The Travel Bug

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I presume that I got bitten by the travel bug sometime in elementary school, as a result of all those field trips I got to go on (bless you, Mr. Albery). Or perhaps when I was a little girl and my parents had enough disposable income at the time to take us to almost all the 'major' cities in the USA. Either way, a few little bites by this bug and I grew an infection so great that it led me to start travelling alone at the tender age of seventeen (to supervised geeky conferences at US colleges/universities - don't worry) and now it's landed me in Spain.

I've since discovered that this travel-bug infection can either be the greatest blessing in the world, or the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Either way, you get a lesson, an experience or, at the very least, a story out of it. In my case, the TBI has led me to attempt (and fail miserably all three times) a journey to Antarctica, spend two separate month-long sojourns in South-East Asia, live in Spain for a third of a year and now, it's got me flying to India in about two weeks. Typically, I'm excited beyond words, but now, after a full day of all the bad things that can possibly come out of a love for travel, I'm simply exhausted.

The point of this entry is not to tell you about my upcoming three and a half week trip to India; the point of this entry is to allow me to bitch about my horrible day in Madrid when all I want to do is GO TO INDIA.

Backstory/necessary info: I need a visa to enter India and there is no embassy for non-Spanish nationals in my city, so I needed to go to Madrid, an almost four hour train ride (one-way) that cost me 63.50 Euros (oh, did I forget to tell you about my heart attack as I purchased my ticket?). Whatever, I sucked it up and paid for it. The next day, I woke up at 5:30am in order to walk to the train station because the city buses don't run before 6:30am. Fine.* The ass-crack of dawn isn't a bad time of day, really. The air has a nice crispness to it.

I slept through most of the train ride and in between falling asleep and waking up to rustle around, I caught glimpses of the green, green countryside. The train arrived fifteen minutes late, at 11:00am. The embassy closes at 12:30pm I thought, so I figured I had lots of time. I got myself a map and realized that, though I looked up directions to the embassy from the train station at home, I was almost completely lost. I asked the tourist office for directions so I could get out of the station. I had to ask a gas attendant for directions to get out of the parkng lot. Then I asked the security guard at the gate. I had to ask for help from SIX different people before I had any idea where I was so I could make it to the embassy. Just so you know, maps don't help you in Spain, okay? I arrived mildly sweaty at some time after 11:30am, when really, it was supposed to be about a ten to fifteen minute walk.

My first piece of bad news: I found out from the lady behind the window that it'll take not one day to process my visa, but seven (despite what the website said) because I'm not a Spanish national. She tells me that I have to return in one week to pick up my visa when I was expecting to pick it up later that afternoon, and the mere thought of having to pay another 63.5 Euros for a train ticket made me burst into tears. Yes, I was that tired after having a rough time trying to even get to the embassy and I've been a bit stressed out about money lately too. Not that my tears did any good because it's not like she could just get me my visa in a few hours on her own. The wheels in my head were still turning - I asked her to mail it to me, yes, that'll work! Fine, but I have to go to the post office to buy an express envelope and come back to the embassy and give it to her. Fine. Fine fine fine. Just give me my damn visa.

Before I left for the post office, I had to pay the visa fees. The website said that it'll cost 50 Euros. I brought 70 in cash so I could buy some things to eat in the city or something. But oh look! More bad news! The visa is going to cost me 72 Euros because I'M NOT A SPANISH NATIONAL! Thank goodness I had change on me. When I signed the receipt my eyes were so blurry from tears that I couldn't even tell if I was signing my life away or not. She gave me directions to the post office and told me what to buy and to come back before 12:30pm. She said it would take five minutes to walk there. It took ten.

The post office didn't accept payment by credit card and I just spent all my cash (I had about fifty cents to my name at that point) so I had to find a bank machine. After the first couple times trying and failing to get money out, I nearly freaked at the thought of not getting cash because it meant no express envelope which meant no mailing my visa which meant coming back to Madrid next week to pick it up which meant 63.5 Euros. It took me three tries before the machine gave me any money - third time's a frickin' charm. I get the cash and I get in line. I'm number 150 and they're sitting at 139. I had twenty minutes until 12:30. I asked a man behind the counter to sell me an envelope, for a huge favour, for some help, for a near miracle. Nada. I cry some more. I sat dejectedly in a chair, discreetly wiping my tears away and tried to think about what to do if I couldn't make it back to the embassy in time. Would I bang on the door? Yell for someone to please have some mercy on me? Go back in the afternoon and beg?

By some miracle, they skipped some numbers and I was able to make buy the envelope for TEN Euros before running my ass back to the embassy office. I arrived all breathless and sweaty, five minutes before they closed, shoved the envelope around and got myself the hell out of there because all I wanted was to go home. I didn't want to waste the day, so I did walk around quite a bit to see the city. I mean, I didn't come to Madrid for nothing and even if I had a bad morning, there was still a whole afternoon left. It wasn't a horrible day; I had a nice bus ride into the city, had some chocolate con churros, an empanada and a Madrilena(!) and I did get to see some important stuff (Puerta del Sol, Plaza Mayor, Palacio Real, etc.), but there was construction everywhere. It's a nice city, and if I was with someone it would have been a lot of fun, but given the circumstances and my bad mood, it wasn't all that great. T'was unfortunate.

I decided to take an earlier train home at 6:00pm, and took the metro back to the station, but the train was full and the only seats available were in first class, which would cost an extra 20 Euros. I fully realized that it would have been so 'movie' if I pouted a bit and the men let me on for free, but that didn't happen. I didn't even have the energy to cry in public anymore. What to do? Nothing. Not pay the dinero and wait in the station for two hours until my scheduled time came. We have a saying for this in Spanish and it goes like this: You're shit outta luck. So I walked around the station about three times, sat and listened to some Arabic music, and sat and sat until my train came and there I sat more, for another three and a half hours until it pulled into my city and got off that train and out of the station like a bat out of hell.

As yesterday and previous experiences show, I'm no good with embassies and consulates and visas. My Indian visa is supposed to get here about four days before I fly and I hope that my bad luck doesn't jinx it. Yesterday was a really stupid day. All in the name of going to India. All for the love of travel. All beacause of that tiny little bug with the greatest infection in the world.


* On the way to the station at about 6:25am, I ran into my flat-mate who was going home after a night out in el barrio, probably the only fun bit of the whole day.
8:00 am