Gentle breezes ruffled boughs overhead as runners strode by and muffled chatter comingled with avain chirps and all other pips and squeaks brought along with verdant warmth. With little spoken we three enjoyed the ante meridian peace and bright light among sunbathers gossipers and would-be Woodie Guthries.
Then the mobile sounded the call of afternoon happenings and the trio lazily rose to stroll sunny palace promenade on our way back to the callejones of La Latina.**(above fotos were taken days later in the latter half of the day. same setting, much different radiance)
At Plaza Tirso where Natalia patiently waitied, Travis and Ruwan turned back to their northern territory and left lady and I to make our way provision-laden way to join the Aussies for their barbie and the sweetest part of the day. Behind heavy peeled-paint doors the cool dark lobbies of the old city apartment blocks make great refuges from the bright heat of the spring afternoon. Up the open steel grille elevator shaft and Talhie the Aussiette greets us in her doorway. A lovely sunny flat with hardwood floors and high ceilings before stepping out onto a grand rooftop terrace larger than my current salon. I need to find new digs. Anyway, Kyle stood tending the coals while we sat drinking Mahou cervezas, Kalimotxo, and Tinto de Verano in the sun. Talhie slowly stuck plants and meats on sticks and I recalled a time in my life when kebab did not refer to the 2lb meat pocket peddled as Turkish food throughout Europe's metropoli. Our gathering swelled before our bellies with the addition of an Austrian whose name escapes me despite his agreeable manners and Santiago, who helped regale the group with descriptions of feasting and nocturnal goings-on as Kyle cooked merry goodthings and we cajoled our jowls with delightful drink.
The afternoon passed easily con comidas y bebidas and much discussion of things that flowed smoothly from one to another like courses in a well-planned meal. The sun slowly travelled its arc while electropop evaporated out of a stereo and we shifted places to avoid melting into our chairs. In the thickening light the golden sun told us it was time to begin thinking about eveningtime. At some point in the previous weeks the powers that were decided to schedule the most important match of the Primera Division football season for that night. Madrid was set to reclaim their shot at winning La Liga from rivals Barcelona for a second year in a row after a season racked with pitfalls and blunders. The last matchup in the fall left Madrid reeling on their return journey from the Catalan camp but was also the last defeat Los Blancos experienced. Now at home the papers touted the partida, known as El Clasico, as the most crucial in the past 31 seasons. Hardly hyperbolic. So logically we lethargically left our tabletop and shuffled back out into the street toward the plethora of flat-screen and projector packed sports bars in good old Sol..
Unfortunately anyone who follows football knows what happened for the next two hours as afternoon bliss devolved into evening anguish. After the fourth Barcelona goal the screams and cheers of fans in the underground theatre that had been set up for the event were beyond tiresome and we skulked out after the final whistle with a craving for hearty food and drink. We shot over the Las Bravas, a brightly lit bar chain that claims to specialise in patatas bravas, small friend potato chunks in a wonderful secret semi spicy red sauce that differs from place to place, as well as several other standard tapas. Twas my first foray into the place and it shall remain my last. Those bravas are nothing to write home about, and when there are plenty of places that well give them to you for free with a round of beers, I was hardly satisfied. So Santi and I crossed the street for some croquetas that were better than expected and we headed over to another bar to wait for some people. There we drank and demanded some free cheese and waited as my spoiled mood simply worsened for having to remain in Sol. I dread the place on a normal night, as it is full of overpriced bars and guiri - the Spanish version of gringo, but on the anniversary of the great Madrileño rebellion which takes place every year in Malasaña further north I was decidedly unhappy. Eventually we did make our way out there and the crowds filling the 1am streets were a cause for elation.
Santi and Natalia were still hungry and we made straight for a pizza place in Plaza Dos de Mayo to devour a fantastic pie of cheese and gambas (small shrimp). At that point our energy levels were all pretty well spent and we decided to scrap the street scene and head to the flat for to end the night.SO the day was much more tranquilo than we had anticipated, but then again that just left us more human the next morning. With a beautiful day and excellent afternoon, a less than lustrous evening can be forgiven, especially when another city like Barcelona comes to spoil all the fun. On top of that, a new place to go in Sol for croquetas if one finds oneself to be stranded with an apetite(Cervezeria La Abuela, c/ Espoz y Mina), and a great place to get your own pie down in Malasaña where you can wait at the bar with a caña or two and watch the solitary teen pizza wolf pump out visual appetizers every minute(Pizzeria Sandos, NE corner of Plz Dos de Mayo). I'd say we finished in the green. And of course, it was only Saturday...
1 comment:
Lovely.
Graceful.
Not forced. Natural.
Entertaining and enjoyable.
I felt like I was hurrying to keep up with you and your companeros as you walked from bar to flat to bar to flat. A neat literary trick, if you can dig it.
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