Facing backwards on the train,
Backwards on the train…
Sittin here and gettin puke-y
Moving backwards throughout Spain.
We spent Saturday night getting lost in Madrid and stumbling upon hundreds of bars, restaurants and an energetic, vibrant nightlife. Up and down the streets we went until we ended up far enough away a taxi sounded fantastic. Good call- that ride back made us realize we were faaaar from complimentary-champagne home.
The next morning we went to the Jardín Botánico across from the Museo Nacional del Prado. So much beauty, so many thoughts, so many poem ideas. All that fancy writing will be unloaded here for your viewing/critique soon.
We spent the following three hours in the museum, looking at hundreds of paintings of Dumbedore and his friends, and read story after story. I’d never found myself more interested in a museum than I did Sunday, though Dad and I joked after getting a bit fatigued no more portraits could possibly interest us unless they were of our own faces.
Sunday night- Flamenco Show at Corral de la Moreria, a tablao/restaurante in the 1,000 Places To See Before You Die book. I think that marks my second on the list – my Turkish bathhouse from July 2009 made the cut. Here’s the scene: It’s a small restaurant with a small elevated stage in the back righthand corner. The first table is flush against the stage, we’re at the third table, just three seats and two thin aisles away. Dinner comes first (“ma’am, your dinner comes with a half bottle of wine, would you like red or white?”) and the show follows.
Flamenco dancing. Intense. Passionate. Romantic.
Sweaty. I mean, I’m all for a little bit of shine on a hot guy onstage. How to put this accurately…
The guy every girl in the room is supposed to want to bang?
It’s raining from his face.
His chin, his nostrils.
His nipples and kneecaps.
And when he whips around, spinning on his toes?
Like a child’s sprinkler head in summer.
The best part of all was the young woman next to me, beautiful smile, polite, proper… Stuck in a massive fit of giggles, to the point of tears, throughout the entire performance.
It was a tremendous show. Afterward, around midnight, Dad and I walked over toward the cathedral and palace. Standing in the emptying courtyard between the two landmarks, lit only by old-fashioned street lamps, it was a breathtaking setting.
Just as we began to stand there, in one of the more poetic moments of my life, the plaza was made all the more stunning as a bolt of lightning cut across the sky behind the cathedral, and those that followed lit up the area for the next several minutes.
You can’t plan, or ever recreate, moments like that.