Leaving on a Midnight Train

When I was planning my voyage from Brussels to Portugal, my friend Cassandra implored me to take the train. "It'll be just like in Before Sunrise!"

For the record, I'd never seen or heard of Before Sunrise or its sequel, Before Sunset. But Cassandra assured me that it was really good and really romantic. And the main protagonists met on a train. I didn't need Before Sunrise to get me excited about train travel. I'm a self-professed train nut. Even four years of taking VIA Rail to and from Ottawa several times a year hasn't dulled the luster. But I eventually decided not to do the whole voyage by train (which would have taken about 4 days and involved going Brussels to Paris, where I would have switched stations to Paris north, then gone Paris to Madrid and Madrid to Lisbon).

But to get my train fix I decided to take the overnight train from Madrid to Lisbon (the capital of Portugal for you geographically challenged readers). It was a good plan: cheap (€52 for a youth seat), environmentally friendly, and allowed me to stay in Madrid an extra day and get into Lisbon at 8am with the rest of the day free to see the sights.


Now the only part I didn’t factor into the equation was the night part. The train left at 11pm from Madrid and got into Lisbon at 8am. That’s about nine hours on a train, sitting mostly upright and not served any snacks (because they assume you’ll be sleeping). Surprise, surprise, I didn’t sleep.


There was a group of about 12 young German men sitting around me, all wanting to talk and make noise and hit their friends that happened to be sitting beside me or behind me. I really wished I could have turned around and hissed something cruel in German. I didn’t. I instead read for a while and tried to drown out the sound of the train with music from my iPod until I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. I can’t tell you how many hours of sleep I got, but it wasn’t much and it wasn’t the good, deep REM sleep kind.

But I do have the experience of saying I took an overnight train. And it was mostly positive—minus the Germans. But there was no sign of Ethan Hawke or Julie Delpy.

An Open Letter to Spain

Dear Spain,

Hi, how’s it going? I hope this letter finds you well. These last weeks have been pretty intense for me. I've been busy with school and assignments and trying to figure out which side of the street to look when crossing. But I hear you've been busy too, buying banks and stuff. Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, these last few months have been tough for governments too, what with the financial sector disintegrating around us. What a bummer.

Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about. I want to bring something to your attention. I spent four days and three nights in your capital city. I very much enjoyed it. The weather was gorgeous, the food tasty and the culture rich. The museums were top notch, but what’s with the security in the Prado? Do you really think I’m going to grab a Goya and make a dash for it? There are security guards everywhere. You can't pick a wedgie for fear of being watched. But I digress.

I’m writing to express my concern over something I noticed while in Madrid. What's with the lack of English? Before you ask, no, I'm not American. I'm Canadian and Portuguese. I don’t speak Spanish. I know, I know. I'm well aware of the arguments: "You're in a Spanish speaking country, and Spanish is one of the widest spoken languages in the world." I know all of this. It just so happens my Spanish isn't great. I can count, say hello, goodbye and ask how much something is. Then I'm tapped out.

But cut me some slack. I can speak two other languages well enough to get by: French and Portuguese. I felt that I could at least fake Spanish with Portuguese. But when I tried, I got no love. None of the three languages were any use to me. I’d ask people—everyone from taxi drivers, waiters and museum guides—questions in English such as “How much is the audio guide?” or “How do I get to the church?” And they would look at me perplexed. And then I’d ask to speak any of the three languages mentioned above and always got the same answer: “Hablo Italiano?” No, I don’t speak Italian! I just named two—English and French—pretty popular languages and you come back at me with Italian? What’s that about?

What’s with the hate for English? I get it that you guys were colonial enemies back in the day. I get that it’s a language of imperialism and that it's not a very pretty sounding language but come on. You’re in the European Union for God's sake, where English is one of three working languages—French, English and German in case you’re wondering. It’s kind of a practical language.

Why do you hate the language so much? Is it a form of nationalism to refuse to speak any language but Spanish? Or do you just not know how? Are you shy that you might get words wrong, because even British people can’t say “tomato,” “banana,” or “aluminum” right and they’ve been speaking it a lot longer than most people. Don't be self-conscious. We can help.

Anyway, I just wanted to ask about that. Oh, and if we speak Portuguese to you don’t pretend that you don’t understand. It’s a slightly different language so don’t act like we’re speaking Russian.

No hard feelings, just thought I’d voice some concern, keep on rocking in the free world.

Diana

Holy Toledo

My trip to Toledo will stand out in my mind for two reasons. The first is for the gorgeous church; the second is for getting lost. My day started off so well too. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Atocha, the train station in Madrid, while a departure point for trains, was also a tropical rain forest.
After a beautiful train ride I got off at a very historic looking station. Toledo used to be the capital of the Roman Empire and Spanish empire and it’s very medieval, which is a nice change from the more modern (1500-1900) architecture I’ve been exposed to here in Europe. So after leaving the train, I set off for the tourist office (like I always do).

I had a little map from my Let’s Go Europe book, but where I was didn’t seem to be on the map. So I paid €2 for a map I didn’t really think was that good. Turns out, it didn’t even matter because I still got lost. And not just I-don’t-know-where-to-go lost, but I-have-absolutely-no-idea-where-I-am-and-where-I’m-going-and-I’m-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-and-could-very-easily-die-from-a-snake-bite-or-heat-stroke-and-no-one-would-ever-know lost. I ended up walking half down the Don Quixote trail—which I should have known, being named for an explorer was not somewhere that was going to lead me to civilization—and back and forth for an hour between the old and new section of Toledo not knowing where the heck I was. I finally crossed the Bridge of San Martin leading into Toledo and all was well.

My promised land: the Bridge San Martin

The River Tagus which I crossed three times in my wild goose chase

The second most memorable part was the church. The Cathedral of Saint Mary of Toledo, is, by far, the most opulent church I’ve ever seen. I read in the guide book that it was ostentatious. I didn’t see what it could mean in a church until I went in. Sadly, I couldn’t take any pictures but here are some I found from Wikipedia.



That’s just one part of the church. Now, take that and apply it to a massive church: gold everywhere, intricate carvings, stain class everywhere. I sat in a pew and thought, “No wonder there was a Reformation. Look how much wealth is in this church alone.”

The back of the Cathedral

While some sacristies in most churches are just one tiny room, this had several large rooms filled with works from Goya, Vasquez and El Greco (he lived in Toledo for a while). In the Treasury, there are pieces of 3 feet statues made of solid gold. And there’s also the sword of fascist dictator Francisco Franco which was a real treat (it was much smaller than I thought it would be). But a really interesting part of the church is that it contains a Visigoth chapel (a form of Catholicism dating back to the 7th century), and is the only place the Visigoth mass is still celebrated. How cool is that? This church is, in a word: ostentatious. If you are ever in the neighbourhood, it’s worth the €7.

Toledo is also known for its excellent sword craftsmanship, so if you’re in the market for a sword of some kind, Toledo’s the place.

Sword makers in Toledo are artisans

Green Thumb

One thing I was struck by in Madrid was the frequency of parks and gardens. I’m no stranger to European parks—Brussels has two formidable ones which I was a frequent visitor of— but the scale of Madrid’s greenery is quite opulent (there's that word again). Most date back to the grandeur of the Spanish Empire when having a large, well-tended garden was a matter of pride. In any case, they’re gorgeous. The royal gardens (the ones beside the royal palace) where pretty impressive in their scale.



Then there were the Royal Botanical Gardens. These were for more scientific purposes than for show. There were flowers and cacti and other groupings of plants that I can't name. Each had the name of the plant and throughout there were statues of famous Spanish botanists. Can you every imagine a Canadian botanist getting their own statue? Can anyone even name a Canadian botanist?

Pretty flowers

Did I mention they have a greenhouse on site?

Royal cacti

Rows upon rows of famous botanists

By far the best is El Retiro. The Central Park of Madrid, it is located right beside the Prado. I meandered into it after my foray into the Prado and I was looking for a quite spot to read. It offered that and more.

This isn't even the half of it. Maybe 1/24

It's what I call perspective. My shadow and the length of the park

After I read a few chapters, I remembered that there was a memorial to the victims of the Madrid bombings in 2005 located somewhere in the park. I set out to find it, not knowing where it would take me. What I realized is that they should really offer maps of the park itself. There are so many things to see inside it. There’s the memorial, then there’s a pond where people row boats in front of a huge statue of Alphonso XII. There’s also various statues to famous Spaniards.

The pond and row boats

But the real interesting thing is the Crystal Palace, which is indeed made of crystal—OK, glass, but that ruins the romance of it. I spent, without exaggeration, 2 hours in there looking for the Palace and memorial. And I still didn’t find the memorial, try though I did. But here’s the palace.

Notice how the light has changed. That's how long I was there.

An Egyptian in Madrid

The architecture in Madrid is very Mediterranean. It reminds me a lot of Portugal: Red roofs, stucco buildings and warm, multi-coloured houses to keep cool in the summer. That’s why this stuck out a bit.


It’s called Templo de Debod and is actually an Egyptian temple. It was a present to Spain from Egypt for its role in saving the temple of Abu Simbel from the floodwaters of Lake Nasser following the construction of the Aswan Dam in southern Egypt. Go figure.

I tried to go in but I happened to have hit the four hour window where it closes each day. I was leaving for Lisbon that night, so it remained a mystery to me. But I’m told from people who went in (my sister and brother-in-law) that it was quite something.

The Golden Triangle

When I was debating whether or not to go to Madrid before I went to Portugal, I asked a co-worker who’d been there. “Depends what you like,” he said. “If you like museums and culture, then Madrid is beautiful.” Although not a stellar review I decided to go for it. I like museums and Madrid is known for its “Golden Triangle:” the Museo del Prado, the more modern Reina Sofía National Museum and Art Center and the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum of Art, known for its collection of Egyptians paintings and artifacts.

I read about the Prado and knew that its collection was extensive. I decided to check it out my first day. I purposely went after 5pm because that’s when entry is free. It seems like a few other people had the same idea.

This first visit was intended as a scouting exhibition. I wanted to see what it was like, get the layout, see what kind of stuff was in the collection and develop a strategy. There’s nothing I hate more than microwaving a museum. What is microwaving a museum you ask? The term was introduced to me by my friend Cassandra. Microwaving a museum is doing it really fast and only really getting to see the famous stuff. Just like when you microwave food, all the backup flavour is gone, when you microwave a museum you see the famous stuff and breeze through the other perhaps more interesting things. There are some museums you have to microwave for time constraints (ie. the Louvre). I microwaved the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, because we didn’t have enough time. But the Prado is known for so much beautiful art I wanted to take my time. I was in Madrid for four days, (minus one spent in Toledo) and on my own so I could take as much time as I wanted.


All in all I spent about 8 hours there. I spent two hours that first day perusing the first floor. Then I came back Tuesday (for free because I’m a European student), and spent another six hours seeing everything. Every floor, every painting, every sculpture. I even listened to the audio guide. I brought a snack in case I got hungry, which I did. Afterward I was so exhausted I sat in the gardens to rest my tired feet. But it was worth it. I saw not only the masterpiece’s but some unknown stuff that I liked. I developed an appreciation for Goya and highly recommend his Black paintings.

The next day, I checked out the Reina Sofia, the modern art museum. The Reina Sofia is known mostly for its Dali and Picassos. Those were all really interesting. Guernica is really moving once you know the context. Otherwise I feel you might thing it’s just odd—it is modern art after all. I may have experienced a bit of the prom effect because it was hyped so much. But there were other paintings that really resonated with me.

Dali’s Girl at a Window

Hermenegildo Camarasa’s “Retrato de Sonia Klamery."

Despite these favourites, I have to admit I microwaved this one a bit. After the first 8 or 9 rooms of Picassos and the Dalis, there’s just a lot of really modern art, as in squares of colour or coat hangers suspended on a wire. I walked by a ten foot shelf stacked with old books and asked myself how that was art. I can’t really handle things like that. I’m too much of a linear thinker. So I just walked past them, doing my best to assess the artistic quality in them for 2.5 seconds, then moved on.

Even the building is modern with a glass elevator and avant garde statues in the garden.

The Reina Sofia

View from the glass elevator

Statues in the garden

I didn't check out the Egyptian museum because a) I don't really care about Egyptian art, b) I didn't have time and c) I had to pay, which after free entrance into the Prado, I was not feeling.

My Sizzlin' Siesta

After spending four months in a country that considers 18 degrees summer, it was beautiful to get to Madrid and be bathed in warmth. Literally. I almost forgot what that kind of heat is like (It's awesome, just for the record). Madrid is gorgeous. The best word to describe it is opulent. Everything was bigger and more impressive: architecture, squares, parks and museums.

My hostel was beautifully located off Gran Via, Madrid’s version of Broadway and appropriately lined with various theaters and shows. One I was a little more shocked to see than others.

I was also a ten minute walk from the three big areas. Puerto del Sol is the heart of Madrid and really busy. It’s located at the center of a few shopping streets packed with stores—Spanish stores are pretty awesome, Sfera being only one example—and merchants selling boot-legged movies. (Note: El Corte Inglés is awesome. A Spanish department store, it has everything you could need, from shampoo to fruit to Gucci if you're so inclined). Then there is the square. It’s mostly known for Kilometer Zero, the beginning of the national highway. There’s a plaque to commemorate it. There’s also a statue of a bear, climbing the madroño tree, which is the symbol of Madrid.

The shopping promenade

Puerto del Sol

Plaza Mayor was really fun. It’s a giant square, complete with arched gates at the entrance. The day I was there they were setting up for a Run for the Cure (what is it about me that I seem to attract them?—same thing happened in Cologne). My favourite part of the square was the paintings. One side of the buildings has paintings of various scenes. From what I could make out, they were bullfighting scenes.

Plaza Mayor

But what was really interesting was the Palacio Real, or Royal Palace. Directly in front of it there are gardens with statues of various Spanish monarchs, which made me think that these were the gardens. Then I found the actual gardens beside it were even bigger! Although I went when I first arrived, I came back on my last day to get a tour of the palace (for free because I’m a European citizen, thank you Portugal). The castle is still actually used by the Spanish royal family. The rooms we saw were all opulently decorated and it really reminded you that Spain used to be a big deal in the world at one point. There were rooms from Spanish monarchs and 200-year-old Stradivarius violins. A personal highlight was when I stood in the room where Spain signed the document that brought them into the European Union.

Royal Gardens

It was a great tour but it put me in a foul mood that they didn’t allow pictures. Being crafty as I am, I sneaked one in. Too bad I didn’t realize my flash was on and the security guard immediately admonished people for taking pictures. Luckily, I have great reflexes and so he thought it was the girls in front of me. Here are the highlights.

The Royal Palace

The illegal photo

Inside the Royal Palace