Week 4: Adding Texture

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“NO FOTO, NO FOTO, please!” 

 

Grrring under my breath, I slipped my phone back into my pocket and made a gesture of contrition toward the band of stewards shooshing noisy children and condemning everyone who missed the sign, “NO FOTOS POR FAVOR” at the main entrance of the Royal Palace Armory Museum. The particular shoosher who shot a shoosh in my direction eyed me for a second with suspicion before turning to go shoosh the shish out of someone else. I quickly pulled my phone out again and in a pinch snapped a picture of a buffoonish looking set of armor worn by a short and portly manikin. The figure reminded me of the Looney Tunes episodes with Bugs Bunny and Donald Duck set in a medieval hinterland. What a fashion statement!

 

Chuckling warmly to myself, I proceeded through hall after hall of sharp weapons, massive tapestries, ornate shields, and deadly maces before visiting the Royal Palace itself, a titanic structure that has played home to Spain’s rulers since its erection in 1735. The royal residence boasts a modest 3,400 some rooms, although the Royal Palace’s “royalty” has a little less so since Felipe VI and his family currrently reside in another palace on the outskirts of Madrid. Then again, it’s pretty royal!  

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I caught a strand of museum fever weeks ago in the city of Madrid, Spain’s age old capital. In fact, I’ve been quite busy since last writing. Mr. Tom Powers, head of Global Programming, encouraged me to “be in the moment” both in the classroom and beyond it. Madrid was one of those places where I doubled my efforts! In four days time I managed to crisscross the city with “Lonely Planet” in hand, devouring the lengthy descriptions of historically significant points of interest and its surveys of renowned art collections, and entertaining pitches for tapas crawls. The Prado awaited me after the Royal Palace, and it did not disappoint: El Greco, Hieronymus Bosch, Durer, Raphael, Titian, Rubens, and Spain’s masters Goya and Velazquez. The grayish black of Goya’s macabre images of Saturn ravenously devouring his children in a fit of paranoia contrasted with the elegant and mysteriously complex Las Meninas by Velazquez showcased in the main gallery. I have never had so much fun looking at a painting as I did with Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights, a single scene spliced between the gleefully playful inhabitants of paradise on the left and central panels with the harrowing, blood curdling depictions of phantasmagorical creatures similar to the motley crew living under Sid’s bed in the first Toy Story harassing, devouring, and torturing hell's newest residence.   

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Plaza Mayor and La Torre del Oro Bar Andula were gems to visit by both night and day. on Sundays, one of the planet's largest stamp and coin markets rings Plaza Mayor. In the evening, Torre del Oro, a “bullfighting bar,” comes alive. The establishment is a sanctum sanctorum of sorts to the controversial and incredibly dangerous sport (or art as Madrilinos would say). Its walls are decorated with glorious and gory memorabilia. One picture in particular needs not much description as it captures a uniquely famous moment of misfortune befalling a matador, Julia Aparicio-not for those with a weak stomach. And on I went: to Puerta del Sol, the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, the Reina Sofia, Retiro Park, San Isidro, City Hall, Almudena Cathedral and El Rastro on Sunday morning-Spain’s, no, Europe’s largest flea market loaded with shifty vendors, bargain buys, and slick pickpockets. Aside from the experiences, one of the joys of Madrid were its people. With a pinch of courage I approached numerous pleasant looking groups of people in restaurants and small tapas bars who were happy to receive my company and help me practice a little Spanish as well.

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Perhaps the finest day I enjoyed during my four days in Madrid was my day trip to Toledo topped by my first experience with the highest caliber of futbol La Liga could offer that evening: a bout between Real Madrid and Betis. Steeped with tourists and jammed with 2,500 years of history, Toledo was surprising in more than one way. The former capital of Spain offers a rich amalgamation of Moorish, Jewish and Christian architecture and remains the Catholic and spiritual heart of Spain. I spent a generous amount of time circulating through Toledo’s Cathedral’s dark interior, stopping to marvel at its ten-foot tall monstrance, five-story Gothic altarpiece, Renaissance frescoes, and more high market paintings by the hand of El Greco. Further down the road I braved the long line in front of Sante Tome. Inside the unassuming church was an extraordinary painting I longed to see since first laying eyes on it during my junior year at Canisius College on a frigid mid-January evening between the third floor stacks of the Andrew Bouhous Library. And there it was in all its flesh and mysteriousness. Rather than attempt to glean some new theoretical meaning in the swirling clouds of embryonic cherubim, the wispy and elongated submaterial figures of the choir of saints and John the Baptist, or the white translucent body of Christ, I simply read the painting in awe and appreciation. 

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Chilled to the bone I left the Cathedral and made a pit stop at the El Greco museum nearby before heading back the way I came to tour Alcazar, Spain’s old fortress and previous capital building. I spent three hours, (three!), learning about Spain’s history post-1492 when the reclaimed the entirety of the peninsula from the Moors. The labyrinthine museum featured exhibitions on Spain’s nautical and naval histories as well as a delightful exhibition on miniature toy soldiers. What's more, I am happy to report that I managed to procure a chess set from an old swordsmith and woodworker. It was practically lost behind a pile of large blades (Toledo is famous for its swords and daggers used by top bullfighters or perhaps crazed Dungeons and Dragons players). Those who dare to oppose me back at home need beware. The carefully carved wooden board feels like home turf. 

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Madrid really glitters and glows in the night. An evening walk down the Gran Via, Madrid’s main thoroughfare, treated me to 1910's, 20's, and 30's architecture captured in the Madrid and Spain Towers, the telefonica skyscraper, Sweppes Building, Banca de Espana, and Puerta de Alcala adjacent to Retiro park on the eastern side of the city. It’s quite romantic. I’ve hinted at moments of loneliness when solo traveling in a previous entry. Yet in spite of being on my own again on this venture to Spain’s capital, it occurred to me as I was slowly walking along the Gran Via that I did not feel lonely as I did in Barcelona that night I was nearly trampled by protesters! It was as if Spain’s essence, its history and heritage, its artists and sacred spaces, bartenders and bar goers, even the city’s most heralded soccer team and its fan base pulsing with all its mystique and energy, kept me company and in turn added texture to my adventure in this beautiful country.

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I hope Spain never leaves me.  

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