When I was planning and thinking about Barcelona, I had no doubt that I would return, at least once, to Madrid. Anyone who reads or has read some of the entries in this blog from a few years ago will know that going to Madrid was a big part of my life, even if it was encapsulated in two months’ time. This is the entry from my personal journal the day that I left Madrid:
The universe has a funny way of trying to make sense of itself. Or maybe it’s not that; maybe it’s just mocking our attempts to make sense of it. Either way, as I lie here tonight, I have to smile.
I’m lying here in this room for the last time, and things are very much as they were the first night I spent here, two months ago. The shelves are empty, I’m lying on a bed with no sheets (I took them off to clean them and they’re still not dry), and I’m staring at the orange square of light cast through the window from the street. It’s as if careful measures have been taken to ensure that, on this final night, I see that the only thing that’s really changed is me.
Those thoughts comforted me, and I had the feeling that the image put a nice little bow on the whole experience. Even though I knew I would return to Madrid, that night seemed final. I must have forgotten my own realization: the universe does indeed mock our attempts to make sense of it.
After I had gotten more or less settled in Barcelona, I contacted Cheli, whose apartment I had stayed in three years ago, and told her I was thinking about coming to Madrid soon.
“You’re welcome to stay with me for a weekend!” she wrote back. “You’re old room is open.”
I couldn’t believe it. After three years, I would be staying in that same room. I was so excited that I booked a plane ticket for the following weekend. I pulled out old maps and started looking through my pictures and writing from my time in Madrid. Looking at the dates I realized something else: I would be arriving in Madrid on exactly the same date- November 12- that I had left it three years ago. I hadn’t even thought about it when I had booked the flight, but now it almost seemed like I could not have booked any other day.
When I stepped out of the Metro stop at Vinateros, it was for the first time and for the hundred and first time. I’d spent a lot of time walking the streets of that neighborhood, and every step seemed to come rushing back to me. The memories were so strong that, when I crossed a street or saw a restaurant, it wasn’t as if I was doing those things again, rather I was doing them simultaneously. My mind had a parallel memory for every step I took.
Along with the memories of images and sounds, though, came the same desire to explore. I went to the places I loved three years ago. Puerta de Sol is still a beautiful public space with great food, which can be inexpensive if you know where to find it. Weren’t there benches, though?
A new public market had opened up two years ago, so I went to see that. The Mercado de San Miguel is a fresh food market surrounded by sleek glass windows. It has a group of tables in the center where you’re invited to eat the delicious tapas they serve in the various stalls. I had lunch there the first day, and went again on the second.
El Retiro still made me feel like I had stepped out of the city for a little while. I had forgotten how much fun people-watching could be in that park. Families, joggers, students- everyone had a different way of enjoying the space, and there was plenty of room for all of it.
The Prado Museum had a Renoir exhibit and a new wing, so I saw those. Coffee, a pastry, and the museum made the cold Madrid morning a little warmer.
Around Moratalaz, the barrio where I had lived, I had a drink at the same bars and walked the same streets. The night before I left I couldn’t help making the comparison again. I was, after all, in the same bed, in the same room, staring at the same patch of orange light. When I left Madrid three years ago I had a more focused sense of what I wanted to do than I had when I arrived, but I had something more important than that: I had the confidence to actually do it. And now I was back, finishing school, seeing Europe… I was doing the things I said I’d do three years ago. That night didn't tie my experience off in a little package; it actually left the story open to continue, as it always does.
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