In the air under the ground on the rails up a cliff

I fly to Madrid. Well, I fly to the airport and cannot find the Metro which I know is underneath the airport somewhere.

Outside, in the air, I ask a man who speaks no English where it is hidden. I speak no Spanish so he puts me on a shuttle bus and with hand gestures tells me that I am to get off at the next stop.
The bus travels for twenty metres at speed to the stop and I alight. I see a sign for the metro. I ask where it is of a man under a sign that says he gives free directions; but only in Spanish in an international airport.
I find it on my own and am by now armed with a hand map of the entire system. I am to change lines to get to where I want to be, the railway station in Madrid to catch a train to Toledo.
I ask for assistance at every change and am soon connected to many people in camaraderie in transit that I will never meet again. They are all fellow passengers hurrying about under the ground to get to somewhere else that is over ground.

Arrived at the rail terminal I hear the train I want is full and I have to wait another two hours to catch the final train of the night.

I wait.

It is dark when I reach Toledo and I walk up a cliff with a suitcase full of stories in tow.

Roads are steep in Toledo. I will tell a story in a theatre here; but not this story.

Storytelling here