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”