This morning we got up and had breakfast in the hotel. It was quite good, though perhaps not an entirely Spanish experience. We were holding out for tostada de tomate much like our favourite, El Tren, in Granada offered. We’d also have liked Churros con chocolate – truly the breakfast of kings. Churros are like straight bits of doughnut, which are rather sneidy on their own – a bit like a Greggs Yum Yum without the icing. However, they are to be dipped in a thick, gloopy hot chocolate which transforms them from mediocrity to delicacy, in one fell swoop.
Anyway, none of that here, so we settled for a croissant and a custard pastry, with a cup of traditional muddy Spanish coffee and a glass of (boak) diluting orange.
The cultural quotient of our break was despatched at the earliest possible convience. Spying our window of opportunity, we hit the Prado museum before 11am, and before the queue had become unbearable. There were round-bottomed nymphs aplenty, though unfortunately, of the painted variety. (As I suggested writing that, Gill perceptably rolled her eyes – lucky it’s my laptop, eh?)
The Prado was quite something, and certainly worth the €6 entry fee. The whole history of European art was represented there, and probably worth more than a couple of hours of our time. In particular, we enjoyed El Bosco’s Garden of Earthly Desires and some of his other, darker work over the puritanical God-bothering that abounds in much of the displays. Also of some interest to us were the many artists who were creating replicas of several of the works on display in the exhibition rooms. They were all at different stages of the process, which was interesting for Philistines like us, who wondered where Rubens had started on some of his larger murals. (Or, as my beautiful companion summed it up ‘Tits or arse?’)
Some things less good about the Prado: for the lay visitor (ie, us) it was a bit overwhelming – after seeing so many beautiful things, we became inured to them (read: bored), and it would have been better perhaps to split the museum up into 3 hour long visits a day, which is not really possible when you’re only in a place three days. Not the Prado’s fault, admittedly, but let’s not let the facts get in the way of a good moan. Likewise, there were too many guiris in there, although for the record, it was never allowed to become prohibitively busy – take note Kelvingrove!
Back to the hotel for a Siesta, then for a walk around the Salamanca barrio. By this time, we were wondering what all the hype was about. Salamanca is like el Buchanan St in the sense that it’s where all the fancy shops are. That said, it was a bit pish, with none of the good bits and all of the wankers. We got out of there as soon as we could.
We were tired of Madrid. Disillusioned. All of the good things we read were not being bourne out by what we’ve found. We have been ripped off, or at best overcharged everywhere we’ve been so far. The hotel have been pissing us off with their broken lavvie and fucked hairdryer (both of which we managed to get repaired thankfully.) All this time, Gill’s constipation was worsening, and is still a pressing concern at time of writing.
