Back in September last year, the Times ran an easyJet promotion; basically is was a return for the price of a one way. We decided on Madrid because we’d not been there, Tracy had a friend who was living there, and it was £39, inc taxes. All of which pretty well decided it.

It very nearly didn’t happen for me at least. I got to Reading station, and finding myself a little early, I went to browse the porn financial papers. It was only after a while that I noticed the concourse and platform clocks differed by 5 minutes. I dashed to the platform, just as the doors locked. The train pulled out of the station - in the wrong direction; in my haste I’d gone to the wrong platform, and had I boarded that train, I’d have been stuck on it until Bristol. And there was no way I’d have got back in time.

All of which miscarriaging left me with 0.25 seconds to run up one flight of stairs and down another, with a suitcase just begging to do something untoward like spill pants and other such unseemly items onto the concourse. Amazingly, I met with my Tracy and we were Luton bound.

The flight was uneventful, and we disembarked and headed for a bus into town. At this point we had NO idea where we were going to sleep, but between random wanderings and the “Rough Guide to Madrid” I had bought with us, we found a small Hostal, a sort of not-quite-hotel establishment. It was here that we really started to notice something about the people of this city. They are the most miserable bunch of sods we’d ever met! Not only did they never smile, but they go out of their way to be unhelpful as long as they’re not too busy pushing and barging their way around.

A little later, after depositing our bags, we had the incorrect notion that somewhere in this great and cultural place, there just might be somewhere to eat. After about an hour, we gave up battling and settled for a trusty McDonalds! And there ended the first day.

The next morning we set out a little more enthusiastically, and started at the Puerta del Sol in the very centre of Spain’s capital city. I managed to get a picture exactly the same as on the cover of the Rough Guide which I was pleased with:

I also got one of Tracy in the square, (looking a little dazzled by the brilliant sunshine that punctuated a very crisp morning) and it seems that not only did I get a fountain AND a statue, but there was a bird flying by at the same time!

We continued on to the enormous “Plaza Mayor”, started in 1590 and finished in 1619, it’s capable of holding up to 50,000 people for state occasions etc.
(Me in the Plaza Del Mayor)

It now holds huge markets, although we seemed to have arrived on a day when a Very Loud Man was making the most of a Very Loud Speaker to let his views echo round the the square. After a further wander around the central area, we decided to have a coffee and do some people watching. I had a rather pleasant cafe americano, but Tracy made the mistake of ordering tea. Someone has to tell these people that tea is not a teabag floating on a warm glass of milk.

And so we watched, and here’s what we noticed. Firstly, as in France, it seems to be an unwritten rule that all women, on reaching the age of 50, must have blonde shoulder-length hair, and wear fur coats and half-glasses. And then we noticed the police. So many police. And all of them fat and middle aged, sort of Spanish versions of Chief Wiggum from The Simpsons. And all of them totally oblivious to what was going on around them. So long as they could stand in groups wearing shades and leather jackets, all was right in the world. At this time, it was still quite cold, but you could bathe in a patch of warm sunlight if you so choose and we wandered back to the main square, where I took this silhouette of the horseman in the centre of the square.

We headed towards the largest shop I’ve ever been in: El Corte Ingles. Nine floors of everything in every shape and size. And not content with that building, there’s another opposite for books. And another for music. And another on nearly as grand a scale as the first, in case you’d forgotten what it looks like. There was even a supermarket in the basement, in which we later bought some German sausages. (I could tell some jokes about this, but they’d be the wurst you’d ever heard).

Again, we couldn’t help but notice how rude and unhelpful people were, even in this store. Basically it goes like this:
Go up to counter, assistant notices you. And carries on talking to her friend. You eventually attract what you might call their attention, and so they light a cigarette and take their time over it. And the same “f-you” attitude goes for driving, too. These people have NO discipline at all. I think that traffic lights are only an approximate guide to what you could do in the rare case that you might be paying any attention to them. Lights turn red, traffic stops after about 10 seconds. And then they just start beeping their horns! Anyone remember an urban myth about 5 years ago that flashing your lights at traffic lights made them change ot green? Remember watching in amusement as some dork in a Capri with a “World and his wife” sticker in the window flashed incessantly at lights for 2 minutes and when they changed he thought it was him that had done it? Well, I think the Spaniards are like this, only they use their horns. And they don’t stop at night either. Honk honk bloody honk ALL NIGHT! AAAAAAAAAGH!

I think I also know why they’re having such a bad time. It’s called the Telephone and Postal Systems. Now, most automatic machines Madrid seemed to have a rather cunning trick of eating your money, and not registering it OR giving it back. But the payphones really are in a league of their own. They even charge for an aborted call! So if you call someone and the line is busy, or you just give up, it charges you for the privilege! So I thought I’d post some cards instead. Now, you allegedly should be able to but stamps at any of the many Tabacs dotted around the centre of Madrid. Not true, they all seems to have run out. Meaning a trip to the main post office in Madrid. And where is that? It’s a portakabin in the middle of the sub-sub basement car park of El Corte Ingles! With one man, and a queue 40 minutes long for stamps…

It’s this kind of incredible inefficiency that permeates throughout the whole city and must drive people to either smoke lost or be miserable. Or be miserable about smoking and knowing it’s going to kill them. If being miserable doesn’t do it first! Oh for God’s sake SOMEBODY SMILE, PLEASE!

That night after a couple of drinks, we headed for the famous “Chocolateria Sans Gines“, where you can buy chocolate con churros This is a cup of thick molten chocolate served with a side of deep fried batter sticks. It’s a heart-attack heartland, where the natives go to make the veins in the Spanish arm harder!

We waddled back to our Hostal (different from the first night), and awoke the next morning to sample the “full breakfast” which was included. Full as in: one two day old roll and preserve and a glass of coffee.

Oh well.

Day three, and today was the day we go to find Anna, Tracy’s friend who lives in an apartment near the edge of the city. We’d given up fighting the phones, and took the remarkably quick, clean and efficient Metro to her house on the offchance she’d arrived back from England. She had, and we dumped our bags, said hello, and let her get on with unpacking while we went and explored the outer reaches of the city. Along what I think is the south side of the city are a row of huge and splendid palaces of all descriptions.

I took this picture of one of the fountains near one of the palaces, and I hope it gives some indication of just how clear and bright the sky was.

We then took a cable car ride right across a huge park to an area with a theme park and a zoo. We were getting short of both time and light, so we noted the theme park for another day and headed back. That night, we talked with Anna - and the five other English people who share a rather spacious flat with - about Madrid, and we were both relieved to find that it wasn’t just us that the natives were rude to. And they said “just wait til you see the TV!”, and turned the TV on. It was utter pap! For those of you who’ve ever seen either American TV, Sky1 or Channel 5, you’ll know just what I mean. 10 channels of Julio Iglasias/ Val Donican lookalikes crooning their way through the night. Oh, and the Simpsons loses a little something in the translation….

Day 4, and we headed back for the theme park and zoo, leaving Anna to do what she does, which is teach EFL. We took a Metro this time, only to arrive and find it only opened on a weekend in the winter. And the zoo was too expensive. So we thought we’d take a long walk through the Campo Del Moro, and huge and very beautiful public park. We hadn’t walked far when we saw this view:

It’s a not-very-good photo of the Madrid skyline. But you see that yellow thing on a very tall poll? That is the freefall vertical drop ride in the theme park, something I’d have liked ot have gone on, but never mind. But better yet, turning 90 degrees to our left, we saw this:

If you look carefully (and twiddle various knobs on you monitor) you can see a range of snow-capped mountains. Totally spectacular, which no camera can do justice to. We carried on walling through the park the few miles towards the city, and in the course of which took the following pictures (and for those of you who think I already have too many pictures of me, wait til you get a load of these!)

OK! Enough already! So we continued walking, and noticed a woman in a leotard walking along the side of the road. And a man in a Jeep stopping. And talking to her. And her getting in and them driving off. And then we noticed a bunch of four of them hanging around on a corner. And this prostitutional activity wasn’t confined to one area of the park either - it was everywhere! But worse was yet to come. We picked up the pace a bit, and stuck to the road (almost literally!), when we saw a woman in front. Long blonde hair, long fur coat, high leather boots. The police drove by, and she turned away to avoid their gaze - it was man in drag soliciting for business at 12:15 in the afternoon, and the police didn’t even slow down. Now I’m not narrow minded, but I did think that that all made a rather beautiful park into not the sort of place you’d want your children playing.

That night, we decided to cook at least two of our hosts dinner, and so I made a spaghetti bolognese for four people, consisting of:
tomato puree, freshly ground mince beef, fresh onion, garlic, mushrooms, peppers etc. In other words, nothing out of a can. Oh, and two bottles of wine. So that’s fresh spaghetti bolognese and two decent bottles of wine for around a £5! Maybe it wasn’t such a bad place after all! Later that night, we headed out to a bar and drank until three. We could have kept going, but we simply couldn’t have, if you see what I mean.

We flew home the next day, and had fantastic views over the mountains of Salamanca, and a wonderful sunset too. Of course, as soon as we got back into British airspace, everything went pear-shaped, and we spent 25 minutes circling waiting to land in wet and miserable weather.

And so we made a mad dash for a train, then the underground, and went our separate ways, me to a train, then my bike, then a bath, and a very quick dash into work. Where I scanned some photographs and wrote a far-too-long journal.

And this, dear reader, is where I shall leave you. All in all, I enjoyed it. And provided you don’t mind rude arrogant people and nearly being killed every time you cross the road, you would too!

14^th January 1999

Categories: Europe, Spain, travelogue