Aventura Española - Part 3

Party time in the ass sink.

I woke up feeling a hell of a lot better - though startled - at 6:30 in the morning, as someone began pounding on the door (our "wake-up call.")  I jumped in the shower and was pleasantly surprised to find that it had both hot water and excellent water pressure (you never know in Europe.)  Our bathroom also had one of those bidet-things (ass-sinks, as I like to call them), but again I didn't work up the courage to give it a whirl.

Get it?!  Anyway.

Downstairs, the good news kept coming.  Our complimentary breakfast was awesome, much better than I had expected, and a lot better than many of the American hotels I've stayed at.  They had many different kinds of rolls and pastries, several various lunch meats and cheeses, bacon, eggs, sausage (though it looked like boiled hotdogs), five different juices, cereals, yogurts, jellies, waffles, milks and espresso machines.

Crack.

I took full advantage of this, and gorged myself, knowing that i'd have to pay for my own lunch later (like in Italy, I once again brought a box of Power Bars with me just to play it safe).  Having finished breakfast, myself and my colleagues gathered downstairs in our EF conference room and settled in for our hour-long meeting.  I used this time to play Simpsons Tapped Out of my phone, as the information being presented was alls hit I already knew, having already been a group leader.  At 9am, we boarded a touring bus for a tour of Madrid.

This ended up being a driving tour, and lated about an hour and a half.  I was totally cool with this. . . I didn't want to push myself, not after the night before.  I claimed my favorite seat right away - the window directly in front of the bus's second door (the one that's halfway back on the side.)  This gave me room to fully tilt my seat back and a clear shooting vantage out the window.

'Cause I'm a huge-ass nerd.

Driving around Madrid

A tour guide had materialized out of nowhere, and stood at the front of the bus with a microphone.  She wasn't very good - they rarely are - but at least she was thorough in her descriptions of things.  As we drove through Madrid's downtown and historic districts, she explained the city's thousand-year old history.  While old, it wasn't until King Philip moved the capital of Spain here in the 1500s, from Toledo, that it grew into the city it is today.

More Madrid from a bus window.

Over the last 500 years, the city has seen French, Moorish and Spanish influence, been ruled over by multiple dynasties, been rife with civil war and rioting.  This constant civil upheaval gave way to a lot of rebuilding over the years, and this was evident by multiple building styles seemingly layered on top of each other.

From my time in Italy I learned that pictures taken from a moving bus rarely turn out well, so I ended up taking a lot of video instead.  My new Samsung Galaxy's videocamera is awesome for this, and the HD enabled me to really capture the details of the city.

The Plaza de Toros Las Ventas - the Colosseum of Bullfighting.

It would've been cool to actually see a bullfight.  Damn it.

We made our first stop at Madrid's largest bull-fighting arena, the Plaza de Toros Las Ventas.  Madrid is the world capital of bullfighting, and this gigantic arena you could say is to bullfighting what the Colosseum was to gladiatorial combat.  There was heavy moorish influence evident in the structure, especially in the typical geometrical line work and masonry in the structure's walls (which is pretty typical for Islamic buildings and art.)

Our tour bus.

After taking some pictures, we got back onto the bus and continued on our way. We briefly stopped at Madrid's soccer stadium, home to Real Madrid, but didn't stop long enough to get out.  Instead, our final destination was the Palacio Real de Madrid - the Royal Palace of the Spanish monarchy.

The soccer stadium that serves as the home for Real Madrid.  Snapped at a red light.

Almudena Cathedral

This church sat opposite the iron-wrought gates that sealed the Royal Palace off from the public. 

Rockin' the wine glasses. . .

Once through the security (Spain is stricter with this than Italy had been) we entered into a very large, cobblestone plaza. Street musicians played violins, guitars and accordions along the gates and even though it was in the high 40s (way too cold for a Floridian like me) the sun was shining, so overall outside walking around was rather enjoyable.

We were given twenty minutes to stroll about the plaza in order to take picture s and enjoy the view of the palace and the valley below.  EF wanted a group pictures as well:

EF Yellow Group

El Palacio Real de Madrid

That's the Almudena Cathedral in the background. . .

One of the richest homes in history.

After some time - and way too many pictures taken on my account, as usual - our group slit into two smaller groups (at 51 we had far too many people for the palace), and myself and most of the males in attendance defected to a stocky, crass tour guide that looked (and dressed) like he was former Soviet KGB.  I did not want that old lady from the bus (our previous tour guide) leading us - her voice/accent made it difficult to understand much of anything.

I apologize for the lack of pictures - we had to check our cameras at the door (what's turning out to be the norm in Spain) - so below are some pictures taken from our lovely friends at Google Images:

The Dining Room (they call it a 'banquet hall,' which I find pretentious - we don't call ours that.)

More rooms. . .

Coming up the main stairwell. . .

The Royal Palace was home to hundreds of years of Hapsburg and Basque rulers, and is even home o King Juan Carlos I today.  While we didn't see His Highness, we did walk through several wings of the Palace.  We started with the grand stairs that lead up to a landing filled with statues and frescos.  Then it was into a considerably less-decorated room (though still very impressive) that served as the Captain of the Guard's office.

Throne room.

Following this room, we walked through several others that all featured vaulted ceilings, precious works of art, frescoes on the ceilings, engraved golden-worked furniture, and everything else one could expect from the once-richest people on the planet.  Keep in mind that when this palace was built, and for hundreds of years afterwards, Spain was the richest and most powerful empire in the world.  You could definitely see this isn the palace's over-indulgence in excess.

King Charles  III had a room for putting on his pants, for Christ's sakes.

Back into the plaza. . .

This palace, while not housing as many art pieces as the great Medici palace (now a museum) in Florence, it definitely rivaled it in extrava-gance.  As our tour ended, we filtered back into the large plaza and to the street musicians and sun.

St. Michael's Basilica

Prowling the streets for a restaurant. . .

They seem to be pretty obsessed with hanging meat on walls over here. . .

Spanish beers weren't all that great - I was disappointed.

We were given an hour for lunch, so my roommate Patrick and I wandered looking for a suitable joint.  We ended up at a cafeteria/ bar where you could order sandwiches, and found a lot of our EF group had settled there as well.  I was still full from breakfast, so I had a couple beers before it was time to rendezvous with the bus for our drive to Toledo.

Meh. . .

Driving by vineyards

I had nothing against Madrid, but I was really looking forward to Toledo.  As a lover of Ancient History, it's hard not to.  Toledo was built in the second century BC, and is renowned as one of the world's oldest and most-respected sword manufacturers.

Being borderline obsessed with swords myself, needless to say I was extremely excited to see the city.

On the hour-and-a-half ride to Toledo, nearly everybody nodded off.  Our tour guide, Fran, tried keeping everyone awake by talking about the region and it's history, but his delivery actually made things worse.  I tried taking a little video of the countryside, but I, too, eventually fell asleep.

I awoke as we began climbing up the hill Toledo is built upon, and right from the get-go I could see the city was very similar to Assisi.  Like Assisi, the city was built into the hill, so the narrow cobblestone streets wound up and down based on the hill's elevation and topography.  The coloring of the stone and plaster was also very similar. . . warm, sun-baked hues and crumbling layers of plaster.

The 'modern' city of Toledo, as seen from my vantage atop the Old City on the hill. . .

We had been dropped off near the top of the hill, and after riding a few escalators up, we found ourselves at the very top of the city.

Shockingly enough, here we came upon a McDonald's.

Seriously.

I guess, despite its age, people do still live there.

Streets near the top of Toledo. . .

Our tour guide (I don't think I listened to a word this lady said throughout the day.)

An El Greco, over an ice cream cooler.

Once we had performed yet another headcount (Fran is a big fan of head counts), we started off by hitting up the one public restroom in the city. . . conveniently located in a souvenir store.

After using los servicios, I bought a few postcards of Toledo and a Don Quixote lighter.  The province, or region, of Spain that contains both Madrid and Toledo is called La Mancha, and Don Quixote is called 'The Man of La Mancha.'  This time I had every intention of bringing it back home with me, too (The fact I pitched my light from Venice still irritates me.)

After the souvenir store, our group walked down the winding streets (that at most could accommodate 5 or 6 people across - barely enough for a car) until we reached the Cathedral of St. Mary, the principle cathedral of Toledo that overlooks the city.

The Cathedral of St. Mary

Inside, it remind me a lot of the Italian cathedrals and basilicas I had seen in March, specifically the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, and the Basilica de San Marcos in Venice.  The Cathedral of St. Mary was not as high as the duomo of Florence, or mind-blowing as the Basilica of St. Peter in Rome (which I believe is the most impressive of all that I've seen so far, but it was't without its charms:

Who the hell knows what this sign is saying. . .

The tomb of. . . someone famous.  AND religious.

Just about everything in the cathedral was sculpted, carved, or engraved - from giant statues twisting into the ceiling, to simple steps and shelving.  Like many of its Italian counterparts, nearly every square inch of the place was a work of art.

We spent about an hour inside the cathedral, and fortunately they allowed cameras and video inside (as you can see.)  When it was finally time to leave, we strolled back out into the plaza that sits at the cathedral's steps.  Randomly, they had an ice rink there, so many local Spaniards were ice-skating to Christmas music as we walked past.

The Spanish really seem to like Christmas.

Watch out for NINJA BABY

We continued our way down the hill, past several shops with swords displayed in the window.  The prices weren't bad, either - vintage daggers and short-swords were 30 - 35 euros, and old rusted ones were even less.  Of course, they went up in price into the thousands, but I was after something small I could fit in my checked bag (airlines are somehow not cool with people bringing knives and swords on board a plane, or so I'm told.)  I made a mental note to return in order to pick some up.

Don Quixote guards a souvenir store.

Our next stop was Santo Tomé, a small church that is most famous for housing the tomb of Don Gonzalo Ruiz, and the famous painting The Burial of the Count Orgaz, by El Greco.  To me, this was a colossal waste of time.

We weren't the only EF tour group in Toledo, and other countries had groups there as well.  Since only one group was allowed in the chapel's viewing room (they had removed the paining from behind the alter after the steady stream of viewers provided too many disruptions to their services) at a time, this meant that we were forced to stand around in a line outside for nearly a half an hour before we could go inside.

And even once we got into the viewing room, our tour guide wasn't mic'd, so only those standing within a six-foot radius of her (which excluded me) could hear what she was saying anyway.  Not that it mattered, really - the viewing room really didn't provide us with a great view of the not-so-large painting.

En route to the next stop - some synagogue.

All in all, I would've rather been sword-shopping.

After all, I had already seen this painting above an ice cream cooler in a  souvenir store.

Santa Maria la Blanca, or 'Mary the White Chick.'

Random garden, random gigantor-head of Don Quixote.  Why not.

Our next stop in Toledo was a former mosque/synagogue/church - Santa Maria la Blanca.  Honestly, I forget the order of religions the building went through, but the building wasn't much to look at. . . not anymore, at least.  Muslims, Christians and Jews had all laid siege to and taken over the structure, and what little frescoes and ornamentation on the walls and pillars remained was battle-scared and crumbling:

Visible scars from Christian and Muslim armies beating the shit out of this place for centuries. . .

Today, the building was housing an art gallery and showroom, apparently all painted by an elderly nun who sat quietly amidst the paintings, smiling behind a pair of Coke-bottle glasses.  Other than that, there wasn't much to the place, and I was still growing agitated that we hadn't been given time yet to venture out and shop around for a bit.

This agitation slowly evolved into panic as, upon existing the synagogue, our group continued to make its way further down the winding streets of Toledo, towards the Tagus River. . .

Along the way, we briefly stopped in front of a giant, monastery and a terrace that overlooked the valley below.  They gave us a few minutes to snap a few pictures, but then it was once again time to continue on down the hill. . .

A not-so-scenic, dreary sunset over Toledo. . .

Down a particularly perilous stairwell of mossy, crumbling stone, we finally exited out onto 'ground level,' on the outskirts of the old city.  We walked along the outer wall of the city, crested a small hill, and suddenly came upon the old city gates.  These gates - the Puente de San Martin - were built on either side of the Tagus River, and defended a bridge narrow enough that two cars couldn't drive across at the same time:

The old walls of the city, dating back to the middle ages (those cars are somewhat newer, though.)

The Puente de San Martin - one of the bridges spanning the Tagus.

Coming through the gate castle. . .

The Tagus River

More of the Tagus River valley. . .

Gate castle along the Puente de San Martin

The gate castles were still remarkably intact, considering the amount of damage they've probably seen over the years.  I took a crap-load of pictures over the scenic bridge and river valley below before meeting up with the rest of my group aboard the us on the other side of the river opposite the city.

I spoke with Courtney, one of the EF trainers, about our lack of free time int he city, and was probably way more adamant about my loss sword-buying time than I needed to be.  Nevertheless, I was pretty pissed off by the fact tat here I was, Brian J. Hough, renowned sword collector and enthusiast, in the Medieval sword manufacturing capital of the world, and yet I had up 'til now been denied this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pick out and purchase a reputable sword directly from it's original source.

God knows when I'd be able to do this again.

Courtney assured me that at our next stop - an authentic sword-making factory and damascene craftsman center - there would be a "showroom" (a fancy way of saying "overpriced gift shop") where I could buy some authentic Spanish steel.  I was skeptical - the showrooms I had seen in Venice and Florence on my previous EF tour (a glass-blowing factory and a leather-making workshop, respectfully) were over-priced beyond all rational thought.  I had a sneaking suspicion this sword joint would prove to be the same.

Swordsmith and his forge.

Hilts, pommels, and random hardware.

It was a short bus ride to the factory, and once we had gotten off the bus our group was ushered into a workroom where a stocky Spaniard in his 50s, wearing a blacksmith's apron, was hammering a carbon steel blade of real Spanish steel.

Spanish sword blades

Like I said before, swords from Toledo are world-renowned for their fine steel, and at this workshop the employees still forge swords in the traditional manner, hammering them out of an anvil, heating them up in a scorching furnace, etc.

Getting shit done.

A translator stood of to the side, explaining the whole process. . . and I'm sure this was quite informative for 99% of the people in he room, but for Yours Truly this was fairly old news.  Nevertheless, it was pretty cool seeing the process in person, up close (I forced my way right up to the front so I could get a prime 'seat' for the demonstration.)

Following the demonstration, we walked to the other side of the factory to a small room where two or three guys sat hunched over well-lit desks.  Here, lined up in a row, the three men - damascene craftsmen - hammered thin lines of pure gold into gemstones, jewelry, swords hilts, kitchenware, and other household items.

I would HATE this job. . .

Pearl Jam. . .?

While their skill at this was impressive, I was paying amore attention to their individual work stations.  The craftsman closest to me, for example, had a Pearl Jam CD sitting out on top an an old boom box, and a magazine clipping of the Walking Dead taped over his desk light.  One of the other teachers (who was fluent in Spanish) commented on this, and apparently the craftsman (who looked younger than me)was also a huge fan of Sons of Anarchy.

Random.

. . . and the Walking Dead.

After the Damascene demonstration, it was time to "exit out the Gift Shop," so to speak.  We were led to a large showroom, filled with knives, swords, jewelry, and trinkets.  I had been anticipating this, as it was my last opportunity to purchase an authentic Toledo sword in Spain. To my horror, however, all the swords and knives they had for sale were factory made. . . not handmade like the pieces in the factory.  Some were even made in China!

Nothing says 'authentic Spanish steel' like knock-off, Chinese-made versions of Japanese katanas. . .

I looked around for quite some time, but I found little that seemed 'genuine Toledo,' and even then it was far too over-priced.  I almost bought a mirror-polished dagger, but it was clearly not authentic, and at 30 euros, about four times more than it should've been.  I felt like an asshole for even contemplating such a travesty.

More shittiness.

It killed me to do so, but I ended up walking out of that sword shop without purchasing a single piece.

Ooooh, how I was pissed.

Back on the bus, I joined my colleagues in promptly falling asleep.  It had been a long day of walking around, and we still had a full evening ahead of us.  I was all about snagging  a two-hour nap on the way back to Madrid.

Our designated restaurant for ''Tapas Night.''

You see, tonight was 'Tapas Night.'  Fran had announced earlier that our group was going to be having dinner at a wine bar (booya!) that spec-ialized in Tapas - a traditional Spanish meal made up of appetizers to consume along with plenty of wine, sangria or beer.  The appetizers served varied from hot soups, to jalapeno peppers, to cheeses, to fried calamari rings, to slices of pork and potatoes.  From what I gathered, Tapas was all about enjoying finger foods in a communal setting. . . while drinking.  That seemed to be the most important aspect of the meal.

Wine bottles all over the ceiling.  Nothing to worry about there.

Anyway, this proposed Tapas dinner wasn't included in the EF Training package (surprise, surprise), and would end up cost about twenty euros (approx. $35.)  For me, this was way too expensive - since I had eaten an exceptionally large breakfast, and hadn't been feel all that great throughout the day, I wasn't hungry at all.  Not in the slightest.  The notion of dropping $35 on a meal I'd be forcing down anyway wasn't something I was cool with.

Tapas is Spanish for Booze & Bar Food

Unfortunately, everyone else was going, and I wasn't about to wander around the streets of Madrid by my lonesome while feeling like crap.

In the end, I was able to hangout at the wine bar with the others without having to pay the twenty-euro cover.  Of course, I was foregoing the Tapas meal, but I wasn't hungry anyway (and besides, I had already tried every dish they ended up serving that night anyway.)  Instead, they let me drink a few beers (five, to be exact) for a measly five euros.  I considered this a pretty good deal, seeing how beers usually cost around three euros apiece anyway.

Our group ended up spending about two hours at the restaurant, and it was a really good time.  My cough had gotten pretty bad, but the carbonation in the beer definitely helped.  The bar's owner, a battle axe of an old woman, sat right behind me, and I could tell she was eying me closely throughout the evening to make sure I wasn't trying to eat for free or whatever.  Not that that was going to happen with me feeling like total crap.

My dinner for the night. . .

When it finally came time for our group to leave, a couple of the male teachers came forward and proposed staying out late for a few more beers at some local bars.  Most of the teachers in our group were exhausted and wanted to return with Fran to our hotel, but Yours Truly and a dozen others were of the mindset that we were in Spain. . . and would have plenty of time to hang out in hotel rooms later on in our boring, everyday lives.

After parting with the majority of our group, our more adventurous dozen wandered through Madrid's historic downtown to find a decent watering hole.  We came upon an outdoor cafe where every employee happened to be Chinese (who knows.)  The weather was warm enough to enable us to sit outside comfortably in the bar's street side cafe-ish section, so we were able to have a few beers along the cobblestone street, which reminded me a lot of Ghana. . . only much, much nicer.

And the scent of piss wasn't raping my nostrils.

Once again. . . meat hanging on the walls.  Of a bar.

After awhile, we decided to relocate.  A short walk down the road, we came upon a bar where Ernest Heming-way used to drink (in fact, we even nabbed a table in the same window-front area that he preferred.)  We had a few more beers at this stop, and some of us posed for pictures with local Spaniards.  Like a bunch of tourists.

'Merica!

Heading back to the Metro.

Back near the Puerta del Sol. . .

By 11:45pm, we were all pretty much spent.  Our main group had retired nearly 2 1/2 hours earlier, and I, for one, was beginning to think that maybe they had been on to something.  It took us about a half an hour to make our way back to the Metro station, and that in itself was more of a labor than a leisurely stroll.

Unfortunately for us, the trains were running ridiculously slow - a sign of things to come, for sure.  Madrid was revving up for New Years Eve, and event though that was still a day away, the streets were already packed with costumed drunks.  We ran into three other teachers from our group who had been elsewhere in the city after we disbanded, following the Tapas dinner, and they had evidently been in the thick of it.  The streets were packed, the trains were slow, and whole city was sizzling like a lit fuse.

Tomorrow's going to be insane.

Waiting for the train. . .

When the train finally arrived, we forced our way onboard the ol' Red Line (with no small degree of muscle, mind you) for three stoops until we disembarked at San Bernardo.

My phone had been completely dead for hours, and by the time I got up to my hotel room it was 12:45am.  My roommate was asleep, so I couldn't Skype with Kris and the girls (whom I hadn't talked to all night).  A fitting end indeed to an on-again/off-again, frustrating evening.

Once again, within seconds of lying down, I passed out fully clothed.

- Brian