Chenbl, Carlos and I elected to seek out our breakfast at one of the little shops on the street rather than partaking of the hotel’s breakfast, which wasn’t included in the room price. We found a decent restaurant and sat at the bar while the gangster-esque boss tossed our plates at us. After we returned to the hotel, we sat around the pool in the back talking about earthquakes and looking at the planes overhead. Iris undertook an elaborate photo shoot of a pomegranate’s journey around the pool.
Our train to Madrid was at 12:45, so we got some lunch to go at the station. When we departed, we noticed that we were again facing backwards for some reason. Also, the sun refused to touch the western part of the sky even though it was well after noon. I suppose we must have been travelling more east than north for most of the trip. The train provided some nice jazz music accessible through the seat jacks, but no USB or wifi.
We retrieved our luggage from the lockers at the station in Madrid and headed out to our hotel, and then, once we’d rested up for a good five minutes, headed out again to the museum, supposedly the third largest in the world after the Lourvre and the British museum. It was impressive, but as we’d only arrived after 6 p.m. and it closed at 8pm, we didn’t see most of it. I was impressed, however, at just how much martyrdom went on back in the day.
Dinner was some delicious Greek food at an upscale food court, and then a taxi back to the hotel. During the ride I heard Carlos speak more than I’d ever heard him speak before as he waxed lyrical about his beloved bamboo to the taxi driver.