Madrid

Written By Patrick Reck

‘Twas in Madrid that Patrick and I made a bit more effort to go out and experience Spanish night life. An endeavor made easy because we stayed on the futon of my friend Julia, who I hadn’t seen since about fifth grade.

And now Patrick will take over because I am tired of writing by for the day.

Our first experience of Madrid was traffic. We rode with our Bla Bla Car driver from San Sebastian Here, winding through the foothills of the Pyrenees, climbing up on to the plateau that is Central Espana. Darkness crept over the semi-arid plains as we drove South. As the lights of the Madrid suburbs rose, traffic ground to a halt. Speeding up and slamming to a stop was our pattern for the last 60 kilometers. Then skyscrapers, higher than we’d seen since New York. Weaving in and out around round-abouts until we got dropped off at the Plaza de Castillo metro stop.

A quick ride to Plaza de Espana then we were back up in the cold November night air, huffing our heavy packs through the crowds to a dimly lit street to Clara’s old friend, Julia’s basement apartment. We found her finishing her homework, set down our things, and went out for a bit of the famous Spanish nightlife.

We walked passed Templo de Debod, a beautiful stone temple surrounded by ponds lit up in the night. The temple was a gift from the Egyptian government in the 1970’s for Spain’s role in negotiating a peace treaty between Israel and Palestine, reassemble stone by stone on the park hilltop. We descended back into the streets and made our way to Plaza de San Miguel.

San Miguel is an indoor food market that has everything you would want for a festive dinner. We got some Sangria, a cheese plate, some jamón, stuffed olives, croquettes, gelato–feasting and gorging after a long day of traveling. Loosening up from the car ride, catching up with old friends, talking Catalunya politics, and getting informed about a little bit of Spanish history. The atmosphere was everything we wanted to get ready for the night.

We headed for a empty local cafe, enjoying the space, two bottles of wine, lively conversation, and some American indie rock. The bar closed down at 2:00 AM and we staggered over to the metro, picking up some party snacks from a sketchy Ghanaian, and going back to Julia’s for a nightcap and endless sleep in the darkness of the basement floor.

The next day we woke late in a daze and walked downtown for food, finding our way to the Gran Via. We stopped at a Spanish chain restaurant called VIPS, which felt like an American Denny’s- just what we needed. A large, greasy breakfast of potatoes, bacon, and eggs.

Walking along the Gran Via, you get the sense that you are in Manhattan. Times Square, even. The architecture feels the same. Certain blocks have large advertising screens. People hurry about, sometimes pushing their way through tourists star gazing at the vivid theater billboards, announcing plays like The Lion King. Maybe it was because we stayed in the central area, but this is the impression Madrid left with us: a business city, with people rushing about, crowding the metro, and having that too busy to be bothered mentality. The daily grid if you will. Nevertheless, we still enjoyed gawking at the architecture and fountains, the giant department stores and high-priced hotel facades, feeling the rush to get somewhere.

After a long stroll, we visited the Palacio Real de Madrid. With a charming tour guide–highly recommended–we got a history lesson on the dynasties of Spanish past as we walked through 25 of the 2000 rooms in the grand palace, admiring intricate frescoes, paintings, tapestries, and clocks. Lots of golden, engraved, sculpted clocks. It’s quite a monument to the glories of Spanish past, evoking this sense of wonder at how people could actually live and function here, and what it must have taken to build such a thing 300 years ago.

We finished the day with a delicious cheap kebab and went to sleep early.

Our second day in Madrid started off right, waking slightly earlier, and going for a jog along the Manzanares River. A light breakfast back at the apartment of Yogurt and Granola, and we were ready for the day.

But to be honest, we really didn’t know what to do with it. Our last day in Madrid, in a city that seems to never sleep, in a cultural capital of Europe, with hundreds, if not thousands, of sights to see and things to do, we were at a loss. Another church? Another famous plaza? Something old? Something new? Some tapas?

Later, our work away host explained that Madrid is the type of place that you need to get to know before it opens up to you. Its not like Barcelona–it doesn’t cater to tourists. Its a place of business, a city of movers and shakers, entrepreneurs rolling the dice with new ideas and businesses, students learning finance and the ways to negotiate the EU.

And here we were, a couple of fairly-naive travelers, over two weeks into our trip, wondering what to do…

We took another stroll around the Gran Via, buying a few supplies for our coming extended stay in the rural South of Spain. We circled back around to the river on the edge of the large park, reflecting on Spain so far, speculating on things ahead, talking about marriage and our future, enjoying the sun as it warmed the buzzing city streets, then settling into a cozy cafe for empanadas and writing.

As evening fell, we took the metro across the city to the Atocha station to see about train tickets to Almería the following day. The price was more than we bargained for and further cemented our commitment to Bla Bla car. Then we walked towards the Belles de las Artes and got in line at the Prado museum. From 6 – 8 every evening, they offer free admission to the world famous art museum. The line was long but went quickly and after a brief check in through security we wandered through the maze of galleries and platas.

The Prado has one of Europe’s most extensive Renaissance-era painting collections. Yet even with some art history knowledge, we were mostly unimpressed. The dark, solemn faces of ancient royals, the morbid, haunting images of Jesus’ persecution. While we could acknowledge the historical significance, it mostly wasn’t for us. The exception was El Bosco.

Hieronymous Bosch is a turn-of-the-16th century Dutch painter. His work is religiously-inspired, highly-symbolic, and one of the first examples of what you could call surrealism. His most-famous work, and in my opinion, the crown jewel of the Prado, is The Garden of Earthly Delights. Completed in 1505, it is a tri-fold canvas with the left wing portraying Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden. The main centerpiece the twisted, decadent mess that humanity has made of its agency on earth, and the right piece the aftermath of such choices culminating in a tortuous hell on earth. It was considered heretical in its time and there’s no mistaking why. Entire books have been written on the huge mess of images that range from sexual deviance to torture to animal-human hybrids. It is a masterpiece and a haunting depiction of what you could still interpret as our misdirection as a species.

Goya, a famous Spanish painter, has some interesting works from the end of his career, when he was going mad, most likely burnt out on serving the royal class for so long, but no other works hold a candle to the flaming genius of El Bosco.

We took a quick buzz around the rest of the Prado, feeling fancy and uncultured at the same time before heading back towards the city center to meet Julia and her friend for dinner. We found a quaint, delicious, inexpensive Italian place. Then we parted ways and headed to Cafe Berlin to get a taste of the International Jazz Festival taking place all November long.

A small cover, a quick coat check and some cheap wine and we were transported to what felt like the heart of Spanish culture–salsa dancing. A crowd of all ages and colors, all sizes and styles, feet tapping, arms swirling in an elegant, sensual ritual that seemed to offer some insight into what we loved about Spain.

The band came on at quarter til midnight: Cubano Carmelo y Los Chocolatinos. A nine piece Flamenco jazz band. Horns flourishing. Drums driving. Bass slow and low. Guitar guitar ring. And the lead man stirring up the crowd. Singing about chocolate and other things delightful. We were on our feet despite Clara’s sprained ankle and my awkward whiteness, doing our best to imitate those around us, spinning and laughing, and soaking up the sights and sounds of everybody let loose, loving life, and living note to note.

The hours rolled by and it was very late before we could pull ourselves away to head to Julia’s and pack up our things to catch an early ride South.