Boots of Spanish Leather

June 7, 2009

Madrid is looking a bit scruffy these days. It is an old, proud and strong city. Madrid has been under reconstruction for some time now and there is rubble everywhere. But its beauty shines through the KFC and McDonalds facades. We are a bit scruffy too, not having slept but in snippets for five days running. However, the City is vibrant, if a little chilly at the moment, and I feel very much “en mi casa” or “a hogar”

We spent the first part of the day in the El Rasto, a mile long outdoor and flea market. Thousands of people scrunched into a street packed with nomadic tents of goods and wares. The vision from on high would have been of a human snake crawling along the route. It was a gas. There was a lot to see, like a couple of vendors who appeared to specialize in gas masks. Stunning leather work, Bob’s song title, “Boots of Spanish Leather” came to mind. We meandered with the crowd and wandered off the beaten path at times, down lonely, quiet dank dirty streets that echoed with the play of miscellaneous ferrell children and screeching cats.

We stopped at an outdoor café for rest and refreshment, aqua sin gas y patatas brava with a short stout grumpy waiter. He was just so familiar. Spanish men and women of a certain age are similar in body type, manner of dress and personality. The words madrones y padrones come to mind. There demeanor is “no nonsense.” They are serious, but not mean or nasty. It may be a result of the Franco years. These folks are half as wide as they are tall, but not fat, just stout. The men wear tan slacks, short sleeve dress shirts in warm weather, and slip on leather shoes. The women, though often dressed in black from head to toe, are in current times seen in beiges and browns, skirts, cotton or nylon blouses tucked in at the waist, cardigan sweaters, nylons, “sensible” shoes with a two inch heel and a purse looped over the forearm. The hair on the men is short standard cut and the women have perms on short hair. The colors on men and women never go much beyond a pale blue, resting mostly in beige and grey.

Mid day we changed hotels. Our last hotel was on Gran Via near the Telefónica building where Hemingway dodged bomb shells to file his reports on the Spanish Civil War. Gran Via is as the name suggests a broad street with lots of traffic. Our hotel there was not grand, but comfy and our room was on a quiet inner court yard. We couldn’t sleep well adjusting to the time change. What a difference nine hours makes. Our new hotel is on a busy small street with a lively night life. Our room is on the second floor (which is the third floor in Spain) with a view of the street and the KFC across the way. During the day the street sounds are like white noise and at night there is the raucous sound of revelers. But they seemed to quiet down at about 1 am and the morning sounds held off until about 7:30.

The one thing in common with both locations is sex shops, tattoo parlors, gay bars and hookers. And I didn’t even ask for all of this when making the reservations. It just happened like magic. As soon as we catch up with the camera cord and can down load photos, we will share. We found a new wardrobe for John in one of the store windows. This is just a tease to keep you reading the next few blogs.