We spent most of the morning, day 19, on a train. Destination ? Madrid. Sounds romantic, right? Well ……. Calm your expectations …….. The story takes a sharp turn into the Land of the Utterly Uneventful. No bomb threats, no emergency evacuations, not even a mildly suspicious suitcase left unattended.
After four weeks of high-stakes adventure, the next three days were about as thrilling as watching paint dry.
Upon arriving in Madrid, we grabbed a taxi and headed to our hotel with grand visions: poolside lounging, sangria sipping, and generally becoming honorary sun gods.
Ohhhh but the plot does twist ……. the pool was closed for repairs. And we weren’t just in Madrid, we were in Madrid Nowhere-ville. We were surrounded by hotels and warehouses, our most notable neighbor was an Amazon distribution hub. Not exactly oozing with Old World charm.
Enter: Boredom. Stage left.
And listen, I don’t get bored. I can entertain myself with a smelly piece of lint if I have to. But after riding a month-long adrenaline wave, being stuck at “Hotel Monotony” was a huge buzzkill.
Perhaps it was the vacation Gods inviting me to “Wind down already, and, you do have a foot injury.” And that foot had made it clear that any exploration would be more like a medieval torture march than a leisurely stroll.
I had also booked us into a hotel near the airport for convenience, which turned out to be convenient for literally nothing ………. except leaving.
We made do, of course. Hit the bar. Hit the buffet. Repeatedly. Because if we were going to be culturally stranded, we were at least going to be well-fed. We even watched a Spanish movie—which, surprisingly, was easier to follow than expected. Apparently, if you stare at people long enough while they emote dramatically, you can pick up the plot. Who knew?
Then came Friday. Sweet, blessed Friday. Time to escape the hotel-shaped purgatory. But Madrid’s airport? Let’s just say Madrid had more pranks left for us before our departure.
After checking in, we were told our gate was a 22-minute walk away. That’s airport minutes, which means for “Gimpy,” add 50% more time and a sprinkle of mild panic.
We walked. We used the elevator. We rode trams. We strolled on those moving walkways that make you feel like a futuristic pedestrian. And of course, our gate was at the farthest corner of the airport. If it had been any further, we would have earned another stamp in our passports.
Finally, when we thought we were about to board the plane, we were tricked into believing the shoot led to the plane, but instead we were funneled to a staircase, descending several stories, which led us to a shuttle bus. That bus took us to a separate tarmac where we …… surprise! …….. had to climb up the stairs to board the plane. I felt like the marble in a Rube Goldberg project.
My fitness tracker practically applauded me. I logged over 2 miles, just inside the Madrid airport. By day’s end, it was almost 4. I basically earned a medal in Disabled Olympic Travel Walking
But despite the boredom, the foot drama, and the unexpected cardio, we made it home safely. And at the bottom of the Indianapolis Airport escalator, we were greeted by two smiling faces—way better than any urgent care nurse.
Gratitude? Still overflowing. It really was the trip of a lifetime—even if it ended with closed pools and a long travel day.
Xoxo, Kate
Yippee! Well done and welcome home! Love, Laurie