Yes my Madrid sojourn began with a bit of a disaster but considering that during my only other overseas holiday I almost got killed by a coconut and arrived home with a golden staf infection, a sprained ankle doesn’t seem too bad. And given I was staying with friends who nursed me with cups of tea and an ice pack, if it was going to happen, this was the perfect place. And the perfect timing – just after I arrived. And I’m sorry to disappoint those hanging out for a cool story about how I was engaged in some kind of adventure sports. In my own true style I sprained my ankle walking through a door. In my defence there was a raised door jam I should have stepped over and the whole exercise was complicated by the fact there was also quite a step down. I did, though, manage not to break the funky glassware I was holding at the time. So there I was, moments after arriving at the home of my friends Scott and Edward, tripping over the door to their penthouse terrace, laughing my head off. Why was I laughing? Because I had managed to carry my great heavy pack around the icy streets of four countries covered in snow (not to mention Lapland) and I tripped over a door.
I decided not to let it stop me – but by the afternoon of our first day out on the town, Scott noticed I was limping so we spent the afternoon and evening chilling out in the apartment. This rest was exactly what I needed, for the ankle and for me. And it didn’t stop me from seeing some of Madrid – we did mostly art and food. I just did the sightseeing at a more relaxed pace. [‘Dust Me Selecta’ – Gerling – now I used to like Gerling a whole lot when they were basically a punk band with backpacks. I really like their electronic stuff too – like this track]
The first evening we visited a Spanish supermarket. Like the Italians, the Spanish have large aisles of olive oil. They also have heaps of beans and legumes – a staple part of the Spanish diet. And they make great chips – the snacky kind, not the hot kind, which they make fresh, fried in olive oil and serve to you. They also have tortillas – the potato kind not the Mexican flour thingys – which we picked up for the next day’s breakfast. That evening I had a home cooked Spanish inspired chicken dish with awesome black olives. You know how Spanish olives you get in Australia mostly have no taste – these had taste. Because they were black it was a subtler flavour but they had flavour. After that we settled back, had a chat and watched some telly.
On the morning of day two, despite quite considerable pain in my ankle, I was determined to get out and see the city. As with most of the places I have visited so far, I scored an appropriate dose of Spanish weather. Sunny and warm – about 17 – 20 degrees – warm enough for me to wear a skirt and T-shirt (and my snow boots mostly to stabilize my ankle. We took a walk and Scott pointed out some of the buildings they had considered, the local character of the areas we walked through and some little tidbits of Spanish history and culture. Madrid, like Barcelona has a lot of wrought iron balconies and wider streets than the other European cities I had visited. Yet, there is the same structure with apartment buildings that are four or five stories high, central squares and plazas and statues and monuments everywhere. Except that in Spain, and Madrid in particular, the monuments are more likely to be fountains than in other places.
There is the same emotive reaction in the Spanish as you see in Italians but they are much more likely to be helpful and friendly. There is a slightly chaotic feeling as well, but unlike in Italy it is ordered chaos. The metro system is an example of this. There are loads of different metro lines crisscrossing the city and often each other. For someone from elsewhere the web seems extremely confusing and it is easy to get on the wrong line going in the wrong direction. But the metro trains and stations are incredibly clean (in comparison to Italy) and this chaotic web means there is a metro station really close to wherever you need to go.[‘Here in your bedroom’ – Goldfinger – almost as good a track about a one night stand as the famous Hunters and Collectors number that Paul McDermott like so much]
Our first stop on our meander through Madrid was the Rietro – a huge park (hectares) in the middle of the city that used to be an aristocratic hunting ground. This is the second of these parks I have seen and they couldn’t be more different. While the Berlin Park had some structured trails, it was largely still a wilderness area (probably accentuated by the fact the whole park was buried under quite a bit of snow. The Rietro was much more structured with carefully manicured topiary trees everywhere (so manicured it invoked memories of Edward Scissorhands for me), a boating lake, statues and gardens and loads of people everywhere. It was like what Commonwealth Park might have been if somebody planned it better and put it close to where people actually lived.
From there we passed by the Prado, Madrid’s famous art museum but we decided to choose some more modern collections to see. First there was a Rodin exhibition outside a smaller gallery – we took a look and ventured inside. Apart from a very funky staircase and a gift shop that I’m sure Scott could spend a whole day in, there was an exhibition from a Stucco artists and another hit and miss exhibition from a cultural collective which chooses the artists to show based on their work’s relationship/reaction to society. I had at first surmised that it was a student exhibition – it had that kind of reactionary, angry and discordant flavour about it.
After this is was time to head to one of Madrid’s other famous galleries – The Renie Sofia, which contained works by more of the Spanish artists who interested me – Picasso, Dali etc. I’ve never toured a gallery with Scott but always thought it would be fun. It was. And what better place to find this out. There were times of admiration from the artists but also irreverence. You don’t have to genuflect in front of a piece just because an artist created it and a gallery exhibited it. In art, as in all things, what appeals and what you think is ridiculous is a matter of personal taste. The work of artists like Picasso was the popular culture of their time. Mozart’s tunes were once pop songs. [ ‘No Worries’ – Hepcat – I discovered Hepcat, a traditional first wave style ska band at Warped Tour in Ulladulla, Festivals are good for that. I remember that their rhythm section actually reverberated through the ground.]
After the gallery tour, it became obvious (probably from my increased limping) that I needed to take a rest. We decided lunch (the Spanish lunch starts at 2pm) was in order and stopped at a Spanish sidewalk restaurant for lunch. We had these fantastic little fried peppers – they had a similar flavour to a capsicum but were the size of a chilli, chicken croquets, marinated roasted chicken and potatas bravos (which I probably haven’t spelt correctly but mean brave potato). I never really thought of how integral the potato had become to the Spanish – you always think of Ireland when you think of the potato even though it is actually indigenous to South America.
After lunch, it was clear the walking had actually been quite a bad idea for my ankle so we went home. It had actually swollen up quite a bit so my host turned into my nurse and we put it up with an ice pack and I sat on the couch sipping beautifully made tea watching Voyager, which was like old times with Scott (even the ankle as I have always been, and will probably always be, a complete klutz). We also watched several episodes of this awesome UK comedy Peep Show. If you get a chance, check it out – you’ll cringe but it’s totally worth it.
After a comfort meal of sausage pasta, lots of tea and sympathy and a good rest my ankle felt ready to tackle Madrid’s streets once again. Edward joined us for the second day of Madrid induction. First off were two practical housekeeping tasks – money and another postal attempt. I achieved one objective. Like everywhere else, the banks in Madrid don’t seem to actually like dealing with people and giving them cash. So that was a wash out. I thought I’d leave it for Heathrow where a) people spoke English and b) there are so many people passing through that they would have to offer those services.
Next stop – the post office. Despite the fact that the post office assistant didn’t speak English, like the German guy he was very helpful. This time, however, I was armed with Spanish speakers and on the second try we managed to get a box the right size (the first box would have fit my entire rucksack – when you say big to a Spaniard they take it seriously), fill out the Customs declaration, fill the box with stuff, address it and post it. And the helpful postie did it as economically as possible for us. I think he may have thrown the box in for free in the end. Consequently those who asked for souvenirs pre-Madrid may have to wait a little longer – I took the two weeks to a month option, which cut the cost by half. Then there was all the paperwork (and the stamps). Apparently stamps are pretty big with all things official in Spain. [‘Pounding’ – Doves – the band who I have as the message tone on my phone – not this song though]
After the chores were done with, we took a stroll through the centre of town to look at the second hand silver dealers which produced loads of animal themed silver statues – prawns and other assorted seafood were the standouts – but not the knock-my-socks-off jewellery piece I had been looking for. We also found some other funky shops, like the one with the bottle green felt top hat.
After all that window shopping, it was time for lunch – we ate a little earlier than the Spanish lunch hour in order to secure a table at a great little homey restaurant, one of the hidden gems I never would have discovered without my hosts. This time we ordered a three course meal – bits of stuff – not quite tapas but close – for entrée, including a shared bean soup. The fabulous thing about the Spanish is that they believe in enjoying your food – it’s not about presentation or using the correct fork. Food is shared from the plate – there is no such thing as individual plates – that just takes up space on the table. Even the bread just goes straight on the table or at most a paper serviette. The Spanish are pretty stylish so you might want to make sure you’ve wiped your chin and not spilt anything on your clothes but other than that, anything goes. The second course was the most deliciously tender roast chicken and dessert the famous St James or almond cake. I am told when whole it always has a cross on it (in sprinkled icing sugar). This gastronomic delight was washed down with wine topped up with a local, slightly sweet, sparkling mineral water – very refreshing. After lunch it was time to do what the Spanish do and head home for a siesta.
We hit town for dinner about 8pm, much earlier than the Spanish would eat guaranteeing a) that we would get a table and b) that I would be in bed relatively early. Our first stop was a little Cuban bar around the corner from the restaurant, which reportedly did some wicked caparinhas and mohitos although this evening we stuck to a quick pre-dinner beer.
We ate at a really good restaurant the boys had discovered that served great food from the Galacian region in north-western Spain. It was so popular that if you don’t get there really early, you had to queue. In keeping with the egalitarian nature of the Spanish, the place doesn’t take reservations. It had a really rustic and informal feel, which somehow fitted comfortably with the style of Madrid. While Madrid is a cultured place with a high sense of style, it is a relaxed rather than prissy style and this place fitted that mantra well. As it was renowned for seafood, we made sure our order contained quite a bit of it. We had the fried peppers again, mushrooms and bacon, cod croquettes, calamari and mussels in this great tomato sauce and we washed it down with wine (served in bowls like saki – also a Galacian tradition). We again followed the meal with St James cake. Afterwards we headed to a little tapas bar with all kinds of odd decorations for a final beer. My favourite part was the whole leg of ham (including its black trotter) was attached to the bar for easy slicing. Apparently the colour of the marking on the trotter indicates the type of ham. There were sever4al other hams and assorted cold meats hanging on the wall behind the bar. What was also interesting in such a chaotic bar – in Spain you pay for your drinks when you leave. It’s an interesting idea but not one I think would work particularly well in Australia, where you have enough trouble stopping people from souveniring glasses from the pub. [‘Violet’ – Hole – from the album Live Through This, one of the packages of songs that works phenomenally well as an album, played from beginning to end. This song reminds me of winters in Canberra (and it’s another one of my ringtones]
That’s where my Madrid tour ended, a markedly different traveling experience to the others. It was a lot more relaxed – I had stayed in Madrid for three nights, the longest stop so far and I didn’t need to know how to get anywhere. If you gave me a map of Madrid and the metro, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how to get anywhere. I also hadn’t planned any type of itinerary in Madrid and decided to see it through the eyes of my friends. It was also one of the few places (other than Venice) that I have been out at night. And I got to rest and just chill out for a while to recuperate for the rest of my trip.
Yes my Madrid sojourn began with a bit of a disaster but considering that during my only other overseas holiday I almost got killed by a coconut and arrived home with a golden staf infection, a sprained ankle doesn’t seem too bad. And given I was staying with friends who nursed me with cups of tea and an ice pack, if it was going to happen, this was the perfect place. And the perfect timing – just after I arrived. And I’m sorry to disappoint those hanging out for a cool story about how I was engaged in some kind of adventure sports. In my own true style I sprained my ankle walking through a door. In my defence there was a raised door jam I should have stepped over and the whole exercise was complicated by the fact there was also quite a step down. I did, though, manage not to break the funky glassware I was holding at the time. So there I was, moments after arriving at the home of my friends Scott and Edward, tripping over the door to their penthouse terrace, laughing my head off. Why was I laughing? Because I had managed to carry my great heavy pack around the icy streets of four countries covered in snow (not to mention Lapland) and I tripped over a door.
I decided not to let it stop me – but by the afternoon of our first day out on the town, Scott noticed I was limping so we spent the afternoon and evening chilling out in the apartment. This rest was exactly what I needed, for the ankle and for me. And it didn’t stop me from seeing some of Madrid – we did mostly art and food. I just did the sightseeing at a more relaxed pace. [‘Dust Me Selecta’ – Gerling – now I used to like Gerling a whole lot when they were basically a punk band with backpacks. I really like their electronic stuff too – like this track]
The first evening we visited a Spanish supermarket. Like the Italians, the Spanish have large aisles of olive oil. They also have heaps of beans and legumes – a staple part of the Spanish diet. And they make great chips – the snacky kind, not the hot kind, which they make fresh, fried in olive oil and serve to you. They also have tortillas – the potato kind not the Mexican flour thingys – which we picked up for the next day’s breakfast. That evening I had a home cooked Spanish inspired chicken dish with awesome black olives. You know how Spanish olives you get in Australia mostly have no taste – these had taste. Because they were black it was a subtler flavour but they had flavour. After that we settled back, had a chat and watched some telly.
On the morning of day two, despite quite considerable pain in my ankle, I was determined to get out and see the city. As with most of the places I have visited so far, I scored an appropriate dose of Spanish weather. Sunny and warm – about 17 – 20 degrees – warm enough for me to wear a skirt and T-shirt (and my snow boots mostly to stabilize my ankle. We took a walk and Scott pointed out some of the buildings they had considered, the local character of the areas we walked through and some little tidbits of Spanish history and culture. Madrid, like Barcelona has a lot of wrought iron balconies and wider streets than the other European cities I had visited. Yet, there is the same structure with apartment buildings that are four or five stories high, central squares and plazas and statues and monuments everywhere. Except that in Spain, and Madrid in particular, the monuments are more likely to be fountains than in other places.
There is the same emotive reaction in the Spanish as you see in Italians but they are much more likely to be helpful and friendly. There is a slightly chaotic feeling as well, but unlike in Italy it is ordered chaos. The metro system is an example of this. There are loads of different metro lines crisscrossing the city and often each other. For someone from elsewhere the web seems extremely confusing and it is easy to get on the wrong line going in the wrong direction. But the metro trains and stations are incredibly clean (in comparison to Italy) and this chaotic web means there is a metro station really close to wherever you need to go.[‘Here in your bedroom’ – Goldfinger – almost as good a track about a one night stand as the famous Hunters and Collectors number that Paul McDermott like so much]
Our first stop on our meander through Madrid was the Rietro – a huge park (hectares) in the middle of the city that used to be an aristocratic hunting ground. This is the second of these parks I have seen and they couldn’t be more different. While the Berlin Park had some structured trails, it was largely still a wilderness area (probably accentuated by the fact the whole park was buried under quite a bit of snow. The Rietro was much more structured with carefully manicured topiary trees everywhere (so manicured it invoked memories of Edward Scissorhands for me), a boating lake, statues and gardens and loads of people everywhere. It was like what Commonwealth Park might have been if somebody planned it better and put it close to where people actually lived.
From there we passed by the Prado, Madrid’s famous art museum but we decided to choose some more modern collections to see. First there was a Rodin exhibition outside a smaller gallery – we took a look and ventured inside. Apart from a very funky staircase and a gift shop that I’m sure Scott could spend a whole day in, there was an exhibition from a Stucco artists and another hit and miss exhibition from a cultural collective which chooses the artists to show based on their work’s relationship/reaction to society. I had at first surmised that it was a student exhibition – it had that kind of reactionary, angry and discordant flavour about it.
After this is was time to head to one of Madrid’s other famous galleries – The Renie Sofia, which contained works by more of the Spanish artists who interested me – Picasso, Dali etc. I’ve never toured a gallery with Scott but always thought it would be fun. It was. And what better place to find this out. There were times of admiration from the artists but also irreverence. You don’t have to genuflect in front of a piece just because an artist created it and a gallery exhibited it. In art, as in all things, what appeals and what you think is ridiculous is a matter of personal taste. The work of artists like Picasso was the popular culture of their time. Mozart’s tunes were once pop songs. [ ‘No Worries’ – Hepcat – I discovered Hepcat, a traditional first wave style ska band at Warped Tour in Ulladulla, Festivals are good for that. I remember that their rhythm section actually reverberated through the ground.]
After the gallery tour, it became obvious (probably from my increased limping) that I needed to take a rest. We decided lunch (the Spanish lunch starts at 2pm) was in order and stopped at a Spanish sidewalk restaurant for lunch. We had these fantastic little fried peppers – they had a similar flavour to a capsicum but were the size of a chilli, chicken croquets, marinated roasted chicken and potatas bravos (which I probably haven’t spelt correctly but mean brave potato). I never really thought of how integral the potato had become to the Spanish – you always think of Ireland when you think of the potato even though it is actually indigenous to South America.
After lunch, it was clear the walking had actually been quite a bad idea for my ankle so we went home. It had actually swollen up quite a bit so my host turned into my nurse and we put it up with an ice pack and I sat on the couch sipping beautifully made tea watching Voyager, which was like old times with Scott (even the ankle as I have always been, and will probably always be, a complete klutz). We also watched several episodes of this awesome UK comedy Peep Show. If you get a chance, check it out – you’ll cringe but it’s totally worth it.
After a comfort meal of sausage pasta, lots of tea and sympathy and a good rest my ankle felt ready to tackle Madrid’s streets once again. Edward joined us for the second day of Madrid induction. First off were two practical housekeeping tasks – money and another postal attempt. I achieved one objective. Like everywhere else, the banks in Madrid don’t seem to actually like dealing with people and giving them cash. So that was a wash out. I thought I’d leave it for Heathrow where a) people spoke English and b) there are so many people passing through that they would have to offer those services.
Next stop – the post office. Despite the fact that the post office assistant didn’t speak English, like the German guy he was very helpful. This time, however, I was armed with Spanish speakers and on the second try we managed to get a box the right size (the first box would have fit my entire rucksack – when you say big to a Spaniard they take it seriously), fill out the Customs declaration, fill the box with stuff, address it and post it. And the helpful postie did it as economically as possible for us. I think he may have thrown the box in for free in the end. Consequently those who asked for souvenirs pre-Madrid may have to wait a little longer – I took the two weeks to a month option, which cut the cost by half. Then there was all the paperwork (and the stamps). Apparently stamps are pretty big with all things official in Spain. [‘Pounding’ – Doves – the band who I have as the message tone on my phone – not this song though]
After the chores were done with, we took a stroll through the centre of town to look at the second hand silver dealers which produced loads of animal themed silver statues – prawns and other assorted seafood were the standouts – but not the knock-my-socks-off jewellery piece I had been looking for. We also found some other funky shops, like the one with the bottle green felt top hat.
After all that window shopping, it was time for lunch – we ate a little earlier than the Spanish lunch hour in order to secure a table at a great little homey restaurant, one of the hidden gems I never would have discovered without my hosts. This time we ordered a three course meal – bits of stuff – not quite tapas but close – for entrée, including a shared bean soup. The fabulous thing about the Spanish is that they believe in enjoying your food – it’s not about presentation or using the correct fork. Food is shared from the plate – there is no such thing as individual plates – that just takes up space on the table. Even the bread just goes straight on the table or at most a paper serviette. The Spanish are pretty stylish so you might want to make sure you’ve wiped your chin and not spilt anything on your clothes but other than that, anything goes. The second course was the most deliciously tender roast chicken and dessert the famous St James or almond cake. I am told when whole it always has a cross on it (in sprinkled icing sugar). This gastronomic delight was washed down with wine topped up with a local, slightly sweet, sparkling mineral water – very refreshing. After lunch it was time to do what the Spanish do and head home for a siesta.
We hit town for dinner about 8pm, much earlier than the Spanish would eat guaranteeing a) that we would get a table and b) that I would be in bed relatively early. Our first stop was a little Cuban bar around the corner from the restaurant, which reportedly did some wicked caparinhas and mohitos although this evening we stuck to a quick pre-dinner beer.
We ate at a really good restaurant the boys had discovered that served great food from the Galacian region in north-western Spain. It was so popular that if you don’t get there really early, you had to queue. In keeping with the egalitarian nature of the Spanish, the place doesn’t take reservations. It had a really rustic and informal feel, which somehow fitted comfortably with the style of Madrid. While Madrid is a cultured place with a high sense of style, it is a relaxed rather than prissy style and this place fitted that mantra well. As it was renowned for seafood, we made sure our order contained quite a bit of it. We had the fried peppers again, mushrooms and bacon, cod croquettes, calamari and mussels in this great tomato sauce and we washed it down with wine (served in bowls like saki – also a Galacian tradition). We again followed the meal with St James cake. Afterwards we headed to a little tapas bar with all kinds of odd decorations for a final beer. My favourite part was the whole leg of ham (including its black trotter) was attached to the bar for easy slicing. Apparently the colour of the marking on the trotter indicates the type of ham. There were sever4al other hams and assorted cold meats hanging on the wall behind the bar. What was also interesting in such a chaotic bar – in Spain you pay for your drinks when you leave. It’s an interesting idea but not one I think would work particularly well in Australia, where you have enough trouble stopping people from souveniring glasses from the pub. [‘Violet’ – Hole – from the album Live Through This, one of the packages of songs that works phenomenally well as an album, played from beginning to end. This song reminds me of winters in Canberra (and it’s another one of my ringtones]
That’s where my Madrid tour ended, a markedly different traveling experience to the others. It was a lot more relaxed – I had stayed in Madrid for three nights, the longest stop so far and I didn’t need to know how to get anywhere. If you gave me a map of Madrid and the metro, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how to get anywhere. I also hadn’t planned any type of itinerary in Madrid and decided to see it through the eyes of my friends. It was also one of the few places (other than Venice) that I have been out at night. And I got to rest and just chill out for a while to recuperate for the rest of my trip.
