Page 5 of 5
Madrid, Spain
Old man's gonna be rich, rich man's gonna be king
Racing at 300 km/h and watching the blurry Spanish countryside disappear from the comfort of my first class seat, I was not sure what to expect from Madrid. Due to a late departure from Sevilla, the lightning fast AVE train first got me into Rafael Moneo's glorious Madrid Atocha station under cover of darkness. A quick subway ride to the Gran Via and a quicker block and a half walk found me at my gracious and well located hotel. When I finally left such seclusion and started to explore I found myself crushed by locals crowding the pedestrian streets past the omni present department store and into the Puerta del Sol, the Gate of the Sun (even though there is no longer a gate), the geographic heart of Madrid, the geographic heart of Spain.
I spent the next day exploring the city, from all its trappings of a totally unnecessary monarchy to its world class museums (including a modern art museum with a renovation designed by Jean Nouvel and Pablo Picasso's Guernica and all those wondrous points in between. Fountains around seemingly every corner, little plazas, gracious buildings. Before such explorations, when words like Guernica and Reina Sofia and even Tio Pepe held little personal meaning, the fountains at Puerta del Sol continued to flow, regardless of whether or not there really is a gate or even a sun.
I know this is Madrid and I know I could find it if I was there, but I'll be damned if I can remember exactly where it is. It might be Plaza Provincia, it might be Plaza Benevente, it might be a smaller plaza that is not even big enough to deserve a name. Still, no matter where it really may be, the hypnotic, unnamed fountain continues to mesmerize locals, visitors and at least half of its resident pigeon population, causing them yet again to forget exactly where they are.
A rare note of dissension in such a gracious city- more than anywhere I have ever visited, the people of Madrid seem to lack many of the basic, pedestrian skills needed to survive this city life. It is a wonder that many are not killed every day crossing the street. They walk at a slow, dignified pace, almost as if they are balancing something important atop their heads. This pace does not change as they try to cross large, busy streets which do not allow a large enough window for them to cross safely. Still they go, slowly, avoiding yet another near death experience often signaled by honking and (what I believe to be) swearing motorists. Even in this picture, somewhere in the tangled streets between Plaza Mayor and Puerta del Sol, rogue pedestrians ignore those clever, spherical bollards to take their chances against whatever inevitable speeding cars may come.
Spain foolishly ignores reality and insists on aligning its clocks with the balance of Europe- when it is 8AM in Berlin or Stockholm or Warsaw, it is 8AM and barely past sunrise in Madrid. Portugal finds itself closer to the reality of Greenwich Mean Time, so when I left Madrid on an overnight train for my final day in Lisbon on the night that Daylight Savings Time ended, I woke up two hours earlier than expected. Thirty hours later I would find myself on a plane headed back here, what was 8AM in Spain and 6AM in Lisbon was soon 1AM in Newark, creating an even harsher feel to all those dark realities awaiting my return.
Early on my last night in Lisbon, my last night in Europe, just as those floodlights begin to take hold at the Castle Sao Jorge, the buildings of the Alfama glow from the brilliance of a distant setting sun, signaling yet another end of such unmitigated wonders.
The (mostly) abandoned streets of Lisbon early on a Sunday evening glisten underneath those generous lights. The sidewalks throughout Lisbon remain of interest, everywhere you go there are white sidewalks with intricate black designs, each one unique in its setting and style- an unexpected, surviving luxury from the center of a once sprawling empire.
Another fountain, another column, another gracious, well lit building in the background. The fading thrills of the once great city remain on display through that inescapable, final night.
The end of an era.
For the last sixteen months the numbers have been absolutely staggering. Eight slide shows spread over a hundred days, well over four hundred pictures for those brave enough to request all of those damn bonus slides. Now familiar images across five continents- places as diverse and exotic as Bayon, Fiordland, Soldier Hollow, Cape Breton, Racine, Sevilla. As much a function of my personal desire as it was from being involved with a workplace that honored hard work with earned time, I was afforded extraordinary opportunities that permitted such glorious pursuits. Still, over time, things change. I returned only to uncover some especially unnecessary treachery in such a once generous workplace. Within a week of my return I had already handed in my letter of resignation, something done without premeditation and, after six and a half years, completely without regret.
The final picture of this slide show is from a more innocent time, a time when I was completely unaware of darker events circling me half a world away. After my night visit to the incomparable Alhambra, descending the road back to Granada, completely alone in the darkness I came across a small fountain in a small unnamed plaza. Under its perfect night skies and within sight of the Alhambra walls, it proved yet again that the most spectacular of places are not necessarily the ones most expected.
And with the end of every era comes the start of another. Monday morning, as November and the last remnants of the slide show fade into memory, I will be starting anew at a place so impossibly far away, a place filled with such promise. A month ago I could never have predicted this once uncertain and now hopeful future, I was only concerned with the moment, a time when a small fountain in a small, unnamed plaza underneath those perfect night skies felt like more than I had ever hoped for.
Any interest in going to Switzerland?
This trip to Spain and Portugal started in Milan and made stops in Switzerland, Berlin and Paris first, If you’re all about reverse chronological order and haven’t been there yet, click below to get started.
