When I decided to pack the stick in the checked bag, I was thinking that I would have no problems getting around the airports, since they'd be handicapped-accessible. I forgot that Barajas doesn't have to abide by the ADA - up stairs and down stairs (but better after customs).
Ah yes. Smoking, in the airport, in cafes, under the 'no fumadores' signs. But not, I think, on the Metro.
I keep meeting people who patiently listen to my stumbling Spanish question, and then answer in perfect English. Which is good, because when they answer in Spanish I haven't the foggiest idea what they said.
After getting a bum steer (from the Internet) on the location of the bus station, and asking for help from three different people, I finally bought a bus ticket for Pamplona.
As I was searching I was trying to figure out where you could put a bus station in a built-up city. And the answer is - underground, on two levels under the Avenida de América, but still above the metro station.
The bus was extraordinary quiet. People didn't seem to strike up conversations with their neighbors. The most conversing that went on was on cell phones (of which there were many.) Most people watched the movie, or napped (it was siesta time).
There's no eating or smoking or bathrooms on the bus. And the system is set up so that buses going in different directions all meet up at the bus station at the same time. So five buses will arrive at Soria with a few minutes and all of the passengers will scramble off to get in line for the toilets of the cafeteria or ice cream shop, or to smoke a cigarette.
Of course those who are changing buses have to get the luggage transferred. And those starting here are wending their ways out to the buses (through the masses) with their luggage. And just to add to the pandemonium, the lottery seller is wandering about shouting off the different payoffs.
Then after 15-20 minutes the station master announces, one after the other, that coach number which of route number whatever is boarding, and everyone rushes back to the buses, mills around until the drivers arrive to open the doors, and then swarms on.
We got into Pamplona around 8pm. There's another stampede as everyone exits the bus and grabs their own luggage. The hurry seems to be because there aren't enough taxis for them as wants them, as I found out when I finally managed to get off.
I decided to walk in what I assumed to the the right direction, looking for a taxi on the way. I found Calle de Leyre before I found a taxi.
Except that it was the wrong Calle de Leyre and #7 wasn't a hotel.
So I asked for help and got directed (led, really) back to the plaza and halfway around the circle to the Hotel Leyre.
Except that it was the wrong Hotel Leyre.
But the woman there nicely drew me a map to the right one.
Showered, changed, then back out on my own two feet (but with the stick) to reconnoiter supper.
Wandered about on 'my' side of ------- St and found some bars, some nice walking paths and one scared cat, but no food. Then I crossed over to the other side and found the pedestrian mall with all the cafes and restaurants.
Slept well, except for when the garbage men came, and then awoke again to bird song, well, chirping at least, with pigeon gobbling instead of mourning doves cooing.
