There are cities that cause an impact at first sight they open their arms to touch you softly, bewitching you with the smell of their vegetation, of their meals cooked outdoors, and with the unmistakable sound of their music, not to mention the accents of their people: the great community who opens their doors every morning to receive the first rays of sunshine, to drink their coffee sitting next to the flowers planted in pots on the small balconies of the old buildings in the most significant avenues of the metropolis.
In large cities, there are streets that transport us to small towns we had visited in our childhood; there are places that make us cry our eyes out remembering times past when we danced in circles singing nursery rhymes: “The chickens in my casserole. . . .”
Madrid is such a city: it is the cosmos that contains ancient stories within their lofty buildings. I see Madrid as the imprint of our cultures seen through the eyes of our mother. Even though for some of us she has been a bad mother with ruthless characters, her imprint is still present in the streets of Cartagena de Indias, Guatemala, Quito, or Panama.
To visit Madrid is to read a history map backwards. It is as if we were traveling to a past for which we do not have any reference. Can you imagine walking through time, strolling the streets of the city we have before our eyes, and to have just ten hours to discover it?
As soon as we start our tour we can see our reflections in the churches, in the cooling fountains at the plazas, and in the arches that festoon Madrid, which, somehow, accompanied us in our childhood, thousands of miles away.
Perhaps arches and plazas were conceived in Madrid to be replicated in their former territories? ¿Perhaps in a visit to the big city we realize we had seen them reflected on an ancient map we had found hidden in the trunks of our great-grandparents, and they start now to materialize as we take a stroll on Calle de Alcalá, Plaza de España, and Puerta del Sol?
This city, far away from the sea, bathed by a bright light and by the fresh, summery air of August, charms its visitors and undoubtedly will make them come back to find out more about those stories that we only came to know through history books when we were learning about the importance of powerful navigators and about those who believed to be closer to an almighty God who spoke another language.
In 2014, Madrid has overcome the darkness of March 11, 2004, and the train stations come back to life once again in the wee hours. The denizens of Madrid wake up, and the tourists ride on double-deckers instead of subways in order to discover a city that has been replicated bit by bit in the New World, in high-steeple churches, and in the rings of the sharply criticized bullfights.
Surrounded by stuffed bull heads, people have lunch at some restaurants. The tiles on their walls have been artistically made, showing bullfighting figurines striking a pose, flaunting the sumptuous costumes of the matador and his team. In the dining rooms, one can feel the festive atmosphere of an afternoon at the bullring. The colorful murals replicate bullfights that have made Spain so famous throughout the world. Under the shadow of the noble animal’s head, diners enjoy their shrimps in garlic sauce, their breads that have been baked using ancient recipes and, like in any Spanish good table, their exquisite white or red wine or, come August, their refreshing summer reds.
Madrid in ten hours was an exciting adventure, through which we were able to ascertain that the streets and plazas of the cities where we grew up are a mirror of the past.
I greeted Madrid during the ten hours we spent in our visit and I saw my reflection in it: I know the sounds its people make; I learned to utter my first words with them; I nurture that Spanish language that surrounds me and impels me to write these lines in order to say that it is impossible to get to know you in just ten hours. However, it was time enough to savor the days of our childhood when I could only hear and speak your language.
We used to cry and to love to the sounds of your plazas and tree-lined avenues. . . Madrid in ten hours.
About the Author: Jacqueline Donado freelance journalist, living in New York City former Managing Editor of El Diario/La Prensa (NYC), graduated from Universidad Autónoma del Caribe (Barranquilla, Colombia). She worked as a correspondent for the Colombian newspapers El Espectador and El Tiempo, and later traveled to the United States to study at Poynter Institute in St. Petersburg, Florida. She provided live coverage of international disasters, such as floods in the Dominican Republic and Haiti, and an earthquake in Colombia, as well as of other important sports events, such as the 2004 Olympic Games in Athens, Greece.
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Inspired to take on Madrid? WSGT found these travel books and gear to help you prepare.
Lonely Planet Madrid: The best book out there for the capital city.
Lonely Planet Spain: The best travel guide for Spain
A great travel journal: Keep track of your trip in a journal
