“Todo lo que puedas imaginar es real.”

“Todo lo que puedas imaginar es real.”
~ Pablo Picasso. 

So I just have to apologise right off the bat; my camera died when I was in Paris and I was so determined to pack light that I didn’t bring my camera charger with me. So unfortunately you’ll have to deal with this derpy picture of me with my Spanish hot chocolate instead of a breathtaking picture of the Madrid skyline. The editor in me also needs to apologise for what I now realise is a rather disjointed account of my adventures. Ah, well. Art imitates life and all that.

Anyway, let’s just dive into my time in Spain! I took a flight to Barcelona from Orly airport, and then after a brief layover, I grabbed a flight to Madrid, where my friend Gretchen, whom I’ve known since infancy, picked me up. I was so tired and so relieved that I had made it to my next destination – especially since I’m actually terrified of all non-rail transportation – that I’m afraid I talked Gretchen’s ear off. I was able to put my backpack down, for the first time in two days, in Gretchen’s private flat. Then we went out to take the town! Well, we went out to eat some good food, which is generally as crazy as I get. I tried my first sangria, which was honestly super delicious. I think I liked it so much because I couldn’t tell that there was alcohol in it, but it still sort of took the edge off my nerves. Although Spain isn’t generally kind to vegetarians, I spent the next few days chowing down on patatas of some form or another, so that was a stroke of luck for me.

I’m really happy that I chose to go to Madrid for Easter, because it was my first Easter away from home. I was distracted by the beautiful plazas and calles and of course, by seeing Gretchen for the first time in ages, so when the clock struck midnight – we were still wandering the busy streets of the city at that time – I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time: complete contentment. I had a fantastic sleep (Gretchen has a really soft mattress, honestly) and the next morning I was raring to go. I met a ton of Gretchen’s friends at a special Easter dinner that Gretchen and her friend Olivia had prepared, and I feasted on salad, corn, cheesy patatas, and apple crisp. I suppose there may have been some wine, as well. I was pretty much distracted for the majority of the day, but eventually my mild social anxiety got the best of me, and I just couldn’t keep up conversation with all of these new people. I’m always afraid that I’m being rude, but when I start to feel nervous, my mind goes blank and my chest starts to tighten, and there isn’t much that I can do to recover.

At the end of the day, Gretchen and I went home, and I was able to Skype with my family. To be honest, I have never felt so separated from them than I did during that half an hour or so. Being thousands of miles away from everyone, with nothing to say besides the flight was good, the food was good, Madrid was good, and watching them laugh at some joke without me almost did me in. I’ve talked to a few people about this, but here’s something people don’t tell you so much about studying abroad: you change so much as a person while you’re in a different country for so long, not necessarily because you’ve been trying to assimilate yourself into the culture, but because you find out so much about yourself while experiencing new things. When you try to show that or explain that to people who weren’t in the same situation as you, it can be really isolating. That’s why I’m really afraid of going back home, I think. How am I going to come to terms with who I’ve realised I am here in the face of everyone else’s perceptions of me? How can I find something interesting to talk about without seeming mean or pretentious? But that’s something I’ve been trying not to think about. Let’s move on, shall we?

The next day Gretchen had class so it was time for me to explore Madrid by myself. As my family knows, I’m entirely too embarrassed by carrying a map around, so I generally try to memorise the layout of the streets before I head out in the morning. Once I left the flat that day, I walked confidently in the direction that I was sure would lead me to the Prado. Somehow I ended up at the Royal Palace, which is actually in the opposite direction… but I had wanted to see that anyway, so I walked in. I tried to use Spanish to buy my ticket, but the man instantly recognised me as a foreigner and spoke to me only in English, no matter how hard I tried to convince him I could speak Spanish just fine. So I guess my ten years of Spanish didn’t really work out for me. I’ll just have to keep practicing!

Moving on: the Palace was really beautiful and everything, but I found myself wondering why I was paying to see the house of a family that I don’t even like very much, especially considering the way the family has treated its women in the past. I tried to shove those conflicting feelings down and just enjoy the portraiture, but my hatred for Spain’s blatant patriarchal dominance was exemplified when a middle-aged guard followed me from room to room, winking and muttering obscene things under his breath. I mean, really? Most places, that doesn’t fly with me. I have been known to throw elbows when men have so much as touched me without my permission, but because he could have had me thrown out, I just walked out. I shouldn’t have had to do that.

Understandably, I think, I left the palace feeling a little defeated, and almost considered heading back to Gretchen’s flat. But instead, I scarfed down a nutritious meal of Doritos Bits – what an invention – and I walked in the direction I had originally meant to, towards the Prado. Once again, the ticket lady refused to speak to me in Spanish because I was butchering it so much, but hey, I got a free ticket in, so I suppose the exchange was a success. I have to say, the Prado is my favourite museum that I’ve seen so far in Europe. I saw all the greats: Picasso, Caravaggio, Velasquez, Goya, and Da Vinci. I even cried at a piece of art, which, as I told my brother-in-law, means that I’m growing up. I used to have a very limited appreciation of art, but as I grow older, my appreciation for the symbolism and the artist’s hard work grows, too.

After the Prado, I went to the Buen Retiro Park, which was absolutely beautiful. It reminded me of Central Park, one of my favourite parts of New York City. It was nice to just relax and look at the people, or gaze at the clouds. I don’t do that enough, because once I sit back, my thoughts begin to spiral and that doesn’t end well. But this time, I was able to give my mind a short rest. It was getting a little late, so I wandered back to Gretchen’s apartment, where she also returned soon after. That night, she made me a delicious pasta with tomato and vegetable sauce, and again, there may or may not have been some wine involved. That night, we were able to catch up and relax together, something we hadn’t done since the previous summer.

We were all rested up for a walking tour the next day, where we learned a lot about the history and architecture of Madrid. I could write a whole blog on that, but I realise this is already getting super wordy, and you probably want me to get to the point… Heck, I want me to get to the point. We spent the rest of the day eating and relaxing, in true madrileña fashion. I tried my signature hot chocolate – my favourite in Europe so far – with churros. I had my last sangrias, my last nighttime walk, and then it was time to prepare for my last destination: Florence, Italy…