The Rain In Spain Is Mainly In The Plane

A short, uneventful flight out of Cairo delivered us in Zurich a few hours before sunset. After a frantic, last-ditch stab at flying standby to Madrid proved fruitless (Iberian Airlines’ staff struck us as excellent candidates for Indian government posts), we attempted to access the Star Alliance airport lounge in order to make a Zurich hotel reservation online. We were summarily twice denied entrance by rigorously-toilet trained Swiss attendants, the second of whom informed us that "nothing is free in Switzerland." Without missing a beat, Vik retorted, "Apparently, not even good will."

After booking a room via a bordering terminal’s telephone hotel directory, we spent a lackluster night at the garishly-multicolored and dorm-like Park Inn. Adding insult to injury, we were forced to violate Kaberi’s no-American chain rule and spend an extortionate $20 for two combo meals at the adjacent McDonald’s. The next day, we checked in early for our evening flight to Madrid and spent nine hours in the cramped One World Alliance airport lounge making hotel reservations online for our trip to southern Spain and Morocco. By the time we had settled into our laughably-mediocre business class seats (basically nothing more than ratty, old coach seats on an ordinary airline) on an Iberian flight to Madrid, we were heartened by our progress in securing a place to sleep for the next two weeks.

When the flight touched down in Madrid later that night, Kaberi pulled our passports out of our travel portfolio in anticipation of going through Customs. After being ushered through with nary a stamp of our U.S. passports, we made our way onto the airport train shuttling passengers to the main terminal. Upon reaching the baggage carousel, Kaberi attempted to return the passports to the travel portfolio, only to discover it missing from our shoulder bag. After spending a futile hour asking the relevant airport and airline authorities to check the plane and immigration control for a wayward black travel wallet, we dejectedly resigned ourselves to moving on to our downtown hotel. Turning in a few hours after midnight, we half-heartedly hoped that better news might await us the next morning.

When morning arrived, and a call to the airport turned up no leads, our fears of having been pickpocketed were confirmed. Thus, we greeted our first day in Madrid with the realization that our travel cash, around-the-world tickets and immunization records were now in someone else’s ill-begotten possession. We took solace in the fact that we had managed to retain our passports. Vik tried to cheer up an inconsolable Kaberi with two observations: (1) whoever was desperate enough to steal our money needed it more than we did and (2) nothing we lost was irreplaceable. Vik also took a measure of satisfaction from knowing that the thief would be on the receiving end of a brutal dollar to euro exchange rate.

After a quick breakfast, we moved from Madrid’s upscale Goya neighborhood to a more eclectic and central vantage point on Gran Via. In the process, we managed to upgrade our accommodations, as our bright room at the Hotel de las Letras dwarfed that of its predecessor. As we were within walking distance of both the Prado and Reina Sofia museums, the Palace and Royal gardens, and an assortment of bars and tapas restaurants, we took full advantage of the next few days to explore the majestic Spanish capital by foot.

As the highest capital city in Europe, Madrid proffered balmy, sunny days with pleasant temperatures and cool evenings. Capitalizing on the picture-perfect weather and armed with Vik’s new weakness, Starbuck’s banana java chip frappaccinos, we strolled the city’s wide, tree-lined boulevards, walking by grand buildings like the Palacio de las Comunicaciones and important cultural institutions like the fountain in which fans celebrate after a Real Madrid win. We also indulged in a variety of epicurean pursuits including chocolate con churros, pitchers of fruit-drenched sangria and delicious, assorted tapas.

We also managed to browse several of the city’s art collections. On our first day we took in the Reina Sofia’s Picasso exhibit, most notably, the huge Guernica canvas portraying the horrors of life under fascism in 1930’s Spain. The next afternoon, we visited the world-renowned Prado to see the Goya and Velazquez collections before rejuvenating in the shady Real Jardin Botanica next door. On our final full day in Madrid, we spent an hour and a half waiting to enter the Convento de las Descalazas Reales, a convent dating back to the 15th century where small groups of 15 were allowed to enter for a 30-minute guided Spanish language tour. After finally making our way in, we took in the architectural beauty and the treasure trove of art and sculpture donated by wealthy female benefactors.

Even with the many cultural offerings to absorb us, the highlight of our time in Madrid was seeing familiar faces. On our first evening in town, we were picked up by Kaberi’s cousin Debashish to have a home-cooked Indian dinner with his parents, Kaberi’s aunt and uncle visiting from Scotland, Madhulekha mashi and mesho, his wife, Iraxi, and their two young daughters, Daniella and Andrea. Debashish, an avid Real Madrid fan, made a point to show us the team’s impressive football stadium on the way. He also introduced Kaberi to her new favorite drink, cerveza con limon (beer splashed with Fanta). And later in the week, we caught up with Vik’s Stanford friend, Enrique, over an Italian lunch on Gran Via.

All in all, our time in Madrid, save for the inauspicious start, was enjoyable. As our time in the city wound down, we prepared to embark upon a tour of Andalusia in southern Spain.