Chapter 2: Of neither tourist nor traveller ...

"Oh, very young, what will you leave for us this time?

You're only dancing on this Earth for a short while."

Destination number 2, Madrid. The capital of Spain. I, like Lisbon, had never been before, but as I stepped out onto the sidewalks, there was an immediate juxtaposition of newness and freshness to Madrid. It was that familiar, tangible feeling all over again. I felt like I had arrived in Chicago, coming from Gary, Indiana. For my English readers: I felt like I had arrived in London, coming from Essex. Madrid was an exciting new chapter for my theories on travel; but, if I'm being honest, I was not concerned with my traveller/tourist dilemma. I just wanted to see my friend Cristina, a fellow stud-abroad in Madrid. I got to her flat and it was great to see her and give her a big hug. I was not a tourist or traveller anymore, but an old friend. Something I hadn't been for months now.

As Cristina had class, I spent the day seeing the sights that Cristina told me see and skipping the ones that she told me to skip. And through the course of the day, my impression of Madrid grew and grew. As I strolled through Madrid, I found myself saying things to myself things that I would never say in Lisbon. Things like “Well, this city block is very well maintained.” Or, “The city is so clean.” Or, “This looks like a nice place to live.” It’s not my style to rip a city, but hours after my arrival in Madrid, Lisbon looked (and felt) a fragment of the past. Madrid was a far more pristine city than Lisbon, and also more visibly economically stable/thriving. All the buildings were immaculately maintained and block after block looked like great communities. I was, in a word, impressed. In comparing the two capital cities of Portugal and Spain, Spain’s gave the nation a much more positive impression, Portugal’s seemed to represent the nation’s widely reported economic downturn (but enough ripping on Lisbon, I am still quite fond of the place).

Also, I felt good to speak Spanish. Though my study of the language had not continued into college (there I instead dedicated myself to the mastery of the English language, as you can see here), but I still knew a couple of phrases. More so, I felt liberated to be speaking the native tongue of a city and not be dependent on others to know English. Simple phrases like, “Donde esta el stacion del autobus?” were fun to say, but it became difficult when the directions repeated back at me were in rapid Spanish that I was hapless at deciphering. “Gracias” I would reply blankly and pretend (unsuccessfully to understand). On 0ne occasion, when buying a coke, I said: “Necestio comprar una coca-cola, par favour.” Or: ‘I need to buy a coke, please.’ Honestly, now who speaks like that, anywhere?! But, she understood what I meant and handed me a coke along with a bemused smirk. “Gracias,” I replied blankly.

After a sufficient spell in central Madrid, Cristina was done with her classes for the day so we met up back at her flat, ready to spend the night on the town.

The first place she took me to was Plaza del Sol, where we drank glasses of red wine and talked. It was the first time we had talked in some nine months, and though we were obviously still the same people, we had obviously changed too. We went back and forth on the experience of studying abroad, its pluses and minuses (there are a few, I suppose. One of them is that you have to return home when its over), but we focused most closely on living abroad. Similar to how I had lived in England for two years when I was younger, Cristina had lived in Spain from when she was 7-10. We both found it odd how much of yourself is forged during those years where you live in another country. Those young, crucial years. "What's even more weird to think about is that we're now we're doing it all over again," I added. Those young, crucial years.

I mentioned how I found it odd whenever I would mention that I lived in England as a kid, people would say, “Oh right,that explains it then.” But, for Cristina, her ties to Spain were much stronger than mine to England. Her mother is Spanish and she has many family members that live in Spain. She has been bi-lingual her entire life. But in discussion of both of our experiences we reached the conclusion that living in a foreign country defines the way you live in your home country. Odd how that works, and hard to explain, but we both felt it was true.

After plaza del Sol, Cristina took me to some tapas bars for dinner. It was about nine thirty or ten o’clock and I was starving, but she said eating late at night was a very normal thing to do in Spain. ‘Right with the siesta and all’ I added. We ordered more glasses of wine and with it came two plates of tapas and bread, all for three euros. The next tapas bar gave us bigger glasses of wine and an excellent portion of chorizo and bacon over potatoes and bread for four euros. At both of these places, though I paid, Cristina ordered. English was not spoken, nor were there foreigners at these places, but the people there were quite welcoming all the same.

The next day, I spent most of the day in El Parque del Retiro, a park right in the heart of Madrid. It is as beautiful as it is enormous. I hate to say it, but Hyde, Regeants and St. James Parks combined do not equal El Parque del Retiro. There, I read Hemingway and wrote and entry in my journal. I acquired a beer from a chino in the park and was tempted to smoke a cigarette along with it, but I was out and didn’t feel like buying another pack. As I read, I found For Whom the Bell Tolls a great compliment to my travels, Iberian or otherwise. Hemingway captures the work, the determination and danger of Robert Jordan’s journey beautifully and romantically. In my journal I jotted down a couple quotes that I found relevant for me: “You had to trust the people you worked with completely or not at all, and you had to make decisions about the trusting.” And “To worry was as bad as to be afraid. It simply made things more difficult.” As I move on through Spain, hopefully in a very Robert Jordan like manner, I vow to keep these things in my head as maxims for travel.

Madrid had brought me the experience of the perfect city, the model of Western Europe and a great reunion with a great friend. Two days well spent, but it is time to move on. Time for a new place and new methodology of thinking. Time to see how the buildings and streets of another place changes me and what it leaves the same. I do not feel restless, like I felt at the end of my time in Lisbon, but just ... ready ... LW