Arriving in Madrid

I landed in the Madrid airport at 8am. The tourist office was closed. WiFi was not to be had. And I had just thrown myself into the world totally unprepared. The only Spanish I speak is hola, gracias, si, no, and donde esta la playa.

The only thing on my mind was getting to a hotel and locking myself in a room, so that I could figure out what the hell I just did and what to do next.

So I got in a cab, read the name of a hotel out of the Rick Steves' Europe Through the Back Door book I was carrying, and prayed that the cab driver would not steal my money and passport and leave me in the middle of nowhere.

Arriving at Hotel Europa, my 2-second impression of Madrid (and Puerto del Sol) was that it was deserted and possibly the worst part of town I could possibly be in. It seemed dirty, the streets narrow and intimidating, and graffiti was on everything. Thanks Rick Steves.

But now was not the time to check my evaluation. I had a doorman waiting for me with my suitcase. A cabby that I thought maybe just stiffed me for an extra 5,50 euros on the fare. And the business of speaking to the man at the front desk, who may or may not speak English (he did).

I spent my first day in Madrid sleeping and then laying awake all night, thinking oh shit.