Seven weeks ago, I mentioned in passing that Bernice and I spent a week in Madrid before driving to Penamacor, and blithely wrote: ‘I may tell you more about that next week’. Well, ‘next week’ has stretched into ‘next month but one’; nevertheless, let me try to remember how we spent that week.
First impressions: Madrid airport is vast, efficient and very stylish. The terminal buildings boast beautiful slatted ceilings, with the slats, in a very pleasing light wood, forming huge flowing birds’ wings spanning the space. An efficient shuttle train carries you from the arrivals terminal to the main concourse.
Our aparthotel booking through booking.com qualified us for a free transfer to the hotel, which was very smooth, from the SMS on arrival with a link to track our driver’s progress to the airport, via the smooth and fast drive along the motorway that brought us almost to the heart of the city, all the way to the driver unloading our luggage at the hotel. In fifteen years of travelling on business, I grew very familiar with taxi rides from airports through some of the seedier parts of capital cities – be it Athens, Sofia or London – and this was a pleasant contrast, more reminiscent of the drive from Singapore airport.
Our check in was fairly quick and efficient, and we were soon settling into a room that looked even better than the online photos. Knowing that we would be catering our own breakfast in the room, and anticipating that we would be spending most if not all of shabbat trapped inside, I had chosen a room that included a salon area with sofa and armchair, and what turned out to be an extraordinarily well-equipped kitchen, almost all of which was off-limits to us because of kashrut issues. The kitchen featured an oven with integral microwave (which we didn’t use – to be honest, we didn’t realise it contained a microwave until I mentioned at checkout that our only disappointment with the hotel was not having a microwave), a dishwasher (which we didn’t use), a washing machine (which we didn’t use – no kashrut issues, but we really didn’t feel laundry qualifies as a holiday activity), an induction hob (which we didn’t use – we really were on holiday), plus an excellent range of crockery, cutlery, pots and pans (which we didn’t use).
What we did use were the worksurface, peninsula and stools, nespresso machine (one of us), kettle (both of us) and family-size fridge-freezer.
Having unpacked and showered, we fell into bed and slept the sleep of, if not the innocent, then at least the exhausted but relieved to have arrived without incident.
The following day (Monday) was dedicated to shopping for essential supplies. We were delighted to discover that, as promised online, our hotel was right in the bustling heart of the city, which meant that we could embark on our expedition on foot. This started with a short foray to the mini-Carrefour round the corner from the hotel, for salad and fruits, and other essential food supplies.
Having returned to the hotel to drop off the shopping and eat the last of our rolls and some fruit for breakfast, we ventured half a kilometre further afield, easily locating Primark. This was, to be honest, a huge disappointment. I don’t know whether the selection in the store (which ranged over 5 vast floors) reflected Madrid’s youthful character, or a global rebranding decision by the retailer, or simply the season, but we could find very little for pensioners, or, indeed, for anyone who didn’t want to look like a Hawaiian surfer.
Rather disappointed, we then went in search of the kosher choomus and felafel café-restaurant that we had found online, and that friends, who passed through Madrid a couple of weeks before us, warmly recommended. We were certainly not disappointed and, suitably refreshed, we finished off by walking to a downtown mini-IKEA, where we just about managed to find all of our kitchen and dining requirements for a week of breakfasts and snacks: two modest table settings, chopping board and knives, and so forth.
Thus laden, and in 43 degrees of heat, we felt justified in taking a cab back to the hotel to dump that stuff and to attempt (successfully, in the end) to sort out by WhatsApp with our mobile provider why my roaming package had not yet been activated. A quiet evening in our hotel room was certainly livened up by the news that Tslil had gone into labour, and then, much later, by the news that she had given birth. Bernice and I celebrated quietly in our air-conditioned room.
Having got most of the serious stuff out of the way in one day, we felt ready to start our holiday properly on Tuesday. We began with a two-hour free guided walking tour of the city, which was excellent, taking us to places we would never have found on our own, and giving us an opportunity to properly orientate ourselves. There is a particular quality of tasteful solidity to European cities that once governed a wealthy empire, and Madrid is no exception. Add to that the city’s emphasis on wide-open green spaces, and the prevalence of underground parking, and you have an expansive and comfortable urban environment that is a pleasure to walk around, even when the temperature is 43 degrees, as it was again that day, and, indeed, every day of our stay.
On the way back to the hotel, we popped into El Corte Inglés, a big department store that boasts a rooftop bar with an excellent (and free) panoramic view of the city. The store also boasted a fine selection of genuine Bialetti macchinettas. I have been humming and hawing over buying one of these coffee makers for months. Esther and Maayan won’t leave the house without their macchinetta, and I must admit that it makes a gloriously flavourful brew. However, the coffee comes at a price: it requires the ritual of grinding the beans, then filling, assembling and heating the macchinetta, pouring the coffee, then waiting for the macchinetta to cool before disassembling, rinsing and drying it. It is also, of course, yet another piece of equipment to store away in the kitchen.
Those of you who know me well will realise that the whole rigmarole of the ritual is not only a tremendous drawback but also, simultaneously, and paradoxically, a large part of the attraction. In the end, of course, I couldn’t resist, and I bought a three-cup model that I couldn’t wait to try out in Portugal. (Update: The macchinetta makes great coffee, although I can’t wait to finish the beans I already have at home and order from Esther some of their special blend. To be honest, I can’t always face the rigmarole of the ritual, but when the moon and Venus are correctly aligned, both the ritual and the flavour are well worth savouring.)
Back in the hotel, Bernice received a lovely voice message from Tslil, sounding very good, and saying how much they were all looking forward to seeing us: all of which meant that we were able to enjoy another very good night’s sleep.
We were up early on Wednesday for a coach trip to, guided tour of, and free time in, Toledo. The journey was fine, although I was a little disappointed that our route took us through the long tunnel under the southern part of Madrid, so that we did not see anything of that part of the city or the river. It’s also fair to say that the plains of La Mancha do not make for the most striking scenery. Having said that, sitting down on a comfortable, air-conditioned coach can be a pleasure in itself.
In Toledo, we were first taken to a workshop that specialises in damascene work (ornamental engraving with gold and silver work on black enamel).
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This stop had, of course, not been mentioned in the online description of the trip, but I recognise that it is part of the price that one always pays on such trips. I filed it away with the Ice Wine outlet near Niagara Falls, the pearl workshop in Majorca and the filigree workshop in Cyprus. Looking around the damascene workshop, which included a lot of the knives and swords that Toledo is renowned for, I kept recalling from my youth, somewhat sacrilegiously, the Airfix kit of the Black Knight of Nurnberg.
However, the workshop did have one wonderful feature: clean toilets, which fact alone made it ‘worth the detour’. This allowed me to enjoy without distractions the next stop, which was the view over the river to the old city of Toledo perched on, and cascading down, the opposite side of the valley.
Our guide for the walking tour of Toledo was less impressive than our Madrid guide had been, but she warmed up as the tour progressed, and the old city is certainly well worth visiting. After an hour and a half, we were let loose for four hours.
In that time, Bernice and I managed to visit the surviving synagogue (magnificently ornate, as you can see, and with a glorious vaulted ceiling) and adjacent Jewish museum (modest and not particularly noteworthy), to eat our lunch under the shade of an oak tree and then to explore the El Greco Museum.
This smallish but very atmospheric museum is housed in El Greco’s old home and studio, which has been partly restored and furnished to reflect its appearance when he lived there. The collection of paintings, focussing on the years he spent in Toledo, was outstanding; the overview of his entire career and life (in projected slides and a narrated film), in English and Portuguese, was excellent, and the building itself was an oasis of tranquility. It was the perfect way to spend 90 minutes out of the midday sun.
Feeling fairly exhausted, after several hours climbing up and down the streets of Toledo, we retired to a bar and enjoyed a cold beer before climbing back onto the coach for another blissful hour of air-conditioned comfort back to Madrid.
Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling quite exhausted after all that, so I think I’ll stop there and plan to resume next week.
Esther managed to catch Raphael between teething pains last week. He really is a sunny little boy when he has no good reason not to be.
vicarious enjoyment – not sure I’ll ever get to Madrid, but I feel as though I have – thanks to you.