Davis Cup Crisis Center, 9.19
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By Rosangel Valenti, TW Contributing Editor
Morning, all. This will be your thread for discussing today's Davis Cup ties. As always with the Crisis Center posts, we ask that you keep the subject of your discussions focused on the tennis until the day's rubbers are over.
I'm here in Madrid to attend the semifinal tie between the United States and Spain at the Plaza de Toros Monumental de Las Ventas. Today's rubbers will consist of Rafael Nadal and Sam Querrey, reprising their recent encounter at the US Open, and Andy Roddick versus David Ferrer. It should be an exciting day- the venue seats 25,000, just a couple of thousand more than Arthur Ashe Stadium. I'm hoping for a better view than the one I was able to get in New York recently, though, because I'll be representing TennisWorld with a media pass, as a photographer.
I arrived in Madrid last night. Knowing that I would be getting in pretty late, I'd booked myself in at a hotel situated just by the airport. The idea was that I would waste no time getting here after landing. It's a big building; you can see it from a distance away, approaching from a number of different angles. I knew that I was in trouble when I kept seeing it from different angles, though. The first taxi driver who attempted to bring me here spent ten minutes driving around cursing under his breath, then took me right back to the airport taxi line and suggested that I try a different taxi. When another taxi turned up, the driver programmed his satellite navigation system, after phoning a companero to get the address.
The satnav system kept telling us to turn right, and we seemed to be heading away from the airport. After ten frustrating minutes, the driver turned it off. It appears that the friend he'd phoned had looked up the details wrongly, because he'd given him the address for the equivalent hotel in Barcelona. We headed back towards Barajas Airport, our quarry looming ever-larger. But then the problem became the same as before. However close we got to the hotel, the road never seemed to take a turning that led down to it; the reprogrammed satnav system kept taking us in aimless circles. I was having a hard time containing my giggles, because the driver never once stopped to ask for directions; apparently for Spanish taxi drivers, pride in one's satnav system's infallibility ranks right up there with what appears to be males' near-universal faith in their own map-reading skills. My father would have done exactly the same thing.
Thirty minutes later, my driver did eventually stop for long enough to ask a policeman for directions, and the gentleman in question was able to identify the tantalising little slip road unknown to the satellite system, that took us to the entrance of the hotel. I'd been on the road for not much short of an hour. It would have been quicker to stay in the centre of Madrid after all. The taxi's meter had been turned off early in our odyssey around the bowels of the airport road system, so I at least I wasn't financially poorer for the experience. Somehow, I managed to stop myself from laughing out loud until I got to my room.
I somehow don't think there will be any problem finding today's Davis Cup venue; the bullring is located centrally, and is very famous. Just in case, I'm leaving plenty of time to get there, though.
Enjoy today's tennis.