We awoke before dawn in Lisbon to make sure we could be on the way to the airport by 9:30 or so. Up here in the higher latitudes (Lisbon is almost 39 degrees North), dawn comes late, and we have a hard time getting moving in the morning. Our normal speed is about 10 a.m. out of the house for adventuring.
Our Uber driver Pedro showed up right within the time slot, even though he apologized for running late in the traffic. He is a most well spoken, intelligent guy, works for Nokia doing remote programming for their South and Central American installations and would love nothing more than to be able to get a transfer to the U.S., his wonderland. Like so many others we have met, he asks who we are voting for. We demur.
The Lisbon airport is clear this time of striking taxi drivers, so Pedro can drop us off right in front. Heavy traffic or not, we are so early that our check-in desks have not been assigned yet, so we wound up hanging in line with a U.S.-Portuguese dual citizen checking in a bicycle as baggage back to his home in Boca Raton. He is engaging, and we enjoyed a conversation about the Portugal countryside, the hassles of living in the U.S. versus Europe and his plans for his mother’s four-bedroom home in the wine country of Portugal. We offered to be the first to host a group at the villa when he develops it into a guest house and plants grapes.
Our flight to Madrid was uneventful, a blessing these days. We were never even offered cabin service in the hour and a half of the flight. I noticed that Iberia charges for everything, including water, so maybe they just decided to sit on their hands rather than go through the hassle of service, charging, picking up and disposing of trash. But the English translations from airline Spanish were clear enough for us to understand when it was time to return our seats to the upright position, lock our trays, power down electronic devices, etc. before landing.
Upon arriving at the baggage claim, a major miracle occurred–both our bags arrived early and together, one right after another. We slipped through the Customs gate and into the 50-meter cab line while our fellow passengers were still watching the baggage roundabout.
The cab ride to 36 Calle del Amparo was uneventful, once we and our driver compared map programs between his GPS and my phone. I didn’t totally trust his comprehension of his GPS, so I kept my mapping program running the entire way.
Less than 30 minutes and 30 euros later, we arrived at our apartment, where Alejandra was waiting to welcome us and introduce us to our living quarters for the next two weeks. And pay. I peeled off 700+ euros in twenties to pay for the next two weeks and came up short of change for eight euros. Our rental agency does not accept credit cards or PayPal, which is a true pain. I had to hit up ATMs in Lisbon for two days at a maximum of 200 euros per visit to gather the funds, all in twenties, tens and even fives.
So here we are in the Lavapies. This is not exactly Alfama or the Latin Quarter in Paris or Vieux Nice. Lavapies is a very “eclectic,” “diverse” neighborhood indeed. There are at least five different Indian restaurants up our street. This is not Tourist Central. The residents are a mix of Spaniards (something of a minority), Indians/Pakistanis/Bangladeshis (lots of them), Africans (not as many, but a number), vaguely Middle Easterners and a large contingent of students from everywhere.
But there is a fine Carrefours supermarché right at Plaza Lavapies, so we stocked up on staples, including the liquid essentials. The store carries a fine stock of wine, so we picked up a bottle of Rioja for–I am not making this up–1.95 euros. We also grabbed a Chardonnay-Vionger and another high-priced Rioja for about five each. Back at the apartment, the less-than-two-buck-Chuck tasted just fine. Can’t wait to get to the good stuff.
By the time we returned from shopping, we realized we were famished, since our only meal the entire day had been a split croque monsieur at the Lisbon airport. So we ventured out to calle de Amaparo to scope out a few Indian restaurants.
We chose the one that had the most diners even at the obscenely early dining hour of 7 p.m., Shapla Indian Restaurant. The dining room was patronized by a British-American foursome of couples and an American with his Indian girlfriend who was celebrating her birthday. Looked promising, and it turned out to be excellent.
Lynn and I ordered two different lamb dishes, plus rice and flat bread and two beers in case the lamb came out too fiery. It was quite tasty and extremely tender. After two glasses of wine, the bill came to all of 26 euros. All in all, a good gastronomic start to Madrid. Maybe we will even find some Spanish food.