Chapter III - Navigating Madrid on my Own

Being on my own and in Hungary for a year has made me much more confident and adventurous when I travel to new cities, so when Alicia and Jon had to attend their study sessions during the day, I set off, excited to see how I would get around Madrid alone.

My soul lives for the summer, warm weather, the sun and I didn’t want to be cooped up in an art museum or anyplace else indoors. That’s better saved for a wintry February Saturday.

So, I rode the metro (very efficient BTW) into the middle of the city equipped with my MP3 player, a Lonely Planet book with full map of Madrid, and my sunglasses. I know that most travel authorities advise against blocking out the native noises of a country/city with an I-Pod, CD player or what have you, but one of my favorite things to do in the entire world is traipse around a new city with my preferred tunes blasting. The louder the music, the faster I walk. So, I searched for the local Madrid stations on my MP3 player and found a few scratchy songs while I walked aimlessly into the June heat.

Finally, stopping to consult my guidebook, I decided to pay a visit to Retiro Park, Madrid’s massive park that loosely translates to “A Place to Relax.” It used to be an ex-king’s hunting ground and from the looks of it, even an endurance blessed wild cat or gazelle would be panting with exhaustion attempting to get from one side to the other. I couldn’t take in the whole park in one day, so I went back later on.

The park turned out to be the perfect way to spend an afternoon for me: outdoors in the sunshine with plenty of things to look at while listening to my music. There were fountains that spurted water into the sparkling sunlight, and hundreds of benches placed along avenues of gravel paths lined with enormous leafy trees.

I stopped to relax on a bench facing a huge lake with paddleboats and monuments. Tourists from many countries drifted along the path in front of me, but inevitably, if you sit in a place long enough, someone will come up to you. Mine was a Spanish-speaking man wanting to know where the pool was. And to my sudden relief, I could understand. “Pool” sounds just about the same in Spanish as it does in French and right there my time spent as a French major paid for itself (okay maybe a dime of what it cost, but those little victories are HUGE for me!) And even better, I remembered how to say, “I don’t know” from middle school Spanish.

I know that it’s kind of ridiculous to beat myself up for not understanding a native when they talk to you (the foreigner), but it really frustrates me when I have to resort to English…I’d rather pretend I’m mute or meanie who just ignores everyone than to give myself away as the tourist (although my shoes probably do that anyway).

I walked around the park and found:
a turtle pond
trees that looked like brains
stone lions guarding a tropical looking waterfall
a line of artistic photographs from around the world
LOTS of statues
A beautiful rose garden void of any people
A free public toilet (God Bless!)

And eventually, I got hungry and extremely fatigued, so I decided to hit up an outdoor café and refuel. I sat alone at a plastic green table and ordered a Cola light with my desired tortilla española. Unfortunately I couldn’t manage the entire exchange with my waiter in Spanish (which ridiculously made me feel like a failure) but the meal was great. However the pigeons (the ubiquitous bird of Europe and big cities everywhere) thought it would be good for them too and came dangerously close to my fork. Even as I swatted at them, they would come back winding around my feet and perching on the backs of the empty chairs surrounding me, desperately waiting for a crumb. Men with accordions started playing and later came to collect money in a paper cup. I briefly debated dumping some of my massive forint change in there, when I decided that would be cruel, so instead found it in my heart to sacrifice something less than a euro.

I spent most of my time in the park walking, listening to my music, exploring, and imagining what my life would be like if I were born and raised Spanish. If I lived in Madrid, would I still like the tortilla española as much as I did the week I was in Spain? Or would it just be like a plain old hot dog is to an American? Would I play tennis with my friends at this park sputtering out speedy Spanish? Maybe, maybe not…but I would for sure have a fan on me at all times, just like 99% of Spanish women.
I headed back to the metro as the sun got lower in the sky, recharged from my time alone. It’s good to explore a city on your own, because you really have to pay attention to where you’re going instead of relying on someone else to get you around. Also, you can do what you want, when you want…and everybody needs that sometimes.