Madrid

Spain 

Saturday 

November 30, 2002

Sunny and Cool

Dear Family and Friends, 

Saludos de España!

My guest room at the Sofitel Hotel is handsomely decorated with solid walnut furniture and gentle gold, brown, and mint green pastel accents. First Class all the way!

I am sipping an agua minerale con gas from the mini-bar.

Today I relax. I am tired from my travels.

My flight from Madrid to Miami on Saturday was oversold so I “volunteered” to fly tomorrow.  Business Class! I thought “volunteering” was unpaid. You would be shocked to know, in their desperation, how much the airline “paid" me. A three-figure voucher!  Plus, I am overnight in this four-star hotel, enjoying three lovely meals, all courtesy of American Airlines. Though I think I do have to pay for the mini-bar refreshments.

For today’s lunch, I choose a colorful salad of sliced codfish and chopped vegetables with that heavy Spanish olive oil I love. My second course is grilled swordfish with roasted potatoes and red peppers, y una cerveza también. Creamy fruit tart and café con leche for dessert.

I know my choices are a little redundant, but the alternatives are meat ravioli or roast pork.

After lunch, I take a walk and sit in a little park to think about the meaning of life. Then my siesta. Dinner is a Grand Buffet!

Lunch here begins at 2:00, and dinner no earlier than 9:00. Despite this traditional schedule, Spain is a thoroughly modern country.

The first sign of modernity and wealth I notice is that there are no motorbikes. Unlike other countries I have visited recently, it seems that in Spain every family has at least one car.

Secondly, almost everyone is, to put it politely, far from slim.

Finally, Spain has the Euro, clean streets, policemen distributing parking tickets and “boots,” efficient, slightly brusque service, and well-built, well-maintained, well-marked roads.

Oh yes, everyone smokes.

(I am in a social setting with a small group. One of the men is a soccer coach. He is quite proud that a few years ago he was invited to California to teach. Since he is an athletic type, I am comfortable commenting on my observations regarding large-scale smoking and its hazards. He totally agrees but adds, “Smoking cigarettes is a tradition in Mediterranean countries.”

Just between you and me, I don't think this "tradition" comes from the Romans or the Moors, do you? Most likely from the Dukes and the Leggetts, don't you think? Anyway, not five minutes after our conversation ends, the soccer coach pops out with that universally recognized American symbol of I am cool—the red-and-white packet—and lights up!)

On my way back from Extremadura and Salamanca to Madrid, I make two stops:

Ávila. A city surrounded by its original stone walls and towers that I can view from the hillside as I approach. Breathtaking.

Finally, Segovia. A huge—I mean huge—Roman aqueduct in the heart of the city. A double layer of arches. Yes, I climb to the top.

This is Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.  I have to celebrate. I find the best restaurant in town. I order roast grouse in a tasty stew of little onions and mushrooms. A typical Thanksgiving leftover meal?

Now it is on to Madrid, return the car, spend the first night at an ordinary hotel, then “volunteer,” and enjoy a second night in luxury.

The trip was beautiful. “Rugged beauty” is not an exaggeration. Challenging mountain ranges and rolling farmlands dotted with monster boulders. It rained a lot, sin problema. I drove only about 1,200 kilometers (750 miles) in a week.

I will admit that this was the first trip I felt alone. The Spanish are very cool and straight-faced. They were always helpful yet seemed uninterested in meeting other people. There were few Americans, and I met no tourists from other European countries. Usually I do bond with someone, but not this time.

Al fin I am proud of myself. In these remote, off-the-regular-tourist-track towns, the local population spoke almost no English whatsoever. I was prepared with a little book of restaurant menu translations and a dictionary. But mostly I just “spoke” Spanish.

Miss Goldman, my teacher at Taft High School in the Bronx, would be horrified at my grammar.  But I do believe she would be pleased with my Castilian accent, adequate vocabulary, and overall comprehension. Gracias, Señorita Goldman. Vale.

Bueno mis amigos, I wish you a joyous Holiday Season and a Healthy New Year. And of course, Safe Travels.

Hasta la vista,

"Juan”

 

Aventura, Florida

December 3, 2002

Hello,

This past summer I read a travel article about Spain called “Extremadura, a land of rugged beauty.”  My wife, Alice, and I had been to Spain twice before: Barcelona, Madrid, and Burgos in the summer of 1967. Then  Seville in the spring of 1970.  Now, on my own, Extremadura in the far west of Spain is enticing. So, I book a flight, a rental car, and my first night. 

I arrive in Madrid on Friday morning, November 22, pick up the car, and head west to Extremadura—“a land of rugged beauty and the home of the conquistadors, Pizzaro and Cortés.”  My destination is the city of Cáceres, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Got your atlas handy?

After a couple of stops along the way for lunch and souvenir hunting (the town of Talavera de la Reina is known for its pottery and tile work), I arrive at the Castillo de las Seguras in Cáceres.

Well, this rural castillo is truly a 15th-century castle. One night only, please! The heating is mostly the fireplace in the center hall. They do supply a small electric heater for the room, but I never warm up. The place is just too rustic, even for me. So I find a small hotel in the center of town for the next three nights.

The old city of Cáceres is excellent.  Restored and maintained 14th–16th-century public buildings, churches, and palaces. An archaeological museum with artifacts and carvings dating back to the Romans and the Goths.

From Cáceres I make day trips to other cities:

Alcántara. Over the Río Tajo lies a high, graceful five-arch Roman bridge that has supported vehicular and foot traffic for more than 1,500 years.

Trujillo. A larger-than-life statue of Pizzaro on horseback. Another one stands in Lima, Peru.

Guadalupe. An extraordinary monastery, rich in treasure. Exquisite clerical robes, huge prayer books (100 pounds (45 k) each). The words and musical notation are clearly marked and illustrated. And two El Greco paintings!

Lunch that day is a leg of baby goat. They simply roast the entire leg, put it on a plate, hoof and all, and serve it with French fries.

My favorite day trip is to Mérida, south of Cáceres. Yes, the name is the same as the Mexican resort town and a city in Venezuela.  Mérida is known for Roman ruins.

My sightseeing begins with a walk around and up and over a Roman aqueduct and a very large hippodrome. Next, across a Roman bridge over the Río Guadiana. Then up the hills of the city past the remains of a Temple to Diana.

Lunch is a light tomato soup with bread and eggs, followed by baked trout.

Best of all, the spectacular archaeological site of a Roman theatre and amphitheater sits side by side at the highest point of the city. The amphitheater is still in use, seats 14,000 spectators, and has perfect acoustics. Up front is a double layer of tall marble pillars with original carvings.

Sadly, I leave Cáceres and, in the pouring rain, drive north to Placencia. A "pleasant" city with a beautiful cathedral, a central square with shops and restaurants, surrounded by winding streets with more shops, and homes with small balconies. Come to think of it, all the cities I visit have this same layout.

In Placencia, I treat myself to a night at a Parador. Paradores throughout Spain are old castles converted to luxury hotels. As I stroll the ancient passageways, staircases, and public areas, I am truly following in the footsteps of royalty.

The guest rooms, actually small suites, stock every amenity. The restaurants are in the old dining halls or chapels. Everywhere are works of stone and carved archways. A castle! Built for luxury and security. I could stay a month.

The meals in the Parador are graciously served. For lunch, I have veal stew as good as my mother used to make. For dinner, roasted vegetables and a platter of local cheese with the regional crunchy bread. Local wine.

The next morning, the breakfast buffet has everything! Including my favorite: tiny almond pastries with café con leche. Of course, café in Spain is espresso with hot milk. So classic. So civilized.

I am sad/glad to leave the Parador. If I stay a month, I will gain 10 kilos.

I continue north toward Salamanca, the city that motivated my trip in the first place. On the way, two detours.

First to an area called La Vera. A string of quaint villages surrounded by snow-capped mountains. I buy more terra-cotta, hand-painted dishes.

The second detour is Hervás. A small town noted for the ancient, now restored Barrio Judeo. I find Stars of David in the grillwork of doorways. Large cobblestone Stars of David are inlaid in the pavement at the entrance to the Barrio.

Salamanca is splendid. A golden city built with a locally tinted stone. All the public buildings and the Cathedral glow in the sunlight and moonlight.

Since the freshly quarried stone is soft, the facades of the buildings are meticulously carved, as delicately as a silversmith’s work. The style is thus known as Plateresque—like silver. Eventually, the stone dries to become hard and durable.

The Plaza Mayor is grand and spectacular. Bells toll from atop the city hall.

The University of Salamanca is one of the oldest in Europe and ranks with the famous schools of Paris and London. International students come to study and to enjoy the culture.

I visit two museums: a collection of Columbian gold amulets and masks, and an exhibit of 19th-century Polish art, including a drawing and a painting of Chopin.

Salamanca is on my “To See Again” list.

But now, me voy a Madrid.

Hasta pronto,

Juan