Here's the Thing

Everything is supremely difficult in Spain. The simplest of tasks - turning on a light, crossing the street, opening a freaking door - strains my brain and patience to an uncomfortable level. The more advanced things like validating a rail pass and getting the proper train ticket when no one speaks English, or finding an unadvertised hostel in the middle of a city have me frustrated to the point where I've seriously considered throwing my things and jumping up and down, screaming obscenities. I was thisclose to kicking a stone wall while wailing, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" while trying to find my hostel today, when a man with perfect English shouted to me from across the street if I was looking for the place he worked at. And just like that I was up in my own room.

Did I mention I'm in Madrid now? Well, I am. I rode on the best train I've ever been on. It was so comfortable I was sad when we arrived. 26 is the magical age in Europe when one becomes old and no longer eligible for student rates or 2nd class tickets, so I've been permanently bumped up to first class, at least on the long distance trains.

The scenery on the way up was dry and mountainous with patches of vibrant green farmland, as well as strange shaped pine trees and some sort of crop that looked like refined sagebrush, planted in rows. I listened to my ipod until it ran out of batteries, wrote in my journal and used up precious mobile credits from my UK number in order to check my email repeatedly. It's a habit and I can't break it.

My room here in Madrid is painted the color I sort of imagined every building in Spain to be - pinkish orange - and it's almost narrow enough for me to touch both walls if I hold my arms out. It's adorable though and seeing as I feel like I'm coming down with a cold, I don't think I'll be leaving it much this evening. I'm going to upload some pictures, go find a bite to eat, then head to bed early.