Sunday, April 30, 2006
Report from Madrid
Madrid on the 24th of April becomes my first stop on a six-week, six-destination trip to Spain, changing cities every Monday. Thanks to sleeping almost not at all on the overnight flight from Mexico City, I am able to take the No Jet Lag pills (a homeopathic remedy sold on the Magellan´s site) every two hours, I avoid jet lag totally but of course arrive enormously tired. And frustrated--my first day I am almost ready to turn around and go home: I wait 45 minutes for my suitcase to show up, the minibus to el centro isn´t operating, and my very nice taxista swindles me out of 40€. I have to wait a long time for my hotel room to be ready, and then this 60€ room turns out to be tiny, the foot of the bed at most a foot from the wall, the baño almost as big as the bedroom. The vegetarian restaurant off the Plaza Mayor where I planned to eat is closed for renovation, and buying a cheese sandwich and a lemonade costs me 9€. But worst of all, trying five ATMs fails to get me any much-needed cash--two at the airport and one in town not working, one telling me my card was invalid, another that I had already withdrawn my day´s maximum, neither of which make sense.
The second day starts out on a more encouraging note--the breakfast included with the cost of the room includes tea bags of green tea, sparing some from the supply I had brought. I swipe two whole-wheat rolls for my cena, which I certainly can't afford to eat out. My morning foray to the ATMs nets me 210€ at one (it refuses to give me 500 or let me withdraw another 210) and 150 at another, a huge relief. (But I change my plan to pay for everything in cash to avoid the currency-exchange fee; with these hassles, I am going to charge whatever I can.) The 10 a.m. walking tour from the tourist office in the Plaza Mayor (I have been together enough to pick up the list my first day) on Medieval Madrid is fun, all about the Muslim wall, the Christian wall, and 14th-century towers, but mostly it gives me a chance to walk around Madrid without being concerned about where I am. I would have liked to ask how much those apartments rented for, but of course I don´t dare.
I am getting to like a city that strangely reminds me of New York, despite the different architecture, the lack of a grid, and the almost-total homogeneity of the people, but the sophistication and the trophy dogs are the same. I am going through reverse culture shock, not having been to the US for three years, once again drinking tap water, flushing toilet paper, showering in a bathtub, having a radiator in my room, being indistinguishable from the natives (the tour guide at the outset had said, "Todos españoles, bueno"). I especially take to the almost aggressive relaxation of the Plaza Mayor, that enormous 17th-century square enclosed uniformly by what in Latin America we would call colonial buildings, four stories high, punctuated by enormous arches leading to streets going every which way and half filled with the round tables and umbrellas of the cafés.
Our tour ends at the Mercado San Miguel, the city's oldest in an elegant iron building, where I buy two tomatoes and a small bunch of grapes--all expensive--can´t get cheese but run into a supermarket across the street and buy some. I have two small whole-wheat rolls from breakfast, I brought a small plastic bottle of olive oil, and I will make sandwiches for cena in my room, grapes for dessert with chocolates I have brought.
Day three I do the obligatory El Prado, that is, the El Grecos, the Velásquezes, and the Goyas. I listen to other people´s guides, as I certainly can't afford the 40€ the guide who approaches me is charging. After a couple of hours (I arrive a little after the 9 a.m. opening) the size of the crowd becomes oppressive and I leave. I think of going to the Museo Reina Sofía to see Picasso´s "Guernica," but I find myself at the Royal Botanic Garden and then find myself with a group being given a guided tour. I'm impressed that the garden is 250 years old and that traditional roses have only a few petals and a very flat appearance, but I wish the cute little fountains, no longer used for watering, were functioning.
Eating my middle meal has become a problem: My first day I settle for a cheese sandwich, my second day find myself at a place near the Puerta del Sol that sells vegetarian Middle Eastern fast food (everyone under 30 except me and a middle-aged woman covering her head with a scarf). My third day I am alarmed that I am losing weight, my pants are practically falling down, I must have a real meal. I don't have the patience to find the little side streets where Lonely Planet or Happy Cow says there is a veggie restairant, which may be out of business or closed for renovation, so I go the Plaza Mayor--by now I am addicted to the Plaza Mayor--vaguely remembering a place that advertized various kinds of paella, including a veggie version, but I find myself scanning the offerings of a so-called menú, a set three-course meal, and decided that this trip I will eat fish, which I stopped eating a while ago. The thick rice-and-lentil soup is heavenly until I find a piece of meat in it, but I shrug and eat around it; the fish is bearable, and the raspberry mouse is delightful. My fourth day I eat another menú with fish, starting with menestra, an interesting vegetable dish including artichokes. The fifth day I eat the veggie paella, which apparently is mass produced, as it's advertised on a poster with many varieties and a brand name; it's very greasy, the artichoke hearts are very hard, the proportion of veggies to rice is off. My sixth day the veggie restaurant that I discovered being renovated my first day is finally open, and the food is exquisite, so I go back my final day.
From Thursday through Sunday I do the tourist office's walking tours, at 10 except on Friday at 5, when the subject is old businesses and taverns. On Thursday it's Madrid and the Hapsburgs (making Madrid the capital in the 16th century a ploy to counter the power of the Church, based in Toledo, but on the other hand, the cathedral--requiring a bishop--didn't start construction until the 19th century); on Friday taverns (really one) and traditional businesses (at the world's oldest continually operating restaurant, certified in the Guiness Book of Records, the specialty is suckling pig, the piglets fed only on milk and killed when they're 24 days old, served with the head); on Saturday, traveling by bus, it's modern Madrid, residential areas built on a grid, an area of high-rise office buildings billed the Manhattan of Madrid (an exaggeration); and Sunday (the order is off) Madrid of the Bourbons (Alfonso XIII needed hotel accommodations for his wedding guests, so he arranged for two luxury hotels to be built across from each other).
The Friday tour not starting until 5, I go to the Reina Sofía Museum, of modern art, where I marvel at the impact of the "Guernica" and decide that I really like the sculpture of Miró. Coming back to downtown by a city bus after Saturday´s tour, I discover a chocolatería that serves a hot chocolate the equal of that sold in the Museo de Chocolate in Havana.
On Sunday when the tour ends, after making a pit stop at my hotel I head south looking for El Rastro, a long-established flea market, described as selling junk and antiques, that takes place every Sunday. It must have expanded since my guidebook's writer was here, for I quickly run into what looks like a New York street fair, except for the ubiquitous fans--clothes and bedspreads from India, T-shirts with stupid slogans (NYPD = Nervous Young People Design), crafty jewelry. The crush becomes too much before I find the antiques so I head back to the Plaza Mayor.
Admission politics: At El Prado I ask for the old-age discount my guidebooks says is available and show my INSEN card, only to be told the discount is only available for citizens of the European Union, so I pay 6€; at the Royal Botanical Gardens I just give my age and get in free; at the Royal Palace I just give my age but they ask my nacionality, so I have to pay 8€; at the Reina Sofía Museum I give my age and they ask for an identity card but don't charge me when they see it's Mexican; for the walking tours I just say I'm retired (they bill their discount as being for retired people) and get the discount.
Assorted impressions: The obesity problem hasn't arrived here, Madrileños are almost uniformly thin despite the big desserts their restaurants provide in their menús. Before I left people warned me either that I would have trouble understanding the Spanish or that the Spanish would have trouble understanding me. As it happens, we all understand one another quite well, the Spanish just say "Vale" where the Mexicans would say "Sale," and more so, and in fact for Sunday's tour (after Tuesday I have had the choice of an English- or Spanish-speaking guide and have chosen English) I prefer a Spanish-speaking guide because the ones speaking English have to struggle and come up with weird translations, such as "party day" for "día feriado" instead of "holiday."
On the side streets there is no curb, the only thing separating the sidewalk from the street being a row of posts or sometimes trees, and walking in the street is quite common. For crossing streets where there is no traffic light, there's a system that Guanajuato would do well to imitate: Wide white stripes delineate a walkway, where if a pedestrian steps out onto it, the cars are obligated to stop.
Monday morning I take the train to Salamanca, to the northwest, and will report from there in another week.
The second day starts out on a more encouraging note--the breakfast included with the cost of the room includes tea bags of green tea, sparing some from the supply I had brought. I swipe two whole-wheat rolls for my cena, which I certainly can't afford to eat out. My morning foray to the ATMs nets me 210€ at one (it refuses to give me 500 or let me withdraw another 210) and 150 at another, a huge relief. (But I change my plan to pay for everything in cash to avoid the currency-exchange fee; with these hassles, I am going to charge whatever I can.) The 10 a.m. walking tour from the tourist office in the Plaza Mayor (I have been together enough to pick up the list my first day) on Medieval Madrid is fun, all about the Muslim wall, the Christian wall, and 14th-century towers, but mostly it gives me a chance to walk around Madrid without being concerned about where I am. I would have liked to ask how much those apartments rented for, but of course I don´t dare.
I am getting to like a city that strangely reminds me of New York, despite the different architecture, the lack of a grid, and the almost-total homogeneity of the people, but the sophistication and the trophy dogs are the same. I am going through reverse culture shock, not having been to the US for three years, once again drinking tap water, flushing toilet paper, showering in a bathtub, having a radiator in my room, being indistinguishable from the natives (the tour guide at the outset had said, "Todos españoles, bueno"). I especially take to the almost aggressive relaxation of the Plaza Mayor, that enormous 17th-century square enclosed uniformly by what in Latin America we would call colonial buildings, four stories high, punctuated by enormous arches leading to streets going every which way and half filled with the round tables and umbrellas of the cafés.
Our tour ends at the Mercado San Miguel, the city's oldest in an elegant iron building, where I buy two tomatoes and a small bunch of grapes--all expensive--can´t get cheese but run into a supermarket across the street and buy some. I have two small whole-wheat rolls from breakfast, I brought a small plastic bottle of olive oil, and I will make sandwiches for cena in my room, grapes for dessert with chocolates I have brought.
Day three I do the obligatory El Prado, that is, the El Grecos, the Velásquezes, and the Goyas. I listen to other people´s guides, as I certainly can't afford the 40€ the guide who approaches me is charging. After a couple of hours (I arrive a little after the 9 a.m. opening) the size of the crowd becomes oppressive and I leave. I think of going to the Museo Reina Sofía to see Picasso´s "Guernica," but I find myself at the Royal Botanic Garden and then find myself with a group being given a guided tour. I'm impressed that the garden is 250 years old and that traditional roses have only a few petals and a very flat appearance, but I wish the cute little fountains, no longer used for watering, were functioning.
Eating my middle meal has become a problem: My first day I settle for a cheese sandwich, my second day find myself at a place near the Puerta del Sol that sells vegetarian Middle Eastern fast food (everyone under 30 except me and a middle-aged woman covering her head with a scarf). My third day I am alarmed that I am losing weight, my pants are practically falling down, I must have a real meal. I don't have the patience to find the little side streets where Lonely Planet or Happy Cow says there is a veggie restairant, which may be out of business or closed for renovation, so I go the Plaza Mayor--by now I am addicted to the Plaza Mayor--vaguely remembering a place that advertized various kinds of paella, including a veggie version, but I find myself scanning the offerings of a so-called menú, a set three-course meal, and decided that this trip I will eat fish, which I stopped eating a while ago. The thick rice-and-lentil soup is heavenly until I find a piece of meat in it, but I shrug and eat around it; the fish is bearable, and the raspberry mouse is delightful. My fourth day I eat another menú with fish, starting with menestra, an interesting vegetable dish including artichokes. The fifth day I eat the veggie paella, which apparently is mass produced, as it's advertised on a poster with many varieties and a brand name; it's very greasy, the artichoke hearts are very hard, the proportion of veggies to rice is off. My sixth day the veggie restaurant that I discovered being renovated my first day is finally open, and the food is exquisite, so I go back my final day.
From Thursday through Sunday I do the tourist office's walking tours, at 10 except on Friday at 5, when the subject is old businesses and taverns. On Thursday it's Madrid and the Hapsburgs (making Madrid the capital in the 16th century a ploy to counter the power of the Church, based in Toledo, but on the other hand, the cathedral--requiring a bishop--didn't start construction until the 19th century); on Friday taverns (really one) and traditional businesses (at the world's oldest continually operating restaurant, certified in the Guiness Book of Records, the specialty is suckling pig, the piglets fed only on milk and killed when they're 24 days old, served with the head); on Saturday, traveling by bus, it's modern Madrid, residential areas built on a grid, an area of high-rise office buildings billed the Manhattan of Madrid (an exaggeration); and Sunday (the order is off) Madrid of the Bourbons (Alfonso XIII needed hotel accommodations for his wedding guests, so he arranged for two luxury hotels to be built across from each other).
The Friday tour not starting until 5, I go to the Reina Sofía Museum, of modern art, where I marvel at the impact of the "Guernica" and decide that I really like the sculpture of Miró. Coming back to downtown by a city bus after Saturday´s tour, I discover a chocolatería that serves a hot chocolate the equal of that sold in the Museo de Chocolate in Havana.
On Sunday when the tour ends, after making a pit stop at my hotel I head south looking for El Rastro, a long-established flea market, described as selling junk and antiques, that takes place every Sunday. It must have expanded since my guidebook's writer was here, for I quickly run into what looks like a New York street fair, except for the ubiquitous fans--clothes and bedspreads from India, T-shirts with stupid slogans (NYPD = Nervous Young People Design), crafty jewelry. The crush becomes too much before I find the antiques so I head back to the Plaza Mayor.
Admission politics: At El Prado I ask for the old-age discount my guidebooks says is available and show my INSEN card, only to be told the discount is only available for citizens of the European Union, so I pay 6€; at the Royal Botanical Gardens I just give my age and get in free; at the Royal Palace I just give my age but they ask my nacionality, so I have to pay 8€; at the Reina Sofía Museum I give my age and they ask for an identity card but don't charge me when they see it's Mexican; for the walking tours I just say I'm retired (they bill their discount as being for retired people) and get the discount.
Assorted impressions: The obesity problem hasn't arrived here, Madrileños are almost uniformly thin despite the big desserts their restaurants provide in their menús. Before I left people warned me either that I would have trouble understanding the Spanish or that the Spanish would have trouble understanding me. As it happens, we all understand one another quite well, the Spanish just say "Vale" where the Mexicans would say "Sale," and more so, and in fact for Sunday's tour (after Tuesday I have had the choice of an English- or Spanish-speaking guide and have chosen English) I prefer a Spanish-speaking guide because the ones speaking English have to struggle and come up with weird translations, such as "party day" for "día feriado" instead of "holiday."
On the side streets there is no curb, the only thing separating the sidewalk from the street being a row of posts or sometimes trees, and walking in the street is quite common. For crossing streets where there is no traffic light, there's a system that Guanajuato would do well to imitate: Wide white stripes delineate a walkway, where if a pedestrian steps out onto it, the cars are obligated to stop.
Monday morning I take the train to Salamanca, to the northwest, and will report from there in another week.
