It’s becoming blindingly clear that I am a Big City Girl. None of the travelers I’d met gave favourable reviews of Madrid, but as I walked through the streets to reach the massive main park of Madrid, Parque Del Buen Retro, my heart swelled at being in a city, once again. Madrid does not have the “cosmopolitan vitality” (rough guide) of Barcelona, but in place of Barcy’s youthful sexiness is a grandiose stateliness in which it quietly and unpretentiously declares itself as Madrid, Capital of Spain.
Granada and Seville were fine as quick stopovers to see their respective tourist attractions, but I resented the way a smaller city highlights you as a traveler, separating you from the locals, and thus forcing you to be dependent on that intimate domain of the hostel and backpacking culture.
Big cities excite me! I love unleashing myself into them and letting them swallow me up. I love my anonymity in them, especially here in Madrid, where I suspect almost everyone is an outsider of sorts (as in, many people living, working and staying here come from outside of Madrid or outside of Spain, much like Sydney.) There are even many more Chinese here, manning the local groceries (which haven’t given way to convenience stores here), and they five me a look of secret acknowledgment when they pass me by.
That criscrossing, hopscotchin’, mixmatching, colliding kaleidoscope of headspinning diversity, people and subcultures, which can only be found in Big Cities, is the bare minimum required to engage me. It is only in the Big City that my Too Big becomes Not Big Enough.
Rasta Markets (Sundays, Madrid.) While there is some new stuff here, mainly low quality stuff like what you’d find at Paddy’s Markets, more interestingly are the sections in which people have appeared to pour out the contents of their “junk drawer” over a spread on the street. It’s like one giant, outdoor Salvation’s Army – although not just with clothes and books but random shit like old brick like models of mobiles and used Nivea deodorant sticks.
It’d make any knick knack collector cream their pants – but seeing as I’m not particularly one of these, I left satisfied with a old yellow woolen vest for just 2 euros.
And get this for Stupid Foreigner Behaviour of the day. I took 30 minutes on 2 trains to get there before later getting my hands on a map and realising it would have taken me 10 minutes from my hostel if I’d walked the other direction.
I can’t remember where I picked up point it from, but basically it’s a very hip little booklet containing photos of 1200 items to which you can point at when your Survival fails you. Apparently it’s also used by UN peacekeeping forces, Olympic athletes and speech therapists. It’s kind of funky, if not useful, and at least a bit kitsch in its photography, some of which looks pretty dated (like the 70s and 80s.) An address on the back points to kanenyc, which has a really cool website, but in espanol, so I can’t figure what is…maybe a club?
Sevilla is good for flamenco, the Cathedral and Giralda tower, the Alcazar, Plaza de Espana and the Barrio Santa Cruz area. Well at least that’s what I saw. Stay at Hotel Neuvo Suizo.
Granada is good for tapas bars, the Alhambra and Blondie. Also, half the appeal of the city is the hostel: The Oasis is possibly one of the best thought out hostels in the world. Combines all the good stuff I’ve experienced in other places – friendly, small but open communal spaces, kitchen we can use, rooftop with lounging area, medium sized dorm rooms that are clean and have their own bathroom and fridge, decent showers and toilets, cheap, big proportioned, yummy dinners served, very cheap prices, lockers provided, swipe card entry…the list goes on.
Just a quick note to let you know I’ve uploaded a few of my favourite photos onto flickr and that you can view them here. There should be more coming in the next week or so!
As to who these characters are, J. and I met this guy on the street one night as we headed to Razzamataz. He hailed from San Fran and was all dressed in green, purely because he had a penchant for the colour. He accompanied us to the club where we boogied the night away. I then bumped into him on the street a few days later. He’d moved into a factory with a bunch of squatters. Hardcore.
The girl on the left is L. who I met at my hostel. She hails from Canberra and was way cool.
