Madrid, Oh Madrid!

Madrid, Oh Madrid!

Intercom Voice: Vuelo 215 Virgin, con destino Frankfurt. Por favor, acerquense a la puerta 75.
Virgin flight 215, with destination of Frankfurt. Please, approach gate 75.

It was Spanish in color: a light brown. It was European in shape: modern curvatures and detail done in a refined and cutting-edge manner. The signage was definitely not from the U.S.: "W.H." and "Aseos" gave explicit instruction to those less accustomed to "Restroom" guidance.

Barajas Airport had been renovated since the last time I had visited. Before, it was the destination of my first trip abroad, my home country for two long months of my life; now, I would only be staying a short two weeks, with constant movement being the call of the day.

The feel of the Madrid airport was good as my mom and I considered the possibilities of our first day in the capital. So, off we went to the metro to coordinate our desired destination: the Plaza de Espana and Gran Via, a popular staging ground for a large number of tourists to Madrid.

Wide streets, high buildings, and interesting interiors were the specs that inspired most visitors to the Gran Via area. The long street was split, in fact, between buildings that survived the Spanish Civil War bombing assaults, and those that were salvaged. As we walked down the long blocks of the Great Street/Lane, this highlight became evident. Inside of the old buildings, old elevators marked as the centerpiece of buildings, which to any non-East Coast U.S. visitor, the vertical motion machines were a delight to see and ride.

Many of the buildings had at least been partially renovated in order to house businesses ranging from hostels and hotels, to restaurants, to law offices, and more. The hostel that we randomly chose ended up being a steal in every way. The proprietors of Hostel Santillan were the daughter, grandson and granddaughter-in-law of the original owners. The hostel had been in the family since the 1950's, after the owner, who was Spanish but lived for an extended time in Venezuela, had desired to offer a service to an increasing number of visitors/tourists to the central neighborhoods of the capital. As homage to his grandfather, Aitor, the grandson, was visibly proud of being a part of this continued service to modern sojourners. So much so, that he gave us an inspired history of the business, the building, the neighborhood, and key points of interest that we should checkout.

As an interesting point, 11 years earlier, I had stayed in a hostel a half block up Gran Via from this hostel. Originally, I thought that we were in the same building, but, later the next day, found that my 2001 hostel was just up the road. At $55 Euros a night, with a newly renovated room with all the amenities and new bathroom, it was a hard price to beat.

The comfortable and clean room offered my mom and I a perfect site of respite, after a long almost 20 hours of travel. We rested well, and when we arose, the two of us were ready to hit the town. There's nothing like the feeling of waking up in a big city on a Friday night. We strode down the wide sidewalks of the heart of Madrid while checking out all that Madrid had to offer. Endless signs of Jamon, Queso, Tortilla Espanola, Calamar, Tapas, etc. passed our view as did the traditional colors worn by the Madrilenos on the street. As my mom fittingly commented, "All of them wear black to match their black hair." Another later comment was spot-on as well: "All the girls are so beautful." I had an easy time acknowledging these two factual observations and found it difficult during the rest of our stay in Madrid not to enter obsession zone in regards to the ladies.

We parked ourselves at a table inside of a well-lite and well-attended to joint just across from the Santillan. As we got settled, we immediately acquainted ourselves to our surroundings. A few observations will shed light on what one must come to expect while inside of any Spanish eatery: numerous cured pigs' legs hanging from  the wall behind the bar; display cases with a wide array of tapas; waiters (not waitresses) in short-sleeved button-up shirts with black bow-ties and black slacks; large menu signs depicting what's held within the menu in your hand; Spanish beer (mostly on tap); an array of Spanish wine; and omnipresent couples chatting in a semi-private and refined manner.

The mesero worked his way around to our table. I ordered a San Miguel; my mom decided on a local red wine. As far as food goes, in addition to the complimentary selection of cured chorizo, we chose fried calamari, tortilla espanola, and tomato bread. This meal was a perfect introduction to Spanish cuisine; especially Madrilena cuisine. Well-fed and well-hydrated, my mom and I took a nice walk along the same streets as we happily and curiously people-watched. More black hair and clothes framed dark-complected beauty with almost painter-like perfection. Could I have stayed in this city forever? I immediately considered it.

Song:
Hoy en mi ventana brilla el sol. Mi corazon, se pone triste contemplando la ciudad, porque te vas. 

This song, by the Spaniard Javier Alvarez, plays through my mind as I wake to the morning of day 2 in Madrid. It speaks of sun shining through the window while I my heavy (sad) heart contemplates the city (of Madrid) because you (the lover) left. I was anything but sad. And or hostel room at the Santillan had everything but windows with bright sun shining through. We did have ventilation in the form of a window which opened up to a patio spanning the height of the building. Given this latter aspect, our morning started at 11 a.m. rather than the desired 7 a.m.; the time of sunrise.

Plan for the Day: Tour the area of Plaza de Espana, the main Cathedral, the Royal Palace, and the neighborhoods in and around the Plaza Mayor.

This day was spent almost like retracing footsteps made during my first trip made to Madrid. Actually, I had no chance but to reminisce about that trip...

 I was fresh off the boat. Never had I imagined being able to explore and live out the curiosities that I had always let run wild in my imagination. It was through travel, and through travel in Madrid, Spain, to be exact, where I would be able to wander streets, watch and talk to people that caught my interest, try food and customs that were foreign to me, and experience the colors, sights, sounds, and smells of cultures that comprise parts of the whole of humanity. It was in Madrid that the dormant curiosity for the world and for adventure was finally awakened, albeit uncomfortable and awkward.

How could I express such expansive feelings for life, people, and their creations? Where else can one find separation and space to explore the possibilities of one's own life? There was a whole world waiting for me; the call had been made.

All of these feelings rushed upon me as my mom and I strode along the perimeter of Plaza de Espana. We came to the road that led to Principe Pio hotel; it was from there that I remembered the roofless bus tour we made 11 years ago that took us through the circuit of sights throughout the center of the city. Also, I had the opportunity to meet new friends from the 40-something abroad group with whom I'd be spending time with on the two-month stay. Among them was a 21 year old kid named Peter, the grandson of former Chilean President, and human rights abuser, Augustin Pinochet.

We veered to the left toward what felt like the Royal Palace. Sure enough, as we stretched our way up the slightly uphill, I caught sight of the outer wall of the Palacio. It was there, during my first visit, that I remember buying a rose and gifting it to a pretty girl. Peter was also there; I guess I didn't know, at that time, the atrocities absurdly committed by my friend's grandfather, the fierce Chilean dictator. But, then again, can we really punish the descendants of a criminal. Oh yeah, gotta mention it, the U.S.-backed dictator of Chile that led to hundreds of thousands of deaths, disappearances, and ruined lives. I don't hold it against you, Peter...

What a beautiful, warm, and bright day it was on my return to the courtyard in front of the Royal Palace. Tourists mixed with a healthy helping of locals rambled along the ubiquitous walkways.