It is Monday morning 14 April, and my inamorata and I have just boarded a train at the main station in Madrid, headed for Granada with a train change at Cordoba. Although I advised readers that I would not be held to the exacting standard of a Monday morning essay in your inbox, the fact that I am speeding along the Spanish counryside with internet access and a keyboard-enabled tablet means you'll wake to this little bit of extra sunshine.
Speaking of sunshine, we haven't seen much of it thus far, as it has been by turns, cloudy or rainy. A bit of sun here and there, notable when it happens. I was advised that this part of the world is known for its sunshine, and I was apparently mislead.
Typing the word “mislead" on my keyboard just now alerted me to the possibility that I had not spelled it correctly, and I hadn't. For some reason, I have been unable to get the native spellcheck to work on the Substack function, and so there may be unfortunate spelling and useage errors as a result. I hope you won't mind.
These travel glimpses will be just that; short, pithy morsels with a bit of rambling about what I've seen and done whilst roaming these lands of such frustration to Napoleon and his armies. Because of my curmudgeonly and sometimes dyspeptic mien, there will occastionally seem to be a bit of “complaining” here, but it should not be confused with me not enjoying myself. Heavens, if enjoying myself precluded complaining, there'd be little to enjoy. So, let's begin.
My Feet
I made a decisision before traveling that I would bring one pair of shoes, the ones I had on my feet when I left the house. My plan all along was to wear a sturdy pair of low top hiking shoes that has served me well on previous journeys, with the key feature being that they are waterproof. The night before we traveled, I decided to substitute a pair of “samba"-like trainers, a decision I know thoroughly regret. Although they are incredibly comfortable, the rains we've dealt with have not treated the shoes well. As I lie (lay? laid?) in bed the first night, I caught a distinct, foul odor that had a whiff of cat piss. It seems the wet shoes and socks had gained an effulgent quality, that no amount of blow drying seemed to reconcile, even when close to dry. It has grown to the crisis point, where I will dramatically overpay for a new pair of shoes at the next opportunity. Catherine has been a saint.
Madrid
I have only been acquainted with Madrid as an airport en-route, and after three days, I declare it a first rate world city. We stayed in two places, a hostel (no, we weren't in bunks, you ninnies) and a hotel. The hotel had a fine restaurant that was happy to serve me cafe con leche whenever I seemed to want one. Speaking of food, I have tried to be good on this trip, but have failed miserably. No sweets mind you, but bread out the ying yang.
We visited the Royal Palace, the Cathedral, and what I am told is one of the world's premier places to have churros and liquid chocolate, although I passed on this treat. We broke off into independent surface action groups yesterday afternoon, as I proceeded to the Museo Naval (superb) and she went to the Royal Botanical Garden--but was rained out. Here's a photo of me chilling in the big park we visited.
Trained Seals
I have written here before of my distaste for the prancing ubiquity of digital photography in modern life, and Madrid has been no exception. It isn't enough to BE in the splendor of the Royal Palace, one must preen like a trained seal whilst one's fakely smiling boyfriend or mate takes photo after photo of the smallest changes in how hair falls around the shoulders in the throne room. For those thinking of the irony of me bitching about digital photos seconds after posting a digital photo, get a life, because you probably missed THIS BEAUTY as you skipped across my smiling face:
Holy Week
We are interposing ourselves into the most Holy of times of the year for a Catholic country, and Palm Sunday got things off to a great start yesterday. The locals paraded about in their Sunday finery with their palms and their olive branches (new to me), and there was a big parade that apparently featured a paper mache Jesus atop an ass carried by the local grandees, which we missed. As I watched Spaniards living their lives, I thought deeply about being an American. I am proud of my country and its history, even if I am not always proud of its citizens. As I walk about this great, international city, I am struck by how little I hear of language other than Spanish. At the tourist sites, I am surrounded by proud, patriotic Spaniards celebrating the great history of this counry that has had such a huge impact on world history. It is good to be surrounded by people for whom the United States--its greatness and its pretense--is not an issue. It is a reminder to me that my pariotism is not unique, and that while great and powerful, the land of my birth is one of many.
Next Up
We'll get to Granada later today and be there for two nights. The highlight of the trip will be a visit to Alhambra, and hopefully the purchase of less odiferous footwear. Until next time.