Cities and Changes and Fears OH MY!

Believe it or not, extended travel is hard. Talk about a privileged complaint! What I mean is there is a home sick, change is hard thing that happens. Just getting to Barcelona was a challenge, train delays, no sleep, confusion, heavy luggage and a bad back... it adds up to testy moods and crying in grocery stores. It does lighten up, but it makes for a few frustrating days. A long phone call from my husband, now back in the USA, made a world of difference for me and allowed me to look forward to exploring the city... at night when the temperature drops below 1000 degrees. 

Having heard epic stories of how everyone loves Barcelona, I was ready to swoon, but I didn't. The funk, graffiti and stink has been hard for me to get my mind around. I love the architecture, the food, and the artistic flare. How do I reconcile the differences? The Catelonian port city has an amazing history and its own unique cultural richness which I think is what draws people to it. I don't know why it wasn't a magical moment for me. We spent a full 8 days exploring, first in Poble Sec, our neighborhood, then to major sites and sought after glam areas. Our apartment was in a restored 1880s building making it equally beautiful, artistic and historical, a perfect combination for me. However, stepping outside the building into the darkness of giant trees and heaps of garbage burst my bubble. The city just wasn't romantic like I wanted it to be. A few steps to the right was the bustle of Avenida del Paral-lel. The opposite direction was a pedestrian street full of locals taps bars. Opting for the locals scene, being that we were trying to feel what local life in Barcelona would feel like, we curiously explored several bars. Excellent food, cheap glasses of Cava and ice cave level AC were welcome discoveries. Beautiful evenings (more like night since it is 9pm before you can even consider sitting outside comfortably) called for lounging under the umbrellas on the street, but the stench of the sewers was too much for fussy face over here. Turns out the ancient sewer pipes need to be replaced so for the next few years the city will just reek. Cheers!

Barcelona felt like a relationship I had with a guy in college. He was so perfect to look at, checked all the boxes, but we did not mesh. I kept dating him thinking I was going to figure out what was missing and it would click. Surly I was missing something, he was perfect... wasn't he? Ironically, it was this fella that I was dating while I spent endless nights talking until dawn with Jesse, my now husband. Jesse and I, we clicked! Now, here I was trying to make Barcelona fill that "home" hole I wanted so desperately to fill, but it fell short again and again. I began to feel deeply sad. The haunting thought that maybe I wouldn't like Spain started to creep in. What have I done? What...have...I....done? 

OK so Barcelona is a no, now what? We had landed in Madrid several weeks ago and loved it. Was that simply the relief of liking Spain at all? Did we have rose colored glasses on when we landed having expected to not like the overly "business" city of Madrid? Well, since it was the top contender for us so far, it seemed like a good idea for us to go back to the city and see what we thought with our eyes wide open. You know as traveled Spaniards now. 

We arrived in Madrid by train in the early afternoon. We had messaged the Airbnb guy that morning with an ETA for the day, yet had not heard back. We got to the address early so we popped into the closest restaurant to grab a snack and kill some time until official check in time. I was sure he would message by then. 3:00, ooh sorry 15:00, came and went. I messaged, I called, I WhatsApp'd... nothing. We sat on the stoop waiting, taking in the colorful doorways around us; the block was oozing with charm. Every other door was a drool worthy cafe or a squeal its so cute shop. 16:00 came and went. Annoyance was building as was the heat. FINALLY he messages "Are you there already?!?" Oy! We proceeded to have the slowest back and forth texting ever just to give me directions to find keys (why couldn't these instructions be sent to me earlier???) which included a photo of a completely different building. Confused I thought we are on the wrong street and started asking people for help. Side note, every single person was so so nice even with my absolute shite Spanish. Finally I found the lock box. It was across the street from the apartment building, attached to a window grate at knee level and swiveled in toward the window so it was almost impossible to see. The owner was indignant in response to my frustration. It felt like being in a very weird escape room.

Finally inside, the apartment looked adorable, but was a sauna! I'm talking about unable to breathe kind of heat. We struggled to figure out and turn on the AC, its pathetic whisper of air shyly moving into each rooms. We closed blinds and stripped down to underwear then laid on beds in our respective rooms. It was not the best welcome back to Madrid. Within 24 hours, the temperature was significantly better... and... my dad had hit his head hard, twice, on the slopping roof. My daughter had smashed her head once on the roof and also split open her shin on the bed frame...trying to avoid hitting her head again on the ceiling. It was a rough way to start off and I assumed all of this would sour us on Madrid. That night, in the cool air and golden glow of sunset, we meandered the quaint streets of our new neighborhood, Chueca. 

Quietly, like a low hum, Madrid's siren song started to call to us once again.

Chueca is gleeful perfection. It is just so adorable and artistic and full of flare. Rainbow flags drape over everything that stands still. The metro stop, rainbow. The entrance to the barrio, an enormous permanent rainbow flag hoisted up high. Doorways are delightfully decorated in extravagant colorful decor and people walk around happy, relaxed, and in love. In love with themselves, in love with each other, in love with life. It is incredible. I LOVE it so much I want to cry. I check myself and try to see the problem areas... what is wrong with Madrid? Surely there is a chink in its armor. Heading off to see a Chiropractor for my back (yes it continued to be seriously messed up. I was starting to wonder if they would just take me directly to the hospital for surgery), my mom and I bravely ventured into the unknown. The "unknown" hahaha an area around Parque de El Retiro that is absolutely gorgeous and while I would move there in a heartbeat, I definitely can't afford the real estate. Imagine the Upper East Side in NYC. My back was doing much better after some attention and we returned to our little Land of Oz for some shopping. The taxi dropped us off and we walked the half block into our high definition color bubble. This bubble is a surreal place where you feel so utterly safe, so welcomed as you are, so utterly happy. All I kept thinking was, 'whoa, I think I have officially fallen in love with Madrid'. 

After having bought the most to die for patent leather short heels, a shimmery lip gloss and a silk nightie, I was ready to escape the heat at the Mercado's roof top oasis. All this was seconds from our apartment door. Misters and fans kept us cool as we sipped Cava under flower like shade sails, snug in a secret garden seating area, and like Dorothy, dazzled by the sight of her fabulous new shoes, I took a deep breath and let myself head down the Yellow Brick Road.  

For the first time, I felt at home.