Under the Bridge (Córdoba - Madrid)

We are nearing the end, my dear reader, and I fear we are starting to slow down. This post covers our last full day in Córdoba and the dreaded transit day to Madrid. It was time to go domestic again. We needed a laundromat before we ticked off a few other tourist spots in the afternoon.

The laundromat saw us leave the old town and walk into a nearby suburb. It was around a 20 minute walk. The laundromat was relatively new and everything functioned the way it was supposed to, even if some of the online reviews were inaccurate. The machines were clean, although the dryer shortchanged us on time. Anyway, job done we returned to the hotel and scoped out an afternoon walk and possible venues for dinner.

The statue between the bridge and Alcázar.

Down through the old town to the Roman Bridge we strolled. As it turned out, the bridge was very close to the Alcázar and where we commenced yesterday's walking tour. It is a very substantial piece of stone work and is wide enough to drive a car across. This clearly is not permitted and the gate at the other end would provide a serious impediment.

The gate.

The bridge is an obvious tourist attraction and on this hot, sunny day wasn't too crowded. It provided an excellent view of the waterwheel that provided water to the old palace. The river is quite wide but very shallow and carp could be seen digging in the mud under the bridge creating a silt trail. Under the Bridge is today's title from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

A substantial piece of architecture.

It was beer time and we walked the streets of old town back up towards the square looking for a suitable table, ie. one not near any smokers. We found one and were enjoying the early afternoon people watching when a truck carrying gas cylinders rounded the corner and the cage on the back of the truck caught the edge of one umbrella. The earth didn't quite move for me but it caused a moving and a shaking among the umbrellas and a domino effect. It was close to collapse, like the Liberal Party in Australia.

The Mosque-Cathedral in the distance.

The crowds continued moving up and down the street. people wandered past looking forlorn, waiting for a vacant table. We, happy to give our table away, waited for 'la cuenta'. Nothing happens quickly in Spain. Eventually we waved one couple over to our table and they sat with us while we finalised payment. They were very grateful.

The Roman ruins.

From there we set out for the site of the Roman ruins. Actually that could mean any part of the old town, but it referred to a specific site. It appears untouched since its discovery and partial repatriation. It was not particularly interesting. I mean, it's like churches and Cathedrals, how many can you see and maintain genuine interest? Oh, look, Roman ruins ... some columns, partial walls and a statue. Yep, that about sums it up.

It's no David.

That night we went back to the old town to a 'traditional' Italian restaurant. Except it wasn't in Italy and was being run by Spanish people. Aside from that ... anyway, the food was good and it was a nice alternative to tapas.

The square at night.

Prior to bed, we researched the entry to the carpark at out hotel in Madrid. Suitably armed, we retired for the evening.

Our street to freedom.

We departed the hotel the next morning, a vastly easier exercise than our arrival had been. The only stop on the road to Madrid was for petrol. Otherwise it was an uneventful journey. A transit day without issue. Yeah, nah.

Despite Madrid's tunnels and my satellite navigation system spinning out until it could locate us again, we found our destination with relative ease... until I attempted to turn into the car park that Google had identified. It was the drive way right next to the hotel door which Google had informed us was the correct entry. I drove the car up over the footpath toward the ramp and a man emerged from a booth waving his arms and shaking his head. Ok, this is not the way, I gathered. However, he was on his mobile and was unwilling to put it down or finish his call to provide any further directions other than his windmilling arms. Spain!

We waited. Jayne wanted to go next door to the hotel. I was unwilling for her to do this in case the balding, overweight old guy decided he might earn his salary and provide some assistance. We waited. He emerged partially form his booth and provided the expectation that he would would do something, a bit like Andrew Hastie, and then retreated to his booth to count numbers or continue on his phone.

Eventually I relented and Jayne went into to the hotel and came back with a map to show the correct car park entrance. Hastie was still discussing his next move behind closed doors. I reversed back out onto the street and joined the heavy traffic to drive to the corresponding street on the other side of the hotel.

The written instruction was to drive down the ramp and, before the boom gate, there was a button on the wall. Push the button and the door would open and then there were specific instructions on where to park. After enduring the abuse of a taxi driver, not an unusual occurrence in Madrid, I turned the car onto the ramp and down we went. There was nothing on the wall near the boom gate so I pushed the help button. And someone came to help! It was a miracle.

Except he did the same arm gestures. Back up the ramp he was pointing, except there was a car behind me. He sent him back as well, allowing me to reverse half way up the ramp to an insignificant grey box on the wall. There was no signage. He pointed at the box and then to a door in the wall. He rang the bell for me and the side door opened. Still no signage anywhere until you drive in through the door and see the Hotel Indigo sign and an arrow.

I'm still suffering trauma from my attempt to park the car so I shan't recount it in any detail, dear reader. Suffice to say that it was necessary to fold in the side mirrors to park the car in the slimline spaces available. I am yet to master the use of reversing cameras in cars. Despite our best research efforts the day before, it was not a fun afternoon, albeit a suitable end to a transit day.

At the hotel check-in a voice says, "An Australian accent". Of course we started chatting. "I run a tour company," he says. "I've already booked a walking tour for tomorrow," I replied. "Mine is better," he says, handing me a card. "But I'm booked with you," say I. After a few, no way exclamations, I produced my booking. In one of those quirky moments, the guy who owns the company and is conducting the walk was in the hotel spruiking his business and we run into him. Tio Tours. If you're in Madrid, check him out.

After the usual unpacking and calm down, we headed to the roof top bar for a drink, or two. Transit days really are stressful. And then, because we didn't feel like engaging with the world on a Madrid scale, we dined at the restaurant in the hotel.

The TV is massive.

El Telón, the restaurant, offers a reasonable range of meals, genuine Spanish and fusion food to keep tourists happy. The man who was running the show was absolutely delightful and super helpful. He tempered our order when we weren't sure how many tapas dishes to select. He suggested the wine and at the end of the meal produced some cheese and candied walnuts to nibble on as we finished our wine. Classy.

Yes, that is a spa bath in the corner of the room.

Then it was back to our room. Well, suite. I decided when I was planning everything that by the time we reached Madrid, we wold want some space to spread out and relax. Also we're here for five nights, so there will be times when we don't do much during the day and will want the extra room.

Tomorrow we're off on our walking tour with Nick from Tio Tours.

Until then.