Ride Their Fathers' Magic Carpet Made of Steel

“So, what are you going to see in Lisbon?” the cab driver asks us as we are leaving the airport.
“We hope to see the museums and cathedral and the old part of the city.” we tell him because that is  
      what we do in every city.
“Did you know this was Carnival weekend? They have a big parade on Saturday and one on Monday.” the cabbie says.
“Oh, Fat Tuesday is in a couple days and Ash Wednesday is the next. So Portugal celebrates like Brazil!”  I add enthusiastically.
“Well, not that big. The parade Saturday is fun and the Monday night celebration is when people dance naked in the streets.” he says.
“Well, I’ll be sure to jot that down.”

Last week we took the slow train from Barcelona to the south of Spain. I blogged about the beauty of the countryside. It took about 13 hours. We stopped countless times along the way. We had the time and enjoyed it all. Nice leisurely, slow train trip. Not so today. Leisurely? Yes. Slow? No.

We had hoped to take the train from southern Spain to Lisbon. As the crow flies it was not that much of a trip. But, the connections were long and ponderous and we opted for a train to Madrid and a plane to Lisbon. The cost was the same, the time spent was considerably less. There was an AVE train from Cordoba to Madrid. That is the bullet train and we were pumped to experience it. Indeed it was fast, but once you are in the train flying along at 290 kph (which I suppose is about 200-220 mph) you can barely feel the sensation.

The overhead TV was playing an American movie. Headsets. People wandered to the club car. This was hardly “The City of New Orleans” which Arlo Guthrie sings about. All you could feel was the “whoooosh” of the wheels barely touching the rails. About the only sensation was when our 290 kph train passed another 290 kph train and the two set up a wind storm which shook the trains. Great fun. We covered half the distance of last weeks train in 1/6^th of the time.

Arriving at the modern Madrid rail station we hopped off and I went to the Information desk. Maybe I should say, “Information” desk. If there has been one thing that has surprised me is the lack of information at “Information” desks. I’ll be fair and say that the info booth at the bus station in Grenada, Spain was superb. Our United States Congress could get good advice from that booth. They could advise NASA. But in many cases, the info we got was…”go over there and see for yourself.” Rick Steve’s travel guides point out the helpful info booths and that is good. But, lots of them seem to be for show.

These people should work for the CIA, they wouldn’t spill any secrets to anyone. Maybe they do work for the CIA. They are tight lipped. Steven Jobs reveals more about his Apple empire than information booth workers on this continent. The Cold War would still be on if these people in the Info Booths were in charge; nobody would have ever heard of freedom uprisings in the other Soviet Occupied countries of East Europe if it were up to Information Kiosk people. Too late though. Europe is re-united and the Information Booth people who were formerly KGB undercover ops are now withholding crucial information from the tourist industry, like….where to get a train to Athens or how to find a bus to the Madrid airport. Europe is safe from prying ne’er-do-well tourist types.

Not sure what it is about Europeans and dispensing information, even when it is their job. It’s hard to come by. Nice people. Just not chatty. Maybe it is because there are so many languages. If you hesitate to come to Europe because you don’t speak Italian or Turkish or Greek, relax. No body on this continent speaks the same language and everyone is just mumbling and being courteous and nodding and pointing at their menus and clerks write out the costs and show them to you. Everyone gets by rather well (save for a couple world wars here and there) but when it comes to being chatty. No.

Also, another curious and delightful and alien custom is paying the bill in Europe. Actually, the trick is to get the bill. In Europe they apparently eat at a more leisurely pace and a lot later in the evening. You couldn’t prove this by us since we are always back in the hotel asleep when Europeans come out of hiding and all of the tourists are asleep, then they come to the restaurants and eat. (Or so we are told.). But when you finish your meal, no one offers you the bill. They will clear the table, ask if you want coffee and dessert…and if you do not, they still don’t bring the bill. You could sit there and re-finance your mortgage, engage in Middle East Peace negotiations, deliver a baby or two, but still no bill will come. They’ll walk around you to serve other tables and give you space.

But, when you ask for the bill….THEN and only then it arrives. When you ask for it, it is like an “Aha!” moment. Like no one had ever asked for a bill before and they, the waiters had totally forgotten about giving you a bill. It’s like the complete theory of quantum physics has been finally discovered and that no one had ever thought of it before. The bill arrives and you pay and everyone is smiles.

But chatty, not at all. “Merci” they will say, like a professor who is tired of your questions in college and wants to move on. I am sure the reason is because Europeans like to have coffee and chat. Have wine and chat. Have a meal and converse. Have the dessert and coffee portion and linger an hour longer. European friends sit and talk to one another. Americans get in, get out, get going. We’re getting out to our cars and hitting the freeway. Places to go. People to see. Things to do. Europeans hop on the AVE trains and fly across the countryside, slowly conversing with one another in the club cars of the train.

A polite, courteous society. Chatty…not really. (This discussion does not refer to Turkey…that country is much more chatty when it comes to waiters and the business people. Loved it.)

But I digress. I ask the “Information Booth” woman at the Madrid Train Station about a bus to the airport. She replies. “Go up to the street and look for the bus.”

Hmmm. That had never occurred to me. Go to the street. Look for the bus. I was glad I asked. These Europeans have got a system for everything. Buses on the street!

So as I stood on the corner amidst a few thousand people in Madrid I kept a careful look out for “buses…on…the..street.” And sure enough there were buses on the street. The trick was to find one going to the airport.

But, as we continue to travel, I continue to hone my travel-skills to a fine edge. Nothing escapes my attention, I note everything around me like an undercover operative. And then I spotted THE bus we needed and we were on our way to the airport in Madrid.

The fact that this particular bus was painted fluorescent lime green and had letters three feet high written across the side which said, “24 hour AIRPORT EXPRESS BUS ONLY” had nothing to do with it. I would have found it anyway.

My all-time favorite Lisbon restaurant...The Bar Grand Elias

Peace, Bob