Two Weeks in Madrid

It’s different when you live in a place, in contrast to visiting and being a tourist. As streets, landmarks, stores and transportation become familiar – for me, somewhere in the second week -- the place begins to lose its mystery and fascination and take on the comforting sense of familiarity.

I know how to find my flat through the maze of streets, from any direction. I know how to use the Metro to get anywhere, and smartly buy the 10-trip ticket which saves 3 euros over individual ones. I’ve visited the major tourist sites, had coffee or wine in all the famous squares and many historic tavernas. I’ve eaten my share of tortillas papas and bolillo sandwiches. I’ve shopped in small oriental-owned groceries, cheese shops, panaderias (bread stores) and druggias (where you buy shampoo). I have walked and walked, which is what you do. I have a local mobile phone with 8 people in my contact list.

I’ve been to the Prado and stood before masterpieces by Titan, El Greco, Velazques, Goya, Ribera and Bosch. I’ve even been to the movies with a local woman and her 83-year-old mother to see Woody Allen’s “Vicky, Christina, Barcelona” in Spanish, as everything is dubbed here. I will go to the Reina Sophia museum and Retiro Park (Madrid’s Central Park) before I leave.

The initial awe and luster gives way to some observations of annoyance. For example, men are not gentlemanly – no one gives up a seat on the Metro for anyone; people push past without a “perdon”. Questions are answered courteously enough, but no one offers additional or better information that, you later discover, could have saved a lot of time and aggravation.
Even the sound of the accordion, which delighted me my first night, upon hearing it from the sidewalk below, has become commonplace; along with the violin and flute and baritone singers which make music in the streets or plazas at all hours.

Madrid is a big, busy, dirty, noisy city, and the most late-night in Europe, with dinner commonly eaten after 10 p.m. Its habitants are remarkably friendly and helpful once you strike up a conversation or are introduced by a mutual acquaintance. Its old parts, where I have stayed, are full of narrow winding cobblestone streets, pedestrian streets inlaid with quotes in bronze from poets and statesmen, beautiful residential buildings with wrought-iron balconies, and impressive monumental buildings.

It is a place teeming with human activity that shuts down mid-day for the civilized tradition of a large meal and siesta. It is a city that has grown and sprawled in the post-Franco years, swelled with campesinos, immigrants and ex-pats, and now complains of the downside of being a melting pot.

I am pleased to have explored so thoroughly although, indeed, there is always much more. But, for now, I feel satisfied with my knowing Madrid and having been warmly received by a number of interesting Madrileños, mostly transplants.

The peace and quiet of Santa Fe will pose a real contrast to Madrid. No doubt, for a week or two I will experience a heightened sense of curiosity and appreciation that resides specifically in newness. I will see with fresh eyes. And then, as routine slowly erodes the edge of adventure, idealized notions of another thrilling locale will draw me toward my next escapade, where the unknown becomes known, in the inevitable cycles of Life.