Madrid
I arrived in Madrid at 6:15 A.M. in pitch darkness after an above average overnight flight from Johannesburg on Iberia Airlines. An express bus plopped me at Atocha train station at around 8:00 A.M. when daylight finally appeared. On my 20 minute walk alongside Retiro Park to my Airbnb accommodation I witnessed the city awakening to another normal work day. Smartly dressed locals were hurrying off to their offices, aromas of coffee and fresh baked pastries wafted out of cafés and Calle de Alfonso XII thrummed with traffic. I felt an instant rush of high as the energy of a big European city (especially on a crisp spring morning) seeped into my being.
I couldn't wait to get my bearings in this city. In the afternoon, arrival necessities dispensed with, I penetrated the pedestrianized historic quarter. From the Prado (two blocks from my Airbnb) on to Calle de las Huertas to Puente del Sol, Madrid's vibrancy sent my mood skyward. Strolling along Calle del Arenal, a bookstore with stacks of books displayed on outside tables drew my attention. Turning into the narrow cobbled lane, I discovered a long line of people waiting to be seated at the famous San Gitanes for their legendary churros with hot chocolate. Since it was 5:30 PM, hours before the acceptable time to have dinner in Spain, I yielded to temptation and partook in one of life's unmissable experiences -- pigging out on fresh, crisp churros and thick, steaming chocolate!
Fortified, I proceeded on to Plaza Mayor, Madrid's most famous square, as advertised by the swarm of tourists. Taking in the impressive burgundy three story steepled building enclosing the square, and the equestrian statue in the middle I was swept into past eras. Much of Madrid's history had occurred right here.
I needed to walk off those churro and chocolate calories and felt grateful for a blue sky and a spring chill. Exiting the square I stumbled upon the San Gabriel Mercado. Stalls displaying mouthwatering tapas, tempting drinks, and irresistible pastries pulled in the crowds. Clearly the place to indulge in Madrid. Though how you'd place an order through a wall of people and be heard in the din was a head scratcher. Anyway, I'd already figured out a killer dinner earlier in the day.
My accommodation in an apartment on Calle Antonio Maura -- half a block from Retiro Park and close to the Prado Museum -- gave me access to a kitchen. This morning, after a shower and rest, I had gone to a grocery market where I acquired Manchego cheese, white asparagus (just in season in Europe), crusty bread rolls and blood oranges. So, after my long, long saunter, I returned to the apartment for a simple dinner of sautéed asparagus (plump and fleshy) topped with local cheese, served on a roll. Delicious! But something was missing. Wine.
Right after I swallowed the last morsel, the artist, from whom I was renting a room, and I hopped down to the tapas bar next door to the apartment building. It was on the sidewalk, sheltered by glass walls. Dusk had begun, and the lights in the nearby museum neighborhood were starting to twinkle. The perfect setting to sample a full bodied Spanish Rioja. The friendly waitress offered us free tapas of cheese sandwich rolls, but we'd already eaten big dinners. So she brought over a bowl of local green olives. Tangy and fruity, they were a delicious accompaniment to the satisfying wine, which, get this, was only €2.90 a glass! I couldn't have asked for a better first day in Spain.
Unlike Barcelona, Madrid felt more compact. Attractive architecture, graceful squares with fountains and sculpture, and a vibrant mix of locals and tourists made exploring the city endlessly entertaining. I spent three days in this city, then went down to Andalucía for six days, and returned to Madrid for my last two days in Spain.
On one of my explorations of the historic quarter I followed Rick Steves' guided walk starting at Plaza Mayor. Along Calle Mayor I paused in front of interesting buildings like the town hall to admire its symmetrical square towers. Entering Calle de Bailén I gaped at the enormous Almudena Cathedral. When I saw the long line for entry to the Royal Palace I crossed it off my 'to do' list. The faćade was impressive enough. I proceeded to the attractive park across, the Plaza de Oriente, strolled passed the row of statues of Visigoth kings and over to the fountain for a close up of the equestrian sculpture, the park's centerpiece.
At the Opera House I rested my weary legs at the café. Despite gloves my fingers were frozen. Churros and hot chocolate warmed me up and restored my energy. I resumed my self-guided tour. Plaza Isabel II came next, with its statue of a queen who was a patron of the arts in front of the opera house. Entering Calle del Arenal at 6:00 PM I merged with the hordes of people on their evening paseo. The shops lining this wide, pedestrianized avenue buzzed with shoppers. I darted into El Corte Ingles, took the escalators to the rooftop cafe for a view of Puerta del Sol. This bustling heart of Madrid projected its character. I felt thrilled to be here. Not only because of the city's physical beauty and energy, but also because of its outstanding museums.
At the Prado Museum the room of major paintings by Hieronymus Bosch hogged an hour (and could easily have gulped more). The much hyped triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights was almost impossible to see through a perpetual wall of tourists. Fortunately, Bosch's other triptych, The Hay Wain, was inexplicably ignored. I was able to linger in front of it and study the colorful, dense imagery depicting morality in scary ways. It took effort to tear myself away from this room of extraordinary paintings. Following Rick Steves self-guided tour I trotted over to the various halls challenging my brain with the great works of Velásquez, Rubens, El Greco, Goya, and other famous masters. Hours later, when I stepped out into the early afternoon chill, that unanswerable question returned to my head as it did every time I visited a huge museum. How are you supposed to appreciate and assimilate such an impossibly large number of rich paintings?
Madrid's other famous museums were lightweights, with instantly pleasing works by the Surrealists, the Cubists, and the Impressionists. Arriving at the Reina Sofia at opening time allowed me to ponder over Picasso's Guernica in a quiet room. Yes, we've all seen this painting in books and on T-shirts, etc. But gazing at the actual mural, the impact felt visceral. Surely every politician and soldier should be mandated to study this painting to see the agony, the heart wrenching pain caused by wars. My sombre mood was quickly elevated by the many Salvador Dali paintings. Works by Miró, Juan Gris, Braque, and Kandinsky made for a joyful wander around this museum. The zeitgeist of 20th century Dada-ism was enhanced by Buñuel movies playing in nearby rooms to match the works.
At the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, which houses a collection purchased from a baron, I saw some painting by practically every famous European artist I'd ever heard of. The decent number of Impressionists and Post-impressionists were especially satisfying. There was a special Joaquín Sorollo exhibition, exposing me to a new artist and challenging me to appreciate portraits of boring people from the past.
Three excellent museums in three days put me in a state of euphoria. It turned the delightful act of sipping a glass of full-bodied Rioja on the terrace of Ramses Madrid at Plaza Independencia almost spiritual. Seated at their heated terrace, with a view of Puerta Alcalá, and a pleasant vibe from spirited, elegantly attired locals at nearby tables, I was grateful to be shielded from harsh realities. A young suited waiter brought me warm, seeded bread rolls, a bowl of olives, and cubes of Manchego cheese drizzled with olive oil. I ordered a roasted beet salad to complement these free tapas. My full dinner at the ungodly hour of 8:00! And what a satisfying meal it was! A jewel in a city full of jewels.
My high opinion of the city was reinforced a week later, after I'd returned from six days in Andalucía. I was strolling through magnificent Retiro Park on a beautiful, spring Saturday. Most of Madrid appeared to be at this park, engaged in a host of activities -- rowing boats on the lake, snacking and sipping beer at the cafés, French kissing, snapping photos, jogging, playing music, sitting on benches, people watching, walking. I spent hours sauntering along trails that took me through landscaped and natural vegetation, pausing to admire the sculpture and fountains. When I came to the huge lake and gazed at the semicircular colonnade bordering it, I thought it would be this image that would linger in my mind as I bid this city adios the next day.
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