Floods, frocks and final thoughts April 19, 2008

Well, the trip has ended and we’ve made it safely home (albeit a good hour and a half later than scheduled thanks to the Spanish aversion to a bit of a drizzle). Although, in many ways, the “holiday” ended for me on Thursday when I received a phone call claiming that our flat was flooded and leaking into the one below. Curiously, this supposed defect in our plumbing system came into being at exactly the time when persons appointed by our factor to carry out plumbing work were operating elsewhere in the building. How very coincidental. To cut a long story short or, more pertinently, to avoid litigious or “un-neighbourly” content, I will hold back on the rant that has been aired more than once since Thursday (for those who know me, I will of course be happy to replicate it verbally with full venom at any time in the near or distant future so, please, just ask).

Anyhoo, suffice to say that there was hee haw wrong with our flat and, at this stage, all indications point to problems concerning people who were not on holiday last week. Although it was a relief to come home to an un-flooded abode, I am still seething that my holiday was infringed upon by the threat of the Police breaking in to gain access and thoughts of soggy floorboards. My only comfort is that we didn’t shell out on earlier flights home, as being out of pocket would certainly have exacerbated my anger.

Faced with this gloomy intelligence, our only recourse was to hit the booze but not before sampling some ice-cream at the place recommended in our far from omniscient guide. I say “sampling” rather than terms usually applied to ice-cream, such as “gorging on” or “devouring”, since, at almost €3 a SCOOP (i.e. about the same price as a litre tub of Asda’s Extra Special stuff, now that it’s been rolled-back), neither of these adjectival expressions were a possibility. I accept that my mood may have been a factor in my appraisal but there’s no getting away from the fact that brownie isn’t just chocolate sponge and that, at €3 a scoop, that scoop should not contain actual ice chunks. Mercifully, as John has already noted, the alcohol did not (or “didnae” in our speak Ande!) disappoint!

Our last (partial) day was spent hung-over and, somewhat fruitlessly, souvenir shopping in the rain, which had been frequently descending since news of our neighbour’s downpours reached us. Defeated in our quest for a decent Dalí print (sorry Dad!), we headed back to the hotel to get our gear and make for the airport. On the way, we found an excellent bakery across from Sol metro station and bought some delicious bocadillos and empanadas, wrapped in fancy paper and tied with string. These were a blessing and fuelled our protracted wait for departure. I also got a chocolate truffle the size of a tangerine, which didn’t make it anywhere near the airport!

So, after a day of rest and secure in the knowledge of arid floorboards, I suppose it’s time to reflect on the Madrid experience. For people who have not experienced mainland or inland Spain, Madrid and its apparent lack of Rover’s Returns may come as a pleasant surprise. However, it seems to us that all the selling points for Madrid - the staying up late, going to a bar for a caña of beer and tapas and the warm friendly atmosphere - are not unique to Madrid. What sets Madrid apart is that it’s bigger, busier and a good deal pricier than elsewhere in Spain. What’s maybe a bit disappointing, particularly for a capital city, is that it lacks distinction; there’s no Edinburgh Castle, Big Ben, Tour Eiffel or even (whisper it) Sagrada Familia to distinguish it. The charm is in how Spanish it is but there are places that out-Spanish it. We’ve been conscious that our opinions might come across as anti-Madrileño but we actually did quite like it and enjoyed our time there despite the absence of wow-factor.

And, yes Lynne, I did manage to fit in a bit of retail therapy - funny how your navigational know-how improves when there’s a dress a stake! In between the icey ice-cream and the fine wine, we found our way back to the dress shop and performed the seemingly arduous task of finding a normal-sized specimen among all the anorexia endorsing garments. Embarrassingly, the same emporium where I purchased my Mama Cass-esque smock is also to some extent responsible for flooding Madrid with canary yellow denim, a most startling sight to behold!