(sorry, no pictures, not enough time to upload them...)
The first thing I noticed upon landing at the Madrid Airport was the desert surrounding the runway. I would learn later that this in fact was not the desert, instead just some dusty fields, but coming from London and Lyon, where I had been hunkered down in layers of clothing to guard against the cold, gray weather, this illusion was a pleasant welcome to the Iberian Peninsula. The temperature was well above 20 degrees Celsius (70s for you Fahrenheit-ers back in the States), and the sun shone down from some of the bluest skies I have ever seen. I could get used to this kind of weather.
I went to Madrid under the pretense of visiting a fellow Penn student (Spencer Glantz), but also because I wanted to get a taste of a completely new culture that I knew very little about (and the price was definitely right, thank you EasyJet). Madrid became the capital of Spain many years ago simply because some King looked at a map of Spain, pointed to the most central spot possible, and decided to call it home; as such, I was expecting to be underwhelmed. Throw this in with the fact that my Spanish is just a notch below my German (read: bad), and I thought I was in for a long couple of days. Yet, Europe continues to surprise me, and I left Madrid wishing I could stay a little while longer.
For whatever reason, when you are in Madrid, you get the sense that you are truly at the heart of the Spanish speaking world. Even beyond the spectacular monuments and palaces dating to an age of Empire long past, there is a certain energy on the streets of Madrid that is hard to describe, yet definitely palpable and which occasionally left me wanting to pick up some Spanish to join in the fun. Now, Madrid is known as a city that never sleeps, with “the best nightlife in Europe” according to a few credible sources, but seeing as I went there on a Monday and left on a Wednesday, I unfortunately missed out on that aspect. Also, I sadly did not participate in my personal favorite of Spanish culture, that of the midday siesta nap, as I was too busy being a tourist, but I did experience it in the sense that the majority of Madrid, museums included, was shut at 2pm. Quite frustrating.
Since I was only there for just under 2 days, I really did not accomplish much more than the standard list of tourist sites, with Spencer serving as my steady guide. We did the Royal Palace (the largest in Europe), the huge park in the middle of the city (featuring a pond and a rowboat, enough said), and tons of statues to all sorts of dead Spaniards. One night we even joined in the paparazzi, as we saw some Spanish soccer league party going on in a building right by the main square, and decided to jump in the crowd just before Lionel Messi (perhaps the best soccer player in the world, apparently) stepped out of the building, and some random guy stood between him and my camera. But, the deviation from the norm on this trip was the two trips to Madrid’s art museums. Yes, it was a duo of two 20 year old guys, and true, I have not been in an art museum of my own free will (namely not with my Mother) probably ever, but Madrid has a special program where the museums are free after 6pm each weeknight, and we decided to take advantage, with a pourquoi pas kind of attitude. Many of the works were way over my head, and I do still struggle to differentiate between the-best-painting-of-all-time and just so-so art, but on the whole the two trips were collectively a great experience. As someone who likes a little history now and then, it was enjoyable to see not only different scenes in history played out on the canvas, but also the real physical frame of many different works that have been featured in various history books of mine over the years. Definitely worth the price of admission.
Alas, the visit was too short, and I said goodbye to Spencer today, but only after a relaxing time at the park. I realize now that for years I have always viewed Spain and Spanish as a sort of rival to French, as it always has been the way more popular option among my peers, dating all the way back to seventh grade. Maybe it is because of the heavy French influence (the Palace, statues, and much more were modeled after French styles, thanks to Louis XVI and Napoleon dominating the area), but I feel at peace with Spain now, perhaps even comfortable enough to call myself a friend of the culture. Not that my Spanish will ever get any better, but it’s a start.
And the vacation rolls on…
