Madrid Quickie – Day Two
Sleeping in a new bed, especially when I know it’s only for one night, is always a challenge for me but this one was surprisingly comfortable. Or maybe I was so tired it would not have cared if it had been an air mattress. Excited about having a whole day to roam around I started my day looking for a good place to have breakfast. I chose a place called Cafe del Patio because it sounded interesting and was just around the corner. Or so I thought. Judging by how far I actually walked to find this place it might as well have been across town. I don’t know why I was having such a hard time following GoogleMap’s instructions but clearly we were not on the same page. So, instead of going some 300m I must have walked at least a kilometre and a half to a place that was, in fact, only 300m from my AirBnB. Go figure. This may have been a sign of how my day would go.
By now hungry and grumpy, I was happy to sit down in this rather quaint little place which did have a very nice patio. Unfortunately all the seats there were taken so I had to be inside, not that that was bad: their music choices were splendid and I quite enjoyed my time there. What I was a little disappointed with was the actual food. I swear I have never paid this much for a couple of eggs and some bacon, but at least I had a view of some interesting people. There was a group of four women at one table and one of them caught my eye. She was older, tall, wearing all black, except for an amazing pare of UN platform boots (something like this but brighter). If you’re not familiar with UN (United Nude) shoes, they’re extremely cool (I own a pair of gorgeous red boots, similar to these). I was very impressed with her fashion sense and promised myself I will be more bold and wear my boots not just for special occasions.
Somewhat fortified, it was time to hit the sidewalks of Madrid. Knowing I was going to be back here in a couple of months I didn’t really make much of an itinerary, but I promised Sagrario I would go check out the Mercado de San Miguel so that was my first destination. On the way, however, I passed by Plaza Mayor, one of the iconic spots in the city. I was surprised to find a lot of activity going on in the centre of the plaza with Phillip III looking over it all. There were trucks, cables, and people everywhere–clearly something was up. As I edged closer to the barricades I overheard someone say it was a taping of the MasterChef España which definitely made my ears perk up. Sadly, I had arrived a little late because it looked like equipment was being put away instead of being set up. I tried to catch glimpses of the chefs but I didn’t spot anyone wearing a chef’s hat. I don’t watch the North American versions of the show so why would I recognize anyone here anyway? I should check if these things make it to YouTube at some point; I’m hopeless when it comes to Spanish TV in general so the chances of my finding this episode when it airs are slim to none.
Next I headed to the Mercado de San Miguel, purposely going the long way, re-familiarizing myself with the neighbourhood. Again my luck was running low. A sign on the door said the market has been closed since October. I had expected a market similar to Mercado Central in València, but from I could glean, it’s more of a place to eat well at many different establishments. I do hope they will reopen by May because it did look interesting. For now I had to be satisfied admiring its architecture.
Not really knowing what to do next, I looked for another market on GoogleMaps and found one a little further down Calle de Atocha (the street I was keeping close to because it leads to both the Museo Reina Sofía and the train station). Again, I was expecting the type of food market I’ve become accustomed to but Mercado Antón Martin was a total disappointment. For one, it was not housed in its own building as a proper market should. It was basically a three-level indoor market that takes up a block but from the street you’d never know it was even there. I went inside to see what it was like but I left almost as quickly: the stalls were cramped together, the ceilings were relatively low (especially the basement level), many of the stalls weren’t even open, and, generally, the whole place just didn’t have the vibe of a proper market. If I lived in the neighbourhood I’m sure I’d find vendors and produce I liked but as far as it being an enjoyable place to visit just because, nah, I’ll pass. I didn’t even bother to take my phone out to take a picture.
So I kept on walking. GoogleMaps told me that there were some bookstores at the bottom of the Avenida de Atocha, right next door to the Botanical Gardens, so I headed there. But, you guessed it, my luck was still not improving. From the pictures on Google I could see that normally there are many stalls with booksellers offering their wares, new and used, but none of them were open just then. I don’t know if that was because of Covid, time of the year, or just it being a grey Wednesday afternoon. It seems I was destined to either keep walking, something that was quickly becoming less and less comfortable (right shoes+wrong socks-realization it’s possible to buy better socks+Madrid’s very coarse sidewalks=very sore feet). I did what I usually do when I can’t walk anymore: I sat down on a bench and read my book. One of the nice things about the wide avenues in Spanish cities is the ubiquity of benches, especially along the lovely Paseo del Prado next to the Real Jardín Botánico. I sat there for quite a while reading and watching people walk by, a very pleasant way to kill time.
After a while my tummy told me it was time to move again. I crossed the street and walked down the other side of Paseo del Prado where I knew the fabulous Jardín Vertical Caixaforum is located. I’ve always loved the concept of living walls. I really enjoyed the plant wall at AJ’s (later Jusu Bar) in the Atrium in Victoria and vowed that one day I’ll have one too. This one is, of course, many times bigger as it takes up the whole side wall of a building. My luck was turning a little as I had the pleasure of seeing the wall tended to. Of course, from a purely aesthetic point of you that wasn’t probably so lucky since the red lift does spoil the pictures a bit, but it did show me that taking care of such a magnificent piece of gardening isn’t that difficult if you have the right equipment. I will have to come back when it’s sunny and free from maintenance staff.
Before heading to Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, my main destination today, I did manage to grab some food at an interesting little Thai place where I had a decent hot and sour soup and a Pad Thai. I was now ready to tackle the many rooms of art awaiting me, and you can read about all that in the next post.
Totally exhausted by all that art, I had one more item on my agenda. Sagrario told me I had to visit this one place, Bar El Brillante, that served the best bocadillo de calamar in the city. Since all her recommendations so far have panned out really well, I had to try it. Fortunately, it was just outside the museum, in the same plaza, so I didn’t have far to go. Unfortunately, I wasn’t super hungry yet! That problem was solved by their having small versions of the sandwich which I ordered along with a clara. I still had time to kill, so I even had a second clara, because why not, right? It had been a long time since I was able to eat out and now I could just sit there and chill, drinking a nice cool drink while munching on a yummy squid sandwich. The shock only came with the bill: I paid as much for each of the claras as I did for the sandwich! Claras normally cost between €1.50-€2.50 but here they were €4.50! Each! Shocking, especially since I rarely order two so the joke really was on me. Oh well, it was that kind of day. At least the bocadillo lived up to its billing:
I forgot to mention that my train back was at 9:40pm so even with spending extra long time at Bar El Brillante, I still had nearly three hours to kill. I checked to see if there was an earlier train I could possibly change my ticket for and since there was, I headed to the station. The Atocha station is really a magnificent building. I can’t believe anyone would want to blow it up but they sure tried. I remember when it happened, too. I was living in Chile at the time and I remember having a discussion with my students about it and the reasons behind the terrorist attack of 3/11, which is how Spaniards refer to it. In a way, it’s their 9/11, except it happened in 2004. We immediately thought it was ETA, the Basque separatist organization, behind the bombings, just like everyone else at the time. It wasn’t until some time later that an investigation showed that Al Qaeda was responsible. Today, of course, there is no sign of the aftermath, and I hadn’t researched it enough to know if there was some kind of memorial for me to find. I do know that it is why all luggage now goes through x-rays before you can board the fast trains.
I did try to get my ticket changed, but in keeping with the theme of the day, it would have cost me another €50 or so to change it. It seems that Renfe increases the price of tickets the closer you are to travelling so the ticket that I bought two weeks ago for €25 now cost €75! If I wanted to go earlier I’d have to pay the difference. I figured a couple of hours sitting around and reading a book was worth keeping that money in my pocket. What I hadn’t counted on, however, was the fact that due to Covid, many of the places normally available to sit and enjoy were now either closed, gone altogether, or blocked off, forcing me to spend a huge chunk of that time sitting on a concrete wall at the edge of the palm tree garden in the middle of the station. I would have loved to be able to stroll around in the indoor park and perhaps sit on a nice bench for a while, but no, all I got was a cold, concrete, and very uncomfortable little wall. Sigh, I was so ready to go home and every fibre of my body was screaming at me as well.
To add insult to injury, when I finally managed to find the departure platform (Atocha! You may be beautiful but your signage sucks!), I discovered a waiting area there with super comfortable seats. I did plop myself in one of them for a bit but soon it was time to board. I chose to tell myself this section wasn’t opened until shortly before departure so I couldn’t have sat there for 2+ hours anyway … and yes, I’m sticking to that delusion because anything other would just make me very, very grumpy.
The journey back to València was pretty uneventful and very quick. When we arrived it was already past 11pm so an hour after curfew, but there were taxis available and we all had good reasons to be out on the road. It was very spooky to be driven down such empty streets, and even weirder when I got dropped off at the Plaza de la Reina and had to walk the few blocks to the house. It was eerily quiet but also very bright. I had never realized how lit up all the streets are at night, something that made me feel quite safe. Of course I didn’t expect to see anyone out anyway, everyone was supposed to be home, except for that one guy who clearly had an urge to recycle in the middle of the night and the other one who was still delivering food? Weirdos. As I turned into Carrer dels Juristes I caught a glimpse of a police car going down the next street over and as I could feel their eyes on me I quickly hurried to #15. I was very happy to be back in València–I have to admit I felt a sense of coming home, something akin to the feeling I usually get when I get off the ferry in Schwartz Bay. I wonder if that means anything …
