Cashing In

So the first day in Madrid, at what seemed to me to be 3am, but was in fact time for the traditional 10am coffee break, I found myself starving, dehydrated, and without any euros. For the first time in my life (or maybe the third), I played my adorable girl card and convinced an American to buy me food with the promise that I would pay him back. Of course, I fell asleep for almost the rest of the day, and wasn't able to exchange any money. On the second day, I decided to use the thirty minute break (in between professors - 2hrs with Patricia, 2 hrs with Carlos)to exchange money at the local bank. This was nothing short of a disaster. The first bank I went into, Barclay's, was quite elaborate. You open the door, and then have to push a button to make a glass door open into a what seems like a clear elevator unit. However, the other side doesn't open unless you do something. I wish I could tell you what that something is, but the robot woman was speaking and lisping so fast that I had no clue what I needed to do. I proceeded to walk in and out of the chamber like 3 times, trying to get the recording to repeat. Finally, a man came to the other side of the door. I was relieved that a real human had come to help me, and made the universal sign for "what in the hell am I supposed to do" (turns out that one is universal). He just shrugged his shoulders and told me he doesn't work there. I made signs to say I needed help, to which he responded very clearly with a "not my problem you stupid American" facial expression. Rude. I quit and went to the next bank. Another series of impenetrable gates and sliding doors. Then the next. Then the next. Finally I made it to BBVA, which was barricade-free. I was so relieved that I would finally be able to convert myself a middle-class American to a lower-class European (you know how the exchange rate is these days), I went up to the desk to change my dollars. However, it was not to be. Apparently without an account at the bank, you can't exchange money. Not for a fee, or a plea, or anything. They just flat out won't do it. The teller told me this would be true at all of the banks (thanks a lot Lonely Planet) and that I would have to go to a "Casa de Cambio" (A House of Change - kind of poetic, no?). So yet again I had to mooch off of the American in my class for coffee, and once again I promised to pay him back. Later that afternoon, I made it my mission to find a Casa de Cambio and finally get a hold of some Euros - even if the exchange rate would be rather steep. It took two conversations with police officers (located on almost every street corner) and a lot of patience to finally track the store down (it was disguised as a "We'll buy your gold!" store). I only had to cough up my ID and Jane Hancock to make the transaction, but in the end it worked out alright. I need to decide whether to keep converting the money or whether to just pull from an ATM and accept the fees...but that would require some research and some math. Yuck. On the third day (today) I was finally able to buy my own coffee, and one for my fellow American. From this whole experience, I learned that there are about 10 banks per block in Madrid, that Lonely Planet is sadly not an expert on everything, and that we clearly are asking for it when banks get robbed.