“Barca, Barca, Barcaaa” was the only thing going through my head when I arrived in Madrid. Coming from such a vibrant and passionate city as Barcelona, I was extremely skeptical when my dad and I stepped off the train in Madrid. Not only did the capital city have a lot to live up to (since Barcelona was confirmed to be one of my favorite places in the whole entire world), but it’s also the hometown of FCB’s rival team Real Madrid. Now the whole reason I started liking Spain when I was younger was because of FC Barcelona, so naturally I was on the defensive and armed with my Xavi jersey for the four days we were there. To my advantage—Barcelona was playing Atletico Bilbao in the Copa del Rey final that Friday in Madrid and we were able to celebrate their victory outside the stadium with thousands of other Barcelona fans. It was truly one of the greatest experiences of my life and for that reason alone I will always have great memories of Madrid.
After checking in to one of the Catalonia Hotel chains where we had been staying, we didn’t know what there was to do in Madrid besides what the tourist map suggested. Neither my dad nor I are big fans of the “tourist” culture and mindset, and we both love to experience the natural dynamics of different environments and social structures. However after visiting all the main attractions in Sevilla, Granada and Barcelona, we were quickly becoming professional tourists with a quick adaptation for new maps and metro routes. So we did what all the tourist
tips/suggestions/favorites/etc. told us to do and went to the Museo del Prado.
Apparently this museum is really popular and seen as second to the Louvre in Paris. However, being the art enthusiast that I am, the importance of it went completely over my head. We saw the works of Picasso, Francisco Goya, and Diego Velasquez and I am impartial in saying that I couldn’t tell the difference between Goya and Velasquez. Picasso’s easy to spot because his work is literally all over the place and out of this world. I’m easily impressed by people who can merely color in the lines (I’m still working on being able to do so myself….along with drawing the perfect stick figure), therefore……the museum was great, but not really my thing. After a couple display rooms full of the Virgin Mary breast feeding baby Jesus in several different time periods, settings and cultures, I found myself longing to be back with the naked statues of ancient mythological gods. Actually the best section of the whole museum was the sculpture room in my professional opinion. I got a picture of 3 of them before being told to put my camera away by the security guard. In my defense, there were no signs reinforcing the universal rule so I “assumed” that it varied in each country.
After leaving the museum, we did what my dad and I have been best at: walked. Up and down the streets we went, silently comparing each and every detail to our beloved Barcelona. Once we passed through Plaza del Sol, which is known to be the center of Madrid, we found a place to embrace the Tapas tradition and rested for a while until venturing on to Plaza Mayor.
Madrid had only been so-so until we found Plaza Mayor. This large rectangular plaza has been around since the 1600s and witnessed events ranging from bullfights to executions, to public confessions of the Spanish Inquisition. Needless to say, the plaza had seen a lot in its day and you could feel the richness of its history just by being there. Seating was available in multiple outdoor eating areas and it was fun watching people of all ages socialize in groups around the cobblestone courtyard. It felt like we stumbled into the town center of a secluded 17th century village. The ambiance matched the scenery and everything seemed to glow in unison around the statue of Carlos III in the center of the Plaza. At that point we knew Barcelona would always have our hearts, but we figured we could make a little room for such an enchanting place as Plaza Mayor.
The following day we went to the airport to pick up my friend Michelle who flew in from Turkey. She and I had been planning to travel together for a few months prior but there was still A LOT of planning to be done once we were finally together. After taking her directly to Plaza Mayor and filling her in on her obligated loyalty to FC Barcelona in a place like Madrid, we mapped out our travel journeys for the summer and booked at least 1 of the 4 hostels we would be using. From that point on the planning never stopped for us, but we were able to take a quick break from it for the Copa del Rey final, which also celebrated my dad’s last night in Spain. We followed the mixed Barca/Bilbao crowd to the Estadio Vicente Martinez, and what we found satisfied our “European futbol match” craving. There were thousands of drunk and rowdy futbol club patriots singing the chants of their teams and hollering at the opposing fans. All of it surprisingly was in good nature, as there didn’t seem to be any real animosity between the two teams. We didn’t have tickets to the game so the next best option was watching it at a bar right outside the stadium. That experience in itself was liberating! I’ve never been around so many Barcelona fans in one area! For the first time in a while, I was watching them play on TV and wasn’t the only one shouting when they scored! Michelle caught on pretty quick to my mine and my dad’s energy, and soon enough she was as into the game as we were.
The jubilance of the night quickly wore off as the following morning my dad left for the airport to head home. Watching him leave was incredibly surreal because I had just adjusted to the fact that we were actually in Spain together and doing all the amazing things that we did in our 2 ½ week’s time. Yes, I was excited for the next leg of my European experience but I can’t find words to articulate the knot I felt as I watched my dad pull away in the taxi. It was a mixture of extreme appreciation, heartfelt love and devotion, and a little bit of fear—I won’t lie. Fear of the coming unknown, fear for being in Europe for another month on my own, but mostly fear that I could never show him how much I value and adore him, and that the past 2 ½ weeks were week’s that I would tell my children about and never in my whole lifetime forget.
Madrid was good to us. It felt empty on the last day when it was just Michelle and I—but overall, I have no complaints.
jaide3garcia 