Madrid

A small slice of hell was served up for me the afternoon I left Granada and had to lug my entire life, or at least the items I had considered necessary for living for four months, through Madrid’s metro system. Madrid’s metro is actually surprisingly easy to understand, so I didn’t end up hopping on the wrong line or anything, but like many major city public transportation systems it was crowded, sweaty and unforgivingly prompt – not the kind of place you want to haul 150 lbs or so of your most valued possessions. While moving through the hustling throngs, I a few times found myself at junctions where I had to transfer lines and could find no escalator or elevator to get there and so, surely looking halfway insane, I sort of dead-lifted my enormous load of luggage step by step up the staircases. Twice some friendly souls came to my aid, picking up the bottom end of my suitcases for me and helping me move up much quicker. This sort of kindness was not something I had heard that Madrileños were particularly known for (in fact I had heard the exact opposite), but I most definitely welcomed it.

From the stop I was to exit according to my directions, Argüelles (very fun word to repeat over and over), I exited the Metro. I found Heidi’s apartment, rang the buzzer and was greeted by her very kind roommate Mamen. After a quick conversation she called Heidi, who was already at a café with Genevieve, told her I’d arrived and also that there had been no communication problems because I spoke Spanish “perfectamente bien.” This was nice to here, because I had just finished spending four months and all money to my name for the explicit purpose of learning to speak the language.

I went out to meet Heidi in the street, and she led me to the café, called Thoma’s, which was only about a block away. Genevieve was waiting inside and seemed to be at first a bit taken aback to see her brother who, after being four months in a foreign country, was skinnier (I had lost 10 pounds since august, and I’m not the kind of guy who has 10 pounds to lose) and freshly sweaty from the Madrid metro system despite the freezing weather. However, her surprise was only momentary and we were obviously delighted to see one another here so far across the Atlantic. I’d been looking forward to this since she first told me she booked here flight some two months prior.

After a coffee, a few cigarettes, and a quick shower at Heidi’s to wash of the sweat and dust of traveling, we strolled out for dinner and drinks. We began in a very crowded bar a few stops down the metro. Once inside, we could hardly move or raise our arms as we dug in to a communal helping of huevos rotos (fried eggs, fried potatoes, pimientos de padrón and tangy red sauce). This style of eating, which is done standing up and is very social (because there’s no seats, all must weave in and out of each other to order food and drinks, and you and your friends eat from the same shared platter), I find to be very, very Spanish and had experienced it several times in Granada as well. We traded off digging our three forks into the delicious mess, and I was glad to see that Genevieve was clearly enjoying her first Spanish eating experience. Two madrileños, both friends of Heidi, met up with us soon enough and more food and red wine was ordered. Gonzalo and Xavier, as they were called, were extremely kind. The former was an ex-hedge fund investor/current philosophy student and the latter was the owner of a pharmacy. Gonzalo’s story was a little more interesting, or at least he seemed to like talking about it more. He had apparently climbed the ladder of financial mega-success and high-risk investing/high amounts of unaccounted for spending at Lehman Brothers, become sick and guilty from the corruption and excess that surrounded him and which ultimately seems to have led to our current global financial climate, quit work, walked the famous and ancient pilgrimage of Santiago (St. James) and, upon arriving, decided that his soul was cleansed and returned to Madrid where he currently studies philosophy. He truly did seem like an honest guy, and I respected him quite a bit. The night passed on smoothly as we moved from bar to bar. Although at each one saying at each one that it would be our last stop, we pressed on until finally it was 1:30 or so and we had successfully allotted ourselves about 3 hours of sleep before our 6:00 am check in at the airport the next day. Throughout the night, Gonzalo and Xavier paid for just about everything after the first bar, and since they were both about 15 years or more my seniors and clearly not lacking in money, I was just fine with it.

What I was most pleased about this night was the fact that I was more or less fluidly conversing in Spanish with Madrileños. These guys, in stark contrast to the thick-accented, consonant eating Andalucians that I had grown accustomed to, spoke clearly and calmly, allowing me to understand just about everything without much difficulty. When I explained to Xavier that he was worlds easier to understand than most of the Spaniards I had encountered thus far in Granada, he responded that that makes perfect sense, because they don’t know how to speak down there. I mean this as no slight against Granadinos, but the man had a good point.