Day Five in Madrid

Day Five in Madrid . . . 

Pretty much slept in this morning; got a slow start.

Last night found J&J Books and Coffee on Calle San Bernardo (it's an English-Language bookstore, y'all; I'm going to need another book for the train to Lisbon Tuesday overnight), so today we bounded out of the room at the Crack of Noon and learned a little about the subway system of Madrid. We've been using the buses thus far. (And the feets.)

Eighteen minutes later we're on the Plaza de Espańa. Serenaded on the train by a young man with his guitar who played a few licks, then went up and down the aisle collecting coins. Kathryn parked on a bench in the sun; I trucked across the park to catch the several-stories-high billboard for "Capitana America." Moved around to get out from behind a tree and wound up behind a different tree; had to move to the sidewalk. But I did get the (much edited) shot.

Then I had to check out the fountain (la fuente). Oh! what a major score. This is the statuary of Cervantes in a stone seat overlooking his bronze Quixote and Sancho Panza. I am one of the most blessed of men. Captured that. Not caught with the photo was the accordion player with a click track playing contemporary music or the braided lady with the Celtic bodhrán. 

On the way to the bookstore we stopped to watch part of a protest parade down the Avenida Gran Viaje by people protesting the violence in Venezuela. The colors were much like those of the Catalan separatists; my impression was corrected by the signage. This is an incredibly urbane avenue . . . ain't nothin' like it in Dallas, y'all. Not a'tall.

Our route turned us north on Paseo San Bernardo, and a block or so on we turned in at an upscale bar-restaurant for sandwiches. If you want to sit at the tables, you have to order a meal with plates. If you prefer you get to eat standing at the bar. OK; works for me. Kathryn had the ham sandwich; I had the squid. Finally we both ditched the bread and just ate the filler. Spain has a culture of incredibly high-quality free-range pork, with photos of the hogs roaming in, for all intents and purposes, a park. Many and many a tapizeria has scores of dried hams hangin from ceilings and from the walls . . . very clean and polished hoof included. Those ready for sale are no longer in their fabric bags, and the chefs cut paper-thin slices from the ham from the farm of your choice, arranging them artistically on your gleaming white plate. The hams I've seen (been aware of) sell for up to thirty-nine euros a kilogram. I'll let you do the financial-emotional math.

We crossed Calle de Pez, very thoughtfully named for our oldest daughter, which was also home for an artistic display of "the traveling pants." Several of my English-teaching buds read Ann Brashares book(s); I haven't. But I took the photo for them.

Finally, we came to the intersection with Calle de Espriitu Santo, and there it its glory was J&J's Books and Coffee. By American-sanitary-bling standards, it's a dump. In the perception of every right-thinking Undergrad/English teacher/Homesick traveler/Rational Human Being, it's an Oasis of Beauty and Light. You must needs take off your backpack to slither between the bar-sitters and the wall. You have to turn immediately "a derecho" and follow the painted arrow pointing downstairs to "servicios" and "books" for shelves of alphabetical-by-author novels in centuries (in the Roman sense). The books are not B&N-accurately shelved, but close enough. And I knew I was in the right place when there were three Terry Pratchitt paper-backs on the table immediately inside.

Downstairs the owners followed the movie-theater dictum of "find a good spot to sell popcorn, and build a movie house around it," and they found a good spot to sell coffee and built a bookstore around it." This place might as well be named "The Bookstore at the End of the World."

Kathryn perched in a thoroughly beat-to-hell comfy chair, and I trudged back upstairs to buy nummies to "pay the rent." Ordering a cafe-con-leche, the girl behind the counter responded "coffee with milk." I replied "please" instead of "si." ***This American computer does NOT want to accept Spanish "yes." *** Back down the stairs. My Lady has attracted an undergraduate studying Nursing at St. Louis (Missouri) campus in Madrid. I dropped the bebidas, and went on the hunt. Found a fantasy about Merlin and Roland, a railroad detective mystery set in Sherlock Holmes' England, and a documentation of the Russian sinking of USS Scorpion in 1968.

I returned to show off my loot to find Kathryn had netted another Nursing student from St. Louis. These kids (in their 20s) were planning to finish their degrees in Missouri then join the Navy as commissioned Nurses. Great conversation with them. Sweet, beautiful, ready-for-the-world people.

Then we retraced our peregrination (isn't that a wonderful word?) to the subway, found the Number 3 train headed the right direction, and sat and watched the signs march past to our stop. A man was on the car begging coins. His face was healed their-degree burns, and most of his fingers were stumps, and people avoided him. I gave him a handful of coins (they come in denominations up to two euros).

The lady sitting next to us stayed sitting when the train arrived at the stop before us till the person she was meeting banged on the window behind our heads. She was up like a rocket and out the door! Made us grin.

Back in our "own" neighborhood for a green salad in one of "our" circle of bars and tapicerias. And up to our room to sit and breathe.

Oh; for comparison, our room is 8'-9" wide by 15'-6" long. That's about 135-1/2 square feet or, over here, 12-1/2 square meters. There is a bathroom in the suite; there are twin beds. The walls are plaster over vitreous brick; the floors are ceramic tile over concrete. The common area floors are granite; the halls are pink granite to shoulder height with plaster above. During the day the stairway windows (they don't waste space on hallways) are open for ventilations, as are the windows when the cleaning crew makes up the room. The entire space is cleaned to a standard exceeding what I've ever experienced in the States. The stair-landing lights stay on overnight (I suppose; I'm not up much past midnight), but the lights in the vestibules off which the rooms branch are on timers. The street level is floor zero; next comes the first floor of private apartments; the hotel is on floors two and three.

The sidewalks are constantly kept clean, except Friday night we were surprised that they weren't. They were swept and picked up yesterday and today before we came down.

It's good over here, y'all.

It's good.

So is Life.