Doing the Pools

The outdoor swimming pools are now open (hurrah!) so it seems apt to dig out one of the first articles I wrote about Madrid back in 2008.

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Summer is definitely my favourite time of year. In the UK, it brings about a dramatic transformation: grey winter clothes are banished to the back of the wardrobe, pub beer gardens suddenly fill up with revellers, and the general atmosphere of merriment is added to by students lounging on the grass trying to forget about revision and cars honking their horns at all the bare flesh on display. Everyone is happy. The same goes for Spain, the summer months here being synonymous with days spent lazing in the park topping up your tan, long balmy evenings enjoying a caña or ten with friends, and of course, Spanish sunshine on tap.

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Unfortunately, the sweltering heat also brings some rather unwanted consequences if you live in the city. The smell of the drains, just about tolerable for the rest of the year, becomes rancid to the point of vomit-inducing. There is a massive upswing of passengers on public transport reeking of B.O. and all other manner of unpleasant things. And as you make your way around the city, hopping from one air-conditioned bubble to another, in between you can’t shake that nasty sensation of feeling hideously hot and sticky. Madrid has a lot of things going for it, but sadly a beach is not one of them, and regrettably it has no suitable lakes or rivers to take a dip in either. So when you’re stuck on the Metro with your face buried in someone’s distinctly fruity armpit, melting into a pool of your own sweat and wishing you were far far away, what on earth can you do to cool off?

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Luckily, there is a solution. Madrid has a total of 23 outdoor public swimming pools and the good news is they are all open for business from the end of May until the start of September, every day of the week from 11am – 9pm. I decided to visit the Centro Deportivo Municipal Casa de Campo (Metro: Lago) in order to check out the facilities and, more importantly, check out the talent. I first go on a quiet Friday morning on the pretence of making the most of the sunshine, but mainly because I haven’t broken out the bikini since last summer and am somewhat apprehensive about baring my whiter than white body to the madrileños en masse. After being given heaps of information by the helpful guy on the desk and being told to enjoy myself by the attendants at the entrance, I head off to change then sidle outside.

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The place is indeed pretty deserted, with just a couple of guys ploughing up and down the pool and several serious sun-worshippers catching a few rays – one leathery-looking woman even has a pair of tanning goggles and is already the colour of creosote. I sit in the sunshine for a bit then decide to take a dip, and after recovering from the initial shock of the freezing cold water, I do a few lengths before stopping to float along on my back, gazing up at the azure blue sky and thinking how pleasant this all is. Emboldened, I vow to come back on Saturday when things are a bit busier.

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And busy they are! There are buff gay men checking everyone out whilst hiding behind huge shades, kids dashing around scattering water droplets over annoyed-looking sunbathers, and old men with hairy backs parading around in too-tight-trunks. There are gaggles of skinny Spanish girls, giggling at the boys trying unsuccessfully to impress them with their dive-bombing skills, whilst large groups of Americans and Brits toast themselves to a nice shade of lobster-red in the sun. Apart from bare flesh, there’s a lot on show: big and beautiful tattoos, teeny-tiny thongs, snug-looking Speedos, tan lines, boob jobs, massive shades and the ubiquitous Spanish mullet (or, as a friend of a friend calls it “work at the front…party at the back!”) which looks even worse than normal when wet. Whereas a few health freaks are swimming lengths and some kids are rolling down the grassy verge, most people are indulging in activities no more strenuous than chatting to friends, smoking and eyeing everyone up, so the atmosphere is a pretty relaxed one.

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By the end of the day I’m feeling extremely chilled-out and have decided that going to the pool could become my new favourite summer pastime. If you fancy doing the same, full details of all Madrid’s swimming pools (including timetables, prices, facilities, addresses and how to get there) can be found on www.munimadrid.es/deportes. Weekday mornings are generally very quiet until about 4pm if you want to enjoy the sunshine in peace, but if you prefer a bit of atmosphere, then go at the weekend to cool off whilst scouting out the talent. Soon the smelly Metro will be a distant memory!

San Isidro

Ahh May, how we’ve missed you. Hidden behind those three little letters are so many reasons why this is the best month to be in Madrid. Perfect temperatures. Minimal rain. Packed terrazas. The anticipation of summer. Excitement in the air. Sunbathing in the park (for guiris). Endless christenings and weddings (for Spaniards). And finally, more bank holidays than you can shake a stick at.

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This Tuesday we celebrate San Isidro. Born in the 11th century, San Isidro Labrador was a farm labourer and all-round decent chap, known for his kindness towards the poor and animals. He was also pretty good at miracles: increasing supplies of food, bringing forth water during a drought and completing the work of three men with the help of angels, amongst others. He died on 15th May 1130, and it is said King Felipe III was cured of a deadly disease after touching his relics. He was canonized in 1622.

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Such a nice fellow deserves a celebration and Madrileños, with their any-excuse-for-a-party attitude, are more than happy to oblige. It’s a time to dig their traditional chulapo/chulapa costume out the wardrobe and head down to La Pradera de San Isidro to visit the shrine and drink holy water at the fountain. Most end up at the nearby stalls (chiringuitos) drinking something stronger, accompanied by treats such as cocido, tortilla and the famous “listas” and “tontas”, before dancing traditional chotis under the afternoon sun.

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The city also stages thirty days of bullfighting, considered to be the most important feria de toros in the world. Like it or loathe it, this is a spectacle worth seeing, although tickets can be expensive and hard to find. Various concerts, parades, parties and cultural activities both in the city and surrounding villages make up the rest of the programme. ¡Feliz San Isidro!

Smells of Madrid

Here’s an old EV blog I’ve dug up, to celebrate the fact Madrid is finally getting warmer…and therefore smellier!

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As city, Madrid has got it all. With theatres and tapas, bars and bullfighting, shopping and sunshine, it’s cosmopolitan, frenetic, bold, brash and…smelly.

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When I first touched down in Spain I was overwhelmed by the host of aromas to hit my nose (starting with that all-too familiar smell of smoke mere seconds after I had walked into arrivals), but after a while I became accustomed to it all as I busied myself with daily life, trotting around the city teaching executives useful words like chav, monkfish and Tesco clubcard. It took a visit from my parents and their non-initiated noses to remind me that Madrid has an amazing array of aromas, some of them nice and some of them nasty, but all combining to create that unique “Esencia de Madrid”.

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My sensory journey begins each morning at Metro Sol, when I change from Line 3 to Line 1 and my nostrils are hit with the delicious smell of freshly-baked waffles coming from the cafe in the station. Luckily I’m always in too much of a rush to stop and buy any, otherwise I’d currently be the size of a small country. Unfortunately though, even this divine smell is sometimes not enough to mask the stink of drains which seems to permanently hang in the air round Sol. Other unpleasant odours I experience on the Metro to work are B.O., bad breath and, my personal favourite, the smell of someone sweating out alcohol they drank the night before. Yuk.

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More agreeable aromas you might encounter as you journey round Madrid include cut grass when the gardeners have been out in force in one of the city’s numerous parks, along with the delightful scent of flowers as you walk by the Botanical Gardens next to the Retiro. The smell of cigarette smoke is pretty much unavoidable anywhere you go, as is that of frying food, both of which may or may not to be your taste. As you wander round Lavapies you’re hit with the pungent smell of curry, laced with a whiff of hash and perhaps a dash of urine. Walk round the more well-heeled barrios of the city such as Salamanca, Retiro and Opera, and you can smell money.

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But my favourite smell in Madrid is one that it’s difficult to put my finger on, and which at times can be quite elusive. As my mate H puts it, it’s that smell you sometimes catch a waft of on a summer’s evening, just as dusk is drawing in, a smell full of promise and anticipation of the night’s adventures. The smell of fun!

Kaká vs. Cristiano Ronaldo

Since everyone’s talking about Real Madrid (again!) I thought I’d post an old article I wrote about Kaká and Cristiano Ronaldo joining Real Madrid back in 2009. Enjoy!

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We all feel the need for some retail therapy now and again, but let’s hope Florentino’s little summertime spending spree wasn’t in vain and does indeed usher in a more successful era for Real Madrid after being trounced by Barça in pretty much everything last season. Amongst the new superstar signings, the two that will undoubtedly command most column inches and television hours are Kaká and Cristiano Ronaldo, although the burning question isn’t whether they’re worth those huge transfer fees or what part they’ll play in the second Galácticos era. Hell no, it boils down to just three simple words: hot or not?

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Let’s start with Kaká. His Brazilian heritage and brooding Latino looks certainly work to his advantage, all that pitch action means he’s in damn fine shape and at 6’1 he’s nice and tall, plus he comes off looking pretty sharp in those Armani ad campaigns of his. Throw in fame, wealth and immense talent (so call me shallow) and you’ve got yourself a very attractive-sounding package. Yet to me he isn’t even remotely sexy. Is it the fact he’s happily married to his childhood sweetheart, or because I find the sort-of translation of his nickname far more amusing than I should (so call me shallow AND juvenile), or is it those bible-basher “I belong to Jesus” t-shirts he wears underneath his strip? Whatever it is, we all know girls go for bad boys. Staying in on a Saturday night with a cup of tea before getting up early for church in the morning just doesn’t cut it.

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With a string of model girlfriends and a penchant for partying, no one can accuse Cristiano Ronaldo of being boring. Instead, he’s an arrogant, greasy, perma-tanned, smug, repulsive, badly-dressed, overpaid, vain, cretinous toe-rag whose special talents include diving and, err, more diving. Oh, and temper tantrums when he doesn’t get his own way. Call that a real man? Of course, if you can see past the oil, the hair-gel, the pout and the fact that he’s basically the Portuguese version of a chav, you’ve got to admit he’s got a ripped body, an alright face (and, ok, fantastic technical skills), but accompanied by a HUGE ego = HUGE turnoff. Plus he just continues to prove what an idiot he is. Winking to the Portuguese bench after getting Rooney sent off in the 2006 World Cup: utter wanker. Totalling his Ferrari: nice move! Bumping uglies with Paris Hilton: can anyone think of anything more repellent?! Still, saves them from spoiling another couple I suppose.

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So there you go, an honest and completely objective (!) evaluation of the relative merits of Real Madrid’s two newest show ponies, with the conclusion that neither really tickles my fancy. If I was forced to choose though, I’d have to go with Kaká by default. Cristiano Ronaldo is just way too annoying.

Semana Mental

For some people Easter still retains its religious significance and for others it’s all about stuffing yourself with chocolate eggs, but whatever your school of thought here’s the important point: you get a week off work, or at the very least a long weekend, so what are you going to do with yourself during all those days off? Springtime mischief-making, that’s what! If watching boring pointy-hat processions spookily reminiscent of the KKK aren’t your thing, and lack of funds means no exotic holidays in the sun, then read on for my guide to an alternative Semana Santa.

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Ok, so a few places might close over the holiday and some madrileños will bugger off to the coast, but there’s always fun to be had in Madrid, and the influx of tourists means the city will feel far from empty. In true party spirit, let’s get started early by indulging in one of my favourite naughty pastimes: daytime clubbing. Head to one the Sunday clubs, of which there are no small number (check out the flyers strewn around Fuencarral market and the nearby shops for ideas) then when these shut down early(ish) there are plenty of other places to stumble into and continue the merrymaking. Sunday night events are particularly fun as they’re usually frequented by the restaurant and bar staff crowd who get Mondays off, a mental bunch of people if ever I met one.

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Traditionally there isn’t much going down on a Monday, but that’s no excuse. You can make your own entertainment by picking a street and doing a bar crawl along it, or if you’re feeling brave you can re-enact the famous London “Circle Line Pub Crawl” by jumping on Line 6 and getting off for a drink at each stop. Not for the fainthearted! On Tuesday head to Huertas, where there are plenty of tourists to play with, as well as the odd stag party or three. When sufficiently inebriated, finish off your night by seeing how long you can last (without falling off/throwing up) on the amazing spinning chairs at the kids’ playground in Tirso de Molina. Then on Wednesday hit the student hangouts in Argüelles/Moncloa and dance the night away surrounded by pretty young things.

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If you’re beginning to flag by Thursday then start the night by lining your stomach with fortifying curry in one of the excellent Indian restaurants in Lavapiés. From there it’s a mere 5 minutes to Sol, where you can enjoy some mojitos before throwing a few shapes on the dance floor at Joy or one of the other clubs in the centre. On Friday there’s heaps going on: if you fancy a bit of posh then barrio Salamanca and its pijo surroundings will fit the bill nicely, whereas Malasaña is the place for you if you like things a bit more edgy. Saturday night should be spent getting wrong on the dance floor of one of the macro-discotecas, followed by the obligatory early-morning churros at Chocolatería San Ginés with all the other bleary-eyed clubbers. Then everyone knows that on Sundays all the cool kids head to La Latina for an all-day drinking session to round off the week. Of course, in reality the party carousel never stops turning in Madrid, so if you’ve got the energy, why not start all over again? Happy Easter!

Saint Patrick’s Day

Ah, dear friends, that time of year has rolled around once again, the time when we celebrate St Patrick: the Patron Saint of Ireland who helped spread Christianity and allegedly rid the Emerald Isle of snakes, but more importantly the man who gave us an excuse to dress up in green, wear silly hats and guzzle copious amounts of Guinness for a day. If you can’t make it over to Éire itself then Madrid is an excellent alternative location for your celebrations on 17th March, given the city’s sizeable Irish population and natural affinity the two nationalities seem to have for each other. Plus, there’s an Irish bar on every other corner, which definitely helps. So shine up your shamrock, dig out that ridiculous headgear and come with me as we take a tour of some of Madrid’s finest Irish watering holes.

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The Irish Rover (Avda. del Brasil 7, Metro: Santiago Bernabéu) certainly pulls out all the stops on Paddy’s Day and is an excellent place to start the festivities. Irish superstar band The Colonials are an annual fixture and their concert is normally filmed for TV, so whilst they rock the place you can enjoy a pint or two and try to wave to your mum on camera. Then it’s straight down Line 10 to Triskel Tavern (C/San Vicente Ferrer 3, Metro: Tribunal) for a cosy drink before heading over to Scruffy Murphy’s (C/La Palma 47, Metro: Noviciado) for a cheeky couple with the friendly folks there, then popping up to Molly Malone’s (C/Mañuela Malasaña 11, Metro: Bilbao) to indulge in a few more beverages.

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Next, make your way towards Sol and into the thick of things. O’Neill’s (C/Príncipe 12, Metro: Sol/Sevilla) has a buzzing atmosphere any day of the week, plus they’ll be showing the Six Nations matches this Saturday so expect it to be packed out and ten times as much fun! Although rather less authentic (and a total meat market), both O’Connells and Dubliners (C/Espoz y Mina 7, Metro: Sol) are always busy, have cheap drinks and stay open until late…what more could you ask for? If you’re still standing and have got room for some more Guinness then head to the James Joyce (C/Alcalá 59, Metro: Banco de España/Retiro) to finish off the celebrations. It’s one of the remaining authentic Irish bars in the city, they have a great terrace and will be showing the rugby on massive screens. Plus, they’re right next door to Cibeles, which will again be lit up in green by Tourism Ireland the evening before St Patrick’s. Sláinte! Now, where did I put that hat?

Burn Baby Burn

Picture this: you’re walking through a city centre at night when you hear cheers and the faint sound of music. As you struggle to determine where the sound is coming from, the world suddenly erupts around you, with ear-splitting explosions to left, right and centre, filling the air with choking, sulphurous smoke. Half-deafened, you manage to stumble away into a side street, but collide head-on with a huge mob of people dressed in outlandish outfits, all whooping and dancing along in some sort of crazy procession. As you make your escape in the other direction you come face-to-face with a series of gigantic burning effigies, each over ten metres tall, with macabre faces leering out of flames so strong they could fry your internal organs at thirty paces. Is this some avant-garde clubbing concept-cum-mega street party? A hellish Disneyland gone wrong? The end of the world? No, silly! You’re in Valencia for Las Fallas, a.k.a. possibly the best Spanish festival in the world…ever!

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To be a contender for the title of Spain’s most crazy fiesta in a country full of crazy fiestas (err…throwing a turkey off a bell tower anyone? The world’s biggest tomato fight? Running through the city chased by a load of bulls?), Las Fallas has got to be pretty special. Derived from the Latin word for torch, the term “Las Fallas” (Falles in Valenciano) is used to describe three things. Firstly, the Fallas communities, neighbourhood groups in Valencia each with their own customs and traditions, made up of falleros who share a sense of community and work together on local projects. Secondly, the Fallas sculptures (covered with figures called ninots), huge gravity-defying structures made of wood and papier-mâché which the Fallas communities spend much of the year constructing for the festival. These sculptures are not only engineering masterpieces but also works of art depicting current events and public figures, and are usually deeply satirical, humorous and a little bit saucy! And thirdly, the Fallas festival which takes place each year in March, the culmination of which is called La Cremà, a massive street party on Saint Joseph’s Day (19th) where all the sculptures are stuffed with fireworks and simultaneously burned to the ground. The festival is thought to have its origins in pagan rituals celebrating the onset of spring, but nowadays the focus is placed firmly on celebrating Valencian culture…and having obscene amounts of fun of course.

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So, I’ve sold the idea to you and your pyromaniac side is just itching to get down there and set fire to something. Well, the good news is that La Cremà is merely the cathartic end to the festival, the entertainment actually begins way before then. Starting when the festival queen (fallera mayor) is chosen in January there are exhibitions, parades and partying, although things really get into full swing from 15th-19th March. Each day begins at 8am with La Despertà, where brass bands march around the city accompanied by falleros throwing firecrackers powerful enough to set off car alarms, thus adding to the din. At 2pm the fallera mayor opens La Mascletà, a deafening and literally earthshaking firecracker show, and every night there are visual firework displays called Els Castells, culminating in the Nit de Foc on 18th. All the Fallas sculptures (and the Fallas infantiles for the kids) are set up around the city in La Plantà on 15th, followed by different daytime carnivals (Cabalgata Folklórica on 16th, Ofrenda de Flores on 17th and 18th, Cabalgata del Fuego on 19th). Then at midnight on 19th (10pm for the Fallas infantiles) all the Fallas are set alight for La Cremà and the city turns into an open-air club, with added explosions, fire and general mayhem.

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From the moment I stepped off the bus to see a toddler throwing firecrackers around with his parents watching proudly on, to drunkenly dodging the smouldering remains of the ninots on the way to find our ride home, I had a blast both times I’ve been to Las Fallas and would recommend it as an experience not to be missed. If you fancy going this year, the bad news is all the best accommodation will have filled up months ago, such is the festival’s popularity. Book your travel and accommodation ASAP, and try to find somewhere fairly central as getting into town is a nightmare: roads are blocked off and taxis extremely elusive. Don’t even think about renting a car! Local businesses take advantage of the festivities to hike their prices, so come expecting to spend spend spend. Get to your spot early if you want a good view of any of the scheduled events as the crowds can be mental, and during La Cremà some intersections are closed off for safety as the Fallas are burnt, so be careful not to get cut off! Watch out for firecrackers (petardos). If you see one flung your way, either leg it in the other direction or at least cover your ears –  these things can be pretty powerful. Finally, wear comfortable shoes and an outfit you don’t mind getting wrecked, as you’re guaranteed to get covered in alcohol, ashes and whatever else whilst you’re having all that fun!

Madrid for Free

Since a) it’s the end of the month, and b) I’m off to gay Paree this Friday for fun, frolics and café au lait at 7 euros a pop, this past weekend I have mostly been trying not to spend any money, a difficult task when the gorgeous weather practically screams all-day terraza drinking session. For anyone else in the same penniless situation, here’s the Madrid for Free blog I wrote a few years ago with my top tips for minimum spend and maximum  F U N !

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1. Retiro it up

Madrid’s number one park is huge, easy to get to and, best of all, completely free. Go on a Sunday and count how many kids you can spot trussed up in their Sunday best after church (double points for any siblings in matching outfits) or have a laugh at all the people sweltering in their rubbish Spiderman/Mickey Mouse costumes. If you really want to blend in with the Madrileños, wear beige or, if you’re feeling fancy, a bit of gold (weekend beige).

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2. Snog

While you’re down at the Retiro you might as well do as the Spanish do and have a good old snog. Just grab your partner, find a highly visible park bench and go for it! See how long you can manage without coming up for air, or perhaps try testing how amorous you can get (bonus points for any removal of clothes!) before someone comes over to tell you off/you’re thrown out by park security. If you don’t have a lady or fella to snog, then fear not, just try my next tip which is…

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3. Stroll down Calle Lavapiés

Take a walk down this street in my favourite barrio and you will more than likely get a few lecherous comments shouted at you by willing suitors (either that or they’ll try and sell you some weed). If none of them take your fancy, head into one of the many curry houses instead and see if you can sweet-talk your way into some free poppadums.

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4. Explore the dark side

If all the romance is just too much or you’ve recently had an unpleasant break-up and are feeling particularly bitter, head back to the Retiro and annoy some snogging couples by throwing twigs/stones/frozen peas at them. Make sure you’re well-hidden before you start and plan your escape route should things get nasty.

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5. Be cultured

Find out when the various art galleries do their freebie days and try to pass for an arty type (beret optional). Since it’s free the place will probably be heaving with both Madrileños and foreigners alike, but while you’re queueing you can play everybody’s favourite game “Guess the nationality” to while away the time.

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6. Try the swapsies market

Not technically free, but if you do want to buy something from this market (unlikely) it won’t cost you more than a couple of cents. The stallholders set out their wares (i.e. tat they’ve found in a dustbin) just over the road from Atocha station most days in the early evening, and therein ensues a frenzy of bartering until the police show up and everyone gets moved along.

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7. Go Swedish

Hours of fun can be had at IKEA, Sweden’s best export. The easiest one to get to if you don’t have a car (which, let’s face it, is pretty unlikely if you’re skint and if you do you probably don’t have the money to fill it up with petrol anyway) is Madrid Este on Metro Line 1 (Las Suertes). Bring your camera and take a few photos of you and your mates posing in the various home set-ups to send back to the parents (”Look mum, we DO live in a nice tidy flat”) and have fun testing the beds and sofas for comfort. See how long it takes before you are forcibly removed from the premises.

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8. Ride the Circle line

Ok, so it’s probably not the most thrilling Saturday night you could have, but it’ll only cost you the price of a Metro ticket. Jump on Line 6 and you might meet some new friends!

Spanish Girls

I originally wrote this piece for European Vibe magazine, to be published as part of an article gathering different opinions on the topic “Spanish Girls”. Here’s my take:

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Your first impressions tend to be the most vivid and stay with you the longest, often colouring any subsequent experiences you have. For this reason, I will always and forever think that Spanish girls are brilliant, as I was lucky enough to live with four of the loveliest chicas you could hope to meet during my first sojourn in Spain. When I tumbled off the bus with my gargantuan suitcase in Zaragoza back in September 2003, I was a bit apprehensive to say the least. A hapless Erasmus student, I knew no one and despite several years of study and a couple of qualifications under my belt, my Spanish was decidedly ropey. These girls were my guardian angels: they took me in under their collective wing and are probably the reason I’m living in Spain now.

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Gradually they familiarised me with the nuances of Spanish life. They chided me for eating sandwiches and crisps for lunch, and taught me that mealtimes were a social affair, to be enjoyed at leisure and not simply scoffed down in the shortest time possible. They helped me overcome my fear of hanging my washing out on the balcony and dropping my underwear onto the patios below. They took me out to bars so smoky my eyes would water and showed me how to party until 8am Spanish-style. They tried (and failed) to teach me how to make tortilla española. They even welcomed me into their pueblito at weekends so I could get a glimpse of España profunda. Of course, my Spanish improved dramatically too. We never spoke in English, and the girls provided sensitive error correction as I got my past tenses mixed up, confused ser and estar, and muddled my way through the subjunctive. I learnt more in those 12 months than in 8 years of study back in the UK.

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Of the inevitable stereotypes, I think some do have a grain of truth in them. Spanish girls like to talk. A lot. We would have many a heated debate over dinner, and on the occasions we had dinner parties with so many guests we’d run out of plates and chairs, the noise would be deafening. They also always look immaculate, even (annoyingly) for 9am lectures whereas I’d turn up looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. And most of them do smoke far too much. But more importantly, they are warm, open and make fantastic friends who will show you an amazing time…even if things happen several hours after you’d planned. So Noelia, Belen, Imma, Bea and Spanish girls everywhere – here’s to you!

España Profunda

Last weekend I packed up my bag and hopped on a bus to pay my Spanish mates in Huesca a long-overdue visit. Yes, you heard right, I left Madrid! All these shops/restaurants/bars/late-night parties are such a powerful draw that sometimes several blurry, fiesta-filled months fly by before I realise I haven’t so much as set foot outside the Circle Line (or worse, some weekends I barely even leave my neighbourhood…how’s THAT for lazy?). Anyway, this time I managed to venture out of my cosy little guiri bubble in the city centre and off to lands far, far away, which is something I should really do more often. Much as I adore Madrid, sometimes all that noise, pollution and general mayhem can get a bit much.

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The girls I went to visit are two sisters I lived with when I was studying in Zaragoza for my Erasmus year (though I’m not sure the words “studying” and “Erasmus” really belong in the same sentence) and two lovelier chicas you could not wish to meet (more on them here). Apart from vastly improving my terrible Spanish, dragging me out until silly o’clock on weeknights, attempting to teach me to cook (they failed) and a million other things besides, they also used to let me tag along when they went home to their little village, and it was here I went to stay this weekend. Now when I say little, I mean TINY…this place has a population of about 300 and is in the middle of an area called Los Monegros, which is basically desert, defined by Wikipedia as “prone to chronic droughts, […] a natural region made up of badlands”. Badass! If you need to get away from it all, then this is your place.

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And I absolutely LOVE it! Although I’m a city girl at heart – never normally further than 100 yards from a branch of Blanco, a cocktail bar or a socket to plug in my straighteners –  you can’t beat a bit of a change and some fresh air. We always have great fun blasting around the deserted roads in the blazing sunshine, visiting the cows and sheep on their parents’ farm and donning the most completely unglamorous get-up you’ve ever seen to go and say hola to the pigs in their pens (the air there isn’t quite so fresh). This time I even got to have a go on the tractor! I love how we drive down to the village bar even though it’s about a 30-second walk away. I love how every time I visit, granny asks me if I’ve made tortilla española yet (eight years counting and still no). I love how their parents treat me like another daughter and pack me off on Sunday with mountains of food in tupperware boxes.

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Oh, and the food. So. Totally. Amazing. It’s a good job I’m only there for the weekend, as we eat so much I’d be the size of a whale if I stayed any longer! Fresh tortillas, granny’s paella, the juiciest fruit, the tastiest salads, beautiful beef, pork and lamb from the farm, the list goes on… I cannot even BEGIN to describe how delicious the homemade chorizo is, though I did feel a bit bad about eating it after I’d met the pigs. Still, it was just too good to refuse! As well as eating better than I normally do (I don’t think crisps, olives and pinchos really cover the main food groups), I also sleep like the dead when I’m there. Instead of being woken by drunk people staggering down the street at 5am, the only thing you can hear when you rest your head on the pillow is…total silence. Bliss.

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I couldn’t live there though. No H&M? I’d go nuts! A girl can only take so much fresh air and quiet contemplation before the urge for a stiff drink and dinner in a fancy restaurant becomes too strong. Still, I think it’s important to get out of the city; just as New York isn’t the whole USA and London isn’t a fair representation of the UK, staying in Madrid and saying you’ve seen the real Spain just doesn’t cut it. I mean, there are so many of us bloody guiris living here you could go for days without speaking a word of Spanish! Almost all Spaniards talk about their pueblo and how it’s the best place in the world…if one of them is kind enough to invite you over I suggest you take them up on it, and perhaps you’ll get a glimpse of España profunda.