Sprinting on the Hamster Wheel

So much has happened since the last “real” post that I’m going to catch up via captions on photos, with an occasional explication/explanation/pontification. Hang on tight; we’re going to be movin’ FAST.

When we last left you, Don and Myra and I had walked what seemed like most of the streets of Madrid, and we were waiting for Richard and April to arrive. That’s where we pick up the narrative…

Richard and April arrived. (I know– it’s a little anticlimactic due to the heavy-handed foreshadowing…) I walked over to the Atocha Station to direct them back to the hotel. They were a bit disheveled but none the worse for the wear of the trip from Houston. I expected them to be more tired and jet lagged, but they seemed ready to move.

With Don and Myra, we started walking around the city with no particular goal in mind. Here’s another version of Columbus, who is quite the personage in Madrid and in most of the rest of Spain. No offense intended to what I’m sure are the very nice people of his namesake city in Ohio, but Chris never made it to North America. He did four voyages and managed to find his way to islands in the Caribbean Sea, notably  Hispaniola (modern-day Haiti and the Dominican Republic) and Cuba, Turks and Caicos, the mainland of Venezuela and finally as far north as the east coasts of Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica. Most of the natives he met were friendly, which made it easier to enslave them.

Little-known fact (and maybe of little interest? Too bad, you shouldn’t be reading the blog of someone as didactic as I am if you don’t want to rub up against a little information once in a while): One of the reasons Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain were willing to fund his trip was that they had finally succeeded in driving the Moors from Spain and the Spanish “inherited” their wealth. Another point: “In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.” But if he had waited a year it would have rhymed with “bounding sea.” Sorry. Bad jokes are my specialty…

We decided to take one of those double-decker city tour buses around Madrid, and it was a better experience than I had expected.  Here are Don and Myra. Richard and April are behind me. The only real problem with the tour is that the canned talk about the tour that we listened to through a bad speaker system on bad earbuds is not necessarily on point when it comes to describing what is currently visible. Sometimes the narrative is about something still a block away. In between descriptions you get to listen to some sort of loop-tape modern jazz-fusion easy-listenin’ muzak.

We looked for a glimpse of Clark, Lois or Jimmy. I think I saw Perry White, though… (Too obscure?)

 

Two old friends either arguing about the number of angels who can dance on the head of a pin or discussing the construction of a building directly across the street.

 

April and Richard on said tour. Note the colorful earbuds.

 

In the Plaza del Sol, which is supposed to be the geographical center of the roads of Spain. You’ve heard that “All roads lead to Rome?” That might be true in Italy, but in Spain all roads lead to Madrid and the Plaza del Sol, the Plaza of the Sun. The flag-draped balconies are in preparation for the next day’s celebration of the Spanish holiday commemorating Columbus’ first voyage.

Still in the Plaza del Sol. For some reason I found this disturbing.

The plaque in the sidewalk in front of the post office in the Plaza del Sol signifying “Kilometro Zero,” the starting point for all roads running in all directions. People push and shove to have their pictures taken with a hand or foot touching the zero in the middle of the plaque. I settled for a picture of the plaque itself. Outamyway, Sheeple!

 

Lunch at a sidewalk cafe not far from the Plaza del Sol, with Don holding up a french fry, which seem to come with every meal. (Myra is taking one of his fries even though she didn’t order any herself.)

 

We went to the Prado. I wanted to see Bosch’s “Garden of Earthly Delights,” which was even more interesting than I had expected. They took away our bags and made us check them so there was no chance of taking a photo of the art. Richard had one docent following him because he tended to lean on the ropes separating the people from the art, and when he did the docent would hiss, “SSSS!” at him. This is Don and Myra on the way back to the hotel. Cute, eh? And not posed.

 

Sometimes when traveling you just have to be open to talking to strangers, and that’s how we found a place atop a building not far from our hotel. It was a building called “Belles Artes,” a private entity with a club on top that offers spectacular views of the sunset while sipping wine. I took several pictures, but this was the best of the sunset set. This is a part of a larger statue fairly far off in the distance. I cropped the other pieces out because it was also framed by what seem to be omnipresent construction cranes.

Same night, from same site. A building I can’t name as I never knew it and never asked anyone. Mea culpa.

 

The rooftop terrace of the building. People are standing around the perimeter or lying on sofas. So decadent!

On the stroll back to the hotel– another unnamed building. Well, it was probably named but I don’t know it.

The same stroll, the same situation…

A street scene in an outdoor cafe. One of the things I like best about what I know of Europe is the premium placed on being together. People sit and talk (and drink and eat). Everyone has a cell phone but search this photo for one and you won’t find it. They’re together. They visit. They talk to each other. Imagine this same scene in Chico.

Still on the walk back. Sometimes the photo gods shine on even the least of their faithful. I love this picture.

 

Le deluge. So I was a little premature about the weather in Spain. This morning, October 12, dawned wet and cool, and out came the umbrellas. It was also the day of the big Fiesta for Colombo, so the street outside the hotel was filled with soldiers and marines and coast guard and navy and air force personnel, all in uniform and preparing to march in the grand parade, which was still hours away. See below.

Here they’re shouting back and forth at one another, the different branches of military, like teams preparing for a big game, or like the New Zealand All Blacks doing the haka, without quite the spirit.

This woman sat on her balcony above the street watching the preparations. Some of the soldiers tried waving at her to get a response, but this was the best they got.

And that was Madrid for us. Don and Myra took a train to Barcelona and Richard, April and I flew to Jerez de la Frontera in south western Spain, the story of which will follow. Now, though, it’s 1 pm (1300) and it’s time to follow my own advice and “Be Here Now.”

Hasta luego!