Dottore Gianni's Sojourn to Spain: Days I and 2 Madrid

Introductory: 

While Dottore Gianni has seen a good bit of Europe in his several trips there in the last twenty years, he has never been to Spain. That country, in the good doctor's limited knowledge of geography, seems to sit down and to the left of the rest of Europe, and while he has wanted to visit, it has always been literally as well as figuratively out of reach. 

The royal palace of Spain in Madrid, from the former royal, now public gardens

However that changed when several months ago Dottore Gianni saw that he could fly to Madrid for less then just about anywhere else in Europe. It has been a year and a half since he/I retired and we had promised ourselves that we would travel abroad at least once a year when retired -- after all, la vita e troppo breve, si? So while thinking of trips to Croatia (very expensive to fly to, and impossible to get to anywhere near directly), or Italy (already well traveled by the doctor/me, and also a relatively expensive flight), or Ireland (better price in terms of flight...but the weather in early October...or at any time of year? Questionable) the good doctor decided to finally take himself to Spain. And he/Dottore Gianni/I am glad I did! Here, in several parts with lots of photos, is the story of my journey.

Day One:

Dottore Gianni writes this first entry at 6:30 am Madrid time at the beginning of his first full day in the city, somewhat rested but still dopey from jet lag in general and the effects of a long day’s journey into Spain in particular.

The flight was smooth for the first two-thirds of the journey. As usual I could not sleep, as usual I watched a movie I would otherwise never have watched and which Dottore Gianni did NOT approve (Jack Reacher, an all-too-typical Tom Cruise action/violence feature) which I finished but which I did not particularly enjoy, and as is unfortunately increasingly usual I felt my anxiety about the trip increase. Also increasing as we flew was the turbulence, which, while never massive, began to be near constant.  It may have been just my imagination, but I began to imagine that everyone was getting a little jittery. Certainly I was. The food was plain old plane food, but the wine was free, and while I’d promised myself not to drink, to stay hydrated, and kept the promise for the most part, I did allow myself two glasses of not bad vino tinto along with the mediocre pasta and only OK salad for supper. The breakfast they brought us just before we began our descent into Madrid I should not have touched, but instead devoured hungrily.

All in all, given my increased anxiety with flying, it wasn’t a bad trip.

Once down on the ground  at Madrid’s Barajas Airport, things went swimmingly. We had not been asked to fill out landing cards and it turned out that the seemingly lackadaisical border security did not need them, nor were they particularly interested in why we were there or that we were invading their country. There was a mere five-minute wait at passport control, the baggage arrived on time and my bag was, lo and behold, among those passing around on the rotator. I asked airport information where the bus to town center was, found it, paid the five Euros fare and stood on the bouncy bus ride into Madrid.

 As the flight was in its final approach a landscape I saw from above something I should have expected but didn’t, a dry, fairly barren high plain. When on the bus into town I found myself wondering why anyone would place a capital here. The city at first glimpse seemed to me massive, hectic, chaotic.  The driving is somewhat like that in Rome, a constant, tight and challenging merge that teetered constantly on the edge of danger. At first glance the city

More grandiose than grand?

seemed not terribly attractive. Then suddenly we were in the center and the result of rule by the Hapsburgs and Bourbons became immediately apparent in grandiose buildings, streets built wide for parades and pomp, and the huge Buen Retiro park beautiful but almost intimidating in its size. The chaos continued right up to descending the bus at Atocha Station – again massive and intimidating – but I saw a taxi rank and headed quickly for it, chased by a nightmarish tiny hag in a shawl begging as aggressively as I’d ever seen it done. I was literally rescued by the woman who was in charge of getting customers into taxis. She hurried me into a cab that sped me to my hotel, just off Puerta del Sol. That was quite a ride.

The massive Atocha Rail Station in Madrid

And now a pause from writing for my first Spanish breakfast…(Chekhov or Pinter pause, take your choice)…

Back from breakfast I can tell you that it was a nice way to start the day. There is a restuarant that is attached to the hotel. When I booked the hotel I opted for the "Europa breakfast, the big one, fresh squeezed orange juice, coffee - good thick Spanish coffee -- heuvos con jam on - ham and egs in a scramble, somehwat like I used to have when I was a kid on some Sundays, the only day of the week when my father cooked. And in addition a hard roll and luscious croissant. Burp!

I was in with a bunch of Madrilenos who were not doing as I did, instead sitting at the long bar (where tapas would be placed later in the day) and having a quick coffee and roll before work. It seemed that everyone knew everyone...except for me. Of course I know that's not so. There were other people from the hotel there, in fact I was put in a room off the restaurant proper at first with a tour group that was traveling together, but that mistake was soon corrected and I had quite the time watching the locals at the bar from my table as I et.

But back now to chronology. It doesn't matter to me, but Dottore Gianni insists, so...I was dropped off by the cabbie at the Hotel Europa, near 10 am. I thought I'd have to check my bags with them and would then hope on a city sightseeing bus. But the room was ready and I was very grateful for it. I set down my bags, checked my e-mail quickly (the wi-fi here is excellent, a change from most hotels I've stayed at), thought about lying down, did so for a moment but with what energy I had left I sprang back up, as I knew I'd pass out for hours if I remained on the bed. Instead I locked valuables in the roomy safe and charged out into the center of Madrid. I made my way straight for the hop-on, hop-off tourist bus that I had pre-booked on line and got a good seat on the open top. While I was tired, the fresh air did me a world of good and the ride on the bus, with an English narrative in my ear via the headphones provided, did some good in acclimating me to a city I knew only from recent study in books and maps, but which as I noted above seemed daunting to me upon arrival. There are two circuits on the Madrid bus tour, which is very good, but you should know that Dottore Gianni almost never used the buses as intended -- hop-on, hop-off? Doesn't always work so well. The traffic makes for very slow going, and the time the good doctor waits to hop on a bus after hopping off at one stop could be more productively and healthily used to walk to the next place he wants to visit. But he DOES enjoy a once-around the full circuit, as it gives him a sense of the city and also acts to buffer the first-time tourist from the confusion that can accompany becoming acquainted with a new place.

The Cybeles Palace - now a cultural center

Had I thought Madrid massive on the bus ride in, the tour bus ride more than confirmed its size. The city started small, but when the Hapsburgs moved the capital here from nearby Toledo, building began as only the Hapsburgs could manage it. This tradition continued when Hapsburg rule was superseded by that of the Bourbon family, and the result is many seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth century buildings of great size, many less glorious than grandiose. From the vantage point on a tour bus that places one literally above the crowds and traffic so that one can witness and snap photos of many of these places with some ease.

After the tour I felt a bit more sure about the city and found myself more refreshed than tired. So I decided to take the walk described by Rick Steves in his book on Madrid and Toledo. His tour begins at the dead center of Madrid, and 

Kilometer Zero, on the Puerta del Sol

some have argued, at the center of Spain itself: the Puerta del Sol. In fact there is a marker on the square marking the center, called Kilometer Zero, and the major thoroughfares converging on it. This bustling place is filled with human sculptures, people racing hither and thither on foot, by taxi, or via the Metro - the Sol stop is one of the  busiest in the city. It's a large square and I think, in spite of the consstant hubbub, quite elegant.

The Puerta del Sol

This bear pawing a Madrono tree (which produces a polular liqueur of the same name) has been a symbol of Madrid since the Middle Ages - the statue is placed in the Puerta del Sol.

You can find it all over the place, here on the sidewalk

Another symbol of the city, also to be found on Puerta del Sol is La Mariblanca

I managed part of the Rick Steves walking tour, and the part I trod through made me aware of the smaller, more manageable parts of the city. Immediately off the Puerta del

One of the small streets off Puerta del Sol - many of the

central streets in Madrid feature these elegant tiled

street signs, which also let you know what the road

was used for!

Sol lie a warren of tiny calles that while touristy are much more charming to my mind than the gigantic empire-inspired edifices I’d seen on the tour. Several of these small streets lead inevitably to the Plaza Mayor, once the main square in the city, where, as more than one tourist guide has expressed it, theatre of all sorts was on offer. Certainly literal theatre, as some of the plays by Lope de Vega, Tirso de Molina and others was performed here, but also highly theatrical coronations, bullfights grotesquely theatrical in a way, along with the nightmarish theatrics of the Inquisition “played” out here as well, in the form of the auto da fe.  Do you know Candide? The musical, not the novella by Voltaire…”what a day, what a day for an auto da fe, what a sunny summer sky. Souls in sin cannot win, let them plead how they may, we will wring confession from them and then go and watch them fry!”

The Plaza Mayor

While the Plaza Mayor was begun before the Hapsburgs – its most prominent building is the Casa de la Panaderia, built in 1590 – the Austrian family filled it out with a symmetrical elegance that retains a human scale and remains its central charm. I wanted to sit at a table in the square and just watch the people swirl round me, but was warned against eating in any of the several cafes and restaurants, as while a 15 Euro “special” is offered, waiters are pushy and the unexpecting tourist can find his bill mounting quickly beyond his means.

Casa de la Panaderia on Plaza Mayor
The statue is by the Italian Giambologna (you can see
some of his work in Florence if you'd care to) -
his subject is Philip III of Spain

One of several entrances to or exits from Plaza Mayor

So I had lunch at a place close to but off the Plaza, and had a lunch that stuffed me to the gills for 11.80 Euros. I ordered 

The first course

poorly. The woman who helped me had little English and I had less Spanish, so for the first course I ordered what turned out to be a gigantic soup of beans, tomatoes, sausage and less explainable animal parts. For the second I had a still larger Paella, very tasty, with seafood and chicken,

 but one of those dishes which, placed before me after the 

The paella

first, looked impossible, even unpleasant, to finish. So I did not! I was served a very tasty glass of vino tinto (red wine). That, filled out with bread and freshened with tap water, did more than stuff me – it nearly vanquished me! And I hurried back to the hotel at about 2:30 in the afternoon for a well-deserved nap.

My nap lasted…well, longer than usual! But I managed to get out, and took advantage of the café (where I’d had breakfast) next to the hotel to watch the “paseo” – the Spanish equivalent to the Italian passagiatta – they do it well here in Spain. I hope this won’t sound too terribly sexist or lecherous or pathetic, but Spanish women seem to enjoy their bodies. Young, middle aged or old, if they got it, they flaunt it. In fact even if they don’t really “got it,” they flaunt it, which is pretty cool, I think. The men looked good too, I guess, but as many of you know, Dottore Gianni has always had an eye for, if little success with, the ladies.

I saw a number of what appeared to be mothers and daughters walking together, and while most appeared to be having a grand time, I caught one pair as they passed my table seeming in fairly serious conversation when the mother popped her teen-aged daughter on the back of her head. Now this was a very light “pop” that was probably issured to help put a point across. I don’t think there’s any corporal punishment issue here to be upset about, just a quick physical reminder of something or other. Daughter gave mom a quick scowl, and then they both moved on, chatting along their paseo. Now, how does one watch the paseo? In my case with a bocadilla (a simple sandwich - a crunchy roll filled in my case with tasty Iberian jamon (ham) - and a beer! Or wine, or whatever you find fine. One of the many little things I love about Europe, true in some countries more than

Just outside my hotel, the paseo, and the paseo
watchers, from my table there

others, but in many, is that when you order a drink at a bar or outdoor café you get a petite munchy award, usually nuts or chips (for my British friends make that crisps – don’t think you’re going to get a bunch of French fries, aka “chips” in the UK, with your drink). I decided on a second beer and was brought a second snack with it. And sometimes you get much more than a nibble. When in Sicily the good doctor was handed a miniature feast of snacks every time he ordered a drink, so naturally he ordered frequently! It’s not a necessity to add a small snack, but it’s a pleasant, friendly treat. I know that some U.S. bars will put out bar snacks for you, but it’s a rare exception in my experience, whereas over on this side of the pond it’s unusual not to get something. Except in the U.K. Maybe the U.S. has that stinginess in its genes?

I’m not sure if it was the second beer, but I decided to JOIN the paseo briefly. I only walked up the street (Calle de Carmen) my hotel is on, and back down the street next to it. Both empty into the Puerta del Sol. And I was surprised to see how many fancy shops there were on the way, several still open past 8 pm. It’s a really convivial pastime, the passeo, one that brings friends and families together in a friendly fashion. We’ve replaced many such downtown areas with malls, more’s the pity, at least so it seems to me.

Then upstairs, and after a bit more writing I turned on the TV, and discovered to my pleasure BBC World News, followed by CNN International, and also including a German news station and RAI, the Italian news network. But I found myself not terribly interested in watching. I watch too much news when at home, and while I’ll certainly check headlines here, while a retired person can hardly be said to be taking a vacation when traveling (why? I’m not working!) this retiree is taking a brief vacation from news.

And then I turned off the lights and fell into a deep sleep.

Day Two: 

Dottore Gianni has some issues with Rick Steves TV shows and books, but the good doctor keeps coming back to him for 

Mercado (Market) de San Miguel

bits and pieces on travel. His self-guided tour from Puerta del Sol to the Royal Palace and back is a very useful way to see a good part of the old city of Madrid. As noted above I walked part of it on my first, very jet-lagged, day. I did the rest of it on the second day, continuing up Calle de Mayor, past the wonderful Mercado de San Miguel, having a 

the oldest door in Madrid

look at the oldest door in Madrid, entrance to a building inhabited since 1480.  Adjacent  to this old living space is a lovely square called the Plaza de la Villa, where the old City Hall still survives, still used occasionally for civic ceremonies. Madrid was made the capital of Spain in the late sixteenth century (1561) by the Hapsburg monarch Philip II, moving it from nearby Toledo, which also housed Spain's greatest cathedral. Philip purportedly wanted to literally separate church and state, but there was also a lot of room around the then smallish town along the river Manzanares -- room to grow, which of course it did, thanks to Hapsburg money.

Madrid's old City Hall

Next to the City Hall, a statue of Don Alvaro de Bazan, great naval commander
who won the battle of lepanto, but lost the Spanish Armada to smaller, faster
British warships - beautiful setting!

My walk included a long stop, as Steves advised, at the Royal Palace. It stands on a bluff overlooking a vast plain, and on either side of the plain is situated the modern outgrowth of the large capital city, Madrid. Opposite the palace is the Almudena Cathedral, built over many years, not completed until the 1990s. Two large, imposing complexes celebrating I suppose the earthly king and the king of a very Roman Catholic heaven.

Almudena Cathedral

Even for those of you who despise monarchy, the Royal Palace of Spain is something. Dottore Gianni is not much of a royalist politically, but can’t help loving the feeling of being overwhelmed by opulence. At very least I would have to agree with the wise sage/court jester Mel Brooks, who noted that, “It’s very good to be the king!”

The Royal Palace of Spain

Said to be right up there with Paris’s Versailles and Vienna’s Schönbrunn, I’d probably have to say that it’s true, though for some reason I prefer either of the others to this complex. Of course the Schönbrunn is a bit outside the city of Vienna, and Versailles is even farther afield from Paris, while this is the eastern edge of the old Madrid, while the western edge is the Buen Retiro, now a park, formerly a palace and park combination. ”Retiro” refers to a place the king could “retire”

View of the new Madrid from the palace grounds

to on occasion, but of course it’s but a twenty-minute brisk walk away from the main palace. It’s almost as if the royals in Spain decided to trap their subjects in between two regal complexes. Whether on purpose or not, the trap metaphor works for a government that was if anything even more autocratic than its counterparts in France and Austria, and much longer lasting. Remember that Spain is still a monarchy, but one much more benevolent than it once was.

Despite the ambivalence on my part, the Royal Palace is lavish. There is, as Rick Steves pointed out to me (thanks Rick) an excellent audio guide, which I used to good effect 

Another vista from the palace grounds

while twisting and turning between obnoxious tour groups, trying to position myself to be able to have a good look at the obvious pleasure of each very different room. Giambattista Tiepolo is very much present. While not all the ceilings filled with gods and goddesses cavorting in the clouds are his, the others are by lesser artists who echoed his style, and the very last ceiling he ever painted is in the throne room of the palace. The overall layout of the place was designed by another Italian, Filippo Juvarra (though he died suddenly months after the project began and the work was completed by pupils), but one of my favorite rooms is the Antechamber, which holds four painting by a native Spaniard, Goya, perhaps because there are four Goyas in it! Velasquez’s Las Meniñas used to hang in the same room, but it’s now to be seen at the Prado. Other highlights from my point of view include the chapel, now used for private concerts, and the Stradivarius room, in which beautiful stringed instruments are featured. Outrageously expensive now, they are still played on occasion by top musicians.

It was a warm, somewhat claustrophobic visit, but after I had got ahead of two oppressive tour groups I felt more comfortable and enjoyed the time spent there considerably. Sorry, no photos allowed of the interiors, so you’ll have to hop a flight and see it for yourself!

The changing of the guard

I left the palace and walked along its exterior just in time to see a changing of the guard. I hadn’t expected to, and frankly there are much more impressive guard changes to be had. One small amusing if personally irritating side note: the crowd that quickly gathered was not, as old fashioned Dottore Gianni was, snapping individual pics. Instead they were filming the event on their smart phones, so they swayed, as if one great wave, as they followed the marching soldiers in their every movement. I was not pleased, and left before the grand finale, because I had other fish to fry.

Teatro Real, from the Plaza de Oriente

The fish I had in mind was just across the street and an elegant plaza away from the Royal Palace. The plaza is the Plaza de Oriente, a beautiful mix of green trees, sandy 

Felipe (Philip) IV statue

pathways and the statues of many kings. At the center stands a famous large equestrian statue of King Felipe IV astride his rearing horse. Based on a painting by Velasquez, its sculptor Pietro Tacca was afraid it might topple. Who should come to the rescue of the daunted artist but Galileo! He advised Tacca to make the rearing part hollow but to fill the rear quarters so that they might bear most of the weight. It worked! I love it when art and science intersect, which they do more often than one might imagine.

Vista in the Plaza de Oriente

Beyond the plaza is the Teatro Real, the Royal Theatre, where I needed to pick up my ticket for The Barber of Seville.

Teatro Royal from the other side, at the Plaza
de Isabel II

While there were machines present at which one with more skill at machines than I could accomplish that task, I was unable to, and beat a retreat to the actual box office, where I quickly obtained what I needed. I then walked the short distance along the lovely pedestrian zone of Calle de Arenal, along which I happened to stumble upon the hotel I’ll be staying at on my return to Madrid from Barcelona, back to Puerta del Sol. I was off to catch the sight-seeing bus for the second tour it offers of Madrid.

That tour takes in the newer part of the city, and while it’s 

elegant, expensive townhouse

not without interest it’s a shorter and less exciting tour than 

the historical route I’d been taken on the day before. It was pleasant, however, to see that some at least of the modern city is a very lovely place to live in, if of course you can afford it. The taped commentary I listened to as I rode pointed out that many of the abodes we passed had been built as dwellings for the middle class, but are now fabulously expensive. One of the prettiest streets

US Embassy - not so nice

offered one elegant residence after another. Some of them are embassies now, but the one eyesore in the neighborhood is the largest embassy of them all, a drab complex that is sadly but completely out of tune with the rest of the architecture, the well fortified U.S. Embassy. Ah well...
I think the highlight of the tour had to be the outrageous Bernebeu stadium, home to Real Madrid. It’s as if the gods of football...

Sidebar: That’s the sport that we call soccer, but that the rest of the world properly calls football. After all the foot is

used constantly in that sport, versus in American football, which I believe should probably come up with another name, out of respect and propriety.

As I was noting, it’s as if the football gods had miraculously lowered a gigantic outrageous looking stadium into the center of the city! It fits so snugly that it seems a perfect placement, though aesthetically it’s a bit of a shock. I certainly would not want to be the wealthy neighbors on game day.

The tour done and the hour approaching two pm, I decided on a light lunch back at the Plaza Mayor. While I’ve had much better salads, the green-ish one that I indulged in was fine, washed down by a beer and accompanied by a tasty ciabatta bread. And of course the view was splendid. That done I returned to my hotel, wrote, downloaded photos and napped before….FEEEEgaro!

Auditorium and king-sized royal box of Teatro Real

Which was, alas, a major disappoint-ment, not because the Teatro Real lacks beauty. It is a lovely place, even if it does feature a rather ridiculously large royal box opposite the stage in the auditorium. Such royal boxes were typical in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and resemble small stages in themselves. This one is extreme!

The problem is that, while I had a grand view of the royal box I could barely see the stage, not because it was distant, but because I was placed on the second row of a box to one side of the stage. My "view" consisted of about 1/8 of the stage , that 1/8 on which almost no singer ventured. If I stood behind the people on the first row of the box and craned my neck I could see one or two of the actors on occasion as they crossed the stage, for a moment or two. I did have a very distant view of a tv screen that had been placed above the boxes opposite mine, I assume to placate angry customers like me, who had payed 90 Euros -- yes NINETY Euros to basically HEAR the opera, and not see it. But given my poor eyesight it was impossible for me to make out much of anything on the screen except that there was a whole lot more going on on stage than I was able to see!




I tried to control my own anger, but could not, and while the orchestra was terrific, the singing excellent, especially that of Figaro himself, I left at intermission. One of my greatest disappointments in the trip. Fortunately, disappointments were far fewer than rewards, which you'll learn about if you read my next entries!The problem is, while I had a grand view of the royal box I could barely see the stage, not because it was distant, but because I was placed on the second row of a box to one side of the stage. My "view" consisted of about 1/8 of the stage , that 1/8 on which almost no singer ventured. If I stood behind the people on the first row of the box and craned my neck I could see one or two of the actors on occasion as they crossed the stage, for a moment or two. I did have a very distant view of a tv screen that had been placed above the boxes opposite mine, I assume to placate angry customers like me, who had payed 90 Euros -- yes NINETY Euros to basically HEAR the opera, and not see it. But given my poor eyesight it was impossible for me to make out much of anything on the screen except that there was a whole lot more going on on stage than I was able to see!


I tried to control my own anger, but could not, and while the orchestra was terrific, the singing excellent, especially that of Figaro himself, I left at intermission. One of my greatest disappointments in the trip. Fortunately, disappointments were far fewer than rewards, which you'll learn about if you read my next entries!