Hot....sunny and hot. But the trip from the airport, after we got through the high-rise condos, showed an intriguing mix of old statues and buildings, all crammed together, with more than the usual trees and parks. That was Madrid, Spain in July.
Our hotel ended up in the university area, only blocks from the Royal Palace. Our first meal was out on the patio by the street -- I ordered paella, that Spanish mix of shrimp, sausage, veggies and bright orange rice. Friend Chris ordered a tosta: an open-face sandwich topped by a wriggly mix of baby eels.
"I'm not eating that," Tommy, her husband, retorted. But the Brick and I each had a bite, and it was absolutely delicious -- firm and juicy, with a hit of olive oil. (I kept thinking, ' Don't look.' Thoughts of worms and leeches kept intruding.) Tommy and the Brick had a beer, which helped some. And I had the first of an amazing series of cafe con leche. Dappled leaves overhead, the warm smile of the waitress (who figured out what we wanted, thanks to our limited Spanish and her equally so English.), good food -- and traffic noise. What else could you need?So... if you get a chance at an eel sandwich, Spanish-style, take it. Really.
Unfortunately, when you visit Madrid in the summer, you're going to be sharing the public areas with umpteen tourists, many of them Japanese. Statues and sculptures, celebrating this emperor or that military victory, are everywhere -- unlike many of the old monasteries and churches, which were torn down for Progress. Commercial buildings were put in their place -- but no worries: their art treasures were safely removed to the nearest museum. After a while, I got the feeling that this was not exactly a coincidence.
Some cathedrals remain, and they're lovely. One was in view out our hotel window. We also strolled (and strolled, and strolled) through the large royal park, lined with trees. ("Sycamores," said Tommy, who studied forestry in college.) Due to the heat, no doubt, the Royal Palace, and its attached museums, was built on the top of a large hill overlooking the city. We had purchased tickets, but with no signs until the very entrance, ended up in the wrong line. (Do not expect signs telling you where to go -- not in Spanish. And certainly not in English.)
The palace was absolutely amazing -- room after room with gilding, large-scale paintings (on the ceiling, too), and jammed with precious china, musical instruments and furniture. Chris and I both noticed, though, that the men's personal areas were much more fancy-decorated than the women's. And the areas meant for meeting public dignitaries were the most elaborate of all.
One emperor (Charles, I believe) had umpteen statues and paintings of himself, displayed prominently in various alcoves. Charles, portrayed as Claudius, the Roman emperor. Charles, looking noble in ringlets. Charles, in full uniforn on a prancing horse...and just as obviously, never fighting in an actual battle.
Other than His Majesty, we saw a wide range of paintings, both at the Palace and at the Museo del Prado, that were amazing -- and beautifully kept. It's obvious that the Spanish value their artwork. One strange thing, though -- in spite of Spain's Civil War, it was only briefly mentioned. I kept wondering: weren't these places looted?
If that was the case, somehow they were restored. Or maybe the rooms were even more lavish originally. Several signs noted that the King (yes, they still have one) occasionally uses the palace for state events, including a huge dining room, and a table that we could barely see the end of.
20 paintings you should see at the Prado -- there are hundreds more.
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