Toledo

There were two choices for a day trip out of Madrid, Toledo or Ávila. For better or worse, I picked the former. After a breakfast of cafe con leche and an ensaïmada, I caught a train from Madrid Atocha to Toledo, a distance of about 80 km. It was a hot and sunny day.

The Alcázar is the most imposing building in Toledo. It gained fame when the nationalists held it against adverse odds during the Spanish Civil War. Today it's a military museum and has displays of armour and such.

The gothic cathedral is another sight of Toledo. It's rich in art treasures, including many by El Greco, who lived in Toledo for the last part of his life.

There were swarms of schoolkids in the cathedral, probably on excursions. The gothic arches were magnificent, but by this time I was suffering from religious building overdose. Basta ya de catedrales, I thought to myself.

Toledo was full of young tourists from all over, ticking off this city on their checklist. One still had the luggage tags on his backpack and wore sunglasses. He couldn't have labelled himself TOURIST more blatantly even if he had worn a T-shirt with that on it.

I found the streets where the locals lived and shopped more interesting.

There wasn't anything else I wanted to see so I caught the train back before lunch. I thought that the regional train was more comfortable than the express because it wasn't airconditioned and therefore breezier.

After a bocadillo snack and a siesta, I found a Cuba Festival in progress in the plaza, but the queues were long. And anyway I was headed for a screening of Rancho Notorious, another in the Fritz Lang festival, featuring Marlene Dietrich. Lots of twists in the story; a great director.

When I emerged I looked for a Mexican restaurant on Gran Via but it didn't look promising. In the end I selected Hamil, a Korean restaurant. They served a good meal of miso soup and grilled meat. It felt strange speaking Spanish with another Asian.

Then it was back to the cinema for the late late session, this time for an Atom Egoyan film, The Adjuster. His films have great visuals and intriguing scripts but often express despair in the human condition.

There was still a lot of people out on Gran Via at 0240 as I walked back to the hostal.

Madrid 5

From the train I saw deer in a park as we approached Madrid. We arrived at 0700. Estación Chamartin was new and shiny. I caught the metro to Sol and had breakfast in a bar before leaving my bag at the Lucense. The concierge, the mother, was sleepy as it was only around 8. It was still too early to call KLM to reconfirm my ticket. It was a cold and rainy morning. Where to sit down? Even Maccas wasn't open until 1030. I went to the Museo de Jamon and had another breakfast. There I chatted with a Belgian couple. They were in a group of 10 from Flanders. It seemed that one of the women had been robbed by a thief who followed her into the hotel. They blamed unemployment and drugs.

At 1000 I went to the Museo Reina Sofia. Guernica, Picasso's protest against the killing of innocent civilians by the aerial bombing of the eponymous Basque village, is a physically imposing painting at 7.8 x 3.5 metres. It's behind bullet-proof glass. A note mentions that Picasso worked on it between 1 May and 7 July 1937. There was no place in the room to sit and contemplate the painting. Besides Picasso, Dalí is also well represented at the Reina Sofia. I noted that the outlines of figures in his works glow. He is best known for his modern art, but was also a competent portrait painter.

By this time the sun was out but it was still cool and windy. I went back to have a siesta. In the afternoon I had time on my hands so I sat in the Retiro watching the world go past and eating pipas. Pigeons ate pipas whole but what could a sparrow do with a whole huge pipa I wondered. There was a bunch of black feral cats roaming. This late in the trip I was suffering from homesickness and feelings of cynicism. Madrid was dirty, busy, and impersonal, but there was no doubt that there was a lot going on.

That evening I finally managed to find a serving of horchata, something the guide book said to try. It was pleasant and vaguely reminiscent of almond drink. I wouldn't hesitate to have it again. With the benefit of Wikipedia today, I see that the main ingredient is chufa, from Valencia. I rounded off the evening with a film at the Cine Dore, Man Hunt, made in 1941 by Fritz Lang. It was a wartime thriller but unfortunately had propaganda thrown in due to the times it was made in.