Saturday November 7, 2009
A Spanish love story
Stories by LOUISA LIM
When you have only one week in a swashbuckling city like Madrid, the last thing you want to do is fall in love. For most visitors, however, this is bound to happen.
I was attempting a pirouette on the streets of Madrid at half past midnight. So was the middle-aged man in front of me, who managed a wobbly half-whirl before staggering into the eight-year-old girl beside him.
She stuck her tongue out at him and twirled, ballerina-like, in one fluid movement that could’ve racked up a perfect 10 if any judge were around to keep score. But before we could feel the pangs of adult humiliation coming on, it was time to do the bunny hop.
Retiro Park is a stunning midtown forest. Each year, thousands of Madrileños, young or old, nimble or clumsy, descend upon the traffic-less city centre to celebrate La Noche en Blanco (White Night), an all-night cultural extravaganza which takes place on one night each September.
I was delirious to be part of the crazy, sweaty mass of humans that ruled the calles, or roads, till dawn. Free concerts were everywhere. Actors made the boulevards their stage. The galleries threw open their doors. Marching bands did endless parades. People (like me) were dancing to the giant projection screens that had been specially set up.
White Night started in Paris in 2002, and was only adopted in Madrid about four years ago. However, it was apparent that the festival belonged to the Madrileños. It is, after all, at night that the city comes alive. Madrileños take their fiestas seriously and since “pasar la noche en blanco” meant having a sleepless night in Spanish, the celebration takes on a literal meaning. This partying ceases only when the first rays of the sun are visible.
Like effervescent tapas bars or sizzling flamenco tablaos, La Noche en Blanco is another avenue for the inhabitants to let their true spirit shine. To an outsider, all becomes apparent after awhile: Madrid is beautiful, but it gets even more achingly so when it unravels after 9pm. And once it does, boy, you’re in for a real treat.
No time for siesta
For the longest time, Madrid and its northeast neighbour, Barcelona, have been bitter rivals . . . and I’m not just talking about football. Inter-city antagonism runs so deep that you cannot wear the Madrid logo in Barcelona (or vice-versa) without being jeered at.
The KIO towers lean into each other at a 16.8° angle. The world knows that Barcelona has outstripped Madrid, the political nucleus of Spain, as tourist central. However, that isn’t necessarily a good thing — my own experiences in the proud Catalan capital has been fraught with anxiety, because everywhere I turned, there were hordes of sightseers ready to give me a concussion with their camcorders.
But while Barcelona has Gaudi and miles of golden beaches, Madrid possesses a more intangible claim to fame, something that you cannot quite place your finger on unless you’ve truly taken your time here.
Madrid is a European city all right, but a pretty cool one. The prices are cheaper, the people are less uptight and the architecture is a mind-boggling amalgamation of the old and the new. It’s also the best place to observe Spanish life in all its telenovella-glory, for the metropolis does not self-edit compared to other more tourist-oriented cities. Madrileños work, live, love, play and eat with so much passion here that you’d think the end of the world was nigh.
Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier loved Madrid enough to spend the first nights of their honeymoon here, at the Ritz. More recently, Penelope Cruz so adored her native city that she shunned Hollywood outpost to be based here . . . permanently.
Rediscovering Madrid
I have exactly seven days to rediscover a city I’ve had the opportunity to visit twice in one year. My initial impression of Madrid was that of casual indifference, but as my tour guide Mayte Embuena, 51, was quick enough to point out, “Your Madrid is different from my Madrid. But in the end, we all know that Madrid changes so quickly, and so does one’s perception of it.”
She was right. The city was in the midst of a major resurgence, thanks to the efforts of mayor Alberto Ruiz-Gallardón — a man cheekily compared by some to a pharaoh. He had invited some of the world’s best architects like Norman Foster and César Pelli (the same person who designed Petronas Twin Towers) to leave their imprint on the city.
Scaffoldings, bulldozers and cranes that weren’t present the last time I was there now dominated every major road. My hotel, Eurostars Madrid Tower, is one of the several ultra-new buildings that cuts an imposing figure on the city skyline at 236ft (72m) tall.
Madrid has also not one, but two famous leaning towers, called the KIO towers, that is just a stone’s throw away from where I was staying.
As I stared at the buildings from the panoramic, floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my hotel’s restaurant each morning, I pondered on the lives of the courageous people who worked in the buildings as they leaned precariously into each other at 16.8° (supposedly the maximum inclination a building can be constructed without collapsing).
These buildings form the essence of Madrid’s future. They were unlike anything the Spanish have ever seen in their lives, and when I told a local acquaintance that I was staying at Eurostars, he grinned and replied, “Do you know it’s one of the tallest buildings in Europe? Cool!”
I’m on a (st)roll
That isn’t to say that Madrid has forgotten its roots. A few nights after La Noche En Blanco, I was on an early evening el paseo (or stroll), in Madrid’s oldest quarters, between the Royal Palace and stunning midtown forest, Retiro Park (which, according to various sources, had been built for the former King Felipe IV to enjoy outdoor theatre, or more accurately, the actresses), when I came across groups of families and friends ambling about with nary a worry on their faces.
Lady of the Post. “I’ve not seen these many old people out together. And they’re so well-dressed too,” whispered a friend, as elderly señors and señoras sauntered by us in shiny shoes, elegant tweed suits and cashmere jackets slung around their shoulders.
“Can you imagine the old folks wearing Chanel or Zara back home?”
I was surprised to learn that nobody has a real destination in mind, but, as they say, the journey matters more than the destination. The stroll is a national pastime in Spain, close to the hearts of Spaniards as much as bullfighting or tapas. Maybe that’s why Madrileños look so healthy, in spite of their lazy two-hour lunches, late evening meals (10pm is the norm), and their addiction to nicotine and fiestas.
We wandered past the wide, tree-lined boulevards, the grand buildings with Baroque sculptures and slate-grey rooftops, the ancient brick convents and chapels and the mini “palaces”, or manors, built by Madrid’s bourgeoisie decades ago, and ended up, of all places, at the post office.
Granted, this wasn’t your regular Pos Malaysia building, the sight of it (and, admittedly, the two-hour paseo) left me breathless. Known by the people of Madrid as “Nuestra Señora de Correos”, or “Lady of the Post”, for its spiralling turrets and graceful Romanesque columnades, it did not even remotely resemble a post office.
If wandering aimlessly around isn’t your cup of tea, the governing board has taken the pains to pre-plan a walking route. Dubbed Paseo del Arte (or The Art Walk), it was supposed to be “one of the biggest cultural projects in the world” and connects Madrid’s three largest art galleries, the Prado, the Reina Sofía and the Thyssen-Bornemisza.
Some say the Prado, which is home to some 4,000 masterpieces by artistic greats such as Velazquez and Botcelli, is on par with the Louvre. After spending one full day in it (a friend had to literally drag me out), I couldn’t agree more.
At 9pm, it was time for dinner. Since lunch was the most important meal of the day, most Madrileños are more content with regaling each other with stories over a glass of wine or sangria rather than polishing off their plates of calamares (calamari) and jamon (ham; pronounced ha-mon).
My friend and I had the view of the beautifully lit Cibeles fountain to ourselves. All was peaceful and I realised the Madrileños do have a lot to be happy and proud of. The next day, I went back to the post office, bought a postcard and mailed it to myself. Written on it was: Loving Madrid. Can’t wait to return soon.
Getting there
There are no direct connections to Madrid, but KLM flies there on a daily basis, with a transit in Amsterdam.
ACCOMMODATION
Budget: €60 (RM300) for a double ensuite room at Hostal Acapulco in the city centre.
Splurge: €125 (RM628) for a superior double room at five-star luxury hotel Eurostars Madrid Tower.
TRIVIA
Madrid has a 33% green area, much more than any other city in Europe with the exception of Stockholm (although the latter does not count since it was built in the forest). The Retiro Park itself, which has seven palaces built inside it, is the size of Monaco, although it is by no means the largest park in the city.
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Spain’s food revolution
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