In the last few weeks I have been so busy with school, traveling, visits, etc. that I haven't had any time to seriously sit down and write a new entry. Since the last post, I have been to London for my 21st birthday, Morocco on a 4-day cultural exchange program, and I am currently in northern England visiting my aunts for spring break. On all three of these trips I had some late-night, money-saving but not sleep-saving, experiences with transportation. During my first trip, to London, I spent almost as much time with my friends as I did traveling, with virtually no sleep.
Thursday, February 21 I set out to the airport in the evening to catch my flight to London. I am lucky enough to live on the metro line that takes me directly to the airport, so I was there in no time. I got on my flight with virtually no problems, but the real trouble happened when I landed on British soil.
Because I am an idiot and apparently didn't pay attention to which airport I would be flying into when I booked my tickets, I realized the day before I left that I would be flying into Luton Airport, about 30-45 minutes outside of London. Meaning: no quick metro rides, taxi rides, walking, or seeing friends at any sort of reasonable hour. No, silly me. Not only did I have to figure out the train schedule to the main train terminal at about 11:30 p.m. when no one was available to ask questions to, but I sat through about three trains I could have taken that passed through the station. Why? I didn't understand where each one went because the schedules may as well have been written in Greek. Nothing made sense and I almost started hyperventalating until I found a man who obviously worked at the station, with a kind and understanding face, ready to help me. He realized my mistake immediately: the trains don't say "this station", they only have the final one as their name. Stupid Dara, stupid.
When I finally got on the correct train and into the city, it was already 1 a.m. Too late to take the metro which closed at midnight, I couldn't get in touch with any of my friends because the phones weren't connecting, and on top of all of this, the area surrounding the station I arrived in might as well have been a ghost town. No taxis waiting, no people to ask for help. So I started walking. I walked a few blocks, crossed a few streets, and finally saw a taxi with a green light, indicating its availability, about to turn in the opposite direction. I frantically grabbed my suitcase and purse and ran across the street, catching the driver's attention just in time. He knew exactly where the address was that I held in a folded, dirty piece of paper. Twenty minutes later, I was inside with my friends, eating food, talking, and soon after I was sound asleep.
The visit itself was very nice, but too short, and before I knew it I was on my way back to Madrid. Again, my flight was at an ungodly hour: around 7 a.m. I had consulted the train schedule that indicated certain train stations in London had trains going to Luton Airport at given times. Apparently I read the schedule just as clearly as when I was trying to LEAVE Luton Airport. When I got to the first train station via taxi, it was closed. I had the taxi driver take me to the next train station on my list: closed. This time, I saw a group of girls who were speaking Spanish, and according to what I was able to understand, were going through the exact same thing I was. Bingo!
I went over and told them I thought the trains weren't runnign at this hour. Lo and behold, they had the train schedule printed out, proof that yes, indeed there was a train to Luton Airport in the middle of the night. We banged on the window where I saw a train station worker sitting, and I asked him. His response: sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. This station is closed. Trains don't run this late. Asshole...
So luckily, I was able to speak Spanish with this group of 6 girls from Madrid who were on the same flight as me, and we decided to try to share a cab. The taxi driver who was still there argued he could get in a lot of trouble with so many people in the car. But apparently the crying and whining of seven 20-21 year olds was enough for him to give in. We piled in with our luggage, two of us sitting on the floor, one girl huddled over so as not to be seen by any passing police cars, and 45 minutes later we were there. Splitting the cost, it was actually not that bad. The girls and I split ways (I hate waiting for groups of people) but they thanked me for my translational skills (meaning, I spoke English to the taxi driver). Yey for English being my first language!
Once in Madrid, the trip home was fine. When I finally got back, I slept almost until dinner time. All that late-night traveling and lack of sleep had really done me in. But at least there was a story!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Valle de los Caidos
My aim of this blog was to focus solely on modes of transportation, but I had an experience this weekend that begs to be written about, whether or not it involves transportation. Actually, I take that back. I felt like I was transported to an entirely different world—one of fascism, death, and creepiness.
On Saturday, I participated in one of the free weekend trips that the SU in Madrid program provides. We traveled to el Valle de los Caidos (the Valley of the Fallen), which is a monument to those killed in the Spanish Civil War—although only those who fought on the side of Franco—as well as the tomb that Franco built himself. Before we got there, I saw some of the prettiest land I’ve seen since I’ve been in Madrid. Located in the Guadarrama Mountains on the outskirts of the city, the bus ride to this site was gorgeous. Traditional Spanish houses with their typical red roofs, mountains of greenery and snow in the distance, and well-kept trees and plants lined the highway. When we got off the bus, the light scent of the surrounding pine trees uplifted my spirit and brought me momentarily into a feeling of tranquility. But that only lasted so long.
The bus had pulled up right in front of this monument that I consider a tribute to death and bloodshed. Our guide explained how this was one of the last standing monuments of fascist architecture left in the country. The entrance was a semicircle of arches and statues modeled after Michelangelo’s style of sculpture, with double bronze doors. Built directly inside the center of a mountain, the peak of the mountain was topped with a stone cross that our guide said was the size of three football fields. It was the most ominous, frightening cross I have ever seen.
Upon entering, I was confronted with a dark, gloomy cathedral that felt like a cave. After walking around for about 20 minutes, we sat down to experience a Catholic mass. I have never been to a mass before, but I would assume that this was not a typical one. The haunting echoes of the choir and organ against the underground walls as well as the shadows that bounced off the walls from the candles created an eerie ambience. At one point during the mass, the lights were shut off, and the only visible scene was that of the priests cloaked in purple and those in black standing around the table that held a giant crucifix. The organ had stopped, as had the singing of young boys of the choir. Lights shone from underneath the table, which cast light on the priests in a way that made them appear uncannily creepy.
As soon as the lights were turned back on, the choir and organ began their Gregorian-like chants once again. The altar boys began to follow the priests back to their seats, and the mass was soon over.
After this experience, we actually climbed up to the base of the overbearing 150km-high stone cross. Granted, the view was one of the most beautiful I’ve seen in my life. From the top of the mountain I could see the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the expansive courtyard at the entrance to the cathedral, and the expansive greenery of the nearby mountains. The statues of mythological figures surrounding the cross were the largest statues I have ever seen. Each one of their feet was probably bigger than my entire body. But I couldn’t get over the fact that this entire “monument” was built by and for the fascists. There are about 40,000 people buried there who were killed during the Spanish Civil War, but only those on Franco’s side. The monument was built by thousands of prisoners; the walls were basically built with blood.
I must say though, I am glad I went. It’s not every day that one can literally stand in the place where every November 20, the day that Franco died, Francoists and modern-day fascists gather to celebrate and pray. It’s not every day that you stand at the base of a 150 km stone cross. And it’s not every day you experience a Catholic mass literally inside a mountain.
On Saturday, I participated in one of the free weekend trips that the SU in Madrid program provides. We traveled to el Valle de los Caidos (the Valley of the Fallen), which is a monument to those killed in the Spanish Civil War—although only those who fought on the side of Franco—as well as the tomb that Franco built himself. Before we got there, I saw some of the prettiest land I’ve seen since I’ve been in Madrid. Located in the Guadarrama Mountains on the outskirts of the city, the bus ride to this site was gorgeous. Traditional Spanish houses with their typical red roofs, mountains of greenery and snow in the distance, and well-kept trees and plants lined the highway. When we got off the bus, the light scent of the surrounding pine trees uplifted my spirit and brought me momentarily into a feeling of tranquility. But that only lasted so long.
The bus had pulled up right in front of this monument that I consider a tribute to death and bloodshed. Our guide explained how this was one of the last standing monuments of fascist architecture left in the country. The entrance was a semicircle of arches and statues modeled after Michelangelo’s style of sculpture, with double bronze doors. Built directly inside the center of a mountain, the peak of the mountain was topped with a stone cross that our guide said was the size of three football fields. It was the most ominous, frightening cross I have ever seen.
Upon entering, I was confronted with a dark, gloomy cathedral that felt like a cave. After walking around for about 20 minutes, we sat down to experience a Catholic mass. I have never been to a mass before, but I would assume that this was not a typical one. The haunting echoes of the choir and organ against the underground walls as well as the shadows that bounced off the walls from the candles created an eerie ambience. At one point during the mass, the lights were shut off, and the only visible scene was that of the priests cloaked in purple and those in black standing around the table that held a giant crucifix. The organ had stopped, as had the singing of young boys of the choir. Lights shone from underneath the table, which cast light on the priests in a way that made them appear uncannily creepy.
As soon as the lights were turned back on, the choir and organ began their Gregorian-like chants once again. The altar boys began to follow the priests back to their seats, and the mass was soon over.
After this experience, we actually climbed up to the base of the overbearing 150km-high stone cross. Granted, the view was one of the most beautiful I’ve seen in my life. From the top of the mountain I could see the snow-capped mountains in the distance, the expansive courtyard at the entrance to the cathedral, and the expansive greenery of the nearby mountains. The statues of mythological figures surrounding the cross were the largest statues I have ever seen. Each one of their feet was probably bigger than my entire body. But I couldn’t get over the fact that this entire “monument” was built by and for the fascists. There are about 40,000 people buried there who were killed during the Spanish Civil War, but only those on Franco’s side. The monument was built by thousands of prisoners; the walls were basically built with blood.
I must say though, I am glad I went. It’s not every day that one can literally stand in the place where every November 20, the day that Franco died, Francoists and modern-day fascists gather to celebrate and pray. It’s not every day that you stand at the base of a 150 km stone cross. And it’s not every day you experience a Catholic mass literally inside a mountain.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Doubling the value of your shoes
The English historian George Macauley Trevelyan once said that “After a day’s walk everything has twice its usual value.”
I’ve always liked to walk, whether around my neighborhood, the lake nearby, or around campus. Not only is it good for the body, but I find that it’s almost always good for the mind and soul as well. Here in Madrid, walking has been all of these things for me as well as the most educational mode of transportation I’ve ever experienced. Everything always has twice, maybe three times, its usual value after I’ve walked through it.
And by educational, I mean gaining street smarts, cultural understanding, architectural appreciation—the works. Everywhere I go, I have to walk, since I clearly don’t have my car here in Europe. But I’ve realized how different it is to appreciate what a city has to offer by walking rather than by bus or taxi. In Toledo, for instance, I was able to wander up and down the cobblestone alleyways that were full of authentic, local restaurants, street vendors, and musicians. Though Spaniards feel comfortable driving up and down these claustrophobically narrow streets, I would never even attempt it. So walking was my best option there.
In Madrid, walking has been my best companion. I am already much more in shape than before I left, and I have time to pause and smell the roses and take pictures of the many beautiful buildings, cerca early 19th century. The other day, when I was done with classes at 1:30, I walked around the city with my friend Mike. We walked up and down some of the main streets in Madrid, including Calle Castellana and Gran Via, which took us to many of the most popular spots of the city. Callao, which is the film district, is fun to explore during the day. I was able to see what all the theatres were playing which movies, and started to plan future movie-going excursions.
The other day I took a trip to Chueca, Madrid’s gay district, which is also evidently known as the best place to buy shoes here, though I still have yet to find that street. I went by myself, as I needed to buy a voltage converter and adapter—a long story, don’t ask—and ended up wandering around the area. Such a simple trip turned into an hour of exploration. I walked up and down the streets and found some of the cutest restaurants and cafes I have seen so far, as well as numerous stores of unique products, from disco balls to glow-in-the-dark sticks, jewels, cardboard, and copy shops. All the buildings were colorful and fun, yet still had the charm and class of a 19th century city. It reminded me of the parts of Paris you see in movies, and the people seemed so calm and relaxed. As I stumbled upon a beautiful plaza with a fountain, I decided to spend a while writing a letter to Ben—my boyfriend for those who don’t know—and soak up the sun. It was definitely a successful walking day.
So next time you feel like walking, let your feet take you where your soul asks you to. And besides, you’ll simultaneously be helping the environment!
I’ve always liked to walk, whether around my neighborhood, the lake nearby, or around campus. Not only is it good for the body, but I find that it’s almost always good for the mind and soul as well. Here in Madrid, walking has been all of these things for me as well as the most educational mode of transportation I’ve ever experienced. Everything always has twice, maybe three times, its usual value after I’ve walked through it.
And by educational, I mean gaining street smarts, cultural understanding, architectural appreciation—the works. Everywhere I go, I have to walk, since I clearly don’t have my car here in Europe. But I’ve realized how different it is to appreciate what a city has to offer by walking rather than by bus or taxi. In Toledo, for instance, I was able to wander up and down the cobblestone alleyways that were full of authentic, local restaurants, street vendors, and musicians. Though Spaniards feel comfortable driving up and down these claustrophobically narrow streets, I would never even attempt it. So walking was my best option there.
In Madrid, walking has been my best companion. I am already much more in shape than before I left, and I have time to pause and smell the roses and take pictures of the many beautiful buildings, cerca early 19th century. The other day, when I was done with classes at 1:30, I walked around the city with my friend Mike. We walked up and down some of the main streets in Madrid, including Calle Castellana and Gran Via, which took us to many of the most popular spots of the city. Callao, which is the film district, is fun to explore during the day. I was able to see what all the theatres were playing which movies, and started to plan future movie-going excursions.
The other day I took a trip to Chueca, Madrid’s gay district, which is also evidently known as the best place to buy shoes here, though I still have yet to find that street. I went by myself, as I needed to buy a voltage converter and adapter—a long story, don’t ask—and ended up wandering around the area. Such a simple trip turned into an hour of exploration. I walked up and down the streets and found some of the cutest restaurants and cafes I have seen so far, as well as numerous stores of unique products, from disco balls to glow-in-the-dark sticks, jewels, cardboard, and copy shops. All the buildings were colorful and fun, yet still had the charm and class of a 19th century city. It reminded me of the parts of Paris you see in movies, and the people seemed so calm and relaxed. As I stumbled upon a beautiful plaza with a fountain, I decided to spend a while writing a letter to Ben—my boyfriend for those who don’t know—and soak up the sun. It was definitely a successful walking day.
So next time you feel like walking, let your feet take you where your soul asks you to. And besides, you’ll simultaneously be helping the environment!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Herbie meets the Inconvenient Truth
People in Spain (and I'm sure the rest of Europe, though I can't speak from experience) are crazy drivers. They speed like it's their job, run red lights, drive around people like maniacs. One of the things they have done responsibly, however, is convert many of the modes of personal transportation to earth-friendly machines.
The Smart Car is very popular here. It is a 2-seater car with virtually no storage room or trunk, but it can fit into virtually any parking spot and I would assume gets great gas mileage. And with gas prices at around the equivalent of $6/gallon (if you convert it from the metric system and the euro), that makes a huge difference. They look sort of silly at first sight, but I've gotten used to seeing them everywhere. And I really like the concept that commuters who usually drive themselves to work alone only use a very small car. Is there really a need to drive a Hummer or huge SUV/minivan to work with only one person in it like in the United States? I think we as Americans should take a hint from Europe. They seem to have the right idea.
Another thing I've noticed is the number of motorcyclists and people with scooters. Though I am usually very against the concept of such vehicles due to how dangerous they are, I can appreciate their value in terms of the lack of pollution they emit. They can also maneuver over sidewalks and in the streets, so I'm sure those who drive them save some commuting time to work. Go figure.
Overall, though there seems to be just as much traffic here as in the States, Spaniards seem to have the right idea when it comes to converting to more earth-friendly modes of transportation. We should think of them the next time we think of purchasing a car or motorcycle. Amen.
The Smart Car is very popular here. It is a 2-seater car with virtually no storage room or trunk, but it can fit into virtually any parking spot and I would assume gets great gas mileage. And with gas prices at around the equivalent of $6/gallon (if you convert it from the metric system and the euro), that makes a huge difference. They look sort of silly at first sight, but I've gotten used to seeing them everywhere. And I really like the concept that commuters who usually drive themselves to work alone only use a very small car. Is there really a need to drive a Hummer or huge SUV/minivan to work with only one person in it like in the United States? I think we as Americans should take a hint from Europe. They seem to have the right idea.
Another thing I've noticed is the number of motorcyclists and people with scooters. Though I am usually very against the concept of such vehicles due to how dangerous they are, I can appreciate their value in terms of the lack of pollution they emit. They can also maneuver over sidewalks and in the streets, so I'm sure those who drive them save some commuting time to work. Go figure.
Overall, though there seems to be just as much traffic here as in the States, Spaniards seem to have the right idea when it comes to converting to more earth-friendly modes of transportation. We should think of them the next time we think of purchasing a car or motorcycle. Amen.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
"Metro" style
I have always been a people-watcher. It’s in my blood. No matter where I am, where I go, or what I’m doing, I inevitably space out and stare at the people around me. Sometimes I attempt to imagine what they are thinking or doing, where they are from, and I try to create their life story in my head. Other times, I just admire their hair and clothes—especially here in Spain.
Not until I came to Europe did I realize how under-dressed and non-stylish most Americans are. Every day here in Madrid, whether going to or from school or going out with friends, there is a full-flung fashion show in my face, starring the other commuters. The first thing I’ve noticed is the crazy hair. I’m not talking about, “I’m in my rebellious stage and decided to dye my hair pink and purple against the wishes of my parents.” Oh no, it is far worse and interesting than that. I’m talking about buzz cuts with rattails (think early 1990s meets hicks from West Virginia). And these hair-styles are not gender-stereotypical. Girls and guys alike sport these looks. Or how about the beautiful girl I saw the other day who ruined her looks by shaving random parts of her head?
Then there are the more “normal” hairstyles (but what is normal, anyway?) of the style mavens of Madrid. I barely ever see women with ponytails or bad hair days. Everyone around me curls their hair, straightens it to perfection, etc. –they must spend two hours a day doing their hair!
Besides just the hair, the clothes that people wear in this city are amazing. Even women in their 70s don’t leave the house without dressing to the nines—hair, makeup, and clothes alike. And women are not the only ones who dress well. Almost every man here must have had a personal shopper in their teens, because they dress better than any American guys I’ve seen (American guys: take a hint from the Europeans!) It’s as if babies in the womb are taught how to dress well! I always feel underdressed, but no worries: I’m learning by people watching.
So again, I can’t stress this enough: look around you during your commute. Don’t just hook yourself up to your iPod and nuzzle into your own world of newspapers and staring at the floor. Read the newspaper, but look around at the live fashion show; you never know what you might see. ¡Viva Madrid!
Not until I came to Europe did I realize how under-dressed and non-stylish most Americans are. Every day here in Madrid, whether going to or from school or going out with friends, there is a full-flung fashion show in my face, starring the other commuters. The first thing I’ve noticed is the crazy hair. I’m not talking about, “I’m in my rebellious stage and decided to dye my hair pink and purple against the wishes of my parents.” Oh no, it is far worse and interesting than that. I’m talking about buzz cuts with rattails (think early 1990s meets hicks from West Virginia). And these hair-styles are not gender-stereotypical. Girls and guys alike sport these looks. Or how about the beautiful girl I saw the other day who ruined her looks by shaving random parts of her head?
Then there are the more “normal” hairstyles (but what is normal, anyway?) of the style mavens of Madrid. I barely ever see women with ponytails or bad hair days. Everyone around me curls their hair, straightens it to perfection, etc. –they must spend two hours a day doing their hair!
Besides just the hair, the clothes that people wear in this city are amazing. Even women in their 70s don’t leave the house without dressing to the nines—hair, makeup, and clothes alike. And women are not the only ones who dress well. Almost every man here must have had a personal shopper in their teens, because they dress better than any American guys I’ve seen (American guys: take a hint from the Europeans!) It’s as if babies in the womb are taught how to dress well! I always feel underdressed, but no worries: I’m learning by people watching.
So again, I can’t stress this enough: look around you during your commute. Don’t just hook yourself up to your iPod and nuzzle into your own world of newspapers and staring at the floor. Read the newspaper, but look around at the live fashion show; you never know what you might see. ¡Viva Madrid!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Metro trains, train trains, etc.
Yesterday I accompanied my friend Terrence to the train station. He is leaving Friday to visit family friends in northern Spain, and only has 45 minutes between the end of class and when the train leaves. So, being the smart, plan-ahead type he is, he decided to do a practice round to get all the kinks out for the big day. At first, the line we were on (Linea 10, light blue) was moving unusually slow. So far, my experience with the metro had been extremely pleasant. It still got us there on time though! I suppose I should have had a little more patience and assurance in the system. It turned out that it only takes about 20 minutes to get from school to the train station, which will give him lots of cushion time before the train leaves.
Chamartín is the metro stop where the train station is conveniently located, and it is by far the most impressive station I have yet seen. As soon as you disembark from the train, you are immediately overtaken by an entire wall of a mechanically-created, blue and transparent waterfall. The walls are freshly painted and extremely clean--maybe even cleaner than my bedroom at any given point in time. The signs were easy to read (even though I didn't know what many of the words meant, it is a wonder what universal signs for food and bathrooms can do for a traveler!) Some important words to know, though:
andén: platform (for example, on the metro)
línea: the metro line
Con la dirección: in the direction of
Estación: station
Ave: the "fast," not as cheap train service to and from cities throughout Spain
Overall, I was extremely impressed with how simple it was to get to the train. I'm hoping my experience with Barajas Airport will be just as easy, seeing as I live literally five stops from the airport (and I don't have to do any transfers!) We shall see...
Chamartín is the metro stop where the train station is conveniently located, and it is by far the most impressive station I have yet seen. As soon as you disembark from the train, you are immediately overtaken by an entire wall of a mechanically-created, blue and transparent waterfall. The walls are freshly painted and extremely clean--maybe even cleaner than my bedroom at any given point in time. The signs were easy to read (even though I didn't know what many of the words meant, it is a wonder what universal signs for food and bathrooms can do for a traveler!) Some important words to know, though:
andén: platform (for example, on the metro)
línea: the metro line
Con la dirección: in the direction of
Estación: station
Ave: the "fast," not as cheap train service to and from cities throughout Spain
Overall, I was extremely impressed with how simple it was to get to the train. I'm hoping my experience with Barajas Airport will be just as easy, seeing as I live literally five stops from the airport (and I don't have to do any transfers!) We shall see...
Monday, January 28, 2008
The "Loco" Locals
One of the most interesting parts of traveling throughout Madrid on the Metro is people-watching. I have learned more about Madrileños so far by just waiting in the "andénes" (Metro platforms) for my train to come. The other night, as I was waiting for a train home after a long night of dancing the salsa and bachata, I saw someone do something I didn't even know was possible. He hopped like a frog from one side of the tracks to the other, just to drunkenly say hello to some friends. I was afraid the tracks would have shocked him, but to no avail (thankfully!) After saying hola, he hopped right back, just in time to catch his train.
Another night, I was able to see first-hand the efficiency of the Madrid Polícia. As I was leaving the station to walk home, I was blocked from the exit by about 10 police. At first, I thought they were having a coffee break or donuts or something, but I soon figured out they were in the midst of an arrest of a couple. For what? I have no idea. But the guy looked extremely intoxicated while the woman looked slightly more innocent. They were escorted handcuffed out of the station, and I was finally able to go home.
So next time you have to use the public transportation system, keep your eyes wide open: you never know what crazy kinds of things you may see!!
Another night, I was able to see first-hand the efficiency of the Madrid Polícia. As I was leaving the station to walk home, I was blocked from the exit by about 10 police. At first, I thought they were having a coffee break or donuts or something, but I soon figured out they were in the midst of an arrest of a couple. For what? I have no idea. But the guy looked extremely intoxicated while the woman looked slightly more innocent. They were escorted handcuffed out of the station, and I was finally able to go home.
So next time you have to use the public transportation system, keep your eyes wide open: you never know what crazy kinds of things you may see!!
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