Four Days in Madrid

Madrid was good, and it has the distinction of being one of the only cities I did NOT get lost in*. I did a lot of walking, and had a great long run that I mentioned earlier, and ate weird things and tasty things, and visited some very some nice galleries. And I found a couple of paintings that I would take home with me if the offer were made.

Many sights in Madrid (well, in all of Spain) are closed on Mondays, but one that isn’t is the Centro Reine Sofia, the national museum of 20th century art. It’s most notable as the home to Spain’s most famous piece of art, Guernica, by Picasso, but also has a large collection of Dalí and other surrealists. I wasn’t particularly taken with the surrealists, but did like Guernica.

“Guernica”, with appropriately sour security detail.

What I actually found more interesting than the painting itself, though, was the display of photographs shown along with it. They were taken by Picasso’s wife/mistress/insert-other-euphemism-here of the time, and showed the evolution of the canvas from the time he first started painting to its completion. (I took a few photos, but they really didn’t turn out well, so you have to use your imagination.) Suffice it to say that major elements of the painting changed significantly during the process. The bull on the left side of the canvas started out with its body to the right of its head, but ended up in the other direction. And the horse in the middle started out with its head pointing down. In the final version the horse’s head is one of the most powerful images, so it was really interesting to see how a major element like that changed during the painting.

In the room next to Guernica they was a display of smaller canvases that were some of Picasso’s studies for the different elements in the larger composition. Among those was my favourite painting in the gallery – the one I would find space for in my carry-on if it were offered.

Cabeza de cabollo, Boceto para Guernica.**

Of course, I also visited the Prado, probably one of the top five galleries in the world. It’s very easy to become overwhelmed in places like this, especially since I’m not at all well-schooled in art history, and have only a layman’s interest in anything on display. Rather than wander aimlessly, I followed a tour from the Rick Steves Spain guide that I’d acquired at my first hotel in Barcelona***. This, coupled with the ever-present audioguide, gave a good overview of the major works and artists in the gallery – lots of Goya and Velázquez and El Greco, and Bosch, along with a smattering of Rubens and Raphael and Caravaggio, among others.

However, my favourite painting in the gallery was one that didn’t appear in the tour or on the audioguide, but hit me as soon as I saw it.

El Perro Semihundido

It’s a Goya, and is classed as one of his fourteen “dark paintings”, though I didn’t find it particularly dark at all, especially compared with the other canvases in the room (like “The Witches’ Sabbath” or the charming “Saturn Devouring his Son”). One commentary I read called it “a disturbing and undecipherable painting” but I found it more poignant than disturbing, and liked it very very much. I went back to visit it a second time before I left the gallery. And I even bought a postcard of it.****

One nice thing about many of the sights I visited in Madrid (including the Prado and the Royal Palace) is that they did not allow photography. This meant that I didn’t have to bother taking pictures, which leaves one a free to simply move around and enjoy the place. More importantly though, it means that you aren’t fighting through crowds of people posing with every bloody painting, chair, chandelier and other bit of miscellaneous what-not. It was really refreshing.

However, despite the world-class museums and gilded palace and excellent 30km run and, of course, the pig ears, the best time I had in Madrid was on my last day. I managed to connect with the sister of a friend and she and I spent much of the day together, mostly drinking and eating, with a bit of sight-seeing thrown in too. I’d been living a pretty solitary existence for the previous weeks so it was a great joy and relief to connect so instantly and happily with someone else who seemed to have nothing better to do on a Thursday than to take me to her favourite middle eastern restaurant, and sit on terraces drinking beer, and invite me back to her apartment to sit and relax a bit before my overnight train.

Christine!

And now I have a request. You all sort of know where I’m headed, and if you’re an astute GSRED reader you know what kind of person I am. So if you have a sister, or cousin, or uncle or friend or whatever who lives somewhere I’m going, and who you think might be amenable to having a coffee or a drink or a meal or something with me, by all means please get in touch. The best times I have on this trip are with other people. The email address is goseeruneatdrinkATgmail.com. Help me out here. The next stop is Italy, and the Go See Run Eat Drink lines are open…

*Well, ok, there was one small incident when I set off to run to Retiro Park for the first time… but it was somewhat quickly remedied, and really, I was surprised at how well I did navigating as I was walking around. It was almost like Glasgow never happened...

** Is it just me, or does this remind anyone of Dudley Doright’s horse (Incidentally, named “Horse”)? I know that’s probably sacrilege to say, but come on…

Dudley and Horse

*** This particular guidebook did not get the hack-and-slash treatment that I usually give guidebooks as I progress through a country. I figured that since I’d benefited from the fact that someone else had been generous enough to leave it behind for those who came after, I should do the same. I left it, intact, at my hostel in Madrid, where I hope it was snapped up quickly. And I’m now mourning the fact that it seems I’m doomed to travel Italy without Rick’s assistance.

**** The Prado had a very clever system near the gift shop that allowed you to buy high-quality ink-jet printouts of almost any painting in the place. Prices started at €10.00 for a 5x8-ish version, and went up to €110.00 for a large-scale printout on canvas. I was tempted, but didn’t feel like dealing with caring for or mailing something like that. The postcard will have to do.

Pick of Pics - Madrid

Somehow, I don't think this is what Walt had in mind...

Steve's Weird Food for Spain: Pig Ears

I blame Rick Steves. He’s the one who wrote about this particular little spot, "Oreja de Oro", and when I read the phrase “pigs' ears” I knew I’d found Steve's Weird Food for Spain.

The menu

I ordered, “Una caña y orejos especial por favor.”* It’s a good thing I’d already had a drink when I arrived. And it’s a damned good thing I ordered that beer too. I should have ordered about six more.

The ears were cut into slivers, and you could see the ridge of cartilage running through each slice. I think they’d been deep-fried and after the guy put them on the plate he drizzled them with olive oil. A LOT of olive oil. So much that as I watched him drizzling it went on so long that I got bored watching, and then looked away for a bit, and then looked back and he was still drizzling, and then I looked away again, and back again, and yes, he was still drizzling. There were also some cooked potatoes on the plate (thank God), and a bit of other sauce. Mostly though, it was just strips of pig ears.

Here they are. They look innocent enough...

They came with a fork, but I found the best way to tackle them was to pick them up with my fingers and try to strip the meat off the cartilage with my teeth. And when I say “meat” I am being extravagantly generous. I estimate the makeup of each bit was 20% cartilage, 70% fat, and 10% meat. I have no idea if you’re meant to eat the cartilage bits or not. I tried that with one or two bits but…. ugh.

The aftermath. I did not clean my plate.

I did the best I could Steve, but I’m not convinced that even your legendary appetite would have been able to polish off a whole plate of pig ears.

After that debacle, and despite the fact that I was quite stuffed full of ear-y goodness, I promised myself a treat.** And here it is:

Chocolate con churros!

They’re freshly fried long, skinny donuts that you dip into thick hot chocolate! I had them in Barcelona too, and frankly the Barcelona variety was far superior to these ones, but at this point anything that didn’t taste like fingernails was ambrosia. Let's hope that the weird food for Portugal is some kind of improbably delicious confection. Or at least doesn't involve parts of an animal normally found only in pet stores.

* Ok, if those were “especial” I shudder to think what the “ordinario” would be like. Perhaps they are still attached to the pig…

** Also keep in mind that I’d run 30km earlier that day so I was doubly deserving of something chocolate.

Random Stuff on Spain

More short thoughts, because I can’t be bothered to try and string this all together into something more coherent.

- Almost as soon as I’d crossed into Spain things seemed a but more untamed than in France. It was a bit like moving from England to Scotland. Maybe the sun is stronger? Or bigger? It feels like the light is different. And the landscape is just more… Spanish. It’s brown and scrubby, and the hillsides are covered in trees planted in straight lines. Olive trees maybe?

Taken on the run, on the hillside past Alhambra, with my cell phone camera

- Trains are a dirty way to enter a city – it's all back lots and industrial buildings and stray dogs and garbage and laundry and it's the same everywhere. It’s not pretty.

- Trains in Spain, at least the ones I’ve been on, require an airplane-like check-in system, complete with baggage x-ray. However, the x-ray seems to be entirely for show. I’ve sent the Aeronaut through two x-rays now, complete with small folding scissors and large exacto knife, and have received nary a second glance from the eagle-eyed inspectors.

- Café Bom Bom! It may be my new favourite thing. It’s sweetened condensed milk topped with a shot of espresso. It’s kind of like Vietnamese iced coffee without the ice. YUM.

Cafe Bom Bom!

- As I suspected, the language is frustrating. My French is certainly not brilliant, but I was totally functional in France. In Spain I’m once again reduced to grunting and pointing. I went for breakfast after I first arrived in Barcelona and the waiter said something that required me to respond in the affirmative. Here’s what I said: "Oui… Yeah… Si... Oh God..." It’s a bit depressing to realize that this is what it’s going to be like for the foreseeable future.

- Also, the whole “Castillian lisp” thing sounds really funny. I know it’s not really a lisp – that’s just how things are properly pronounced in these parts. As one website I read pointed out: not recognizing the difference would be like expecting “sing” and “thing” to have the same meaning in English. But I still find it odd to ask for “una therveza”.* And it’s tricky to remember when to replace the “s” sound with the “th” sound and when not to. For instance “gracias” is pronounced “grathias” not “grathiath” or “grasias”. It’s only Cs that get replaced, not Ss or Zs. And not all Cs. Weird and frustrating.

- La Rambla in Barcelona has more than its fair share of living statues, including, at various times: 2 different headless men, a gorilla, a man covered in artificial flowers, an all-brown soldier sitting on an ammo box, a guy with wings, and a woman in a sparkly sequined dress. I happen to believe that the “living statue” is pretty far down the ladder of artistic expression (somewhere alongside balloon folding and bongos), but for if you’re going to do it, then there is one simple rule you need to follow: DON’T MOVE. Really. If you’re not standing stock still, then you’re just somebody dressed strangely begging for money. Have some professional pride.

- I didn’t mention it in my posts about Barcelona, but the festivities surrounding La Mercè didn’t only start on the day of the parades and Castellars. For the whole week leading up to the big day there were stages being set up in almost every square I walked through, and there were concerts at night. On Day 101, as I made my way home from kayaking, I happened on the tail end of a very cool video show. They were doing large-scale projection on the facade of a building in Place Jaume, and it was really well done. The pictures don’t to it justice, but here’s a still shot:

Video Projection

And a VERY short video that shows the Big Finale

(I told you it was short...)

- I did get in to Alhambra at night, just as Rick Steves promised. In fact, I saw everything except the famous Palacios Nazaries during the afternoon and returned to see the palace at the (to me) ungodly hour of 10:30pm, when the rest of Spain was just starting to think about having dinner. It was interesting being at Alhambra at night, and a bit strange. It’s a long walk up the hill in the dark, and there were almost no people around, so it was a bit nervous-making. This meant I was surprised to see how many people were already in line for tickets when I got there.** There were actually loads of people waiting to get in to the palace, and it was a bit of a crush moving through all the rooms. I can’t imagine what it must be like during peak daylight hours. Still it was quite nice, and a change of pace to see a sight like that in the dark. My Rick Steve guidebook had a nice blow-by-blow description of each room; my favourite was the Grand Hall of the Ambassadors, where the sultans*** used to sit. This was was also the room, years later, where Columbus made his pitch to Queen Isabel for a few ships to go check out the Orient.

It was hard getting decent pictures in the dim lighting, but here’s a bit of the palace. (There are lots more daylight pics of other Alhambra sights at Flickr.)

- I finally dipped my toe in the waters of tapas in Granada which is, as the LP points out “one of the last bastions of that fantastic practice of free tapas with every drink.” And it was true! I went into a little bar advertising free tapas and got a small beer and it came with a toasted ham and cheese on a bun and some fries with Spanish sort of ketchup and spicy mayo. All that for €2.00! (That’s quite a lot more food than most tapas). The next round, there was more free tapas but something different. Impressively, the guy doing the food was able to keep track of what round everyone in the bar was on. Odd numbered rounds came with fries, even numbered rounds came with olives. (Round 1: Toasted ham and cheese sandwiches with chips, Round 2: tiny hamburgers with olives, Round 3: open-faced tuna and spicy mayo with fries.) Better still, both nights I went to this place I met friendly English-speaking people that I ended up chatting with for ages! The first night it was Karen – a Spaniard who was nearing the end of a 3 month trip and was happy to dust off her Edinburgh-learned English to help me figure out the whole free tapas thing. The second night I met Nick and Simon, two Londoners who visit Granada every year. Yay for free tapas!

A plate of olives I got with my beer in Granada. And notice the brand of beer…

- Granada has a large contingent of Roma (gypsy) women with a very particular modus operandi. They stand with a bunch of sprigs of rosemary and press one on passing tourists. As Rick Steves says: “The twig is free… and then they grab you by your hand and read your fortune for a tip. Coins are bad luck, so the minimum they accept is €5. Don’t make eye contact, don’t accept a spring, and say firmly but politely, “No, graçias.”. They were aggressive, and I found the best tactic was to keep my hands in my pockets and my head down.

A rosemary lady in the square outside the Royal Chapel.

- The street signs in Madrid are BRILLIANT!! Not only are they more reliably present than anywhere I’ve been so far, they are made of pretty ceramic tiles and they have pictures on them showing what the street name means.

- The siesta - how I have grown to love it! Perhaps it’s because I’ve been fighting this slight cold, or perhaps it’s because I’m generally kind of tired and run down, but I have been taking full advantage of the mid-afternoon nap. It helps that lots of places shut down for a few hours in the afternoon, and it helps that lots of places stay open late at night. This means you can have a full morning, a hearty late lunch, a nice long nap, and then wake up refreshed and ready for, say, a bit more sight-seeing, a short run, and some beer and tapas. Eminently civilized.

I may have more to say about Spain, and Madrid in particular, in another post. Or I may not. Right now I’m taking it fairly easy,**** trying not to let this minor head cold turn into something more, and seeing a maximum of one sight per day. Mostly I’m looking forward to getting to Portugal where I have a care package from home and a friend with a spare room awaiting me.

* The trick with this particular word is to avoid the whole question entirely by ordering “una caña”, which means a small beer, and also sounds less touristy.

** While standing in line I overhead the two women behind me who were talking in English, but with strong German accents. They were whinging about having to wait in line because only one ticket window was open, and lamenting their lost sight-seeing time. Clearly these two were not cut out for the pace of life in Spain. In fact, they might want to reconsider their priorities entirely since one of them said, "The most important is this palace. If I don't see this palace will kill myself." Lady, you need to relax. I skipped the whole freakin' Rijkssmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, and I lived to tell the tale.

*** Are you kidding me? SULTANS? When I was a little kid I had an LP of “Tales from the Arabian Nights” and for a time I used to listen to it almost every night when falling asleep. And there I was in the SULTAN’S ROOM! It was a moment.

**** Ok, I’ll admit that “taking it easy” today included going for a long run. But it turned out to be the best long run I’ve had of the whole trip. The weather was perfect - cool and overcast, and Retiro Park turned out to be an almost-5km loop, just like Assiniboine Park at home. And much to my surprise, I was able to complete FIVE loops. I was really really happy - the whole run was 30 kms, and exactly 3 hours long. It's by far the longest run I've had, and though it wasn't fast, it was a huge confidence boost with Athens only 39 days away (oh God...).

Kayaking and festivities and more Gaudí

Ok, the kayaking. The people who run that outfit really know their target market. The Kayak Guy wandered though the backpacker bar I was in at precisely the right moment to catch people just drunk enough to sign up, but not so far gone that they couldn’t fork over a deposit. And even smarter, the whole business didn’t start until noon the next day. Naturally I got there a bit early, and since we were on Spanish time we didn’t actually get on the road until around 1 or 1:30pm. Miraculously though, this didn’t really bother me. I haven’t been wearing my watch much these days and I was determined just to let things happen in their own time. No, really!

There were 8 of us in total. Two “workers”: JB the Kayak Guy (American), and Renate, an employee of the larger organization* (Croatian, or maybe it was Slovenia), and 6 participants: JP (Canadian – Quebeçois), Jessica (American) and her boyfriend Spiro (Australian), Ellen (also Australian) and her boyfriend Tyrone (you guessed it… Australian) and me.

We got on the road in a rattly blue minivan with Renate at the wheel and JB navigating, which turned out to be a less-than-ideal combination. In fact, the whole thing had a real seat-of-the-pants feel to it that did not inspire extreme confidence. Most if the gang slept the whole way north, but I was awake so I got see how many wrong turns, about-faces, and scenic detours we took before we finally got to the beach. Then again it was a really nice beach, and it was a perfect day:

Sunny, sandy Mediterranean beach. No complaints here.

The confusion continued, but eventually we were kitted out with double kayaks (I shared with Renate), and lifejackets, and paddles, and were given the most perfunctory kayaking instruction ever. This did not inspire confidence, nor did Renate, who had arms like twigs.

JB, and kayaks, and snorkels

Nonetheless, we got underway and made it over to a rocky shore where we got out our snorkels. I’ve never snorkeled before, so even though there wasn’t a lot to see it was still really cool. I followed a school of fish around for a while, and generally enjoyed the fact that I was snorkeling in the freakin’ Mediterranean, on the Costa Brava. Others of the group reported seeing an octopus that I missed, but sounded really neat. I’ll definitely try snorkeling again. It’s amazing how much you can see even though your face is only inches from the surface. I had no idea.

Then we got back in the kayaks and headed across the bay to try and find a cave** that JB had heard about from the guy at the kayak rental place. It was a hard paddle, and the waves were mildly concerning, but eventually we made it to a nice cove. It was too shallow and cold for snorkeling though, and we headed out again to try and find the mythical cave. We never did find the cave, but we got to watch JP (apparently a very experienced kayaker) dump his boat and lose his t-shirt and take a somewhat worrying amount of time to get himself sorted.

By this time I think all anyone wanted was a beer and something to eat and to be warm and dry, so we headed back to the beach. And that’s where we found just what we needed.

Spiro and Jessica, with chips on the side

Ellen and Tyrone, chilling

And JP, and me!

We had a long ride back to the city, where our BBQ turned out to be a meal at Travel Bar Port (“You can order anything from this side of the menu”). But there was more beer, and I had a nice time talking with everybody, especially Spiro, who was on his way to Clown School in a few days. (Good luck Spiro!) All in all, it was a good day. I got some sun and sand and clear blue Mediterranean water, and I got out of the city, and I met some new people.

The next day – my last in Barcelona, turned out to be the beginning of the biggest yearly festival in the city:

La Mercè is the "most important festival" of Barcelona (Catalonia, Spain). It has been an official city holiday since 1871, when the local government first organized a program of special activities to observe the Roman Catholic feast day of Our Lady of Mercy. (In Catalan, La Mare de Déu de la Mercè -- The Merciful Mother of God; in Spanish, La Virgen de la Merced -- The Virgin of Mercy.) Although the actual date of the holiday is September 24th, the festivities begin a few days before.

The year 1902 saw a new impetus to the celebrations, with parades containing the first appearance in Catalonia of papier maché "giants" (known as gegants i capgrossos in Catalan or gigantes y cabezudos in Spanish), the first Castell competition and the importation from the Emporda region of a dance that was spreading throughout Catalonia: the Sardana. The holiday has enjoyed immense local popularity ever since.

Among more recently introduced traditions are the annual Catalonia Wine Fair, a special "correfoc", a marathon race***, and the particularly popular pyromusical, which is a spectacular display of synchronized fireworks, water fountains and music conducted at the base of Montjuic hill. (Wikipedia)

My hostel was really close to the action, so I spent quite a bit of time just wandering around the area. I visited Place Jaume early in the day, and saw some of the papier maché "giants". There was a stage set up, and an announcer, and every once in a while a couple of these gegants would get picked up and would dance around in front of the stage, accompanied by music played mostly on some unidentified double-reeded oboe-like instruments that were very duck-like in their tone.

Gegants i capgrossos, all lined up in Place Jaume.

The main event of the afternoon was to be the Castell competition, but that wasn’t due to start until 12:30 so I wandered some more, and ran into the beginning of a parade! Marching bands (Including marching bassoons! No mean feat.), more funny oboe-thingies, and more dancing whirling giants…

Who doesn’t love a parade?

I made my way back to Place Jaume to see the Castell competition (the building of human pyramids, for those too lazy to click on the link above). By the time I got there, the parade had found its way there too, by a different route. And if I thought the square was packed before, that was nothing to what it was like now. It was scary-full. I stuck around long enough to see the entrance of three of the teams of Castellars – they came into the square in a pilar formation – a tower four people high supported by a load of beefy guys at the bottom, with one weary and nervous-looking guy on top of them, and a woman on top of him, and a young girl on top of her. It was impressive but also scary. The little girls at the top wore helmets, but the whole thing seemed quite dogdey.

In fact, the last team I saw enter – I think they were the local Barcelona gang - were downright scary. In every case the guy at the second level of the tower (called the dosos – the one supporting the two above) looked like he was trying really hard to hold it together, but in this last case it was obvious that the dosos was in trouble. He knew it, the crowd knew it, and it seemed like it was just a matter of time before the whole thing ended badly. Thankfully, the tower made it through the square (did I mention that the towers were moving?) and was safely dismantled. By this time I’d seen enough and really just wanted to get out of the crush of people, but that was easier said than done. In the end, I “hitched” a ride with a couple of older women who had the right combination of tough-old-bird and crowd respect to manage to burrow through. I just followed in their wake.

This is how crowded it was. That kid was lucky.

I heard second-hand accounts later from people at the hostel who’d stuck around for the actual Castell competition – it sounded like it was interesting to see, but not worth the crowds.

More wandering, and I happened on a demonstration of Sardana dancing. As Rick Steves says:

“For some, it’s a highly symbolic, politically charged action representing Catalan unity – but for most, it’s just a fun chance to kick up their heels. Participants gather in circles after putting their things in the centre – symbolic of community and sharing (and the ever-present risk of theft)… Holding hands, dancers raise their arms – slow-motion Zorba the Greek-style – as they hop and sway gracefully to the music.”

It was just that kind of day. It was like every corner I turned revealed some new inexplicable but festive event. Even the museum I went to – the Museu d’Historia de la Ciutat**** – was free that day. Eventually it all got to be too much and I retreated to the hostel, but it was great way to end my time in Barcelona.

Oh, and that’s not even mentioning my visit to a second great Gaudí sight – La Pedrera. It’s an apartment complex that Gaudí designed and it was just FANTASTIC. There was a really good audioguide and a nice sort of museum in the attic. And you got to tour the roof terrace, and a typical apartment, and it was great. I think my favourite parts of Barcelona were anything to do with Anton Gaudí.

La Pedrera

I tried to get out to see Parc Güell, also designed by Gaudí, but by the time I got off the metro and realized how long a walk it would be I turned around and went right back to the hostel. It’s been over a hundred days now, and I now have a very highly developed sense of when I am DONE.

In fact, I was done with all of Barcelona. I’m in Granada now, and the head cold that was threatening yesterday has held off a bit, and I’m at the end of a nice long lunch. Things are not so bad.

* The larger organization being “Travel Bound”. They had two bars in Barcelona catering to the backpacker crowd. This means they had cheap but crappy food (including the inevitable full English breakfast and Marmite on toast), lots of drink specials, lots of nightly activities (pub crawl, anyone?), wifi, and the chance to mingle almost exclusively with 20-something Americans, Aussies, New Zealanders and the occasional German or other. These places are good relief sometimes, but I wouldn’t want my whole trip to be about them.

** The whole thing had been advertised as “kayaking and cave snorkeling with a BBQ included.” A bit of over-selling, I think.

*** Reading this Wikipedia entry was the first I heard of the marathon. It was clearly not top-of-mind for Barcelonians. (Barceloners? Barcelonitas?)

**** Great Roman ruins, and you know how much I like a good ruin. There were even spots where you could see the wheel ruts on old Roman streets and mosaic tile floors. Very evocative.