A cultural day, half spent in the Prado, plus bad weather, so few pictures. Also I must have been getting tired of Madrid. A cold morning with drops of rain. Walked down Calle Atocha and then along Calle Prado to get there.
After seeing the classic themes of European art too many times they become indistinguishable in my mind. But the Velázquez and Goya collections were good and worth the visit. Las Meninas was as complex and intriguing as promised. I was wise to get there early; it got crowded after 1000 with rows of tours buses parked in the back. There were many schoolkids, as entry is free to Spaniards.
The Casón de Buen Retiro, an annex of the Prado, holds less significant paintings echoing styles developed in France and other places. But because they were more modern, they were more lifelike to me than those in the Prado. I quite liked the Joaquín Sorolla collection. I expected to be all day viewing art but I spent 2 hours in the Prado and 1 in the Casón.
Observations while wandering the city around lunch. When a driver honks, others join in. Mob instinct? Café de punto y coma (Cafe semicolon). Spectacle shop: Check it us. Mistranslation of We examine you? Who knows?
Tired and cold I went back to the the hostal to siesta. In the evening I retraced much of my route the day before. In the Jardines Sabatini old folks were playing boules. I noticed they had cords with a magnet on the end to pick up without bending down. When I got to Gran Via, a thunderstorm started. I sheltered under the eaves of a cafe for a half hour until the rain let up. I hated the smokers who shared the shelter. Sneakers get soaked easily unfortunately.
I found my hot wings at a KFC. I queried the counter chica about my order because my Spanish was not good enough in those days to realise that they were running a 2 for 1 promotion (and in fact the word promoción meaning offer was what answered my question).
On the way back I picked up a copy of Diario 16 which I now see ceased publishing in 2001. Interesting statistics: Unemployment dropped slightly to 16.5%. Interest rates > 10%, clamour to reduce. Devaluation of the peseta was a possibility. A hapless English tourist had been pickpocketed twice in 12 hours at the Puerta del Sol metro station.
For my last night I decided to take in a couple of films at Cine Doré. It had a lovely art deco interior. The films were minor Edgar Ulmer works from the mid-30s: Thunder Over Texas, about a crooked banker, a sheriff and an orphan; and Nine to Nine, about a jewel theft and the detective on the case, set in Montreal. The Spaniards had translation headsets.
Looking for a snack before turning in, I passed a jazz bar with good music. I made a note to come back in a couple of weeks. I found a food stall and picked the orejas bravas, thinking it must be similar to patatas bravas, chips in hot sauce, even though I wasn't sure what orejas were. Well, I paid the price for not knowing my Spanish words better, because just before my snack was delivered, I recalled that oreja is similar to aural, and Spanish is a romance language, so it must mean... ear! Yes indeed, fried pigs ears in hot sauce. It wasn't awful tasting, just bland, as you would expect of something that's mostly cartilage. I didn't finish it.
Off to sunnier climes in Granada tomorrow, I hoped.
After seeing the classic themes of European art too many times they become indistinguishable in my mind. But the Velázquez and Goya collections were good and worth the visit. Las Meninas was as complex and intriguing as promised. I was wise to get there early; it got crowded after 1000 with rows of tours buses parked in the back. There were many schoolkids, as entry is free to Spaniards.
The Casón de Buen Retiro, an annex of the Prado, holds less significant paintings echoing styles developed in France and other places. But because they were more modern, they were more lifelike to me than those in the Prado. I quite liked the Joaquín Sorolla collection. I expected to be all day viewing art but I spent 2 hours in the Prado and 1 in the Casón.
Tired and cold I went back to the the hostal to siesta. In the evening I retraced much of my route the day before. In the Jardines Sabatini old folks were playing boules. I noticed they had cords with a magnet on the end to pick up without bending down. When I got to Gran Via, a thunderstorm started. I sheltered under the eaves of a cafe for a half hour until the rain let up. I hated the smokers who shared the shelter. Sneakers get soaked easily unfortunately.
On the way back I picked up a copy of Diario 16 which I now see ceased publishing in 2001. Interesting statistics: Unemployment dropped slightly to 16.5%. Interest rates > 10%, clamour to reduce. Devaluation of the peseta was a possibility. A hapless English tourist had been pickpocketed twice in 12 hours at the Puerta del Sol metro station.
For my last night I decided to take in a couple of films at Cine Doré. It had a lovely art deco interior. The films were minor Edgar Ulmer works from the mid-30s: Thunder Over Texas, about a crooked banker, a sheriff and an orphan; and Nine to Nine, about a jewel theft and the detective on the case, set in Montreal. The Spaniards had translation headsets.
Looking for a snack before turning in, I passed a jazz bar with good music. I made a note to come back in a couple of weeks. I found a food stall and picked the orejas bravas, thinking it must be similar to patatas bravas, chips in hot sauce, even though I wasn't sure what orejas were. Well, I paid the price for not knowing my Spanish words better, because just before my snack was delivered, I recalled that oreja is similar to aural, and Spanish is a romance language, so it must mean... ear! Yes indeed, fried pigs ears in hot sauce. It wasn't awful tasting, just bland, as you would expect of something that's mostly cartilage. I didn't finish it.
Off to sunnier climes in Granada tomorrow, I hoped.
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