Holy Toledo

Midweek, we caught a sleek, high-speed morning train to the Spanish hamlet of Toledo located less than an hour outside of Madrid and designated an UNESCO World Heritage site in 1986. Toledo served as the capital of the Spanish Empire before the Moorish conquest.

With our overstuffed backpacks in tow, we looked like we had enough provisions to last us a month, especially in comparison to our more economically-equipped fellow passengers. After an unmemorable ride where Vik’s once-dormant allergies resurfaced to wreak unfortunate havoc on his mucus membranes, we rolled into town and made our way to our hotel inside the hillside town’s tall stone walls.

With only twenty-four hours earmarked for Toledo, we quickly dropped off our luggage and made our way to the Cathedral, located in the town center. To our surprise, the town was abuzz with activity, as several well-heeled Spanish families and elderly couples milled about the streets. As we neared, we noticed flowers adorning windows, flags draping from balconies, awnings shading the streets and the pungent aroma of rosemary wafting in the air. We soon discovered that we had arrived in Toledo during its famed Corpus Christi celebration. After a policeman shepherding the crowds informed us that the Cathedral was closed for the day, we lingered for a bit, taking in the colorful festivities before setting off to explore the town.

From the Cathedral, we walked to the Iglesia de Santo Tome, which housed the famous El Greco painting The Burial of the Count of Orgaz. As we stood front and center, we overheard a nearby tour group’s guide explaining the different influences of the Italian and Spanish schools of painting in the piece, pointing out the faces of El Greco and his son found in the piece, and highlighting that the year depicted in the artwork commemorated the birth of the painter’s son. Afterwards, we went to El Greco’s Toledo homestead, Casa Del Greco, where we enjoyed a private viewing of his The City and Map of Toledo (so precisely painted that it was later used in Toledo's reconstruction) and the Twelve Apostles. Properly impressed, we continued on.

To its credit, Toledo boasts a harmonious co-existence between Jewish, Christian and Moorish cultures, a fact that we appreciated as we walked through the town’s three distinctive neighborhoods. We visited Santa Maria la Blanca, an Almohad style synagogue that resembled a mosque and was subsequently used as a church. As we walked to the Islamic part of town, we once again passed by the Cathedral, where city cleaners were sweeping up sprigs of burnt rosemary and tourists were lining up to enter the massive building.

Quickly getting in line to buy entrance tickets, we basked in our stroke of good luck. In minutes, we found ourselves inside awed by the sheer size of the altar and choir area. Kaberi especially admired the strategic positioning of a skylight that allowed the sun to enter and illuminate the painted ceiling. We also noted the large, ornate gold cross housed in the center of the church, which, earlier in the day, had made its annual journey through the streets of Toledo. Finally, we walked to the Alcazar and visited the only remaining mosque in Toledo, the Mosque of Christo de la Luz, a small, airy structure situated by the Puerta del Sol.

Our only meal in Toledo was at Adolpho Colleccion, a chic modern restaurant with an excellent tapas menu. The head waiter enthusiastically translated the entire menu, allowing us to make fully-informed gastronomic decisions. After ending our day with profiteroles and ice cream, we returned to the hotel via cobblestone streets and floodlit corners, satisfied that we had seen most, if not all, of Toledo’s cultural highlights.

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.

Egypt Trip Cut Short

We awoke the next morning eager to see the only surviving Ancient Wonder of the World in the form of the Gaza Pyramids located roughly 40 minutes outside of Cairo. After a quick breakfast of cereal and strawberry juice, we arrived at the hotel lobby, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 7:30 am. Our guide turned out to be a chatty, young, heavyset woman with bright green eyeshadow and sparkling glitter on her face (a stark contrast to the appearance of most of the Egyptian women we had seen covered from head to toe in sober shades of brown and black). Her proposed itinerary included the step pyramid at Sakkara, the Ramses II museum at Memphis and the three pyramids and Sphinx at Giza. She also offered to take us to a “carpet school” (a codename for carpet stores), which we quickly struck from the agenda. The day turned out to be distinctive. We began by appreciating from outside the earliest attempt to construct a pyramid tomb (in stepwise form) at Sakkara before going inside to inspect the hieroglyphics. We then drove ten minutes to the rather unimpressive ancient city of Memphis – formerly Egypt’s capital – to observe a large horizontal Ramses II statue and a crude, miniature Sphinx. From Memphis, we drove to Giza to see the much-anticipated and most-renowned of Egypt’s tourist sites with our own eyes. Throughout, we were forced to fend off the advances of aggressive hawkers accosting us with mispronounced shouts of the Indian film star (this would be akin to Vik roaming the streets of Paris shouting “Gerald Depardieu” to get the attention of onlookers, a move he apppears to be contemplating down the road). Even though we knew that Giza was not remotely situated in a far-off desert, we still were not prepared for the pyramids to rise up from behind a street light in the middle of an unremarkable tourist strip. We soon made our way to the three stately Giza pyramids (one of which – the Great Pyramid – we crawled inside as one of the 250 visitors allowed to access the king’s burial chamber), a small museum housing a wooden boat excavated at the pyramids’ base and the iconic Sphinx. Unfortunately, our experience was marred by our subpar guide, who, after chatting amiably with us for a few minutes, devoted most of her attention to gossiping with the driver in Arabic or to devouring her arsenal of falafel wraps. We never managed to regain her attention, as she seemed wholly uninterested in fulfilling her official duties or providing any context for our experience. Upon arriving in Gaza, we were stunned by her refusal to get out of the air-conditioned van. Instead, she offered a hasty bare-bones overview of the site from her perch before sending us into the late morning sun to buy our own tickets. Meanwhile, every other guide we saw in the vicinity was alongside his or her charges, snapping their pictures in front of the monuments or pointing out relevant firsthand. We did our best to keep our so-called guide from spoiling our experience, mainly by reading from our guidebook or eavesdropping on other guides’ explanations. When she sauntered off before noon – leaving the driver to escort us to lunch – we finally lost our patience. Given that we had found this guide through an upscale hotel’s in-house travel agency, we worried greatly about the service quality for the next two weeks of our trip. Fuming, we scarfed down an Indian lunch at the nearby Mena Oberoi hotel overlooking the pyramids while strategizing about our recourse. When we eventually returned to our hotel, we lodged our complaints with the General Manager’s assistant, who also attempted to locate an alternate travel agency on our behalf. Meanwhile, we logged back online, only to once again find that we could not book plane tickets or Nile cruise berths without going through a travel agent. Through our own accord, we identified appropriate flights and a suitable cruise operator receiving favorable feedback online. We then forwarded the details to two separate hotel staffmember intermediaries to pursue on our behalf with two different reputable travel agents. Realizing that we would be stuck in Cairo until the travel agents could confirm onward details, we made arrangements with a second travel agency for a day trip to Alexandria for the following day. With any luck, we would be making our way up the river Nile in two days. Unfortunately, things did not go nearly as smoothly as planned. Our first sense of the impending challenges occurred that evening when a third travel agency came back with a quote much higher than we expected. Muffling his protests over the sizeable cost to pacify his increasingly-agitated wife, Vik attempted to make payment via credit card. When the travel agent demanded complete payment in cash (for multiple thousands of dollars), Vik bid him farewell. The following morning, the owner of the second travel agency met us in person to revisit each step of our intended itinerary. Disappointed that no progress had been made on the travel plans, we patiently re-explained every last detail. With assurances that everything would be taken care of, we left for our day trip to Alexandria, located three hours northwest on the northern Mediterranean coast. Alexandria proved to be an interesting excursion, and included visits to the city’s Roman-era catacombs, Pompey’s Pillar, the gorgeous new library and the Mediterranean-facing citadel. Our guide (an Egyptian Derek Jeter-lookalike) started off on a strong note, providing us with a helpful overview of Egyptian history and buoying our spirits with the thought that this day would go better than its predecessor. We were heartened that our guide actually alighted from the van and accompanied us to all of the sites. Unfortunately, our high hopes would soon be dashed. It soon became clear that our guide was handling us and taking advantage of our good faith. Our lunch tab was mysteriously inflated to twice the normal cost (suggesting that we paid for the meals of our guide and driver without prior consent). Some hours later, the cheap falafel stand we wanted to stop at for dinner was mysteriously inaccessible until Kaberi found it on her map located smack dab in the city’s conspicuous central plaza. The final straw for both of us, and cementing Vik’s disdain for Derek Jeter (both the original and the look-alike) occurred while we waited for tickets outside the Alexandria Library. After Vik had the gall to say that Egypt struck him as a tolerant society, the guide gave us a stinging, condescending, 30-minute lecture on the aggressive, expansionist aims of Israel. When we returned to our hotel that evening, we found that the second travel agency had created its own itinerary, keeping us Cairo for an additional three nights and booking us on its preferred cruise operator (one that didn’t show up on any Google or TripAdvisor searches). Adding insult to injury, the cost for the trip exceeded the original estimate by a factor of three. Disgusted and at the end of his rope, Vik made the executive decision to pull the proverbial rip code. He called United and changed our ticket to leave Egypt the very next day, shortening our two-week trip by ten days. In a last ditch attempt to salvage her trip, Kaberi searched online for any reasonable option. When none appeared, she was forced to go along with the decision to leave early, albeit with heavy heart. Kaberi holds out hope for a future return to the world’s oldest tourist destination and the enchanted land of Cleopatra, Nefertiti and Ramses II. Apparently, conventional wisdom suggests that Egypt is best discovered and appreciated through an all-inclusive guided tour.