The more you eat the night before, the hungrier you are for breakfast the following morning. Luckily I was up early enough to feast upon the free breakfast given by the hostel. A good thing too as over breakfast I arranged with some other people to spend the day at the Reina Sofia museum of modern art. Famed for housing the Guernica, we left that painting till last and concentrated on an exhibition focused on the artistic reaction to the Second World War. It seemed to involve lots of canvasses with holes punched through them.
Leaving the museum I passed one of the ubiquitous ´museos de jamon´. You probably can´t see it below but in the window are lots of legs of ham with dainty little cups beneath catching the delicious meaty juices. I know a certain vegetarian ex-housemate of mine who must be salivating at this image.
For dinner I decided to try some traditional Basque cuisine. The guys at the hostel pointed me towards a place called Naia. Having sat down and ordered a beer I then scanned the menu and realised this was no ordinary backpacker hovel, but a scarily expensive posh place full of well-dressed madrilenos all judging me in my primark finery. My budget could consequently only stretch to a starter. I ordered the "Pulpo (Octopus) con potatas al pimenton de La Vera y alioli de membrillo". Even though this was saltier than downing the Dead Sea, it was amazing - rich (almost to the extent of a thick gravy) and reeking of rural Spain (garlic, onions etc.). It may have cost a fortune for every bite, but it was worth it. I filled up on the free bread and headed back to the hostel.
Arriving back at the hostel, the Saturday night party spirit had descended. Lining our stomach with beer, whisky and vodka we started sharing our respective countries´ drinking games and headed out clubbing. Turning up to the club at 2am we were party of the ´early´ crowd would you believe! In further proof of how cool and friendly Madrilenos are, all night long on the dancefloor strangers would amble up and introduce themselves (in a non seedy way) and suggest bars/restaurants etc. to visit.
I eventually returned to the hostel at daybreak and settled down for what I hoped would be a very long sleep.
Day 4
Annoyingly, 2 hours later my body clock woke me up. Upsettingly, all of the friends I had made over the previous few days were checking out the hostel this morning and so I was back on my own. I checked out a pretty bad flea market (El Rastro) and then (feeling the poverty) had a light lunch of monteditos (very cheap mini sandwiches stuffed with various bits of pig).
When I eventually woke up I felt like a new man and headed out to enjoy the fanstastic late afternoon sunshine bathing the city. I passed some very pleasant hours reading Year of the Flood near to the Royal Palace and then bought a Spanish newspaper and spent some less pleasant hours with my German dictionary struggling to understand a word. After 30 minutes failing to comprehend why the journalist was comparing the credit crunch to Conrad´s Heart of Darkness I decided that watching glee in an internet cafe would be a more productive use of the remaining daylight hours. Dinner was embarassingly cheap and English (let´s just say bacon and chips were involved).
Returning from dinner I found the hostel still deserted and began to despair. However, the night was saved when I found a poster advertising a Flamenco show this evening. Unlike the grotty tourist traps where a 60 year old prune gyrates in front of a crowd of drunks, this was a small affair in a moodily lit basement with only about 10 spectators, a singer, a guitarist and the dancer. The mood was just perfect and rather similar to that in Vicki Christina Barcelona when they go to listen to the Spanish guitar music. The dancer was about 25 years old, stunning and intense. The singer had one of those great Spanish gravelly voices that takes years of cigarette abuse to perfect.
Tonight will be an early one I think.
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