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Del Dicho al Hecho , Hay Mucho Trecho
(from saying something to actually doing something, there is a long way to go)

They say there is a moment when you fall in love with Madrid; For me it was observing a man teaching his son to ride his bike in El Parque del Buen Retiro, "Vamos Campeon" he yelled, urging the child to peddle faster. Such a simple act compounded the Madrileño spirit and my Iberian affair began.

I chose to focus my travel efforts upon Madrid, an unwise choice by Phillip II for the capital but nonetheless Hemingway's ‘most Spanish of all cities'. It is by no means a beautiful city, marred by its civil war past and constantly in the shadow of the architectural grandeur of Barcelona, Madrid has struggled to survive; the evolution of a concrete jungle suppressing the vibrancy and velocity which Spanish culture entails. So why you ask yourself, do I portray such mortality, a reprieve of my desire to unearth the hidden Spain? The answer is that Madrid is a city marked by its past and uncertain about its future, yet its population and personality remain intact. From my own estimation it is a city of the people and thus proved ideal to immerse myself in true Spanish sentiment for the month I became a Madrileño.

I awoke each day with the promise  of a Café con leche and Napolitina from La Mallorquina followed by perusing El País in La Plaza Mayor with the prospect of exploring another corner of the City. La Latina and Lavapies, Salamanca or Chueca, the choice was endless. I strolled along cobbled streets and hidden corners, the Palace Gardens or Sundays divided between El Rastro flea market and El Parque Retiro. I used the Metro every day to criss cross the city, listening attentively to the conversations around me against the backdrop of the accordion player at the end of the carriage.  I emerged each stop in a different barrio and thus what I discovered a different identity of Madrid. Salamanca exhaled sophistication with the bullring and boutiques whilst Lavapies was exhausted and in need of repair. 

I drank in Los Gabrieles with its skeleton frescoes, strolled each night along Paseo de Recoletos and stood at the feet of Cervantes in Plaza de España. At the very centre, Sol, where Madrid is measured from, brought a different atmosphere each night with thousands of people appearing in the blink of an eye. My favourite retreat however was the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, a private collection at the end of the Paseo del Prado; Armed with student discount I spent five afternoons in total in the company of Goya and Titian.

Throughout my stay Madrid unfolded itself to be discovered, not on a tourist bus but through its streets, its markets, even its Metro, enabling me to find the pulse of the Spanish capital. Although I travelled alone, I never felt lonely, Madrid is not a harsh or unwelcoming place and I most certainly agree with Hemingway's conclusion that ‘It makes you feel very badly to know that you will have to die and never see Madrid again.'