Thursday in Madrid

Another beautiful day! After gorging ourselves once again with the amazing hotel buffet, we hopped on the metro (just ten steps from the hotel!), we took the red line all the way to Las Ventas, the Bull Fighting Arena in Madrid. Finished in 1928, this lovely brick and tiled structure is the third largest bull ring in the world and apparently the most demanding too. Only the best matadors fight here. The crowds are so hard on the fighters that when a matador leaves here, he can fight anywhere else in the world. I was blown away by the sheer quantity of fights held: every Sunday October through April and then every single day in May. Each fight, there are three matadors and six bulls, leaving two for each of them. The stadium was beautiful and although kind of sad, it was interesting to learn more about their intensely unique tradition. At least they give the bulls to restaurants…?

After our tour, we jumped back on the metro and headed to Retiro Park. Around the corner we bought ourselves a small picnic and enjoyed laying out in the grass basking in the sunshine. People watching as usual, I couldn’t help but notice how much less annoying and bratty Spanish children are compared to those in America. I watched little boys and girls alike laughing and kicking miniature soccer balls in the sandy pathways, always returning to their parents when summoned. It all seemed unreal: the sun leaking through the leaves on the trees, giggling babies, and chirping birds. Then I turned to realize the couple behind me straddling one another, making out passionately. And real life slaps me in the face once again.

Although we could have easily spent hours lounging in that beautiful park, I had to return to the hotel to register for fall classes. What a downer. I really hate being reminded of the real work I’ll be returning to soon enough. As would be expected, the signing up process succeeded only to make me super cranky. This almost always happens since I never seem to get the ideal schedule so many of my friends seem to. Maybe I’ll end up escaping to Argentina or something instead…

I felt a lot better after a short nap, and we headed out once again to aimlessly explore Madrid in the perfect weather. We hopped on the metro and got off at the stop near the Hotel Ritz. Obviously it looked like a dump and we were very thankful we decided not to stay there--hohoho I’m hilarious. Meandering through roadside markets, we didn’t have to look far for a place we could have our daily café con leche (and brownie, this time!) break. I’m so proud of my girls for so quickly assimilating into this very important aspect of the Spanish lifestyle. One thing they never got used to, however, was the Spanish service. To-go food and drinks just simply do not exist in Spain. Getting a cup of coffee or a beer or pinchot, what have you, is seen as a social experience. Neither are the Spaniards in any sort of hurry. Even if you tell the waiter you are finished and he clears your plates, you won’t get the check until you ask for it. They never come back to check on the food, neither are they there to chat it up with you. You’re there to spend time with your friends, after all. Often, my mom thought the waiter was mad at me because of the lack of plastered smiles and small talk. And as soon as we had finished any meal, Bekah’s head shot around searching for our server. She could not believe that we could wait ten minutes before ever receiving the bill. I guess this is why the standard for pitiful tipping makes sense.

Leaving the café, we found the Botanical Gardens and enjoyed a leisurely stroll through this natural paradise in the heart of a bustling city. Afterwards, we walked back up Gran Via towards the hotel, stopping in a restaurant called "Canas y Tapas” for dinner. Tiled walls and suspended lighting, it looked like the place had been decorated in the turn of the century. We ordered croquetas, a skillet of fried eggs, peppers, and French fries, tostas (toasted bread with steak and brie), and bread, washing it all down with yet another pitcher of Sangria (I think may have Bekah accumulated an unhealthy love for this drink). Dropping a sleepy Rebekah off at the hotel, mom and I stopped by the fruit stand for the last time to pick up a 4-euro bottle of wine in honor of our last night together in Spain. With heavy hearts, we packed up our things and were in bed by 12:30 (I think that’s a record for the trip).