We caught a fast train to Seville. Apparently these are quite well known because one crashed last year and killed 70 people or something, so it made the world news. I only discovered that when I overheard Karl talking to Chad about it. I was confident we would be safe, because following the crash, all drivers were educated on the point that they can't do 300km/h around bends.
The train station in Madrid. Karl actually tried to take us here when we were looking for the art gallery because it "looked" like the right building. Thankfully Steven consulted his memory, and then a map, and took us the right way, which was actually the opposite direction.
We had bought first class tickets. Karl was desperate to check in so we could find a VIP lounge. He was certain there was one. Well there wasn't, we queued like everyone else.
The train ride went quick. Oh snap. Cups of coffee, bad croissants, Spanish newspapers, face washers. The first class treatment was pretty nice. Most importantly, the carriage was practically empty so Matisse could be as noisy as she wanted without us pissing anyone off. She was roaming around having a blast, and didn't even mind when one of the three only passengers tripped over her in the corridor. A tall, dark, Spanish man, no less. She was all smiles. Surprise. On the other hand, he was mortified. Yes mum, both of us were watching her, but she lurched out quick as lightening. She is a maniac.
The spare seat scenario meant that this little alcove in front of us was free for that taking, so we took it, parked up Matisses pram and she had a sleep. one hour of silence and no child wrangling. I was in heaven.
So, the burning question in everyone's mind... How awesome was the 300km/h....? It was actually pretty boring. If you really paid attention to the poles whizzing by, so fast you could barely see them, and then you dug even deeper into your psyche, there was a tiny glimmer of adrenalin. But in all fairness, I have experienced more adrenalin on the dodgem cars. Who wants to go to the darwin show this year?
When we got to Seville, the taxi driver dropped us on the right road, but at about number 11. We needed 91. It was a one way street so we couldn't go back. We traipsed all the way up the road, before realising it had magically turned into another street. No I hadn't taken acid. This is the standard trick of the old quarters. We backtracked again and discovered the place, it was almost opposite where the taxi driver had dropped us. But over the other side of the park. There was some confusion with our arrival time so we were locked out. I consoled myself with a refreshing cup of "Pepsi" cola... Wink wink.