10 Days Madrid + Segovia, February 2010
 

Trip Report, Day 1-2:
The Rain in Spain Falls....mainly everywhere. And Falls. And Falls.

Thank you, first of all, to all of the members of this board who post such amazing tips and ideas. I'm much more of a lurker than a poster but I can't begin to tell you how helpful this forum has been and I am eternally thankful. I am a bit of a free-form, long-winded typist but hope this report is useful. My photos will be at http://community.webshots.com/user/bballinger and I will upload as I can, hoping to keep up with the days as I write about them. Cheers.

Day 1, 2/15/10 -- The Day in Which We Fly TATL Business Class
We fly from PHL-MAD, US Airways Envoy class overnight (thank you, FF miles!) somehow avoiding a threatening snowstorm, our 3rd in as many weeks. I have posted my flight trip report over at flyertalk.com if you're interested. I won't bore you here with airplane details if not.

Day 2, 2/15/2010 - The Soggy Day in Which We Can't Stay Awake
We land in what is politely known as pissing rain in Madrid. I am tired, achy, and have been sick with a cold since 3 days prior. I hope all of the rain and humidity will help heal the peeling on my nostrils and upper lip from my constant nose-blowing.

I emerge from the plane with a greasy forehead, clutching my new London Fog carry-on tightly. I loved it so much before I realized it didn't have a damned shoulder strap. I stare enviously at those that bound off the plane in their wrinkle-free clothing, looking fresh as a daisy, hair bouncy, coat thrown over shoulders. How do they do it? My teeth feel covered in flannel, despite a good brushing with the tiny Colgate from the amenity kit, and my bangs fall in dirty strands. My glasses slide down my nose as I couldn't stand my contacts one more minute in the dry air of the plane. Yeah, oh good, rain. Always fun in glasses, rain, when your umbrellas (so thoughtfully brought) are so stupidly packed in the checked luggage. We collect the luggage and make it painlessly through customs.

Here I must comment on language. I am a shanty-Irish Catholic girl from the NJ suburbs of NYC and I have been married 17 years to a nice WASP from Delaware who's people probably hired mine as scullery maids. In my past I dated a lovely man from El Salvador for almost 10 years and picked up a bit of Spanish, some nice pronunciation, and some colloquialisms that were likely never fit for mixed company outside of Jersey. I retain the ability 20 years later to make small talk, get understood, and then completely lost in the meat of the rest of the conversation. We have named my limited (and fading daily) language ability: Just Enough Spanish to be Dangerous.

I first hear "vale" said in customs and, although I've read of it's usage in Spain it sounds really strange to me. I know it's used as "I understand," to "Gotcha," to "Okay," to "Yeah," but in my head it sounds like everyone around me is saying "It goes" over and over and over and I am flummoxed.

We find our way downstairs to the Aerocity desk at MAD for our prearranged transfer. We wait maybe 15 minutes for our van, I learn to use the Spanish ATM's. I am amused to see that they automatically add the ".00" at the end of your figure and almost attempt to withdraw €35,000 from our account. Hah, as if.

We catch our transfer and check in to our apartment, the Loft Plaza Mayor on Concepcion Jeronima, separately reviewed so again I won't duplicate here. We drop our bags, freshen up, and unpack. Then we nap - the jetlag wins, we can't move another inch without sleep. We sleep from about 4pm-6pm and then walk to Sol; we're quickly soaked to the knees from the driving rain in the short two blocks.

We run to El Cortes Ingles for hats, hoping to avoid using umbrellas on the narrow streets if possible. I quickly find one I love that we dub The Eastern Bloc hat, having a vaguely Iron Curtain style about it. We fail at finding the husband a hat, intimidated by the pricey Hugo Boss fedoras on offer which manage to sit on top of (but not fit) his large American head.

We stumble our way into our first ever Spanish tapas bar off Sol, soaked to the skin and starving around 6:30pm. I don't remember the name, it was a Cerveceria per the sign and they had us pegged as soon as we came in. An older waiter, smiling, said in English, "Eat? Yes?" leading us through the packed and smoky bar to a totally empty dining room in the back. Our waiter is very young and totally charming. I speak in Spanish, he speaks in English back, we try to out-polite each other. We order empanadas, tostas with roquefort cheese, nuts and raisins, and somehow only one pork sandwich instead of two. It's awesome and our waiter seems thrilled to have two tired, wet Americans at his table on which to practice his English. About 20 minutes later a family of 6 joins us in the dining area. They're apparently from Brussels. Our waiter now speaks French with the same joyful abandon.

We stumble back to the apartment with our groceries from El Cortes Ingles and make use of the corkscrew. We hook up our portable DVD player to watch Pedro Almodovar's Women On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown. This is a movie I first saw in the late 1980's in a theater in Northampton, Mass. while attending Hampshire College, long before anyone knew who Antonio Banderas was. I fell in love with Almodovar's films back then, have collected them since, and love the idea of watching his movies now while sitting in my Madrid apartment, giggling as I see Pepa make that gazpacho.

We watch the news before bed at 11pm, frowning at flooding somewhere in the country. There is no map shown, we don't catch the names of the towns. We wait for the forecast and cheer the graphic of the happy sun only half hidden by a fluffy cloud.

.... to be continued ...

Wonderful I love the way your relate your experiences!! Looking forward to more....

Day 3 2/17/10 - A Day In Which We Do Nothing But Eat

We sleep late, waking up around 11am to cloudy skies but no rain yet. We head to the Hotel to use the Wifi and let everyone know we've arrived safely.

We head out on foot toward the Palace and Teatro, taking photos, and just really taking it all in. We're re-learning how to walk, arm-in-arm, without rushing from one destination to another. We take it down a notch and just stroll.

It starts to rain, so we head back to Sol and do a full grocery shop, then back to the apartment for a lunch of wine, cheese, and ham. And then we nap, something I haven't done in the middle of the day without being sick in years.

For dinner we head to Segun Emma for the first time, based on Revulgo's recommendation. It is on the far side of the Mercado San Miguel from the Plaza Mayor. Tiny, no more than 6 tables plus the seats at the bar. We are ridiculously happy with this find, thank you, Revulgo! We have the pork cheek stew, forgetting to take pictures. (This won't happen again!) We stop at the Mercado and take home gorgeous petit fours for dessert, from a lovely girl just inside the market door from Segun Emma. http://tiny.cc/XEsgA

Keep it coming! We leave next week for Segovia/Madrid (as well as Seville and Granada), so I am very interested in your report. Currently we plan to drive to Segovia but I'm a little concerned with weather and the roads - did you drive or train? Regardless, I'm enjoying your report.

Day 4, 2/18/10 - A Busy Day In Which I Foil A Pickpocket and Eat Garlic Mushrooms

We awake late, sluggish again, wondering if it's lingering illness, the overcast weather, or just jetlag. We swear we will get moving, decide to try to catch the MadridVision bus. As we leave the apartment and hit Calle Atocha, a caravan of black vehicles led by police cars with screaming sirens races by, and we try (with everyone else on the street) to peer into the tinted windows of each passing BMW and Mercedes. (We fail.)

We walk through Plaza Mayor and decide to try our first churros and chocolate at a place right on the square, Cafe Hegar. If I may - avoid it. At all costs. Dirty, smoky, sullen staff, we felt uncomfortable and in the way. My chocolate had a clump of powder at the bottom and the churros were hard, cold, greasy, and inedible. A sour note to the morning, we trudge in the rain to Calle Mayor to catch the bus.

It comes quickly, we grab seats and plug our headphones in. The bus is very warm, the music between the announcements is classical, and we have barely been on the bus 10 minutes when I look over to my husband and find him sound asleep, his face pressed into the window. I poke him and he jerks awake, smiles at me, and immediately closes his eyes again. I give up.

We stay on the bus for the full circuit of Old Madrid. Interesting, but I'm not sure it's worth the price especially with Madrid traffic which is substantial and drags out the time on the bus.

We get off at the Palace and sneak a quick falafel at a doner place up the block. We do the tour of the palace, which is lovely, as are the views from the courtyard despite the clouds and rain. http://tiny.cc/zu2jo The husband is very disappointed he can't take photos inside, which we will find is a common theme.

As we exit the palace, there is an older man playing accordion. My husband pauses and leans on a concrete planter just outside the entrance, digging in his pocket for a Euro to give the man. I am standing a bit away but notice a woman nearby, dancing a bit to the music. I am not sure why she catches my eye other than my first thought was how strong her profile was, almost Mayan. Then I see another woman on the other side of the planter, looking as if she could be the first woman's sister. Now I frown, this doesn't feel right - we are only people outside the palace right now other than the musician, and they are both far too close to my husband and carrying large, floppy canvas bags.

I stride right over as the first woman goes to pass by my husband, cut her off, stick my arms around his waist and my hand in his side pocket as if I'm cold. I twist my body towards her to see her watch my hand in his pocket, then she raises her eyes and I catch her glance. I raise an eyebrow, frown, and keep staring at her, turning to follow her as she now brushes past us quickly so she knows I'm still watching.

The other woman comes around to join her and the two walk closely together away from the palace, pausing at the accordion player. I stop my husband from moving forward, I want them well ahead of us, and he has now realized something was wrong. I quickly whisper and explain that I just didn't like the way it felt, and maybe I was being paranoid but better safe than sorry. We fall in behind the women, arm in arm, as they pull out a map as if they're tourists. We head back to the Vision bus stop and watch them disappear around the block. Not a few minutes later we watch the accordion player quickly follow in the same direction, too fast to be casual.

We wait for the bus for perhaps 10-15 minutes more, discussing what happened. I still feel something was wrong, but begin to doubt myself. That is, until we are on the bus, heading away from the palace. I see outside the window the two women, the map put away, slowly heading right back to the palace where they started, after having walked around the long block and weaving through the crowds. My husband is gleeful, saying, "Wow! Wow!" as we watch them disappear, realizing we really did foil pickpockets. I am very proud of myself!

As night falls we find ourselves in the Plaza Mayor, surrounded by drunken young men bouncing up and down and chanting. Apparently Turkey is playing Madrid in futbol and this is a crowd of Turkish fans getting pumped up. It's all very good humored, although we find a large group of riot police lounging just outside the square, apparently waiting to see if there will be 'trouble.' Despite sitting around in full vests and clubs, shields leaning on cars, they are kind enough to point us up the street to Meson Champinon, another of Revulgo's wonderful recommendations. http://tiny.cc/y5lxH

We sit at the tiny tables in the back room. Or rather I sit, my tall husband attempts to fold himself onto a tiny wooden seat at a very low table. He fails. His knees are higher than the table, only one cheek really fits on the chair. I laugh as he says a common lament of "Big man, little seat." He's good natured about it if a little uncomfortable, and we order a jar of wine, plates of mushrooms and croquettes and listen to a man play organ in a little niche in the room. We look around and I realize every other customer in the restaurant is Asian. I look at the menu again, no, clearly it's just tapas, nothing unusual. However, another couple comes in, also Asian. We look at each other and shrug.

The organ player comes around for tips, which we provide. He asks us for requests, but doesn't know A Man & A Woman, the husband's pick so he asks if we're American. He sees we're finishing up, but tells us to wait, his second song will be something "American." We politely wait until we hear the first familiar strains of... "Margaritaville".

Because, hey, sometimes American music means Jimmy Buffett.

LOL yes sometimes it does mean that!!

That acordian guys is always outside of the palace btw.
Good eye.

We should all take note of your coments re re-learning how to walk arm in arm without rushing from one destination to the next,. THAT is some of your best advice!

amsdon, thank you! And we agreed, the evenings spent slowly strolling through the streets are some of our favorite memories. We really got to soak up more than if we had run from one spot to another.

AtlTravlr, we took the train to Segovia. Booked online via Renfe from home, very cheap. Metro to Chamartin, 30 min train to Segovia. The #11 bus will be outside Guiomar within 10 minutes of your train arriving to take you right to the aqueduct. A car would be nice for the surrounding area, but I can't see it's use in Segovia itself, the old city is all walkable and parking appeared to be at a premium.

Day 5, 2/19/10 - A Day In Which We Learn Crappy Frozen Food Has No Country & We See The Prado.

We don't wake up until almost noon, having stayed up late watching Turkey v Madrid (1-1) and then some Olympics coverage. I keep seeing ads on TV for Kevin Costner's band. He sings? Really? Apparently he does and he's touring Spain. He looks terrible and I think he has new hair plugs.

The husband does the dishes, which we quickly find means there is no hot water for showers now. We decide to make lunch from some frozen meals I picked up at the store. I will let the pictures tell the story.

What it looks like on the box: http://tiny.cc/M9jgn
What it looked like out of the oven: http://tiny.cc/CnHAw
What it looked like on the plate: http://tiny.cc/w7aUg
What the ingredients said: http://tiny.cc/sDAL5

Pork liver and... MUMP? What is mump, please, anyone? The husband threw it away, saying it tasted like dog food. We decided no more frozen meals.

We spend the afternoon at The Prado, emerging in the dark. A wonderful several hours, again no photos allowed by the Husband is able to get some lovely street shots as we walk home. http://tiny.cc/DjGA1

We stop in the Plaza de Santa Ana at at chic little place called Lateral, all light wood and modern light fixtures. We have our only negative dining experience here the entire vacation. We are seated next to a foursome who have apparently been there for a while, two couples, lots of glasses and full ashtrays. One of the girls is worse for the wear, lots of yelling and large gestures.

We are quietly discussing our day at the Prado, the walk back, the funny canelloni taste that we still can't get out of our mouths. The drunk girl begins speaking loudly in English, saying that, "F*ing people can come to Spain and speak f*ing Spanish!" over and over, rephrasing it a few times to make sure her point has gotten across. Her companions try to quiet her down as she sweeps her arms around for emphasis, knocking over the ashtray. The tables are far too close to be able to pretend to ignore her.

The husband and I finish up our appetizer sampler and ask for the check, slip into our coats and leave. We stroll over to Sol and are struck by a little place, Bodegas Melibea http://tiny.cc/E9UMl

The Husband loves the nekkid women designs over everything, I like the mural on the far wall with skeletons as bar patrons. We manage to order and have Spanish omelet, empanadas, and sliced fresh tomatoes with oregano. Our evening ends up much better than we feared it might.

We pick up more petit fours at Mercado San Miguel and head home for early bed, since we travel to Segovia in the morning. It will be more of a trip than I ever expected.

Day 6-7, 2/20-2/21/10 - The Day In Which We Go To Segovia and I Am Wounded.

We get up, clean, pack for our 2 days in Segovia. I have forgotten how to stroll, it appears, and I am rushing. I have my bag in one hand and the Husband's hand in the other. Two women we were following stop dead just before the step down into the Sol Metro station and throw me off balance. I impatiently sidestep them instead of waiting to see if they will move again, a fatal error.

I do not notice that the skinny step down on the right becomes a very wide and high step on the left. And I trip and fall. Hard, onto the cobblestones and the steps, my bag flying from my hand and my sunglasses from my face.

The husband later calls it a "spectacular" belly-flop as I am barely able to put my left hand out to stop a) my teeth from hitting the stones and b) my body from tumbling down the very steep stairwell. The breath is knocked out of me and comes in gasps as I half sit up and roll over.

I cannot answer the Husband asking if I am okay, and I am trying to cradle both my left hand and my right leg which are screaming in pain. I am shaking due to the adrenaline and my knuckles are bloody. The Husband finally gets me to my feet and brushes the dirt from my coat and a little boy is there, asking, "Estas bien?" which I am told later he asked several times before I told him yes, I was fine, thank you and tried to give him a smile.

Shaken and bruised, I limp my way to Chamartin. We find a farmacia and manage to get ice packs but they do not have a splint for my middle finger, which is swelling rapidly. The young man sucks his teeth in sympathy when I show him my hand but shakes his head and recommends I see a doctor.

I sit with my knee out, iced, finger on top, hoping this doesn't ruin everything. (The Husband later admits he feared the vacation was over, to be spent in Spanish hospitals thumbing his dictionary as my broken bones are set and he tries to obtain receipts for Blue Cross.) I swallow several pills (Advil, muscle relaxer) and pray for the best.

Very easy train ride to Segovia, much more snow on the ground here. We find the bus outside and are on our way to town within 15 minutes or so, for less than 80 cents. The first view of Segovia is actually somewhat bleak as we ride on the bus - very industrial, something that looks like a prison or reform school, car dealers, abandoned construction sites. However, once you're let off at the aqueduct, it's breathtakingly gorgeous. All fairytale buildings, cobblestones and steep, winding hills, and, of course, that grand Roman artifact.

I will comment now that I never saw anyone speak of how steep Segovia is, unless I missed it? But it is very steep and uneven, and slippery after rain. Young Spanish women charge up and down those cobbled hills arm in arm, wearing impossibly high-heeled leather boots, chattering all the way. However, if you have problems getting around, or you have recently and violently fallen face-down at Sol and ache all over, you may find the town a bit daunting. Go slow and wear comfy shoes, and leave the heels to the pros.

We head straight to the Hotel Infanta Isabel as recommended by Mirabel to drop our bags and for me to run cold water over my hand and leg. (My hotel review has been submitted to tripadvisor.com and should post in a few days.)

My finger is now double the size and turning a mottled shade of blue. http://tiny.cc/6ZSNt You will be glad to know I will not subject you to a picture of the leg. Not yet, anyways.

We have an amazing view from our roof of the Cathedral - http://tiny.cc/DXnQa - and we head straight there. Again, no photos inside but the Cathedral is amazing and well worth the visit. We are really charmed by Segovia and glad we decided to spend the evening here.

... to be continued ...

Thank you so much for your report, I am enjoying it a lot. I will also be flying this summer on US airways from Phl to Mad on envoy class thanks to FF miles, Could you provide me a direct link to your report in Flyertalk? I can't seem to find it. Thanks!

Hi cruiseluv, and thanks - you can find the flight report at: http://tiny.cc/XAmad

Thank you, but for whatever reason I can't seeem to open your link. Do you have a long link you could provide? Thanks!

Really sorry about your fall.
And the finger looks painful.

But your report has me enthralled.

I was laughing so hard at the pics of the canellonis...what on earth.. well sorry. Very funny indeed!

Oh , gosh, I had no read the part of your fall. Ouch! Looking forward to the rest.

amsdon, glad you're enjoying. And indeed, stay away from the mump canelloni!

cruiseluv, try this: http://www.flyertalk.com/forum/us-ai...l-mad-phl.html

Day 6, 2/20/10 - Segovia - Cont'd

We tour the cathedral and wander the town, taking photos throughout sundown. (We find when we arrive that we've taken over 200 photos in Segovia alone, thanks to both it's physical beauty and the fact that it had actually stopped raining for 2 days straight!)

We review Maribel's & Revulgo's recommendations and decide to try Duque for dinner, however realize that the guidebooks state you need reservations. The gentleman at the front desk makes us our reservation for 8:30p. Sore and achy, I need to rest a bit ad we enjoy seeing CNN for the first time in a week, even though it's still in Spanish.

We also watch the terrible footage of flooding in Cadiz and the Canaries, realizing we're very lucky to just have the rain as an annoyance.

We arrive at Duque and select the Gastronomic menu for €40/pp plus a bottle of wine. Our meal photos begin here: http://travel.webshots.com/photo/237...00143001tUWmDf and continues for the next 5-6 photos or so. It is quite a meal, heavily pork, and the suckling pig comes to the table whole, except missing it's lower jaw so you're looking into it's sinuses.

I am a happy carnivore, but I am also a city girl who likes to believe her meat comes cleaned, trimmed and wrapped in plastic. Cowardly, I admit, but there it is. The presentation of the pig puts me off slightly. I am served a square, inoffensive portion. The Husband is served the half that includes an ear and a hoof. The skin is very crispy but it is a meal of a bit too much pork, if there can ever be such a thing. From the appetizer platter (Huge! And we each had our own!) to the meat, it can be a bit overwhelming. There wasn't a vegetable to be found other than the small dish of white beans in sauce with the appetizer.

Dessert was a lovely custardy cake and were were served 2 shots of an electric yellow liqueur that I couldn't name and almost couldn't swallow. (The husband insists that a large shudder after drinking is actually the sign of a good shot).

With tax and tip the bill came out to about €110, the most we spent on meal in Spain. And while it was an event unlike anything we've ever had before, and very good pig, it was certainly a more formal and serious experience, more so than I expected. It all felt just a bit stuffy, and I found myself missing Segun Emma.

We wander the town at night, admiring the buildings in the streetlights. However, by 10pm I am pooped, sore, and feeling somewhat sick as if I'm coming down with something. To the disappointment of the husband I head back to the hotel, to swallow pills and ice my knee and hand. I fall asleep to the faint sounds of revelry in the Plaza Mayor, unaware it will still be going on until shortly before sunrise.

Day 7, 2/21/10 - Segovia - A Day In Which We Tour The Alcazar But Cannot Find An Open Pharmacy

We awake early, around 7:30am, so we can shower, dress, and be at the Alcazar by it's 10am opening to get in as much as we can before our 1:30p train back to Madrid. I find I am now not only bruised and battered, but I also have a cold sore. (I am sorry if that grosses anyone out. I've gotten the darned things since I was a kid.) Am I sick? Stressed? Both? I have no idea. But no fear, I can nip this in the bud. I brought an Rx cream from home just for this possibility, I just need to get it from... where it's sitting. On the shelf in the apartment. In Madrid, of course. Damn.

We have breakfast downstairs and head to the Alcazar. The walk is beautiful, cold and quiet - the first time we have seen the city at rest. We meet some elderly men and women in the street, perhaps coming from early Mass? But no one else. It's a narrow, winding, steep downward walk that suddenly opens up to the view of the fortress. It must be spectacular in Spring.

We are the first to arrive at the Alcazar and it's breathtaking. http://travel.webshots.com/photo/269...00143001RFaVYJ

Even better the Husband is permitted to take photos and he goes nuts. I am amused by his dedication in photographing everything he sees and I end up only with pictures of the back of his head as he takes his pictures. http://travel.webshots.com/photo/228...00143001hGRWnW

We walk back to the aqueduct as well, another gorgeous view that I don't know if I can describe fully. http://travel.webshots.com/photo/275...00143001YsTRSj
It is so very large, so very old, and makes you feel small in both physical and metaphysical ways.

In the retelling it seems to me I have very little to say about Segovia, but it was the highlight of our trip. The architecture with the Moorish influences is amazing to see, the winding streets and hills, the Jewish ghetto, the elderly women sweeping their steps, the views around every corner. We wandered for hours and took oodles of photos and wished we had another day. Just to stroll and peek and soak it all in.

What Segovia did not have, however, was an open farmacia on a cold Sunday that could be reached by foot. I put my battered self back on the train, sans Rx and the needed new ice pack, and we arrive back into Madrid in the, go figure, pouring rain. I have to layer each radiator with our soggy coats, jeans, and shoes.

Unable to muster the energy to wander in the downpour, we raid the fridge. Dinner is veggie soup, cheese & bread, and a good red wine. We watch District 9 on our DVD player and pop microwave popcorn. We decide this was a very acceptable evening in "at home."

I just have to add - I took this photos of a shop window in Segovia. http://travel.webshots.com/photo/205...00143001pvniCY

I find it very disturbing and just had to share.

Thanks for the link, it worked! Oh, oh, I only have my middle initial on my ticket (versus my full middle name)! I hope I don't get that grouchy guy!

Sorry you werent feeling well in Segovia. We visited last year and also went to Meson Duque. I loved their baby suckling pig and their natilla (custard).

Love your trip report. It is real and fun. For cold sores you have to get it at that tingle or you are screwed. Always hold a script for valtrex and bring a few pills with you. Take it if you feel the face tingle and you are golden. I am aware too late on this advice

Still, I am enjoying this. Not all unicorns puppies and rainbows. Not that that is a bad hing. How many people really have that? No one