Madrid Day Four: We Keep It Real With the Re-Al

My powers of the pun are amazing, yo.

You know what's crazy? As I sit down to write this, I was about to say that during the day on day four, it wasn't so much exciting for me because I had to hang in the hotel and work. But then I remembered brunch.

Firstly, because I know you will say "What the hell? You went to Spain and worked?" -- that is just how it goes. As Deanna said it, "If my job allowed me to make the money you make to travel the world like you do, I would let it own me, too." That said, the fact that my job owns me right now is a topic for another blog entry at another time.

Anyway, I had forgotten about brunch. Yes, brunch. Which in Spain happens at 1:00pm. Because they do not eat breakfast at inhumane morning hours like we do. They eat it at what we would call brunch time and then they have brunch at the more reasonable time of 1:00pm.

We had brunch at the Sunday opera brunch at the Westin Palace where Halff was staying. This is brunch (for rich folk) served in a glamorous setting (for rich folk) with paella and brunch tapas and endless desserts (for rich folk) and champagne (for rich folk) and people singing opera to entertain you (because as rich folk and people acting like we're rich folk, that's what we want). It is SO GOOD. There is salmon mousse. You know how I feel about salmon mousse. Anyway, we enjoy our beautiful brunch.

And then the rest of the day happens, in which I work.

So, the plans for the evening are to go and see the Real Madrid ... FROM THE THIRD ROW. Let me just say, firstly, big ups to the concierge at the Westin Palace. The concierge (and staff there) completely delivered on our request for Real Madrid tickets. They were third row tickets, and though the were black market, the mark-up wasn't as bad as you may expect. And, also, the concierges at the Westin Palace LOVED Larry Halff. They knew who he was and where his room was without a bat of an eye. He's all VIP.

You know, as an interlude, there was some discussion when I got back about how bougie this trip was. Even the cheaper place where the girls and I stayed was still a really NICE place. And we didn't do cheap in any way at any point. I mean, we had third row Real tickets and went to nice places. Anyway, it's true that, in some ways, when you travel like that, you miss out on parts of the story where you would pick up travelers or get into screwy "I have no money for a train ticket" situations. But sometimes it's just nice to travel nicely. We traveled nicely in Africa. We have also taken trips where we stay in $10 a night hostels.

So, the other month I was talking to a nephew of a friend who is about to graduate college, and he's thinking of taking a year off and traveling - poor style. And his sister had told him not to do that. She had instead told him to go work on Wall Street and make a bunch of money and then travel - rich style - when he was older. And he asked me what I thought he should do.

And I told him that he should do both. Because I wouldn't trade either experience. I wouldn't trade all of the ten dollar hostels and hustling to get a train ticket and scrounging for food and camping out in a park full of gypsies. I'd still do it today. But don't kid yourself. There's also something to be said for four star meals and third tow tickets to premier sporting events and your very own private room in a nice hotel. So that's my advice. You need to do both. Staying in the nicest hotels and doing the nicest things isn't "traveling." It's vacationing. And vacationing is still wonderful. It's still educational, and as Africa and Spain proved, you can vacation and still come back full of amazing experiences and stories. And it's nice to have nice things. That is all.

Anyway, so the plan was to meet up for one last early evening of sangria at the bar in the Vincci Soho. And that was lovely. And I decided to Euro-Trash it up for the night and tuck my jeans into my boots. And people were horrified. And Lisa gave me a beautiful bowl from Uganda for my birthday. And I loved it, but she loses because Larry got me a third row ticket to see the Real-Madrid. And Deanna bought me my favorite face product from Denver and gave me the most awesome eighties mix dvd ever. And I loved it, but she, too, loses because Larry got me third row tickets to the Real Madrid. And I'm sure that I love whatever you sent me, too. But you lose, and Larry wins.



Yes, Candy Woo, Halff is Hot. Just look at him!

After sangria, we head out into the night and to the stadium, and we enjoy the energy, and then we go to our seats. And they are AMAZING. And even if you're not a soccer fan, live soccer is unbelievable, especially when you're practically on the field. And I think it meant the most to me of anybody there, but it was very religious. And no, I'm not exaggerating, so shut up.





And then our last night in Madrid. Tear. We have dinner at Botin. We in fact have the roasted suckling pig that you may have seen on the food network. And many, many tapas. And sangria. And the dining room is like a cave. And we're happy. And there are four guitar players hiding in the hallway on the way to the restroom. And when we walk outside to walk home, it's raining for the first time on the trip, but somehow it feels perfect and cool, like it's waking me up for a whole new year.

That's right, I went all deep on you after four entries about being drunk. But I am who I am.

It was a perfect birthday. It really, really was. I couldn't have asked for more. I mean, that's not true either because I am who I am and it's my nature to always ask for more. But if I'm working on being the person that I wanted to be at 34, then I know that you take what's good as it is. And this was good. Very, very, good.


Thank you, Deanna.


Thank you, Lisa.


Thank you, Larry.


Thank you, Spain.

 

Madrid Day Three: Picasso, Tapas & Sangria

Day three of el trip de Madrid is a visit to the Reina Sofia, then siesta time and then a much-anticipated tapas-crawl. I think in the end it's my favorite day of the trip, though they were all good.

Princess D decides to sleep in, but everybody has that day in a trip where they just need "alone time" and this is hers. Lisa, Larry and I grab some breakfast and/or stop at an ATM (I really can't necessarily remember the order of things - I got totally confused apparently on which day the unfortunate "Nice to have met you" incident occurred.). Then we head down to the Reina Sofia. While the Prado is huge and has masterpiece after masterpiece, the Reina Sofia really only has two floors. But there are four HUGE galleries of Picasso ranging in time and style through his sketches, canvasses and sculptures from pretty much all stages of his career. It's really captivating, especially when you consider how many times Picasso repeats the same painting using a different form study or color study on the same concept. I could have honestly wandered in there for a lot longer, but it would have been indulgent. Also, they had "Woman Throwing a Stone," which is possibly my favorite Picasso ever.





After the museum, Halff, Lis and I have a walk and what is decidedly the best (if not the only) paella we have on the trip. We have cuttlefish to start and then a paella with rabbit and it's so yummy that I just got hungry thinking about it.

And then...siesta.

And then...Jocelyn's internet cafe.

And then...the tapas crawl! So my friend Jen's sister Rebecca had informed me that we can't go to Madrid without doing a tapas crawl. And then Larry read his guide book because he is awesome and found out all of the best spots to hit on our tapas crawl. And then it was not raining, though we had anticipated rain. And so we went from place to place to place eating tapas and drinking sherry and sangria. And it was perfect.

The first place we go to is small and the server is mean, but the cured meat and cheese and olives are delightful, and the four glasses of sherry are wonderful. And the table next to us looks like it could be a table of WW2 conspirators making invasion plans.



The second place we go is small and dark and has pictures of famous flamenco dancers on the wall and a couple making out at the table next to us.



The third place we went was call The Trout, and it had the the single best food we had that night. My favorite, by far, was the artichoke that the cook first told us that they wouldn't make because they were about to close and then made for us anyway. There were also these amazing shrimp/prawns. And, I mean...it was just amazing food. The most amazing food. And if you've never done a tapas crawl or even been for tapas before, there is nothing more delightful than small plates of savory and delicious food eaten in between drinking sweet drinks and, in a great scenario, in between walking around and, in the best possible scenario, in between walking around on a perfect night in Madrid.




So, if you're keeping track of drinks so far: 1.5 sangrias at hotel, 1 FULL glass of sherry at stop one, 1 sangria at stop 2, 1 sangria at stop 3. That, in and of itself is not so bad. Except that I may or may not have popped some pills before we left the hotel. This is my way of saying that after "The Trout," this night gets hazier to me. Pictures reflect this as well, it seems.

We exit "The Trout" and begin to cross the square. Larry announces that we must get a bocadilla (which is "sandwich" to the rest of us) into me. Because I am a-drunken-wondering. Apparently, while I am not SO GONE, I am gone enough that Larry almost immediately recognizes that I must have done something before we left for the evening. Awesome! Go Ty's Godmother! So we stop to get a bocadilla.

AND IT IS THE MOST DELICIOUS THING I EAT ALL TRIP LONG. Leading me once again to tell you that the best food you will eat anywhere is what you basically buy off of the street. It's salty and savory and crispy and hot and THE MOST PERFECT THING EVER. It's so good that I was still talking about it days later. It's that good.



It does not, however, sober me up all that much.

I know vaguely that we then went to some place where I inappropriately started touching the back of some man's coat and Larry and Dee and Lis kind of stared at me while I did it, and there was sangria there as well. And I remember that in the next place there were spicy sausages. And then we were home, and on the way home we took a picture next to a sign for a life-size puppet show of Moby Dick done in Spanish and tried to convince Larry to go to the puppet show. Unsuccessfully.



Oh, and then Dee and I went back out after we dropped everybody else to try to go dancing, but it was a weird night and...



OH!

I totally remember now!

Dee and I went back out to get our dance on, and we met back up with this cute boy Adrian who had gotten us into Blackjack the night before. And he wouldn't stay off of my boobs, or as Dee described it, "It was like he was having some personal conversation with her boobs, and then he did this weird thing with her left boob like he was closing a circuit or something." But anyway, Adrian drops us at this other club that is SO EUROTRASH I CAN BARELY STAND IT. And so we leave and end up in this other club where I can't decide if the crowd is gay or euro. And then we sleep.

And you would think that we'd crammed enough Spain activity in, but we're not even close to done yet. The next day...

 

Madrid Day Two: Prado 1, Jocelyn 0

The theory is that we will meet up at 10:00am for breakfast. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Have you met me and my sleeping habit? But actually, it is Lisa who is running a touch late that morning. So Deanna and Larry and I meet up and go to our new favorite little spot for breakfast where we have espresso, apple tart and tiny meat pies. Then Larry and Deanna head off to look at the sculpture display that I had looked at with Lisa the day before, and I get in line at the Prado to get entrance tickets. We head back to the hotel to meet up with Lisa, and then it is off to art.

The Prado, in case you missed it, is one of the greatest art museums in the entire world. Aside from all of its other masterpieces, though, its centerpiece is an extensive collection of the works of Goya.



In case you missed it, Francisco Goya was a 18th and 19th century Spanish painter and printmaker who was a court painter to the Spanish crown. He's most known for the dark, somewhat "subversive" element of his art, but also for being one of the "bridge artists" who transition from the work of the old classicists to the modern art movement, and he's widely discussed as an influence on Picasso.

The Goya room was completely absorbing and went on and on and on. I've often said that I think that the best way to understand an artist is to see a large collection of their works in one place, a la the Warhol museum in Pittsburgh. Goya is no different, though being surrounded by some of his darker works can be a bit overwhelming. I went back twice even though the Prado is stacked with amazing works by other painters. However, my favorite Goya is one that most people don't commonly love, and it's in the Prado collection. I went back to look at it three or four times. It's this one.



I get dragged in by the smallness of the dog's head in the vastness of everything else, but the way you're so drawn to the substance of the dog in the middle of the vagaries of the rest of the painting. And the motion of the painting. And I like dogs.

And then, I lose. I've been having anxiety issues lately anyway. The long trip, the lack of sleep over the previous two days, the general issues in my life causing said anxiety... they finally caught up with me. I head to the lobby where we're all supposed to meet up after the enjoyment of the museum, and I'm about 10 minutes early. And suddenly it hits me. My stomach is not right. I mean, just not right. So I head back to the hotel, and I am down and out for the rest of the afternoon. I'm told that I didn't miss much other than some nice lunch. And honestly my nap is nice. And probably much needed because I'm feeling fantastic by evening, which is when ...

Jocelyn's Internet Cafe turns into Jocelyn's Sangria Internet Cafe. Because Deanna is brilliant and realizes that bringing a pitcher of sangria into the room for internet time can only lead to both more fun and more photos. Let me tell you, never has a more flattering photo been taken of a woman than the one you will see of me below, with no makeup, dirty hair, the kind of worn down pallor of a woman who's been sick most of the day and my classy, classy lingerie that I was sleeping in when internet cafe time started. And also...the best sangria we had all trip? Made at the hotel. It is true.




Okay, so then we are off for the night's activity after meeting up with Halff at his hotel. His hotel where we are also using the concierge. And where I make my trip faux paux. We want to use Larry's concierge to book reservations at Botin and also to get us tickets to the Real Madrid game for Sunday night. While we're standing in line at the concierge, the man in front of me starts talking to me. He's cute. He's tall. He's outgoing. And he's clearly not poor if he's staying at the Westin Palace. Oh, and he's age appropriate. And he's dropping all kinds of hints like, "Oh, my friends and I already ate at the place you're going to tonight, but we'd totally eat there again." And did I mention he's attractive with nice eyes? And tall? And engaging? And age appropriate? And can pay his own bills?

And as we wrap up our business at the concierge, I turn to him and extend my hand and say ... "Nice to have met you."

Nice to have met you? WHAT THE HELL? Where is Jocelyn? Jocelyn the girl who upon meeting a cute, tall, well off, engaging man who likes to travel would at a minimum invite him and his friends to join her and her friends for something and, in a more likely scenario, would inconspicuously remove her panties while talking to him and then leave them in his pocket with a note with her cell phone number. Where is that girl? And who is this girl who says "Nice to have met you?" And how do I did the "nice to have met you" girl and get back my friend Jocelyn, because Jocelyn is a lot more fun than the "nice to have met you" girl is. It's embarrassing. Not only was my head not in the game, but now I feel like I missed out on meeting somebody really cool. And I have no story to bring home about sliding my panties off ... or something.

Anyway, I probably accidentally walk away from the man who's supposed to be my future husband, but that's okay, because my future European affair is found at dinner. So, anyway, dinner is here. Here is considered THE place to go to see flamenco dance in Madrid. But I will be honest with you. Our expectations were "Wow, this will be fun," but not "Man, I am expecting this to be awesome." Because, essentially, this is dinner theater. And at dinner theater, you expect neither the dinner nor the theater to be all that amazing.

Firstly, a little flamenco history for you. Though flamenco is a Spanish and Mediterranean dance form, it originated with the gypsies, and to some degree Islamics as well as they migrated up from middle Asia. That's right: much of flamenco tradition generated from gypsy tradition. From my people, people. And my people are not known for much beyond thieving and marrying our girl children off at inappropriately young ages, so it's nice that we have something good to lean on here. Flamenco is a combination of passionate dance and song using limited instruments but extensive rhythms being stomped and clapped by the participants. And yes, at times, castanets.

Here is another thing that you should know about the evening: We were originally supposed to go to an earlier show, but then our good table that I had reserved had to be given away because some b-list important person wanted to come to that show. So I agreed to go to the later show on the condition that we get the best table in the house. We got the best table in the house, literally.

Okay, so we arrive Corral de la Moreria and catch the end of the first show, or "spectacular" and then are moved to our table.

So to begin with, the meal that we expected to be all "eh" about? FANTASTIC. It starts with the sherry that I've now warned you about, and there is a first course I don't remember but I think it includes anchovies, then wine and gazpacho, then this AMAZING lamb or possibly chicken (I can't remember) and then desserts that we're all too full to eat anyway. Oh, and some kind of sweet dessert wine as well that's like a port but not a port. Or maybe it is a port. It all blends to me.

But more importantly, the dancing. Oh, the dancing is amazing. There are three "acts". And let me say before I begin that the most amazing pictures from this evening are taken by Halff and are here, but Deanna's pictures are great, too, and those are the ones I'm using here because I don't want to co-opt Larry's pictures.

The first act is a female soloist doing the most traditional flamenco that we see all night. And she is amazing. AMAZING.



And then she is followed by THE HOTTEST MAN EVER who dances with such power that I forget to eat my food and simply watch him.



One of the things that you don't realize about flamenco until you've seen it is just how hard the rhythms that they're clapping and stomping are. I mean, really insanely complicated to the level that you lose sight of what's going on all together at various points. And they clap and stomp so hard and with such passion that they have blisters all over. And they go at one thousand percent intensity every single time. It's so marvelous to watch, and if you ever go to Madrid then you MUST go to see this show.

The third "act" is four female flamenco soloists who each do a number and then a group routine. And with the four women on stage, you really get to see how, even though flamenco feels like a very structured type of dance, it really allows for such ability to show individual personalities. The first woman to dance is a bit reserved and elegant, the second woman young and innocent, the third woman has seen a lot of life and captured its pain and passion, and the fourth woman ... well, I describe the fourth woman as "The Tina Turner of Flamenco". She's sassy, and she actually sings with a raspy rock voice while she dances. And she's the most sexual of the four of them by far. And also my favorite for many reasons.





We leave that night with our minds blown away by the excellence of the experience. And then we have a lovely jaunt home through the dark Madrid night, past the palace and through the streets. And at home Larry and Lis depart for the night, and Deanna and I head out to our new favorite place: Club Blackjack. Where in a maze of dark underground rooms full of techno remixes of American R&B you can dance the evening away with a Spanish boy half your age.



And then the next day you can ...

 

Madrid: Celebrating the Last Year of My "Vibrant Fertility"

To see only the picture set of this trip, click here.

Madrid Day One: Larry Stays Awake for 28 Hours
In which we grow closer to Tom Cruise. And we see art. And we eat. Excessively.

Madrid Day Two: Prado 1, Jocelyn 0
In which I get sick, we see art, I lose my game, Flamenco dancers rock our world and Dee and I dance (of course)

Madrid Day Three: Picasso, Tapas & Sangria
In which we see more art, then I get drunk and embarrassing but it doesn't matter because we eat and drink like you can't even understand, and then Dee and I dance (of course)

Madrid Day Four: We Keep It Real With the Re-Al
In which we listen to opera while brunching, go to a soccer game, eat at the world's oldest restaurant and then I go really philosophical on your ass.

 

Madrid Day 1: Larry Stays Awake for 28 Hours

So, the much anticipated 34th birthday trip to Spain was last week. We missed you Shim, Shim.

The trip begins on a Thursday. Well, technically, it begins on a Wednesday because that's when you begin flying if you want to end up in Madrid by Thursday morning. I meet up with the lovely Princess D in Philly, and we hop the USScare flight to Madrid. Things that are nice about being in your thirties? You don't feel like you MUST sit together on a plane. You recognize that you don't have 8 hours of conversation in you and you're both better off getting window seats so that you can lean and sleep instead of cramming one of you into a middle seat just so that you can be connected at the hip.

Dee and I arrive in Madrid around 10am and promptly catch a cab to our hotel. Which is this one. Which, more importantly, IS DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE SCIENTOLOGY CENTER OF MADRID. I kid you not. It's amazing. I can't even begin to tell you how amazing it is. I feel warm and light-hearted knowing how close I am to the chosen. And by chosen I mean Tom Cruise and John Travolta.




We meet up with Lis, who has already been in Madrid for a day and checked in. As rooms are switched around, the three of us head out for wine and tapas in whichever Puerta Del ... is closest to us. It's a beautiful afternoon and a perfect way to chill out as we first arrive. Or, as the Spaniards say...perfecto. I like any culture where red wine begins at 11am. Heck, in this culture, red wine time is really any time.




After lunch, Dee is ready to nap. Lis and I decide to take a walk in whichever parque is closer (and if you want the name, you'll need to ask Lis). We stroll, we listen to the language, we look at flowers, we take some pictures for Lis's new man, we talk about boys and why they are confusing.




We enjoy some sculpture that I did not love so much, but later Larry Halff explained to my why I must love it because it's so artistically relevant. And that is why I love Larry Halff. Perhaps you will enjoy the culturally and artistically relevant sculpture in photographs, many of which were by Princess D.




Then Halff texts. His flight was delayed. He's been up for the better part of a day, but he just needs to shower and then he's ready to go. Lis and I visit him, at his hotel, which is this, which is much nicer than our hotel and has a better concierge, but we are not Halffs.



Lis and I, however, are not ready to roll and need siestas. So, thinking that Larry will nap as well since he has been up FOREVER, we touch base, make a dinner reservation at a small place recommended by the concierge and depart for naps.

Siestas, really.

Siestas are nice.

I REALLY like my room. Here's the view from the balcony.



I also have the only functional laptop at chez Vincci Soho. This means that each night before dinner, Jocelyn's Internet Cafe opens up because Princess D and Lis both have boyfriends. This may sound annoying to you. Two women invade your hotel room while you're waking up from your siesta and getting ready and take over your laptop so that they can coo and ooh and aaah about their boyfriends while you TOTALLY CELEBRATE YOUR SINGLENESS by texting some crush you have in Canada and sneaking things from the mini bar. But I'm going to tell you that Jocelyn's Internet Cafe was one of my nightly favorite things that happened because we all got to bond and talk and share secrets and be girls together. It was wonderful.

And then we go to dinner. And I wish that I could remember the name of the place where we went to dinner, but the important thing that you need to remember is that we were very near the Scientology Center of Madrid.

We sit down at our dinner table.

Dinner progresses.

About halfway through dinner I look up. I believe that I am hallucinating, so I look away. Then I look up again. And I am forced to say to my lovely companions, "Do you realize that we're dining under a signed photograph of Tom Cruise, circa Top Gun?"

Oh my gosh. If ever there was an omen that a trip would be wonderful, it must be sitting down to dinner on your first night on a trip and seeing Tom's shinning visage above you. It must be.



Dinner begins, by the way, aside from the food and the food served before the food and the extra half bottle of wine given to us by the Peruvians sitting next to us, with some local sherry that's very popular. Or, as we liked to call it, Spanish Moonshine. Or when we were really drunk, as we called it, Spanish Hooch.

Please to remember that Larry has now been awake for 28 hours. And the bottle is placed in front of us, and nobody wants to turn it down because ... well ... SPAIN! So we drink it. And it is wonderful. And as the trip progresses, you will see us drink more of it. And more of it. And more of it...



Dinner is really, really, really good. Wine is good. The extra wine from the Peruvians is good. It's all good.



Finally, after dinner, we deposit Larry back at his hotel so that he can sleep. SLEEP, man, SLEEP. And Lis, Princess D and I go off to wander around.

Remember the chocolate churro place I mentioned here?

We accidentally stumble upon it.

I mean it. It was purely, purely accidental.

And even though we felt just the tiniest bit guilty about getting chocolate churros at 1am without Larry, we did it anyway. And...oh my.

Here is where the night one error happens. If you read your guide books, you are warned that in Madrid, the pour is big if you order liquor. I order an amaretto to go with my chocolate churros. And the bottle comes out. And it is poured.

And continued to be poured.

And poured until the glass is full.

And the evening is perfect and we end it with chocolate and sweet liquor and girl talk and then peaceful sleep in our lovely hotel with the loving eyes of the cult of scientology watching over us.




It is only the next day when the mistake of the amaretto comes back to haunt me, but that's another day's story...