Que recordarás las tardes de invierno por Madrid

I spent the majority of the past two afternoons in Madrid, which is quickly becoming a favorite pastime of mine. I went yesterday as an escape and it was definitely needed, and refreshing. To get away from the monotony and occasional annoyance of Alcalá. 

Armani and I went yesterday during the afternoon for such an escape, with no particular plans in mind, which is really the way to go when heading to Madrid -- no expectations, just wandering around, trying to get lost and discover something new, something hidden away -- a treasure of the city. And we did just that. 

For the first time in exactly two months I had a bagel. We were told of an international deli/market in Madrid by Fausto our cultural director that not only had bagels but also plenty of international foods. This was our first stop, our main mission of heading to Madrid.

I searched the relatively bare shelves encountering quite a few American goodies -- Betty Crocker cake mixes, Hersey's chocolate syrup, Southern Comfort -- and other foreign goods like Grey Goose (which is impossible to find elsewhere) and my favorite oddity, corned beef in a can from Brazil. So to answer my own question from long ago, yes, they do have corned beef in Spain and Madrid was the place to find it. Unfortunately it's canned and from Brazil, which might effect the taste of a reuben if I ever attempt to make one here. They had New York cheesecake and apple crumble pie or something and plenty of good old America foods. 

Anyways-- the bagels. Plain toasted with cream cheese. It didn't really have a hole in the middle but no matter the shape a bagel is a bagel if it's cooked right, and it was. Delicious, though it has nothing on Bagels Forever, of course. The guy behind the counter was incredibly nice. We got to talking and told him we were studying in Alcalá and all that jazz. He's from Kenya and moved to Madrid just four years ago, he started out studying then decided to stay. Says his favorite place to go in Spain is San Sebastian, so of course I got along with him. He didn't even charge us for the bagels, it was so cool. 

We headed onward to the giant Corte Inglés by Puerta del Sol in order to search out Moleskin notebooks (as I've almost finished one and only have one left, which will be filled quite quickly I believe, I needed backup). The bookstore didn't have any, which it odd for us Americans seeing as every Barnes and Noble and Borders are full of them, you'd think books and notebooks go hand in hand, those that read tend to like to write too. But no, there were no notebooks at all. They did have the smallest English language section I've seen, weird considering the very tiny book stores in Alcalá have a larger selection of English language books. Mostly it was full of American trash novels, Stephen King and the like, but they did have nearly every Hemingway about Spain and even the ones that weren't. I picked up "The Old Man and the Sea" as I've been dying to read it and it's a short breather before I get back into a Spanish book. 

At regular, migraine-inducing Corte Inglés (I actually took Excedrine in the store due to the sensory overload), they had a huge pile of Moleskin books but not a single normal sized, hard back, book style lined notebook. They had every possible variety of a 2009 planner--daily, weekly, big, small, soft cover and hard. They even had lined regular journals...but reporter style, which just doesn't fly with this kid over here. So I gave up and headed onwards to find some food. 

Walking around Puerta del Sol searching for a doner kebab I saw an alimentación with a wall of tiny one shot bottles of booze, and I immediately thought "Hey maybe they have a tiny bottle of absinthe as a cute little gift," so I searched the wall. Nothing. I walked around the corner, looked in the window and my heart skipped a few beats. There it was, or there they were. Four bottles of absinthe, a 70%, the 80% that we had in Asturias, another 80% called "Yellow Absinthe" and finally one labeled "Cannabis flavored Absinthe" with a weed leaf on it. They were reasonably priced, being about $22 a 750ml bottle, which is awesome considering the fake stuff in America costs about $75. You can guarantee I'll be picking one up shortly--but I decided to hold off yesterday.

From there to Starbucks at la Plaza de Neptuno and an odd thing that has been known to occur to us study abroad folks: forgetting we're in Spain for the briefest of moments. It seems hard when you're sitting en terraza right off a large plaza with a statue of Neptune and fountain and corrals of cars circling around at rapid speeds. The weather was perfectly cold and a bit windy. I looked up into the sky and remembered, wow, I'm in Spain, what is everyone in America doing right now? It's a crazy feeling to lose sense of yourself like that, even for a brief moment.

Sunday brought Maya, Monica, and myself to Madrid to see Guernica and la Reina Sofia. It's free admission to la Reina Sofia (the modern art museum) on Sundays so aprovechamos la oportunidad as did nearly everyone else. The place was packed, especially around Guernica, Picasso's immortal painting of the Spanish Civil War. The rest of the rooms paled in comparison, obviously, but there were plenty of paintings that caught my eye. One in particular was un mundo by Ángeles Santos . Such detail and imagination in that work. I could stare at it for a very long time. Another wasn't a painting but an installation by Nancy Spero, who has a temporary collection there. It was called "May Pole" and it was a room with a maypole and attached to the strings were severed heads of humans (not real ones of course), it was horrifying and humbling at the same time. I felt as if the heads were real. It was eerie.

Like the lunch at Llanes, the lunch I had Sunday in Madrid was perhaps one of the best lunches I've ever had. We went to Kaixo a very stylish and gourmety restaurant. The food was out of this world and a complete surprise from what we could have expected. I got croquetas, a pretty standard Spanish delish food. They came, five of them, on a small flat and black plate with a cut up tiny tomate in a flower shape and stacked like a pyramid. They contained jamón ibérico, and they were the best croquetas I've ever had. I knew these wouldn't suffice, so I got a toasted bread half sandwich thing. Brie cheese and caramelized onions. It was bliss in every bite. Oh, and a fine (if a bit small) glass of red wine on the side. 

Did I mention dessert? Tarta de higos. Fig deliciousness. It beats out apple pie. It beats out any type of pie/cake thing I've ever had. At first it was alright, but as I dug into it-- the sweet, sweety honeyness of figs overcame me. Add a café con leche and I am done.

What do you do after a lunch like that? How do you go on? Well, head to a historic café that was founded in 1888 and was frequented by artists and writers and poets during the Franco era. It's expensive, it's ritzy, but it's awesome and full of historic atmosphere. There were reserved tables when we came in. We sat in a corner and observed the people. An old, white haired, man came in and sat at the reserved table. The waiter brought his drink before he could even order. We immediately began speculating who he could be. We decided he is a famous artist as he was sketching away in a journal he had, and was showing it off to different waiters, and a lot of his friends came in probably had extremely intelligent and important conversations. [Side note: sorry if I'm not making much sense but I'm watching the live feed from MSNBC right now as I am far too anxious right now for the election (YOU BEST HAVE VOTED!) and am planning on staying up until we find out who won this thing (which might be til 6am or so here in Spain)]

From there we headed home, as it was the only sensible option. A dish of four flavors of ice cream from the café and the energy you get from sitting in such a monumental environment, you have no choice but to head home. One of the best lunches I've ever had then this enlightening café. What was next?

Don Juan en Alcalá. A once a year outdoor theatre spectacular. Rotating stages. Crowds of people running from stage to stage as the scenes changed. Thousands of alcalaínos huddled in the freezing cold watching this one of a kind celebration.

Then home, and sleep.

Final note. Vote. VOTE. VOOOOOTE. 

La aventura asturiana, parte 2º :: Los Picos de Europa, Llanes, y más de Cangas de Onís

A little late in my update, I do apologize. I have been lazy this week, nothing more than that. I feel I've almost fallen back into my horrible American procrastination habits that for at least a while I thought I had shed. I downloaded season 2 of The Simpsons this week. That, and I started re-reading 1984 (as I recommend everyone does). Let's start this with a panorama.

I really recommend clicking on that to view the full size at Flickr.

That is one of the lakes from the (national? continental?) park Los Picos de Europa, more specifically the area called Los Lagos (since behind the camera in this photo there was another big lake (photos up later on Flickr). 

We woke up early. Very early. Too early. Bad coffee at the hotel (the kind you'd expect at some diner in the northwoods), didn't help any. The bitter cold outside waiting for the bus woke us up, it was refreshing and welcome, I hadn't felt a cold breeze like that in months. Reminded me a bit of autumn in Wisconsin (as it seems everything does nowadays). We traveled in this smaller bus up a long and winding road through Los Picos. For probably a half hour went slowly gained altitude, curving along the narrow mountain roads. Observing run down shacks, farmers tending to their cattle, feral horses and dogs--the typical of Los Picos, yet so new and invigorating for me. Any tiredness I had or bad mood quickly shook off as we rose further and further into the mist. I was in the back seat of the bus, it stretched to both windows. No one sat with me. I was jumping back and forth between the left and right windows, frantically. I was in love with the place, I couldn't soak up enough of it. I tried capturing some videos of the ride up that hopefully will show you all the feelings I had when I was riding up that mountain.

We were told by our bus driver we had 25 minute (--completely unrelated side note: Mitch I hope you're reading. Host mother is listening to talk radio as she's cleaning the house, and "The Final Countdown" just came on and I thought of you). Understandable. There wasn't much to see from the tourist's perspective. Just two lakes. Great, everyone has lakes. For me though, I could have spent half the morning there. I could have just stood there staring at the lakes from a peak, taking in the environment and mountain air for an hour alone. It was majestic there. Energy was everywhere. I'll refrain from describing more because I fear I'll just seem like a fool trying to describe God or something. Photos won't do it justice but I hope they'll help.

From Los Lagos to Llanes, a port town on the northern coast of Spain, on the Bay of Biscay (Mar Cantábrico). By now it was warmer, sunny even. On the main street, hot even. But by the bay, with a strong wind whipping in my face from the ocean, it was exhilarating and welcome. Llanes is a classic port town that derives every part of its atmosphere and life from the sea. A river runs right through the middle of town towards the bay, lining along the river and dozens of terraced bars, cafés, and restaurants. Each with I'm sure equally delicious food straight from the ocean that is but a few hundred meters away. Not only does Llanes have the luck of being on the ocean, providing it a bounty of fresh and delectable seafood--it is also in Asturias, cow capital of Spain (as I've mentioned before, it's like the Wisconsin of Spain). They have the sweetest, most flavorful pastries in Llanes. Think of it like a queen bee in a bee hive. There's your regular honey that the worker bees produce, then there's royal jelly that comes from the queen. The cows in Asturias and the area around Llanes are like queen bees--queen cows, if you will. 

Lunch, at Casa Canene near the river and main street, was easily one of the best lunches I've ever had in my life. Not necessarily because of the food (which itself was amazing) but just the atmosphere--the old wooden table filled with nine great friends conversating and laughing, the decor of the bar (so typically Spanish), the bar itself being packed with dozens upon dozens of Spanish sitting down for lunch. It was crowded, it was loud. It was fantastic. We ate for probably two hours or more. We had the menú del día, where you get a first and second plate, plus a dessert and wine (unlimited house red wine). The majority of us ordered paella for our first plate. 

This was the first real paella I've ever had at a restaurant in Spain.

It came out on a huge platter, overflowing with that beautiful gold saffroned rice, mussels, shrimp, chicken. Then second plate, while it may not sound too spectacular, was a hamburger with a fried egg and fries. Clearly not a typical Spanish plate, but it had been a month since I had a real hamburger. Plus, it came with a fried egg. Eggs! No bun though, as seems to be the norm in Spain. The meat was tougher than your typical American burger, but every bit as good, covered in sauteed onions. I plopped the egg on, added some hot sauce...and I was ready to eat. I ended up eating other peoples' leftovers, a piece of bistec here, some lomo there. I was full. Then dessert. Natillas, flan, and why not, some ice cream too. I was completely and utterly stuffed. I could barely move and I was far too content with just sitting there for the rest of the day. And I probably had a whole bottle of wine myself.

Best. Lunch. Ever.

Enough about food, I'll save that for the Diaries. After lunch we went to the breakwater and walked along it, admiring los cubos de la memoría.

Once again, I could have stayed there for hours. Just sitting on the breakwater looking out into el Mar Cantábrico. It was so calming, so tranquil, even with the waves crashing up again the cubes. I was in my own world. I was sitting right next to Monica and Amelia, who were having a conversation, and all I could hear was the waves, the wind, and the mere muffles of words. I stared into the sea as if I was expecting it to respond with an answer, a solution. To what, I don't know. The sea remained silent, and I wasn't disappointed in the least.

To the beach, which I didn't care too much about (but then again, when have I ever?). So Kristine, Monica, and I headed up the stone steps to a large outcrop of land thrusting into the sea. I won't bother explaining the view, just look at this panorama.

And this one too (more of the beach area and some of the cubes too).

We went back to Cangas de Onís for dinner. We ate at a restaurant that was overtly black and orange. Very Halloween. Very weird. The food was good though. Fabadas with murciella and chorizo for first plate and chorizo for second plate. I couldn't finish, I was ashamed but realized that lunch was gigantic and that no real human being could have had both of those meals in one day. I probably gained ten pounds that day. 

Sam and I went for a walk, peed off a bridge into the river that runs through Cangas de Onís, then headed to a bar. From the outside it was hard to tell it was a bar. Very nondescript. Very hole in the wall feeling. All sorts of characters were there. Mostly men, but off all backgrounds. Younger kids, business men, construction workers. Alcoholics, addicted gamblers. Pool sharks. 

I only wanted water, as I had had far too much wine at dinner (I wasn't in the best mood so obviously I medicated myself with a depressant. Logical choice, no?). Armani, Lindsay, Sam, Amelia, and I. Lindsay was quite drunk and insistent on buying whatever it is that we wanted. Armani headed up for a second round, and I joined her to do what I do in every bar in Spain--admire the selection of liquors behind the bar. And then there it was.

Absinthe.

Armani got her drinks and we headed back to the table. I casually mentioned they had absinthe. Armani and Lindsay were insistent. I didn't want to try that night. I was convinced otherwise. I ask the bartender, how much. One shot, two euros. We get a shot. He tells me to drink it slowly. Armani, disappointed now that she just got a new round, but delighted that absinthe is only 2 euros, gets three more shots. We drained the bottle, the bartender gave us the last one free. Now, I may have had a bottle of wine or more at dinner, but I was not drunk at this point. It seems that when I have a huge dinner or lunch coupled with wine, I don't really feel it. The green fairy is not as kind. It smells like Yagermister and tastes like puke. You have to choke it down your throat and resist the urge to throw up. Really. You know that horrible scratchiness you get in your throat after you just puked? Absinthe gives you that feeling the second you swallow it. It's strong. Very, very strong. I had to sip it ever so slightly then I chased with water, plenty of water. Which I realize now probably wasn't the best chaser, but hey--it's absinthe!

Lindsay was too drunk, I escorted her back to the hotel early. She passed out right away on the bed. I stayed up trying to write in my journal. My normally horrible handwriting was ten times worse. Where I hadn't been drunk after dinner, I surely was now. I wrote about eight pages by the time Armani, Sam, and Amelia got back 45 minutes later. I was still drunk, and yet I had been drinking water all night. Seriously, I was being fed water at dinner, then had two bottles at the bar, plus plenty when I got back to the hotel. I was still drunk. We stayed up for another two hours. I was still drunk. I woke up the next day. I was not still drunk, but I had quite the headache. I puked. Twice.

People say absinthe gives you hallucinations. Others, more modern, say that's just a bunch of fabricated or exaggerated stories from Oscar Wilde and other late 19th/early 20th century writers. I was skeptical too, like many scientists are today about the hallucinogenic properties. I did not hallucinate. However, I fully believe now that if I had only been drinking absinthe and had more than one shot, I would have been hallucinating. 

Absinthe is a hell of a drug.

Rain! And Storms! And new pants!

Nothing special these past few days, save for:

El primer botellón. This is where the parents should skip to the next paragraph or two. Or not. So, the Spanish word for bottle is botella. Whenever you take a Spanish word and add -on, it makes it bigger, stronger, better. So think of botellón as a big, strong bottle -- full of booze. Botellones are a tradition and favorite pasttime of Spanish youth. The idea is simple: bars are very expensive, so why not get a bunch of booze cheap at the store and just hang out with friends in a park, drinking and talking all night? Then maybe heading out to a bar for a night cap or food. The laws concerning drinking outside are very, very lax here. I've been told by my Spanish friends that they've been approached by police during botellones, but were simply told to throw away their trash afterwards. Very lax. Think of it as our American house party, yet outside and without beer pong (qué horror!). You see, Spanish youth end up living with their parents until they are married, more or less. You can find some 28 year olds still living in their parents houses, mostly because of the lack of money and strong family ties (plus point--there aren't really part time jobs for college aged Spanish--they just go to school and have fun). However, when living with their parents, Spanish kids aren't really allowed to invite many more people over than just their girlfriend or best friend, much less a whole house full of drunkards. So they go outside to drink. Good idea, no? Just try that in the States anywhere that isn't Las Vegas or a festival.

Thursday night we had our first botellón with our new Spanish friends. It was great. We went to the university's courtyard and were presented with a wide selection of fun things to drink. Rum, black cherry vodka, regular vodka, Don Simón red wine (it's this boxed stuff that would kick Franzia's ass any day), Mahou (eww), plus the standard mixers: Coke and Fanta limón. Be warned: the black vodka and Fanta limón, while delicious, turns your teeth black-- not too attractive, but it was getting dark out so I don't think anyone mattered too much. This was a great opportunity for me and mis compañeros de los Estados Unidos para charlar y conocer mejor los españoles. We chatted, joked, laughed, peed in the alley way: good times. Got to work on our Spanish, which obviously improved as the night went on. Our Spanish hosts say they've been having this botellón every Thursday for the past seven years. We have to leave at 8 am on Friday morning for Asturias this week. You bet we'll be partaking in round two for us Americans.

Pues, Friday and Saturday weren't too exciting. Plenty of chilling around Alcalá. I believe I already spoke of the tapas fair here in Plaza Cervantes, which entertained me for a good portion of the night. Saturday night I spent mostly at home reading Reinaldo Arenas' autobiography "Antes que anochezca." Some of you may have seen the film version starring Javier Bardem (in English "Before Night Falls"). It's a very...interesting book. Very easy read for Spanish students as there aren't too many words you need to be running to the dictionary to look up. You'll definitely learn some new ones, mostly through context. Backstory: Reinaldo Arenas was a homosexual poet/author growing up just in time for the Castro revolution in Cuba. He grew up en el campo and at one point joined the militia to oust Batista. However, once Castro took over, he started persecuting homosexuals--and Arenas started to get in trouble. I'm only about half way through right now, so far, so good -- and strange at times (if you read it, you'll see what I'm talking about). Highly recommend it though (even more so in Spanish, of course). 

I did find a new cool bar Saturday night (after my marathon reading session, of course--study first, drink later). It has a wonderful terrace seating inside it's own courtyard. I'd liken it to Porta Bella in Madison (at least in style of terrace, not food). The drinks, as seems to be typical of the Spanish, were half and halfs -- for only 4.20€ -- just about the cheapest you can find in town without going to a botellón (5€ for a cup -- reminds me of most Madison parties). Still not sure how to properly order a rum and Coke here though. I've ordered it the only three ways I know and each time I'm met with weird stares. Ron y cola...blank stares and "¿Qué?" Cuba libre...same thing, no one understands. I was told by Maya to order by brand name (as once they figure out you want rum, they ask for what kind), so I ordered "Club Habana y cola" which was greeted with a disgruntled "¿QUÉ?" And it's not like I'm stupid and mispronouncing these words. I know how to speak at least enough Spanish to order a drink, and I've been told by multiple teachers my pronunciation is quite good. Maybe it's just that no one drink rum around here -- or else Spanish waitstaff just hate me. 

Sunday was Madrid time. Went to El Prado, which contrary to what we thought, was only free from 5pm onwards, not all day Sundays. Shame. Went in anyways. Saw Las Meninas, of course, and a host of others by Velazquez and Goya and those other famous Spanish painters. The painting that really stuck out for me and captured my attention most was by an "Early Netherlandish" painter called Hieronymus Bosch. It was called The Garden of Earthly Delights. Very fascinating, very detailed. I could spend hours looking at this three part painting. There are so many things going on and it seems to crazy that some guy back in the early 16th century dreamed this world up.

Spent some time in Retiro, then wandering around the crazy, convoluted streets of Madrid, hoping I'd get lost. Wanted to just explore and find something new and cool (or old and cool). I didn't, since the coolest thing was this bar at the very beginning of my trying-to-get-lost adventure. Casapueblo. At the beginning of Calle Leones near El Congreso and all those ritzy hotels in Madrid (save for the actual Ritz, which is near Atocha). Inside, old fashioned prohibition era decor. Loud (too loud) piano and jazz music playing. They had an old piano in back, in fact. Theater posters dating back to the early 20th century advertising plays being put on in none other than Alcalá de Henares. Giant wall full of liquor bottles. First time I've seen Kahlúa in Spain. Plenty of other rare stuff, including this one Cuban scotch. Not sure how good that would be. Marisa and I had a glass of red wine while admiring this beautiful wall. Our eyes searched for, and eventually found, the holy grail of I'm-in-Europe-and-it's-cool-to-drink-stuff-illegal-in-America booze: Absinthe. Or in Spanish, absenta. We didn't try as we are going to wait to bring more friends back to disfrutar. It has been encountered though (as numerous searches of grocery stores have returned negatives results). Will let you all know how that adventure ends up going when it happens.

And finally, yesterday I got some new pants. A pair of jeans. Figured my old ones were either too uncomfortable or too worn down. Got new ones, which I now refer to as "ass jeans" because they definitely show off my butt. The ladies love them though, so I'm not going to complain.