A Day at the Museums

We headed out early to see some of the iconic sights in Madrid. First, after the usual mediocre breakfast, we headed to La Fuente de Cibeles, which is at a rather busy intersection. After getting out of the Metro, we stood at the traffic circle, trying to take pictures of the fountain and of the Palacio de Communicaciones behind us. Down the street, we found the Museo del Prado, which we vowed not to see until later that night when it would be free. Instead,we opted to see the Thyssen-Bornemisza, which was not far from the Prado at all. Three young girls approached us and asked if we could answer some questions in English.

The questions were amusing and our answers were probably even worse. "Who's your favourite football team?" Espana? "Can you name three Spanish foods?" Paella, churros, and ... cafe con leche? They laughed at our pronunciation of churros and left us to continue. The Thyssen was showing a temporary Matisse exhibit: Themes and Variations. I took an earlier showing by mistake, as did Ross, so we went to the exhibit sans Matt and Sable. Inside the exhibit, people were crowding the watery, impressionistic paintings containing elaborate patterns on rugs, curtains, Turkish screens, at fairs, and all over the upholstery. Black-haired women sat or stood in ornate robes, reading or fanning themselves by windows. Naked women lay in seductive, relaxed poses. His sketches revealed slight changes in positions - hence the exhibition's apt name - including hand over the head or by the side. Face to the left or centered. It was a revealing exhibit and I picked up some of my favorites on postcards.

The lobby contained four paintings: one of each of the Thyssen-Bornemiszas and one of each of the royal family. The relief sculptures set in stone on display were interesting and set the tone for a collection of classical and Renaissance art. Upstairs, there were paintings that depicted country life, beautiful sea and rural landscapes, including many artists unbeknownst to me. Every once in a while, a familiar name popped up. My favorite part would have to be a split between the 12th and 13th century paintings - who knew art existed then! - and Dali's painting of a pomegranate birthing a tiger shooting bees out of its mouth and into the ear of a sleeping woman who is really a desert landscape. The title is something like,"Bee buzzing round a pomegranate a second before waking" or something wonderfully Dali-like. There was another artist whose name Matt kept repeating that I also liked but have now forgotten. He may be deaf but I lack attention.

The gift shop had no pull for me but I purchased a few postcards for the boys back home and we left. We walked back to the Palacio de Communicaciones in the dry heat of the mid-afternoon and looked around for a place to eat. Finally, we decided on a pizza place not far from the Reina Sofia, actually. When the waiters ignored us at the pizza part of the restaurant ,we moved to to the part that was decorated with table cloths. Sable and I had the menu del dia, with three courses. Agua con gas and a lemon granizado for me, with gazpacho, and some sweet pork on rice. Ross had a ensalada caprese and Matt ... well, I never paid attention but he might remember if you ask him.

After lunch, we walked to the Estacion de Atocha, which wasn't far, to see the greenery and the fabled 24 degree interiors. It was indeed misty and very beautiful. This would be the train station that we would need to get to for our trip to Toledo. Ross said he might want to skip Toledo and see Seville, so we played around on the machines for a while before realizing that our Canadian money was no good there. We would need to see a cashier. In the end, however, Ross decided to go to Toledo with us. We took a few pictures of the misty greenery inside, blocked off by yellow ropes, then left the relatively cool humid inside of the station to see another museum. Outside, the digital thermometer read 41 degrees.

We walked back to the Paseo del Prado and happened upon Caixa Forum - a free modern art museum in downtown Madrid. The vertical garden was cool and refreshing if you stood right next to it, as though the green and violet plants were breathing life back into you. We walked up the steel colored steps to the second floor where reception regarded us lazily. The exhibit was El Mundo de Islam and it was up one more flight of stairs. There, a security guard stopped only me from walking in the direction of Sable and Ross because, and I quote, "all tours must start over there". He pointed in the opposite direction. Whatever, constipated man.

I walked the other direction, looking at the oldest remnants of Islam culture on display in Madrid. It was a comprehensive historical tour through the development of Islamic culture in Eastern Europe. From the Visigoths to the Mujaders and then to the Ottoman Empire and onward, it was an exotic display of textiles, jewellery, pottery, ceramics, painting, music, and literature. Well set up, I looked at some of the oldest Korans in existence. Under glass, of course. They had a digital reconstruction of a book that contained Buddhist lyrics. It was a wonderful display but I was stopped from taking pictures by a guard, just as Matt's stupid $11 camera was clicking behind me. Of course, he didn't hear the guard.

We waited for Ross on the steps, when we were promptly told we could not sit at all. Anywhere. Thanks, Madrid. Upstairs was a plea for Cambodia - pictures of emaciated and malnutritioned children who were missing limbs and swimming with prosthetics. Videos in all languages, pleading for money and support and volunteers to help in an area without help. There were people sitting in organic cotton wear in a circle on the floor, discussing what they could do to help. It was like World Vision had designed a photography exhibit to draw in art-lovers (who are never really poor) so that they could sucker them in for money. Too bad we are poor.

Back to the Puerta del Sol, where we wander down a side street to a supermarket. Preparations are necessary for tomorrow's trip to Toledo. We decide that we will have breakfast on the train - Matt and I pick up some fruit, a few boxes of pure pineapple juice, and some pan de leche. Pan de leche is a soft, milky, almost sweet-tasting bread that has the texture and aftertaste of fresh dinner rolls. There is no such thing as whole wheat in Europe. The cashier lectures Matt for bringing his bag into the store - there are lockers at the entrance where you must leave your stuff. Otherwise, she will have to go through the trouble of moving her eyes from your fruit to your bag, which is more than she can bear, apparently. After a look through his bag and a sharp-tongued lecture, we left the store. We made a visit to the Mercado San Miguel, which is warm-looking in cherry coloured mahogany. The vendors sell fresh, misted fruit, fresh chocolate, Spanish wine, and seafood from the coast. It is warm and expensive-looking, so we look but don't touch. Outside, there is a cafe where we stop for a drink. Ross and I tried Horchata, which is a milky, cold drink made from some unidentified sweet root, something like taro, I can imagine. It was delicious.

We stop for falafel at Maoz and I eat some fries, halfheartedly. They're not so good. A bimbo asks the cashier what you put on falafel, to which he just smirks and shrugs. There is a freakin' buffet of stuff to put on your falafel, you American idiot!

We walk back to the hostel, where we rest and write postcards. I get restless and our roommates ask if we want to join them for a drink. We refuse politely and wait for them to leave. Eventually, though, I get restless, so Matt and I leave for a drink an hour or so later at the same place. The waiter places a small plate of black, round olives on our table and leaves us with our coffee and beer. The night is cool and the cafe is full of people. We drink our share and leave the cafe in the same bustling manner it was when we had arrived.