"Drunk Trumpet" by Kid Koala
"Kiss Cam" by The Arkells
At the end of March, Miguel and I travelled down to Madrid to visit family and friends, and the trip started out brilliantly. On our flight there were a group of fellows returning to Spain after a stag weekend in Edinburgh. The groom was dressed up as a matador and did a pass through the "plaza" to a chorus of "olé!" whilst his friends filmed him. Definitely the most entertaining flight to Madrid I've ever been on.
The next morning, and after a bit of a lie-in, we visited the Hermitage exhibit at the Prado. Originally, the exhibit was to close the day before we arrived, but it proved so popular that it was held over for a few more weeks. We saw Caravaggio's Lute Player, Matisse's Game of Bowls, and Rembrandt's Portrait of a Scholar. There were beautifully intricate broaches, combs, and jewelry from the Bronze Age. I expected the highlight for me to be all the Flemish art. I was wrong. It was Kandinsky's Composition VI. At the very end of the exhibition, just when I'd hit art-overload, it took up the entire wall and if I'd had the chance, I'd have stood there all day. Instead, we met up with Salva for a quick drink in a barrio that has apparently escaped the crisis altogether. We didn't stay too long, which suited me fine because I'd had a miserable headache all day.
On Wednesday morning we met up with Jorge and watched Beatriz's production. The work was a collection of vignettes of couples immediately before and after sex, and Beatriz's was by far the best. And that's not only because her vignette was the only one with nudity. After the production, which was also Beatriz's final exam, we went out for a bite to eat. Still with a miserable headache and cursing my lack of antihistamines, we spent the rest of the afternoon with Miguel's family and doing a bit of work.
Funny story, part 1: A few weeks ago I read this article about caffeine naps and how people would drink a cup of coffee, then take a quick nap. In 15 minutes, when the caffeine kicked in, they'd wake up überenergized. So after lunch and coffee at home, I told Miguel of my plan to take a caffeine nap. 2 1/2 hours later, I woke up feeling not at all energized. And worse, my headache had not shifted one bit.
Because Miguel's parents don't have the internet... or a computer... we took our laptops over to the local mall to use the free wi-fi. We nestled into the Starbucks, I grabbed a decaf latte (as it was late in the afternoon and I wanted to sleep at some point in the night) and a copy of El País. Despite the 2-day headache, I was thoroughly enjoying our trip to Madrid. Even Miguel was amazed at the lack of crabbit Kate. I think it had something to do with everything being in bloom.
Funny story, part 2: Over dinner, Miguel told his mom about my oh-so-funny caffeine nap misadventure when, suddenly, she looked completely aghast. "Es descafeinado!" she explained. All the coffee I'd had at breakfast and lunch for the past 2 days - decaf. No wonder I had a monster headache. But what was really surprising was that my mood, in spite of it all, was much better. Believe what they say - caffeine is a depressant.
Newly caffeinated, we visited the Palacio Real (finally)
which was pretty impressive,
before meeting up with the family for lunch. Afterwards, we met up with more friends for sidewalk pizza.
Late March and people are out on the street, visiting until 11pm. Sure, they're all in parkas (except for me and my t-shirts), but they're out and about. I hadn't realized how much I missed life on the streets at night.
On Saturday, we spent the afternoon playing boardgames with Beatriz and Jesús before heading over to Club Clamores to see a flamenco show.
This is the kind of place where a cup of coffee costs 10 euros. But you don't go for the food or drinks. You go for the music. We were supposed to see José Menese, but two songs into his set, he had to stop. He'd hurt his arm and the pain was simply too much. The host, however, had a back-up plan. In the front row was a young flamenco singer who'd come to see Menese, and the host cajoled him into performing. It was literally a case of "is there another flamenco singer in the house?" So up comes Paco de Soto (or del Soto - we can't remember which).
Now Menese, being a legend, was amazing; however, because of his age, I found him very difficult to understand. Paco de Soto had all the passion and talent of Menese, but I could also understand him. Well, maybe 50%. Still, I had chills. Miguel and I swore on the spot we'd make going to Clamores a tradition.*
After the show ended around midnight, we met up with another friend of Miguel's, who in turn took us to meet up with even more friends of Miguel's. So that's how we ended up going from a flamenco show to a heavy metal bar within the space of an hour. By 2am or so, Miguel was flagging (I ask you, what kind of madrileno is he? Can't cook a lobster, can't ir a la marcha...) so we headed home.
But not for long! Because the next (and last full day in Madrid) we went to watch a procesión de semana santa with Jorge. I tried not to be creeped out by grown men wearing pointed hats, but I've seen too many movies set in the Deep South...
After the procesión and a brief introduction to vermouth, we headed off to Meson de la Guitarra. It's tucked away just off of Plaza Mayor, and probably 90% of people walk past without giving it a second thought, but it's the local for a group of tunas. Right. Tunas. Not fish. Tunas are basically modern-day troubadours. They used to be ye olde troubadours, as well. They've been around for centuries. They still wear the traditional outfit, even when only hanging out and performing for tourists in their local.
Jorge belongs to this particular group, although he's not in costume in the photos, and you can hear them here (pick the letter "F", then scroll down to "Funiculí", then click "descargar"). That night, guitars were passed around, everyone joined in singing (save for me, because I didn't know the words), and the sangría went down way too easy. Can't you just imagine yourself in this tiny little bar, drinking and singing the night away? By the end of the night, Jorge serenaded Miguel... and the rest of the table... but mostly Miguel.
I still cannot decide which night was more fun - flamenco or tuna? Regardless, I feel like I delved more into Spanish culture this trip than ever before. Sure, it helps to have an in with the locals, but every time we come back to Madrid, I feel more and more at home there. I also realize now how much I missed out on the first few times I visited. It's just impossible to really experience this city in a few short days. There should be a minimum required stay in Madrid of two weeks for every tourist.
Anyway, past trip to Madrid has been my favourite thus far. And with ham and pacharán (PACHARÁN!) in hand, we headed off for Paris... eventually.
* Of course, this wasn't the first time Miguel had been to Clamores. Back in Miguel's typico teleco days, he performed here as part of a Battle of the Bands. Take him out for a pint and he'll tell you the whole story.
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