NOW LEAVING FOR MADRID ON TRACK TWO
A Cautionary Tale
Of
Best-Laid Plans Gone Awry
It all began in June when I went to the Social Security office in San Rafael to inquire about applying for benefits while living abroad. I was informed that I was to apply three months before my 62nd birthday at a U.S. Consulate in Spain.
The consulate nearest to Granada is in Seville, where summer temperatures reach 44 C, or 110 F. Although we hadn’t visited Seville, the idea of doing so for four or five days in mid-August was not appealing. Going for the day was even less so. We decided to go to Madrid, which wouldn’t be nearly so hot.
When I called the consulate on August 10th to make an appointment, I was informed that the process would be transacted by phone and mail and that I did not need to come to Madrid.
But we wanted to go to Madrid. Why let a mere technicality, like lack of purpose, be a deterrent? Not only would we go to Madrid, we would go by train, which took an hour longer and cost twice as much as the bus.
We went to the train station the following Friday to purchase tickets for our Monday trip. There are two trains a day, one in the early morning, the other in mid-afternoon. We asked for no-smoking, round-trip, tourist-class tickets on the morning train. The fare was E91. According to our tickets, however, the Monday morning trip was on a smoking car. The “no fumar” car was sold out. We were disappointed, but what can you do?
But Kay was not happy. The Spanish are heavy smokers, and she would be miserable. We decided that paying for first class would be worth it. First, life is short, and second, according to Kay, it was kinda, sorta still her birthday. Well. Did the celebration of a July 3rd birthday, even a 60th, extend to August 16th? She said that it did.
We returned to the train station Saturday morning. There were first class, no-smoking seats available on the Talgo, the express train. But in order to receive the round-trip discount, we would have to travel first class both ways. Kay nodded eagerly. It was only E30 more. No smoking, our new first class tickets said. 7:55 a.m. departure, 2 p.m. arrival in Madrid.
We left the house a little before seven Monday morning for the short walk to the bus stop. It was just getting light. The bus took us within a block of the train station, where we had breakfast in the crowded cafe. The train to Madrid arrived on track two at 7:30. Even though the train was fairly long, we easily found our car and seats. I stowed our bags. We sat, smiles on our faces, tickets in our hands. Everything has gone like clockwork.
Suddenly another couple stood in the aisle. They had the same seat assignments. I found a conductor who came to sort things out. We compared tickets. Ours were for Sunday, the day before.
Ouch! We raced for the ticket office to explain our plight. The ticket agent had exchanged our Monday tickets for Sunday’s. And we hadn’t noticed. The ticket agent listened, then looked at the computer. The train was sold out. He then left and conferred with the manager. We might, we knew, have to eat the tickets and buy another pair for that afternoon. Even though the agent had made a mistake, it was our responsibility to check our own tickets. We were at their mercy. We looked up at the station clock and waited.
It was 7:50 when the agent returned to the window. Here’s what we can do, the agent told us when he returned. Or something like that. This whole transaction was going down in Spanish, and we were concentrating as hard as we could. I’m going to put you on the 8:30 train to Barcelona. You won’t be in first class, but it will be non-smoking. You’ll change trains in Alcazar de San Juan about one. The train to Madrid comes an hour later. You have two minutes to board the train. Unfortunately you won’t be sitting together. He shrugged. You’ll arrive in Madrid at 4 p.m. That’s the best I can do. That will be another E24, please.
The best you can do? This good-hearted, Spanish ticket agent had saved the day. Would this have happened elsewhere? Knowing that we were getting to Madrid that day - only two hours later than planned and on non-smoking cars – was more important than the fact that we were paying first class fares, plus a supplement, to ride tourist class in a regional train.
Our train consisted of one car and one engine. The sign on the car said Granada-Barcelona, so we felt reasonably sure we were on the right train. The car was reasonably comfortable but nothing fancy.
And hour later the train stopped. According to the sign, we were at the Linares-Baeza station. Our conductor changed into overalls and disconnected our engine. The engine drove away. The conductor took off his overalls and walked away. Our solitary car remained on a sidetrack. Surely there was some explanation. I hadn’t brought a map and had no idea where Linares-Baeza was. But then I didn’t know where Alcazar de San Juan was, either.
About 20 minutes later, another engine arrived, hooked up, pulled us out of the station, then stopped and begin to back up. Was something wrong with the car? I stood at the end of the car and watched as we approached the station. There our solitary car was attached to the long, Barcelona-bound train we’d seen from our sidetrack, and off we went.
The trip was quite nice. We ate the lunch we’d packed before reaching Alcazar. We had a beer and tapas in the station cafe, a huge room with a 25-foot ceiling and walls covered with historic train and track equipment. The tapas were small chunks of organ meats in a tomato sauce over toast. Kay generously gave hers to me.
The two-hour ride into Madrid was uneventful. We got off the train at the Atocha station, where the terrorist attack of last March took place. There is a memorial there, but we didn’t see it.
We had a wonderful time in Madrid. Our hotel was only two blocks from the tri·ngulo de arte, where Madrid’s three great museums, the Prado, the Arte de Reina Sofia (Guernica) and the Thyssen-Bornemisza, are located only blocks apart. The weather was mild, almost cool, and it rained twice. Madrid is truly a great walking city, with clearly designated pedestrian routes, huge parks, interesting neighborhoods and historic, beautiful buildings. It is also far more expensive than Granada.
We left Madrid Friday afternoon from the Chamartin station. The reclining first class seats were very comfortable with lots of legroom. They handed out headsets and showed two movies. Lost in Translation proved interesting even in Spanish. We had a drink in the bar car and watched La Mancha roll by. Yes, there are windmills in La Mancha.
For some reason the train was 45 minutes late arriving into Granada. Although we didn’t get home until almost midnight, the square across the street was still filled with diners.
There’s no getting around the fact that we’d been lucky. In spite of our oversight, we’d arrived in Madrid the afternoon we’d planned without having to purchase another pair of tickets. And we learned a few valuable lessons. Buy your tickets as soon as possible. Read and understand everything printed on your ticket before leaving the agent. And don’t forget to pack a map. You never know when you’ll need to find out where you are.
CASA FANTASTICO!
The Search For, The Finding Of, The Moving Into
A New Home
Followed By A Description Of
The House and Neighborhood
The Search
After almost two months away, Kay and I returned to Granada on July 21 knowing that the next few weeks would be spent searching for a new home. The apartment on Calle Elvira was far too noisy with all-night revelers, traffic noise and construction. In May our friends Anne and Steve had introduced us to Guillermo, an English-speaking rental agent, and we’d given him a list of our preferences. We would be informing our landlord of our plan to move when he came by to collect the August rent.
Our 11-month lease on our Elvira apartment would end September 10, giving us seven weeks to find just the right place. Having to pay double rent for a portion of that seven weeks would be, we decided, worth the expense.
Our timetable changed the morning of July 22. We’d gotten home from our trip the night before at 10 p.m. The next morning we looked out the window to find that the abandoned and dilapidated building across the street had disappeared. New building would undoubtedly soon begin. Our sense of urgency increased. Double rent be damned; the time to move was NOW. We called Guillermo and arranged to meet the next afternoon, Friday, July 23.
That night our doorbell rang. It was the landlord’s wife and English-speaking daughter. We tried to telephone, she said, but got no answer. The city says we must do extensive repairs to the roof. The work will begin in mid-August and will take two months. It will be a great inconvenience to you. We are very worried and don’t know what to do.
Don’t worry, I told her. We’re planning to move. They both smiled in relief. That is good, she said. Pay only for the time you stay in the apartment. There went the double rent. Sometimes it just feels like you’re living right.
The Finding
Guillermo said to come by his office at five o’clock when it begins to cool. This meant it would be only 100, as opposed to 106. He had one house and three apartments to show us. We saw the house first. It was in the Albayzin alto, the upper part of the old Moorish district. Calle Elvira was in the Albayzin bajo, or lower. The Albayzin did not top our list of preferred neighborhoods, because we thought that having to climb the hill everyday might discourage us from taking the long walks we had grown accustomed to. But we’d decided to look at everything and rule out nothing.
Guillermo said it was too hot to walk up, so we took the small bus that loops through the Albayzin’s few navigable streets. Look, he said when we got to the house, six balconies. This, we found out later, was his little joke. There were six balconies, but only three belonged to the house. The other three belonged to the adjoining building. Only by looking closely at the roofline could you tell that there were two buildings.
I don’t think our building would be called a house in America. It is a two-story building. The ground floor is occupied by a pastry shop/ice cream pallor/café, the entire second floor by the residence. The front entrance, entryway and stairway belong to the residence. The rooftop terrace belongs to the residence. To the Spanish, this makes it a house.
The house was fabulous and beautifully furnished. But we didn’t feel that we should take the first place we saw. We walked back down the hill, where we saw three apartments. They were on narrow, cobblestone streets, which was good, but had small, cell-like rooms and “rental” furniture. The best one was a forth-floor walkup. We told Guillermo that we’d think about it and hoped to see more next week.
We walked home around 7:30. It was still in the 90s. We thought about it. The house was perfect. Suppose someone else took it Monday morning. Kay called Guillermo that night and told him we wanted the house. Guillermo said he would arrange a Monday meeting with the owner. Saturday evening we walked up to the neighborhood and checked out the noise level. People chatted as they strolled down the street taking in the cool night air. There was conversation from the diners in the plaza across the way. A car drove by, then a motorcycle. That was it.
We met Conchita on Monday. The house had been her home, hence the quality of the furnishings. She now lived in a nearby village. Our lease would begin August 1, but we could begin moving in immediately, rent-free. We began moving the next day, July 27.
The Moving
Moving consisted of getting all the stuff we’d bought for our sparsely furnished apartment up to our fully and almost lavishly furnished house. Guillermo arranged for his friend Leon to transport as much as his small van could carry on Tuesday afternoon for ¤30. That morning Kay and I filled six boxes with glasses, dishes and household items. Kay attempted to call a taxi but got only music. So I walked to the taxi stand on Plaza Nueva and took a taxi home, loaded it, and went up the hill. We emptied the boxes and walked them back down the hill. The temperature was well over 100, a very dry 100, but 100 nevertheless.
We dismantled our short couch ‑ the six cushions were attached with zippers and Velcro ‑ and took it downstairs. We then filled the boxes – TV, microwave, toaster oven, coffee maker, etc. – and took them down stairs. Next came the plants, then full suitcases and bags. Steve and Anne were there to help.
Leon arrived at five. We strapped the sofa and cushions on top, then filled the van with far more than I ever dreamed it would hold. Kay, Ann and Steve took four suitcases and headed for the taxi stand. I went up with Leon.
After unloading, Kay and went back down the hill one more time. We did not want to sleep on Elvira and we needed our toiletries, towels and linens. That night we slept in the house, only five days after getting back to Granada.
Over the next few days, Kay and I walked down the hill each morning with empty suitcases and bags, filled them, and taxied back up. Where did we get so much stuff? We saved the books for last. We filled two suitcases and two bags and walked to the taxi stand. I could hardly get the big suitcase into the trunk. By Saturday the move was complete. We cleaned the old apartment on Monday. We now live at Calle Pages #22.
The House
A hallway runs the length of the L-shaped house, with the entry at the corner. The living room is at one end of the hallway and faces the street. It has a balcony, matching full-size and short sofas, small dining table and four chairs, enormous hutch (four glass doors wide) and a brick, arched inset in the wall facing the balcony. A very large TV is in the arch and there are large cabinets below.
A large bedroom, now the study, also faces the street. It has two balconies and a wall of closets and storage. Off this room is a large and very ornate (think Las Vegas) bathroom with gold-plated fixtures, huge sink and a large, step-up tub with non-functioning Jacuzzi. It is so not us, but we love it. There is something almost wicked about it.
The kitchen is across the hall from the study and overlooks a light well. Although very small, it has a full-size refrigerator, oven, dishwasher and walk-in pantry. The stove, unfortunately, is electric and not all the burners work, but we hope to have it replaced if not repaired.
Past the front door and halfway down the hall, going away from the street, there is a beautiful door, the upper half of etched glass. (If fact, all seven doors are quite beautiful. Both the sliding door to the kitchen and the door to the living room have six etched-glass panes.) Just beyond this hall door, behind still another door, is a small laundry room, with a washing machine, dryer and the gas-fueled hot water heater. The water heater, very common in Europe, ignites only on demand, though hot water is available within seconds. No energy is wasted keeping 30 gallons of water hot. The water is very hot and the supply endless ‑as long as you have gas.
Further down the hall, also on the right, is the second bathroom. This large room has a step-up shower and linen closet.
Just beyond this, at the end of the hall, is the second bedroom, which also has large closets and storage areas.
All the floors are tile, and each room has a different pattern. Like the doors, all the closets and storage areas are made of beautiful, dark wood and have heavy brass fixtures.
The rooftop terrace is reached by continuing up the stairs past the front door. There are two areas; the first is about seven feet wide and 25 feet long, perfect for hanging the wash. At the far end, and two steps up, there is a roofed area the size of a large room with a table and four chairs. The floors are tiled and there are high walls around the entire terrace. There are views of the hermitage higher up the hill, two very old, neighborhood churches and the top of the Sierra Nevada in the distance. The terrace needs improvements – whitewash, plants, more comfortable furniture, perhaps some chili lights ‑ and we’re looking forward to it.
The Neighborhood
Compared to Elvira, the neighborhood is very quiet. We haven’t needed earplugs to sleep since moving in. The ice cream pallor below closes at eight. The café bar across the street is quiet and closes at eleven. There is a small plaza to the right of the café and across the plaza a restaurant. In the evening, the restaurant serves dinner on the plaza. The restaurant is well known and the tables are filled every night. The strolling musicians who entertain the diners never perform after eleven.
Plaza Larga, the so-called heart of the Albayzin, is only a minute away via a narrow, shop-lined pedestrian lane. A produce and clothing market fills the tree-shaded plaza five mornings a week, cafe tables the rest of the time. In the evenings old ladies from the neighborhood sit on the benches that line the plaza, gossiping and fanning themselves.
There are four small markets on the hill, two very small fish markets, a butcher, bakery, pastry shop, newsstand, video rental, bank, florist, plus other small shops. There are, of course, a multitude of cafes and restaurants.
We now live in a fabulous, beautifully furnished house in a relatively quiet, very historic neighborhood. We have two bathrooms. We have a tub. We have a terrace. We even have an oven. Our rent is only €480 ($575), only €80 more than we were paying before.
¡Que contento estamos! How happy we are!
