After breakfast, I decided to go to El Templo Debod. This is my fourth time in Madrid, yet I had never visited this famous landmark. The charming taxi driver who took me quipped that after 41 years of living in Madrid, he hadn’t either. The temple was a gift from Egypt in appreciation for Spain’s assistance in saving precious ancient monuments which had been submerged after the construction of the Aswan Dam Project. The United Nations put out an urgent call to enlist countries in this effort, and Spain was one of the few that answered along with the United States, Germany, and Belgium. The temple was dismantled then painstakingly reconstructed. There‘s a small but interesting museum inside which explains how so many of these monuments were saved.
The small two-story temple sits on a hill overlooking the city. I loved the spectacular views of Madrid in all its splendor. A reflection pool and a fountain grace the front of the monument. A lovely park is also on the grounds. where I saw people walking their dogs. At one moment, two large, beautifully groomed black French poodles hit the ground running as they arrived with their owner. In another area, students engaged in meditation sat in a circle with their teacher. The fresh cut lawn, towering trees and gardens were a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city below. Many tourists visit this place, but I also saw dozens of locals from the nearby apartment complexes jogging, and walking their dogs. As I began my trek down, I had tears in my eyes. Mi ultimo día en Madrid. (my last day in Madrid). I decided that for the rest of the afternoon I would simply wander where my feet took me.
I walked towards the Royal Palace, then swung over to one of my favorite cafés, El Oriente, for a granizado de limón, a drink made with finely granulated ice and lemon/lime syrup. It’s tart, tangy, not excessively sweet, and quite refreshing.
I walked farther north past a terraza or terrace. Madrid has so many of these, most with lovely views of the city. El Vistorillo was a familiar one from previous visits, so I stopped in. I ordered a beer and took a table on the edge of the terrace so I could see the beautiful Almudena Cathedral and plentiful trees. I reveled in the cool, dry weather, a welcomed change from the scorcher we suffered through yesterday. I sat between two groups of people. To my left two well-heeled couples enjoyed a lunch of tortilla española and a salad. The wives did much of the talking. To my right a lively group of American students studying here for the summer chatted, ate, and drank. I heard one of the girls lament she would not be ready to leave Europe by the end of the summer. I thought to myself, “Yes I know exactly how that is. But at least you can stay a while longer; I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I left the terraza and kept walking. I knew I had to return to the hotel by late afternoon to pack and get dressed to see a flamenco performance of Bizet’s Carmen, but there was still a little more time for wandering. I passed a tapas bar called San Lucar. The crowd of people there attracted my attention, so I went in. I noticed the menu featured many tapas from Andalucia. When I saw pringá listed, I knew this was my place. I was thirsty so I ordered a beer and received a small dish of green olives as a complimentary appetizer. I noticed the bartender also served what looked like large yellow beans to go with the olives. When I asked about them, he gave me some and showed me how to eat them. Just bite the skin, peel and enjoy. I was still hungry, so I decided to order a some pringá and a glass of manzanilla, a delightful earthy sherry from Andalucia which is best served chilled. While I wailed for my pringá, the bartender gave me some aged goat cheese to drink with the manzanilla – a wonderful combination! The pringa finally came. It was different from the one I tried in Sevilla which was served on a hard roll instead of thin toasted bread. The sausage concoction in the middle though was quite tasty.
As I munched on my tapas, I met a young couple in their 30’s standing next to me, Pepe and Luisa, both from Madrid. Today we had all discovered Bar San Lucar for ourselves and were enjoying the moment. I felt comfortable conversing with them. After exchanging pleasantries, they wanted to know about my impressions of Spain, and of course I was delighted to tell them. We must have talked for over an hour, and then I realized I needed to return to the hotel to pack for tomorrow’s flight, shower and change for the group’s last supper together and tonight’s performance. I really wanted to stay longer with them, but time was running out. When I asked for the bill, Pepe said, “No, por favor Mariana; te invitamos.” I was touched by his generosity. We exchanged e-mails and farewell embraces, and my eyes welled up with tears. As I left the bar and walked Bailen Boulevard toward the hotel, I began to cry. Why does it have to be like this every time I leave Madrid? I feel like I’m leaving my best friend.
At 4:30 pm I reached the hotel. I had two hours to get ready and pack. I left the hotel rather than go with the group to La Taberna del Marciano where we would have dinner near Sol. This would be my last walk there where I would pass familiar landmarks: El Palacio Real, Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol. I was the last one to arrive, and sat with Gary, our tour guide at a separate table. Everyone was in good spirits even though many of us were not ready to return to the United States.
After our meal, about a dozen of us had tickets to go see Carmen at the nearby Teatro Reina Victoria. It had received critical acclaim from the press and the “Bible” La Guia del Ocio. It was indeed an exquisite performance –colorful, spirited, romantic, brilliantly executed. The leading lady was exuberant and enchanting with just enough sass. The director adeptly used Bizet’s most memorable music from this work. I had forgotten how beautiful the melodies are, and made a mental note to purchase the CD. The live music enhanced the production. The guitarists, three cajonistas, and singers were all virtuosos. The correographer, a woman probably in her 50’s, had a minor role. She must have been quite an extraordinary dancer in her day, and she was still in excellent physical condition. All of us were genuinely moved. For several of the students, it was the first time they had experienced flamenco. The general consensus among them was, “Thank God I got to see it before leaving Spain!” Of course there’s always Carmen De La Calle in San Antonio which features flamenco dancing on Fridays, very good, but not quite the same.
After the performance, I had made plans with Sandra, Shanelle, and Valerie to spend our last evening in Madrid at El Junco, the lively jazz club we went to on Tuesday. Victoria and Mariela also decided to go with us. We arrived early, so we went to a nearby bar to have a drink. In the meantime Mariela met some folks from Chile, her native homeland, and they invited her for a drink. She was very excited to meet them, so we could understand her enthusiasm. The rest of us went on to El Junco to get seats. We were worried that she went off with strangers and hoped she would return quickly. Thank goodness she did.
For a Sunday night at 11:30, the club was already beginning to fill up. We barely got seats. Tonight’s music was a blues jam lead by an American from Queens who has lived here for 17 years. Valerie clicked with this club, and decided to do her feature story on a comparison between El Junco and a another jazz venue in San Antonio. I suggested she interview some of the musicians in the band and at least one of the staffers as this would be her only chance. I could see she easily connected with her interviewees as she eagerly took notes while they spoke. I was really proud of her for jumping right in.
The club continued to fill up as the musicians jammed with the blues. There was just as much energy and fabulous music as the last time we were here. Being the transnochera that I am, I could have stayed all night, but since we had an early wake-up call the next morning we needed to head back. It was already 2 a.m. Mi ultima noche en Madrid ya se me fue. Que triste! But I found yet another place to enjoy jazz here, and I’ll return to El Junco.
The small two-story temple sits on a hill overlooking the city. I loved the spectacular views of Madrid in all its splendor. A reflection pool and a fountain grace the front of the monument. A lovely park is also on the grounds. where I saw people walking their dogs. At one moment, two large, beautifully groomed black French poodles hit the ground running as they arrived with their owner. In another area, students engaged in meditation sat in a circle with their teacher. The fresh cut lawn, towering trees and gardens were a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city below. Many tourists visit this place, but I also saw dozens of locals from the nearby apartment complexes jogging, and walking their dogs. As I began my trek down, I had tears in my eyes. Mi ultimo día en Madrid. (my last day in Madrid). I decided that for the rest of the afternoon I would simply wander where my feet took me.
I walked towards the Royal Palace, then swung over to one of my favorite cafés, El Oriente, for a granizado de limón, a drink made with finely granulated ice and lemon/lime syrup. It’s tart, tangy, not excessively sweet, and quite refreshing.
I walked farther north past a terraza or terrace. Madrid has so many of these, most with lovely views of the city. El Vistorillo was a familiar one from previous visits, so I stopped in. I ordered a beer and took a table on the edge of the terrace so I could see the beautiful Almudena Cathedral and plentiful trees. I reveled in the cool, dry weather, a welcomed change from the scorcher we suffered through yesterday. I sat between two groups of people. To my left two well-heeled couples enjoyed a lunch of tortilla española and a salad. The wives did much of the talking. To my right a lively group of American students studying here for the summer chatted, ate, and drank. I heard one of the girls lament she would not be ready to leave Europe by the end of the summer. I thought to myself, “Yes I know exactly how that is. But at least you can stay a while longer; I’m leaving tomorrow.”
I left the terraza and kept walking. I knew I had to return to the hotel by late afternoon to pack and get dressed to see a flamenco performance of Bizet’s Carmen, but there was still a little more time for wandering. I passed a tapas bar called San Lucar. The crowd of people there attracted my attention, so I went in. I noticed the menu featured many tapas from Andalucia. When I saw pringá listed, I knew this was my place. I was thirsty so I ordered a beer and received a small dish of green olives as a complimentary appetizer. I noticed the bartender also served what looked like large yellow beans to go with the olives. When I asked about them, he gave me some and showed me how to eat them. Just bite the skin, peel and enjoy. I was still hungry, so I decided to order a some pringá and a glass of manzanilla, a delightful earthy sherry from Andalucia which is best served chilled. While I wailed for my pringá, the bartender gave me some aged goat cheese to drink with the manzanilla – a wonderful combination! The pringa finally came. It was different from the one I tried in Sevilla which was served on a hard roll instead of thin toasted bread. The sausage concoction in the middle though was quite tasty.
As I munched on my tapas, I met a young couple in their 30’s standing next to me, Pepe and Luisa, both from Madrid. Today we had all discovered Bar San Lucar for ourselves and were enjoying the moment. I felt comfortable conversing with them. After exchanging pleasantries, they wanted to know about my impressions of Spain, and of course I was delighted to tell them. We must have talked for over an hour, and then I realized I needed to return to the hotel to pack for tomorrow’s flight, shower and change for the group’s last supper together and tonight’s performance. I really wanted to stay longer with them, but time was running out. When I asked for the bill, Pepe said, “No, por favor Mariana; te invitamos.” I was touched by his generosity. We exchanged e-mails and farewell embraces, and my eyes welled up with tears. As I left the bar and walked Bailen Boulevard toward the hotel, I began to cry. Why does it have to be like this every time I leave Madrid? I feel like I’m leaving my best friend.
At 4:30 pm I reached the hotel. I had two hours to get ready and pack. I left the hotel rather than go with the group to La Taberna del Marciano where we would have dinner near Sol. This would be my last walk there where I would pass familiar landmarks: El Palacio Real, Plaza Mayor, Puerta del Sol. I was the last one to arrive, and sat with Gary, our tour guide at a separate table. Everyone was in good spirits even though many of us were not ready to return to the United States.
After our meal, about a dozen of us had tickets to go see Carmen at the nearby Teatro Reina Victoria. It had received critical acclaim from the press and the “Bible” La Guia del Ocio. It was indeed an exquisite performance –colorful, spirited, romantic, brilliantly executed. The leading lady was exuberant and enchanting with just enough sass. The director adeptly used Bizet’s most memorable music from this work. I had forgotten how beautiful the melodies are, and made a mental note to purchase the CD. The live music enhanced the production. The guitarists, three cajonistas, and singers were all virtuosos. The correographer, a woman probably in her 50’s, had a minor role. She must have been quite an extraordinary dancer in her day, and she was still in excellent physical condition. All of us were genuinely moved. For several of the students, it was the first time they had experienced flamenco. The general consensus among them was, “Thank God I got to see it before leaving Spain!” Of course there’s always Carmen De La Calle in San Antonio which features flamenco dancing on Fridays, very good, but not quite the same.
After the performance, I had made plans with Sandra, Shanelle, and Valerie to spend our last evening in Madrid at El Junco, the lively jazz club we went to on Tuesday. Victoria and Mariela also decided to go with us. We arrived early, so we went to a nearby bar to have a drink. In the meantime Mariela met some folks from Chile, her native homeland, and they invited her for a drink. She was very excited to meet them, so we could understand her enthusiasm. The rest of us went on to El Junco to get seats. We were worried that she went off with strangers and hoped she would return quickly. Thank goodness she did.
For a Sunday night at 11:30, the club was already beginning to fill up. We barely got seats. Tonight’s music was a blues jam lead by an American from Queens who has lived here for 17 years. Valerie clicked with this club, and decided to do her feature story on a comparison between El Junco and a another jazz venue in San Antonio. I suggested she interview some of the musicians in the band and at least one of the staffers as this would be her only chance. I could see she easily connected with her interviewees as she eagerly took notes while they spoke. I was really proud of her for jumping right in.
The club continued to fill up as the musicians jammed with the blues. There was just as much energy and fabulous music as the last time we were here. Being the transnochera that I am, I could have stayed all night, but since we had an early wake-up call the next morning we needed to head back. It was already 2 a.m. Mi ultima noche en Madrid ya se me fue. Que triste! But I found yet another place to enjoy jazz here, and I’ll return to El Junco.
