A WEIRD DAY

Madrid
Day 30

What a day..

Felt aching all over from standing at the gallery and walking so far! We really were slow this morning deciding what to do and eventually decided to not decide for a while! Until we decided it was a gorgeous day, why waste it, and why not try to get to Avila...(again, 3rd time lucky!)

So, off we go! But we had to eat first! We found óur´ restaurante to have breakfast, one we´d been to before and one that had an American menu. Dermontaditos. (We used the menu to tranlate spanish words to english and we´re doing ok with it now!) We ordered ensalada. pantos, tapas.

Then! We got a text from Andy Pans. Dockers lost! Ohhh...............

It actually made my day to hear from him even tho he was the giver of BAD news!!!

We got to the ¨myer´of Madrid - El Corte Ingles) and bought some fruit and chocolate for our journey (sorry about the writing in here, i´m finding it hard using a spanish keyboard and also spànish commands!)...anyway, we lined up for AGES, listening to Neil Diamond of all things (Cracklin Rose!) and finally got through. The check out girls here sit on chairs and don´t scan all the items, they punch all the codes in which makes it quite a sufferable experience to just buy a couple of items.

Off to the Metro! We got on the wrong line and missed Avila! We´re thinking that maybe we werent ´meant´´to go there!!

So...we went back ´home´! Along the cobblestone streets. Passing windows full of cured hams and baby piglets ready for cooking. Windows of chocolates (easter coming up and holy week now here), bars, people, beggars on the street with no arms, no legs, no hope. Golden horse that moves when someone puts money into his tin. Children in prams. Thin people everywhere. Lovers. People. Food. The feeling the place has been here, and open, forever.

Home is our hostal. A 4m x 4m stone room with a corner shower and sink. No toilet. Massive wooden double doors leading out into the street. Caste Mayor. Sounds echo from the outside world. Screams. Singing. Dogs barking.

We pass a magazine stall which sells only spanish newspapers and magazines. We endeavour to find an english paper to read for the afternoon because the tv is all in spanish. (CNN can only be found at hotels, not hostals). After searching we find Marie Claire. The only English magazine!

Spent the afternoon reading. Greg with his Lonely Planet, plotting! We were to go to the Flamenco dancing in the evening so rest was good! Wé´d checked out the Flamenco situation the night before. He said book from the hotel. The hostal said we didn´t need to (were they evading having to book for us?). We didn´t book.

That night we went to the Flamenco House. Next door to where we stayed for our first 3 nights here, The Regente. We went throught the maginficant door to a man asking, ¨Reservationo?¨No we said. He then shut the door in our face!

Is there a sense of hostility here? What is that all about? The impatience. The lack of lateral thinking. There doesn´t seem to be other options. Like, ¨We´re open tomorrow come back then!¨It´s just plain no and shut the door.

We walked the town. The air was fresh. 10 degrees celcius. We tighten our scarves and put on our gloves. It feels cold. The streets seem darker. The prostituesa are about. Ít´s 10pm and we havnen´t had dinner.

Finally we find a restaurante. Smoke everywhere. And order paella and Vino Tito (red wine)

It was one of those meloncholic weird days. Did we feel the subtle traces of racism? The intolerance for tourists? A city built on tradition and a suppressed spirit.

We felt rather alone as we stumbled back to our little home. But we had each other.