Spain
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| Spain, June 2009 |
In the nearly two months since our last post, we’ve been on the move. A lot. We finished the first 6 weeks of our charter season, spent two days in Athens, and then headed for Madrid. Our oldest nephew Preston was scheduled to fly from Dallas-Ft. Worth to Madrid, for his weeklong holiday with us. Mark and I had a few days in Madrid before Preston arrived, so we scoped out the scene and finalized our plans for the week.
We arrived in the early evening (8 PM, practically the middle of the day to Spaniards!), on a Saturday and were amazed by the fabulous parade of people near our hotel. After a quick unpacking and freshening up, we walked the short distance to the Plaza Mayor. Street performers and musicians, young couples and families with kids, tourists and locals alike were all out in force for a madrileño summer Saturday night. Around the corner, we found the Mercado de San Miguel, a large public market, similar to the Ferry Building in San Francisco. It seemed that some people were shopping, but most were moving from stall to stall, sampling fresh oysters at one, vermouth at another. We found an overpriced restaurant nearby, and sat for a leisurely Spanish dinner, complete with a bottle of rioja and a street-side table for people watching. The next morning, I woke up early-ish (7 AM), and had the idea that I’d take my camera out to the Plaza, to watch the city waking up. I was envisioning little mom & pop groceries and fruit stalls raising their metal gates, housewives stopping by the bakery for the day’s bread... Clearly, I had no idea of Spanish life, because what I found was the city going to bed! Young men and women still dressed for the warm evening before were talking animatedly as they huddled together for warmth in the chilly morning breeze. I walked for blocks, seeing almost no one starting their day, but many going home after a long Saturday night. Can you say paradigm shift?
We visited the famous El Rastro flea market that Sunday, and made the requisite visit to the Museo Reina Sofia for a look at Picasso’s “Güernica”, and a sobering lesson in Spain’s 20th century history. We also spent a relaxing hour and a half at the Medina Mayrit “hammam” – a series of baths and steam rooms built in an underground cistern, following the Arab design of the 12th to 14th century. When Preston’s arrival date rolled around, we were at the airport nearly an hour before his arrival, and, of course, his flight was delayed. Neurotic Aunt Michelle had to wait almost two hours before Preston walked through the doors with his American Airlines escort. We hopped in a cab and headed to the small hostal recommended by family friend Cathy Bingman, checked in, dropped our bags and went in search of food. A sightseeing walk and visit to the temporary Matisse exhibit at the Thyssen-Bournemisza Museum filled that afternoon, and then we returned to the hostal to clean up for our dinner invitation. Friends of Mark’s dad (Kirk and Cathy Bingman and their children) have been living in Madrid for several years, and we were invited to their home for dinner. We learned the Madrid subway and found their place, and were then treated to unbelievable hospitality. Sangria and Sprite and great conversation flowed for the next several hours, and I was really reminded what a treat it is to be invited into a home when you’re traveling.
We left Madrid the next day, by rental car with me at the wheel. I think Preston was convinced he’d die on more than one occasion that day, but we had a beautiful drive through La Mancha (think Don Quixote) and into Andalucía. In the late afternoon we arrived in Granada, and followed the slightly confusing directions to our room rental in the old Albaicín. This time Preston was SURE he was about to die, as he got a lesson in how a married couple can argue, loudly, and still love each other. We had a late lunch under the Alhambra, a swim in our little pool and then Preston crashed. In the next few days, we wandered around Granada, finding the old silk market and the cathedral and having a trio of gypsy women read our palms and give us rosemary stems, for 5 euros each! I gave two of the stems back, and thanked them for the palm reading. On our last day in Granada, we had a guided afternoon tour of the Alhambra, the last fort in Spain to be occupied by the Moors. We spent over 2 hours walking through the grounds and buildings, in gorgeous late afternoon light, and were only disappointed that the famous lion fountain was under renovation. Check out the photos.
Then it was on to Ronda. We drove south to the coast, fought hordes of traffic along the Costa del Sol, and then turned north into the mountains. At one point, we stopped for the view, seeing Gibraltar out to the west of us. When we arrived at our fabulous little hotel (Hotel Enfrente Arte), and the front desk clerk Dimitri gave us a little tour, all Preston could say was “this is great, this is really great”. Music to this auntie’s ears. For the next few days we wandered around this beautifully scenic old town, touring the excellently preserved Roman (or Arab, depending on which sign you read) baths, walking the old city walls and shopping for a few gifts for family. One day we even drove out of town to the nearby Roman ruins. We celebrated our last night in town with a fantastic dinner at a little place called Casa Maria. A reserved table on the “terrace” proved to be in the plaza across the street, and the menu consisted of choosing red or white wine, salad or tapas, and meat, chicken or fish for the entrée. Everything was delicious, and Preston even tried some excellent Spanish wine (his verdict, “it’s an acquired taste”).
We drove back to Madrid the next day, making good enough time to turn in the rental car, check back into the hostal, show Preston the Plaza Mayor and have our photo taken in front of the Museo del Jamón (museum of ham)! We were invited to the Bingman’s for another dinner, this one in celebration of Preston’s upcoming birthday. It was a festive night, followed by a quiet goodbye the next morning. As the airline escort told Preston it was time to go, he said to us “Thanks. Thanks for a great trip”. More music to this auntie’s ears.
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