that none of the taxis were large enough to hold all of us and our luggage, so we moved on. A shuttle service would take us all for only 43 Euros, but feeling frugal, adventurous, and not needing to arrive at any particular time, we opted for Madrid's excellent Metro - linea 8 from the airport to Nuevos Ministerios, linea 10 from Nuevos Ministerios to Tribunal, and linea 2 from Tribunal to Sol.
Let me cut to the chase and tell you that the trip was grueling. In addition to the three dazed girls we were toting two strollers, a double-wide and a single, two duffle bags a backpack and a large roll-behind suitcase. Spain wasn't graced with an analogue to the Americans with Disabilities Act, and it's Metro stations showed it. Some parts had elevator or escalator access, but at least one leg of the journey in each station required schlepping all our stuff and kids up and down flights of stairs. This began the tradition used the rest of the trip of dumping the girls out of their strollers upon arriving at steps and having them walk up or down themselves so we could handle all the accoutrement.
We finally poked our heads above ground, sweaty and exhausted, around 10:30pm at Puerta del Sol, the shopping district in the center of downtown (also milestone 0 for the national highway system) to find it hopping with people. After consulting our travel guide we made our way up a steep cobbled street into Plaza Santa Cruz where our hostel was supposed to be located, looked around fruitlessly, then turned around and saw a large yellow lit sign on the 4th floor of the building behind us. We had arrived!
Dinner and the Hostel
We had to traipse up to the 4th floor (named the 3rd floor in Europe) to get to the reception and check in. The lady at the front desk was a little flummoxed to see that we had brought kids. Obviously that bit of data hadn't made it into the reservation notes. The upshot is that instead of a room with a double and a single bed, we got one with three singles. No biggie.
After dropping all of our cargo in our shockingly violet and maroon room, we headed out to the Plaza Mayor, scarcely half a block away, to look for some dinner. At this point is was about 11, and contrary to what I had heard about Madrid, a lot of restaurants were close to closing. We found a reasonably priced place and ordered the healthiest looking fare we could find, although we were rebuffed in our request for paella, as it takes half an hour to make and the restaurant was closing at 11:30.
Even at that hour, however, there was a group of musicians plying the plaza in search of the last tips of the night. Sitting out in the open air, eating to the sound delightfully out of context bebop, we enjoyed a pleasant end to an exhausting day.
Tip: Want to know where pictures were taken? Click the icon in the bottom right hand corner below to go to my Picasa Web Album. I geotagged all the photos, and the album will map them out for you. Enjoy!
