My decision to dine at the Taberna La Taba was definitely a mistake. I had considered the restaurant at the Pestana but ruled it out for no reason whatsoever and decided instead to hit the dark streets of Madrid in search of something better. As explained in the previous post, what an error! A similar situation arose the following morning on the day I was due to travel to Bilbao by train from Madrid. I was under the impression that I would be checking out not long after breakfast and walking to Madrid Atocha where I assumed the Bilbao train would depart from, but not only was it not showing on the Trainline website, my suspicion was that something had happened and that there was no longer a 1205. When I spoke to the hotel receptionist and he tried the website, his suggestion was that the train might have sold out and, therefore, was no longer showing as available.
There were only two options left: one was to catch a train around 1330hrs – I think it was a little later – or catch a train at 1737hrs. Both would get me in to Bilbao around 2230hrs, but the earlier one would mean two changes. I decided to book the later train and then walked along the Calle de Atocha to the railway station to buy a ticket. When I got there I was told that the train didn't depart from Atocha but from Charmartin station which was on the other side of town, or, to be more precise, not anywhere near Atocha. This was of no consequence but it did mean that I had a day to kill in Madrid and the prospect of a walk all the way back along the Calle de Atocha, which boosted my steps to over 12,000 for the day.
I had lunch sitting outside, but kept my coat on, at the Restaurante San Millan where I ordered salmon with potatoes, some bread and a bottle of mineral water, the latter being almost too cold to drink in the winter air. The salmon wasn't the best in the world and there were a few worrying bones to contend with; I always imagine myself choking and somebody having to give me the Heimlich manoeuvre or, worst still, rushing me off to hospital for a tracheotomy. Fortunately I was careful enough for neither situation to arise but as I made my way back to the Pestana I began to wish I'd stayed there as it was a far better environment, far better food and nowhere near as cold as sitting outside, under one of those huge square umbrellas next to a gas flame that, admittedly, made things bearable. Furthermore, if I had stayed at the hotel I could have chilled out a little more (but not in the sense of temperature) and I could have enjoyed a pleasant lunch without fish bones and then simply sat there reading until it was time to go. But no, I chose the harder and more unpleasant option.
After lunch I made another stupid decision: taking a taxi to Charmartin station around 1430hrs... far too early for catching the 1737 train. I didn't like the railway station one bit, mainly because it was undergoing reconstruction in some way or other and everything was chaotic as a result. I had to go through airport style security again, which wasn't really a problem and when I came out the other side I found there was nowhere to sit and chill out for anything longer than a few minutes, ie half an hour at most. Oh for a Starbucks, I thought, keying the brand name into my phone's GPS and then following its confusing instructions which took me away from the station and into a region just behind it with three huge skyscrapers, one being a hotel, the others office blocks, and behind them a trendy development of shops and restaurants and businesses where I found a lot of 'young professionals' and a Starbucks where I ordered a large white mug of tea while I sat there like a spy photographing my receipts. I drank the tea and then, not wishing to drag my heavy suitcase any further, I took a taxi back to the station and then sat down in a small café watching the departures board as I sipped a cup of tea from a paper cup. Eventually the Bilbao train was announced as departing from Platform 20 (or was it 19? It doesn't matter) and the final train journey of the trip began. I was in coach 8, seat 19B, an aisle seat and most of the journey was in darkness so I couldn't tell whether the train was travelling through another interesting wilderness like the one seen from the window of the Barcelona-Madrid train. It was roughly a five-hour ride and pretty boring. Thankfully, I had two books (as mentioned in the previous post). On this occasion I continued to read Keith Richards' amazing autobiography, Life, and that kept my mind off the journey. When you can't see the outside world life can be very boring indeed. Passengers came and went and eventually it was just me in a group of four seats with a table in the middle. I paid a short visit to the buffet car and had a cheese and ham sandwich and a cup of tea (standard train fayre it has to be said, my diet whilst travelling has been pretty poor).
When we finally reached Bilbao Abando station, I took a short cab ride to the hotel, which was amazing. Very opulent and I have a huge room (room 710). It sports a massive bed, an amazing rain shower (the best yet) and a great restaurant downstairs on the first floor, of which, more later.
It was too late to eat anything so I decided to crash, working out the lights before turning in. As avid readers will know, I don't like sleeping in total darkness, never have, although at home we do turn off all the lights, but in hotels I like some light even if it's just the light from the city outside. There are many occasions where I test the lights and work out the level of darkness I can cope with and once this little exercise is over with I get on with the business of sleeping. The great thing about the Catalonia Gran Via is that the bathroom lights have many settings, one of which is so subtle that it's ideal for those who don't like total darkness, not that there's such a thing as a complete black-out as the curtains can always be drawn back.
I slept fairly well and headed down for breakfast around 0700hrs. The breakfast, incidentally, was wonderful and well worth the 20 Euros I was required to pay for it. Fresh fruit, cereal, a cooked breakfast, tea, it was to die for and I can't wait for tomorrow morning as a result. The day ahead, I discovered, required two long cab rides of £120 each, it was the only way I could reach the company I had come to see and they were glad that I'd made the journey. When I returned to the hotel I had a few minutes before my last meeting of the trip, a very pleasant lunch in Zaka Restaurante, a short 9-minute walk from the hotel. Again, however, on the return trip, I managed to take a wrong turn and ended up walking for miles using the GPS on my phone. What was supposed to be under 10 minutes took almost an hour and I was feeling a little weary when I reached the hotel, so much so that I relaxed on the sofa in my room until around 1730hrs when I thought I would either go out in search of another restaurant or, what appeared to be the best option, go and sit in the downstairs bar on a cosy sofa and read Eric Ambler's Epitaph for a Spy. Now, if you don't enjoy reading, you won't understand this next bit. I started reading Ambler's novel and found it absolutely compelling, a real page turner, it was brilliant and it wasn't long before I was transported into another world. I was no longer in the hotel but in the novel and it was truly great. I don't think I've ever been so relaxed and so 'out of this world' as I was downstairs in the hotel bar. So relaxed that when the waiter came over with a menu I decided to stay there and not go outside, who needed to walk the streets for a restaurant when the food and service on offer in the hotel was far more acceptable? Not me! I remained in state of relaxation for as long as I read the book and even when the food arrived (baked salmon, 22 Euros, and a two bottles of sparkling mineral water, not forgetting a cup of vanilla tea, nothing excessive) I was still totally engrossed and had to almost physically separate myself from the fictional world created so admirably by Ambler. I've decided that I will read more of his novels as they are escapist but in a really good way, I'm not talking Lee Child or any of that sort of novel, or, dare I say it, Le Carre or other spy novelists, Ambler was/is in a class of his own. In fact, I was so chilled that I forgot to pay. I left the bar in a kind of trance of relaxation and it was only when I reached my room that I remembered and immediately took the lift back downstairs to do so, explaining that the meal was so good and I was so relaxed that I simply forgot. Not that there was any problem. I was staying in the hotel. The mark of a good writer is somebody who can take you out of yourself and Ambler certainly managed that. In fact, I can't think of a book I've read that kept me entranced for chapter after chapter. I've almost finished it! Similarly, it has to be said, with Keith Richards' book, although while fact is often stranger than fiction, it is understandably totally different. Both have the power to take the reader out of themselves, but I'm giving the prize to Ambler for dreaming up such a great tale.
I'm now back in my room and sitting here writing this blogpost. In so many ways, I have run out of track and will have to resort to flying back to London tomorrow. Earlier today I was told that there was a train from San Sebastien to Paris. I wish I had known this, but, either way it would have added another day to the trip and I need to be home. I missed my birthday to make this trip as, I discovered, did my colleague who, surprisingly, shares the same birthday, but it has been worth it. I rolled what could have been two trips in to one, hence being out of the country for a whole week, but tomorrow I return and I can't wait. Unfortunately, even Eric Ambler won't be able to take my mind off of the flight, it's already starting to bother me, but I'll have time to read at the airport so hopefully I'll be able to 'escape' again like I did tonight.
