On the train

I´m writing now on the train from Madrid to Granada, because the ringing in my ears from my massive dose of Motrin currently prevents me from listening to my iPod. That had better go away. As you may know, I was planning on treating myself to riding the train in preferente, or first class, because it´s a five-hour train trip, they feed you, the seats are nicer, and there are no screaming children like I had on the train yesterday. That, and it isn?t that much money to upgrade. In actuality, when I bought my ticket, the guy never asked me which class I wanted, and I figured that I would use the extra money to eat in Granada. Remind me not to be so prudent in the future. This train, an Altaria is not like the AVE, the superfast (something like 200 MPH) beauty that I rode on the last time I was in Spain, but neither is it something from Amtrack - meaning it´s on time, quiet, and comfortable. Unfortunately, I´m currently sitting in the one bank of seats that is a foursome, two facing two, across from a couple that should really invest in a hotel room rather than a train ride, and across the aisle from a two or three year old who, while cute now, will wait until I can´t stand being on the train anymore to burst into an uncontrollable fit of screaming, should her parents not be able to find her patito(her duck stuffed- animal) in one of their twelve suitcases.

There´s another thing I´ve been meaning to comment on for a day or so, the sometimes - unorthodox - nightlife which Madrid has to offer. I stayed in a hotel on the Gran Vía, something like a midtown Fifth Ave in New York, with a funkier, East Village-y grittiness. You must bear in mind that this is an upscale, central, well-lit, busy street teeming with cops. Around seven or eight in the evenings, though, out come the women with six inch heels and animal-print handbags, many of whom congregate around the bizarre McCafé, a sort of upscale McDonald´s. Except for the disquieting glares, these people don´t really cause any problems (unless you WANT them to...), but it surprised me how many there are, and how openly they advertise their services, especially in front of uniformed police officers. Apparently, prostitution is in a sort of `legal limbo´ in Spain, so for the most part the women themselves aren´t bothered much. Of course, until today, I had never been outside at six in the morning, when the sun still isn´t up and the streets are still full of people enjoying the last hour or so of last night´s parties (which continue, by the way, until about 6:30 AM, especially since many bars are just then closing). While waiting for my taxi from the hotel which was 3o minutes late, and after dragging my 90 pound (literally!) suitcase with one wheel through the street, I was yelled at twice and jeered at least once while people came frighteningly close to my suitcases. The poor bellman, who accompanied me to the main street, away from the hotel, in the hopes of catching a passing taxi, stood there helplessly while muttering apologies to me in a language which I swear wasn´t Spanish. I smiled, made a mental note never to be out in Madrid alone past one in the morning, and prayed that I didn´t miss my train.