SlowSummerMadrid

I'M TRYING HARD not to take it for granted.

Yet as I wake to look out the window at what feels like the 100th immaculately blue, sun-filled sky, I find myself having to make a conscious effort to appreciate every second of this. My efforts are, of course, stifled by both virtue of my residence here and the heat that accompanies the unfiltered sun. Sleeping sin A/C is not really sleeping, and waking up is more like rising to your feet after climbing a mountain. And anything becomes commonplace when it's a daily occurrence.

Nonetheless, this is what summers are dreamt of being like. The deep, clear cerulean blue affirms life above the streets and trees and has everyone smiling. Or sleeping in the shade.
On the second day of my summer vacation I started with some fresh fruit and cold shower before heading out down Calle Fuencarral from my new Tribunal location. The street is in the process of having a major section de-autofied and made strictly pedestrian. So a friend and I walked along the bright new granite promenade among the trees and tourists toward Puerta del Sol. An ironic effect of the pedestrianisation of a street is the impedence to pedestrians trying to do their thing mid-construction. That is actually happening all over the city right now, and it's hard to find a great plaza or calle that isn't cordoned off and producing the most persistent foul and abrasive sounds encounterable. Authorities couldn't have timed it better if you ask me. But their doing their best to win the olympic bid with state of the art infrastructure and facilities, so we must bear with it. And so we meandered toward Sol, sometimes in single file between portable yellow iron railing over flexible sheets of steel, sometimes dogding puddles of liquid of dubious origin and large patches of sand while the guys in blue and yellow watch each other take turns working and napping. Down at Sol the new Metro exit has been opened and the plaza itself is slowly being returned to the people.


I'm not quite sure how I feel about it. Impressive on the inside: light, airy, and state-of-the art like an airport terminal. But there is no harmonious jive with the surrounding cityscape. Despite the habit of Spaniards to make ridiculous comparisons to things like I. M. Pei's Louvre pyramids, it may take some getting used to. Onward toward our destination: the Caixa Forum free gallery for the preview of the new Aga Kahn Toronto Islamic art museum. The city is now at tourist capacity and as we walked I realized that at some point a change had taken place within me. I used to ache inside at the behavior of other American tourists in groups or coming off of cruises to spoil Heavenly oases like Santorini or Capri. Now I don't even wince when I hear things like, "3 Euros? Shit with this exchange rate they can fuck off. Oh look honey American breakfast." (True quote about 2 minutes after the photo above). Instead, we opted to get off the main streets and take barren narrow calles down to the museum district.


In my ongoing effort to inculcate an appreciation, nay a love for this city and its charms in those around me who would rather be elsewhere, I take a moment to describe the four types of streets to be found in Madrid (not including the undrivable callejones, alleys). There are the six-lane behemoths which are only different from highways in their replacement of the concrete median with dozens of traffic lights, serving only to make them more noisy and conjested than highways; those same streets made beautiful with wide grass and tree filled promenades dividing opposing directions like Parisian boulevards, such as Paseo del Prado and Castellana; two-lane small streets lined with shops and bars and narrow sidewalks made narrower by the knee-high posts preventing sidewalk parking; and those [like the one pictured above] one lane cobbled streets that dip slightly in the center and allow only one direction of traffic (though are often overtaken by walkers) whose sidewalks do not rise but are only marked by aforementioned posts and who are enclosed by walls of warm earth-colored buildings almost always 4 stories high with uniform breif balconies and waist-high black iron balustrades, to which I direct my companion's attention.
We finally made it to the Caixa Forum and entered through the center of the foundation up the space-ship staircase to shiver for an hour or so with Islamic artifacts spanning several centuries and continents. There's something of a sumpreme silence and serenity thats palpable when standing in front of a decorated page of ancient Quranic manuscript, looking at the lines and details and flower petals so minute that your eyes can barely see them, let alone imagine making them. Unlike the easy humanistic relatability of an Impressionism exhibit or the grand impressiveness of a Renaissance or 17th century exhibit, Islamic art can be so quieting that you never want to use words again. It's like entering another level.

After being on our feet in frozen gallery, we took coffees in a light, airy café on calle Fucar nearby that's never crowded and usually plays good music. We talked over a distressed turquoise wood table about what we like about art and how museums and galleries acheive different effects. A new idea about gallery layout consultancy came about and needs to be pursued at a later date. We paid and left and wandered around the streets and plazas going in and out of different shops, trying to play exotic instruments in a world music store and getting the best of summer rebajas - reductions in prices up to 70%, and consuming half a kilo of fresh cherries from a local fruteria. We looked at building facades and urban greenery and discussed defining characteristics of european fashion and design and soon it was evening and time to get back to rest before going out por la noche and having a last bottle of wine with another amigo before he flew to France for two months of food, wine, and working on farms in exchange for room and board, realizing that my own holiday is
just
around
the bend.