Madrid: The Hedonistic Capital of Spain

We chose an unlikely place to start our journey. We flew to Madrid rather than to somewhere in Portugal, mostly because we decided it made the most sense to fly into and out of this major international airport rather than piece together an itinerary to and from lesser airports. So our plan has been to spend a day or two in Madrid, then take a train to Lisbon to visit that city as well before catching a bus north to Porto (or Oporto in Portuguese), which will be the start of our actual pilgrimage.



Our first photo of Madrid, at our first bus stop, at the
Plaza de Cibeles with the Palacio de Comunicaciones



We arrived in Madrid midday yesterday, with plenty of time to figure out public transportation to the city center, where the youth hostels and major historic sites are located. Spain greeted us with crisp weather, and it felt wonderful to do a bit of walking with our packs on our backs to work out the airplane kinks. We wound up at the International Youth Hostel Posadas de las Huertas, on one of the main arteries to the city center, El Calle de las Huertas, and booked a room. The generous host gave us a four-person bunk room all to ourselves for the rate of two. Our room was on the third floor with a balcony opening to the main street below, a narrow cobblestoned affair that was already deep in shadow by mid-afternoon.

After a quick nap, we wandered around for the evening, taking in the medieval architecture and the hubbub of the city and having a filling meal of the popular tapas style to be found all over the city. We returned to the hostel and crashed fairly early in the evening, since we hadn’t gotten much sleep on the airplane, foregoing the free sangria offered by the hostel kitchen to kick off an evening of bar-hopping by the younger guests. We also decided to skip a flamenco show, since the ones we found at local bars all started at 10 PM or later.



A market where we had some lunch



At two in the morning, we were both awoken by what sounded like a riot in the street with simultaneous loud voices out in the hallway. I quickly figured out that the guests in the hallway were just chatting, and I tried not to be irritated that I had forgotten my earplugs. However, the noise in the street was more baffling. After a few minutes of no change in the volume or timbre of the noise, I got out of bed and went to the balcony door, opening it and peering out below. I was utterly astounded at the hordes of revelers meandering up and down the street, their raised voices bouncing and echoing along the narrow street, up the sides of the stone buildings and into the windows of every resident living above the bars and clubs at street level, the ones that were all closed up earlier or that looked like peaceful places to have a glass of wine at the end of a workday. This noise I chalked up to part of the experience and my lack of ability to sleep as due to jetlag, and I climbed back into bed refusing to get bent out of shape.

Pablo Picasso's Guernica at Centro de Arte Reina Sofia

Three wakeful hours later, I finally decided to pull out my iPod, which I am so glad I decided to bring. Before I succumbed to that, I tried reading our guidebooks, since it didn’t seem like the right time for the Tao de Ching or the Bhagavad-Gita. (When is the right time for those books, anyway? So far, not on a plane, and not in a hostel in Madrid at 3 AM. Hopefully on the camino.) I finally read the section of our Lonely Planet guide to Spain a bit more closely. Over and over again the authors mention of the night life of Madrid, describing the constant party scene that gives the place its hedonistic reputation. They write, “Being in Madrid can be a bit like watching a party through a plate glass window, not feeling entirely sure what all the fun is about.” They couldn’t have described better my feeling as I stood watching my breath condense on the inside of our balcony window, feeling sure that to get the most out of this trip, I should really get dressed and join the party on the street below. Maybe if I had something to wear other than my hiking clothes…

Plaza Provincia at dusk

A Pooka? Street performer at Plaza Mayor

Instead, I put in my earbuds and queued up the audiobook that I started about six weeks ago and sort of stalled out on –Don Quixote. When weighing whether to bring the iPod, I factored in the hope that perhaps my interest in the book might be revived by actually being in Spain. Well, it effectively put me to sleep at 5 AM, after which I slept fitfully for a few hours. I bought earplugs the next day. (Try figuring out how to say that in Spanish.)

As for the rest of our visit in Madrid, it has been full and rewarding, from seeing original Picassos and Dalis at the Museo de Arte Reina Sofia to strolling around El Parque de Buen Retiro (like Madrid’s Central Park) to being entertained by street performers and Christmas lights at the Plaza Mayor. Old Bay’s photos do these treasures justice more than my words can. But we’re glad to be on our way to Portugal now via an overnight train. We’re eager to start our walk and offset our city excitement with some small town strolls. But first, to Lisbon, where I’ll be bamboozled with the shift from Spanish to Portuguese. My one month of Portuguese classes in high school can’t hold a candle to the years of studying Spanish and four months spent in Costa Rica.

Plaza Mayor at night