by Kika Patrick

The three of us, my friend from Chicago, her Spanish boyfriend and I arrived in Cartagena well into lunchtime. We parked outside my friend’s boyfriend’s family flat as later on we would be visiting his parents. I was looking forward to a window into traditional Spanish life, an opportunity an EFL teacher rarely gets without a sign-in sheet and sentence-structure exercises. As we were all quite hungry, we walked straight to a local restaurant that my friend’s boyfriend knew of. The restaurant was on a corner of a 70’s highrise and didn’t promise much with a non-distinct facade. Inside, the decor was faux-rustic with a heavy presence of fake beams overhead and bricked walls. Hams hung statically over the bar immediately in front of us on entering. Usually this would not do much for my expectations-I’ve always thought that any establishment trying to be something it is not is just a waste of time. However the atmosphere in this restaurant was simply electric. When we arrived it was jam-packed full of families and groups of friends cramming themselves round tables loaded with platters and propping up the bar with bottles of wine, beer and tapas. In fact we were told that there was nowhere for us to sit and would we mind standing at the bar. Our local host decided that the food was too good here to miss so we squeezed ouselves in, hung up our things on the discreet hooks under the bar and ordered drinks.

We decided the ordering of food would be left up to our host’s discretion as he knew the restaurant. He ordered and when our drnks were slid over the bar to us we were told a table had just become available. Pleasantly surprised we grabbed our stuff and made our way through the lunching groups to a table in the corner.  Once settled and waiting for our food I asked a question on an observation I have often made but has never occurred to me to ask before. Why do hanging hams have those plastic cones stuck in the bottom of them? Hanging hams are everywhere in Spain. They are in your local bar, in the butcher’s window and on sale at the supermarket. Last Christmas a British friend of mine working in an office here in Madrid even recieved one as a gift from colleagues. He was left pleased at the offering but unsurprisingly bemused as to how he was going to get it back to the UK on Easyjet. The answer to my question came from my Chicago friend. She told me that in fact, even though the hams had been left to drip dry before being put on display, the fat can still drip down. So the cones are to catch that.

Enlightened I sat back to wait for the food. It did not take long for our choice platters to arrive. Starter of walnut and cheese salad with lashings of balsmic vinegar and oil. Mains of tostas with anchovies and vegetables. A few more dishes and one that we forgot we ordered, we completely devoured and served to fill us to the brim. For afters my friend’s boyfriend asked me if I liked liqeur. At this point my eyes lit up and I answered ‘Si!’ He ordered three Asiaticos. This, he explained was a local speciality coffee liqeur. Yum. Coffee, liqeur-I was in heaven. Like all good local specialities, the origins and authentic ingredients are questioned by many and closely guarded by those who claim geographical ownership. However it is generally said that the coffee originally came from a small village outside Cartagena called El Albujon. The ingredients consist of several layers. At the bottom is condensed milk, then there is a layer of espresso with generous measures of brandy and Amaretto. This is topped with foamed milk and cinnamon. A really authentic Asiatico will be served with a cinnamon stick, a small piece of lemon peel and two roasted coffee beans floating on the top. It is also served with the traditional optional sugar which, before knowing of all the ingredients, I gamely stirred in when it arrived at our table. Once informed, my friends warned me it might be quite sweet. It was but thankfully I have a sweet tooth and feeling a little tired from what I had just gorged myself on, probably served as a helpful energy boost. Sure enough, I would be needing it for our jaunt around town.

We left with the restaurant all but emptied out. The streets quiet but not completely empty we headed to see what sights the ancient town had to offer. Most notably it would offer several Roman archeological sites of interest. Cartagena is renowned for stumbling across Roman remains in the process of regenerating its’ slum areas. Most recently, an entire amphitheatre was found under a block of flats (pictured in my blog Murcia Part 1). Work has been progressing with restoration for years on it and an ancient cathedral found next to it. The accompanying museum is now open for visitors which I would recommend a visit to.

In town we happened to stumble across the museum that housed a surviving piece of wall from the 18th Century. Unfortunately this was closed for us. But we pleased ourselves with views of the military harbour from the fortified old hospital walkway. We posed for photos on the old canyons, strategically placed, listening to echoes of the military practicing drumming for Semana Santa and wondering how on earth they reclaimed all that land in front of the hospital for extensive building work that is all around this area of Spain. A walk to the top of the coastal park promised us a visit to another Roman ruin but this was shut also. The wandering wild peacocks and stunning views over the amphitheatre and natural harbour though proved the brief strenuous walk to be more than satisfying.

Our tour ended in the city centre with a inpromptu guided tour of the town hall (pictured above) that was finished in 1907. The architecture of this grand but not too imposing building I suppose was based on the many Baroque style buildings in Cartagena. In fact what I loved most about the city was the complete spectrum of architecture the city had to offer. From the abundance of Roman ruins, to the historical and modern day presence of the military and the modernist architecture many of the city’s public buildings are now presented in. Cartagena is a cultural and historical delight.

by Jade Conroy

It’s been dubbed as the newest, hottest micro-blogging service and it’s become the latest trend for celebrities ranging from Barack Obama to Mike Skinner. As the third most popular social networking site after Facebook and MySpace, Twitter is becoming the newest online phenomenon.

Now many of you may be wondering what micro-blogging actually means. Basically, think Facebook status update-cum-mini blog. Twitter allows its users to broadcast messages to those who wish to follow and simply asks its users what they are doing. With only 140 character spaces available, Twitter keeps it short and sweet.

 So, what is the point of it­? Firstly, Twitter could be the new text messaging of the 21^st century. With an array of 3G phones on the market like the iPhone and the Blackberry, it’s never been easier to access the Internet on the go. So why waste your free texts when Twittering is much easier and more hip. It also seems to be the new trend of hot young journalists. Recently, a journalist who was pottering around Paris asked his followers where he should go. A close friend of mine who was living there at the time suggested he try the best hot chocolate Paris had to offer in a quaint little bistro on her street. Lo and behold, a few days later he mentioned this in his article. Recently, a journalist known as simply “Twitchhike” has vowed to travel as far as he can in 30 days, “relying only on the goodwill of Twitterers”.

 So, Twitter could be changing the face of media as we know it. It’s used by a multitude of newspapers including The New York Times to disseminate breaking news. Moreover, many have broken down their papers into different sections so you can personalise your Twitter, receiving news from the areas you wish to be updated on, like style, world news and so on. The Guardian itself, also an avid user, has stated “Twitter is changing the way literature and media operate” by opening up a further avenue to access information.

 It could be described as a watered down, more compact version of Facebook. No photos, no wall posts and none of the pointless information from people you don’t care about polluting your news feed. Experts have said thatTwitter can help you build your business and a book has just been published which gives you a 30 point strategy for expanding your own company by using the website. Perhaps it is like the more professional version of Facebook? Perhaps not. But let’s face it, MySpace has been confined to the use of snap happy 12 year olds and Facebook is probably not going to be the same after University. In short, Twitter is a more mature, less intrusive and a lot less narcissistic version of Facebook.

 On a more superficial level, and the actual reason I cottoned ontoTwitter myself was due to Chris Moyles and his Radio 1 morning team. Plus the fact that I wanted to follow Rachel Bilson and Alexa Chung (maybe they have more important things to be doing, but I clearly don’t). Other celebs that I follow include Calvin Harris, Stephen Fry and Yoko Ono.  A recent global survey has reported that one out of every 11 minutes spent online takes place on social networking sites-that’s a whopping 45 billion minutes in total. The survey also revealed that on average, three hours and ten minutes are spent per month on Facebook.

 Now I am definitely a culprit of this. So why would I need yet another reason to procrastinate? For starters, it’s quite hard to waste hours of your day on Twitter. The updates are short and there aren’t countless photo albums, wall-to-walls or 9,527 photos of your ex boyfriend and his new girlfriend to look through.

 So sign up and get following. Happy Tweeting!

 by Ruth Kenny

Having promised myself for weeks I would unleash the inner art guru and in awe of those trendy, artsy types floating around the city, I dedicated Saturday afternoon to getting “au courant” with the temporary exhibits at the Reina Sofía.

The first step was to assemble a group of international, artsy types to share the experience. We had quite the cosmopolitan flair going with one Italian, 2 Germans, a francesa and yo! This made for interesting variations of several European tongues and by ‘variation’ I mean we created a hybrid language which vaguely resembled Spanish. Embracing ‘El Intercambio’ bigtime!

The language-barrier was immaterial. When cast in the role of art aficionado, talk is superflous. All that is required is the requisite puzzled slash pained facial expression, the nod of approval and the obligatory ‘ooh’,‘aah’, ‘how marvellous’ appreciation symphony, all of which we had down to a ‘fine art’ by the end of our visit!

The ability to interject with random buzzwords such as ‘depth’, ‘scope’ and the ubiquitous ‘avant garde’ will get you brownie points and have those artsy types who abound in the gallery, jumping out of their skins to listen in on your adept inferences. We ended the afternoon in a nearby cafe pontificating on the artists conceptions of social injustice, people-watching, perfecting our haughty-sneers, the usual artsy kind of...je ne sais quoi!!!

A visit to the Reina Sofía is a definite must for those living in Madrid. It is lovely to leisurely wander through its many exhibitions and displays. The surrounding gardens and terraces, as well as the building itself are fantastic, so for those who Modern Art is to be endured rather than enjoyed it could still be a pleasant way to pass an afternoon. And if not, well you can always amuse yourself playing the savvy art connisseur.

 “My life is the self-realisation of the unconscious” -Paul Thek

The Paul Thek (1933-1988) exhibition had a freshness and vitality that I thoroughly enjoyed, although the The Technological Reliquaries Series (1964-67) baffled me slightly. It consists of a series of Plexiglass vitrines containing wax moulds of his body parts; hair, teeth, bones as well as obscure pieces of meat. This aspect of his work was inspired by the Franciscan catacombs in Palermo where they used bodily remains for decoration. In his own words “I wanted to return the raw, human fleshy characteristics to the art.”Mission accomplished Señor Thek! He is the epitome of an artist’s artist, in that although not always appreciated fully by the art world establishments, he is held in high regard by artists themselves. The exhibition boasts more than 300 pieces of Theks work including drawings, paintings and photographs. It provides an overview of his work, highlighting his unorthodox use of media to transcend artistic category and classification. This ephemeral quality is due in part to the nomadic lifestyle he led, sporadically moving from one European City to another, giving a cosmopolitan flair to his aesthetic. My favourite part of the exhibition was the “Personal Effects of the Pied Piper” which consists of small figurines with the Piper personifying the Messiah whose personal possessions are displayed as if they were archaeological treasures. This alter-ego exemplifies Thek’s globe-trotting in Europe. The exhibition runs until 20 April.

Alia Syed, an experimental film-maker of Indian and Welsh descent currently has her work  “Eating Grass” on display in the Edificio Sabatini. It is visually magnificent: the rich, vibrant colour and dizzy, zooming camera angles combined with the sibilant soundtrack of Urdu and English storylines to astonishing result. I sat in front of the screen for its 22 minute duration in a trance-like state, so mesmorised was I by Syeds’ scenes of intensity and originality. Filmed in Karachi, Lahore and London it has a lovely flow of images of people and places from daily life. The interesting soundtrack of storylines refer to the Muslim practice of prayer five times daily. Eating Grass is also a political work, in that it makes direct reference to President Zulfiker Ali Bhutto of Pakistan’s assertion that his country would have nuclear weapons like those in India even if his people had to eat grass to fund them. The display also includes a previous piece of Alias from 1989 “Swan” which is a vivid depiction of a swan spreading its wings in preparation for flight. The Exhibition runs until 30 March.

The third exhibition of interest I saw was the visually enticing work of sculptor Julio González (1876-1942). Born in Barcelona, González studied at the Escuela de Bellas Artes there before moving to Paris in 1900. He became interested in welding as an art form following a period of learning at the Renault factory at Boulogne-Billancourt. The works selected for the exhibition are mainly iron sculptures, although also featured are a series of drawings related to the creative process in addition to a collection of his creations in the field of jewellery. The pieces on display follow a chronological order and track his life from youth and education in Barcelona to his séjour in Paris and formal encounters with Cubism in the Twenties. His relationship with Picasso is also detailed. At the age of fifty, under the influence of Picasso, González deeply changed his style, exchanging bronze for iron and volumes for lines. The exhibition runs until 1 June.

Rastro-inspired fashion, trendy t-shirts, skinny jeans and the like, usually a pair of interesting psychadelic shoes or colourful converse, vaguely malnourished and sporting a serious expression from all that zen overload. The Reina Sofia Gallery, opening Hours: Monday to Saturday, from 10:00am to 9:00pm; Sunday from 10:00am to 2:30pm and closed on Tuesday.

by Ruth Kenny

EARTH HOUR is a global initiative by the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) which asks people to turn off their lights for one hour to show their support for action on climate change. It was created two years ago by environmentalists in Sydney and up to one billion people are expected to partake in tonight’s black-out. It is a symbolic event, designed to engage people in the climate change discussion.

This evening at 8.30 on a small archipelago off the coast of New Zealand the lights will go out, sweeping from time zone to time zone across Asia, through Europe and North America spanning the globe. Last year more than 50 million people representing over 400 cities on all seven continents participated in the project. The idea is to create awareness of the issues surrounding climate change, to promote carbon efficiency in our daily lives. In Madrid several buildings will extinguish their lights in consolidation with the venture. Among the buildings to be included are the Royal Palace, the Congreso de los Diputados as well as several enterprises with offices in the city. The political parties have also voiced their support for the initiative.

From 6.00 to 9.30 this evening there will be activities in the city to mark the event, notably at the Plaza de la Independencia in Retiro, where there will be a series of workshops, artwork and a performance by drummers “Tazajo Tamboó” . Not to be missed! Also don’t forget that daylight saving starts tomorrow and clocks go forward by one hour at 2am. Roll on Springtime! The longer evenings in the weeks ahead will put a spring in the step of the average madrileño and are a perfect excuse for post-work cañas y tapas at a lively terraza!

by Sophie Thomas

Take over 100 unruly students, confine them to two modestly sized coaches for four hours, pump them full of Agua de Valencia and that is exactly what you’re doing: provoking the utter insanity that is already rife during the five-day celebration of the Fallas. And I don’t mean the standard street party insanity of singing, dancing and other drunk and disorderly behaviour. I’m talking about ancient Pagan rituals, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man circa 1973 and other pyromaniacal pursuits.

Fireworks, gigantic decorated statues and excessive amounts of flames sound like the perfect recipe for an exciting day out. And exciting it was, but at the same time adjectives such as outrageous and downright bizarre would not be hyperbolic. Perhaps I’m too British, but who on earth made it legal for 7 year-old children and elderly, senile citizens to buy fireworks by the bagful and proceed to launch them sporadically through the streets like madmen? Moreover, might I add that these fireworks are not pretty-there are no vibrant colours–just explosive noise in its simplest form. Is it really necessary to feel like you’re running to the nearest tube station for shelter during the London Blitz of World War II? Is it appropriate to be brought close to heart failure after a snotty toddler’s explosive blows up in the nearby drain he has so conveniently hidden it in? The answer to all of these rhetorical questions is an out and out No. We are not primitive beings; music is now based on rhythm, not erratic outbursts. We are not cave people. I had to repeat this mantra three times upon watching a 70 year old man in some kind of frenetic state, cackling with laughter as he threw firecrackers on the pavement. Forget Salvador Dalí, the Fallas festival is Spanish surrealism at its finest.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad. The ornately painted Fallas were wholly impressive and at times, rather beautiful. For example, the colossal statue of the nymph-like naked women was certainly crafted with a sensuous touch; the sight of it enveloped in ferocious flames was even more poetic. Of course, the English student in me can’t help but attempt to derive an ominous metaphor from the image of a huge, inflammable Barack Obama effigy going up in flames, after only a week long appearance on the Valencian streets. Some of the Fallas were sculpted and painted so vividly that the line between caricature and realism became curiously blurred. This is where my allusions of ancient Pagan customs come into play. I had, and still do not have any idea of the history of the Valencia Fallas tradition. So the juxtapositions between real life and cartoon-like dreamworld, beauty and destructive fire, 21^st Century ‘normality’ and primitive insanity felt more supernatural and dreamlike than traditional.

There are three films I once vowed never to watch again; those being The Elephant Man, the Korean film Old Boy and the aforementioned The Wicker Man. They are too sad, too eerie, too abstract. Too much for me, simply put. Undoubtedly, they are all fascinating and thought-provoking films and it is for this reason I mention them here. Like these three movies, the Fallas festival is a truly unique and exciting experience, but that definitely does not mean that I would choose to witness it again.

by Jade Conroy

 After bussing it through the terracotta landscape of Spain for what seemed like an eternity, the road signs for the centre of Valencia finally started coming into view and I sighed in relief at the thought of getting away from the annoyingly loud French boys shouting in my ear behind me.

 It all felt very much like a school outing. From the register to the handouts, to the no-eating policy on the coach and the halfway stop-off at a service station in the middle of nowhere, it had a distinct Year Nine trip ring to it. All that was lacking was the uptight teacher doing headcounts. On disembarking the coach, we were reminded that we had to be back at 1.30am sharp and subsequently told that the centre of town was vaguely “that way”. There were no registers, no groups, no team leaders and I have to say that I was oddly disappointed that the childhood nostalgia I felt would be short-lived.

As we made our way into the centre of town, the atmosphere was strangely eerie. The streets were almost dead-a result of the roads being closed off before the events-and although we managed to come across a Fallas at nearly every crossroad, there seemed to be a scarcity of people. I was just about to comment on this when I was suddenly, and repeatedly, shaken to the core by a series of loud explosions coming from somewhere round my ankles. I responded how any normal person would; by screaming obscenities, dropping my handbag and grabbing my friend so hard I nearly cut off the blood circulation in her arm. Maybe this was a little melodramatic, especially when I realised that the culprits were in fact two 8 year olds. As I walked around more I came to realise that these were not just two little mischievous boys terrorising passers-by; it was in fact the norm. Every time I went to compose myself after a bang, I would be jolted again by another. Perhaps more disturbing than the fearless children throwing potential explosives at one another were the old-age pensioners doing exactly the same.

We meandered around, looking at the plethora of statues on offer which ranged from the small cartoons to sky-high effigies of robots, naked women, unicorns and cross dressers to name but a few. I was impressed by the amount of consideration that clearly went into the designing process and the creators really didn’t hold back-there were what must have been over 300 Fallas in total. In fact the word Fallas refers to the different neighbourhood cooperatives of Valencia. Each one designs their own, accompanied by a Falla infantil designed by children. The majority of the sculptures are satirical which often poke fun or criticise significant current social affairs and public figures, and many have sexual connotations.  

The setting reminded me of a sort of warped Disneyland with brightly coloured flamboyant smiling statues of life-size caricatures at every corner. Some lacking limbs and heads and an unforgettable Mickey Mouse that I would later see burnt to a crisp with his distorted, scorched ears being all that was left of him.

We decided to have some cañas in the main Plaza de Ayuntamiento which boasted the biggest Fallas of all. Think George of the Jungle meets The Lion King. It was also where the beautiful firework display would later take place and the Valencianos are certainly the Picassos of fireworks.

It wasn’t until the sun set that I understood what all the fuss was about. Everyone had told me that visiting Valencia at the Ofrenda  was a must and at this moment I completely understood why. The buildings and alleys became laced in twinkling fairy lights, the streets alive with performers and dressed up locals and all the bars and balconies brimmed with people, sipping on Agua de Valencia, a mixture of vodka, champagne and orange juice.

Once the cremas were underway, things really started to heat up.  Firstly, all the children’s Fallas were burned, followed by the biggest ones at midnight. Although I am no stranger to bonfires, this really was something else. It’s quite mesmerizing watching a 20 metre statue disintegrate under bellowing flames; perhaps it was the intoxicating heat that swept over the crowd.

After the cremas had finished, it felt like the Apocalypse. Random fireworks were still going off; bangers were still being thrown everywhere and swarms of people, the majority of whom were drunk, still milled around. It’s hardly believable that the day after, business went back to usual and the Fallas New Year began once again.

It has to be said that it was pyromania in its purest form. The concept of spending months and months building intricate and detailed pieces of art, only to watch them be reduced to ashes in a matter of minutes does strike me as a little bizarre. Not to mention hundreds of thousands of Euros are spent on it every year (each Falla costs between €6000 and €600,000).

Nonetheless the evening was definitely worth it, even though we did have to leave at 1.30. The displays were incredible, the atmosphere magical and the exhilarating alcohol tinted buzz remained on the long bus journey home. After this, a school trip to Disneyland would have been distinctly average.

by Ruth Kenny

What a week!!! Following a spell of recessionary doom and gloom on the Emerald Isle, celebrations for the quintessential Irish Icon, St. Patrick, on the 17th and Irelands phenomenal 17-15 Grand Slam victory on Saturday lifted the nation’s spirits and provided much needed diversion! Consigned outcasts of Europe due to the demise of our Celtic Tiger Economy and the butt of barbs in Brussels because of our stance on the Lisbon Treaty, last weeks events saw a return to the “craic agus ceol” and reminded us how great it is to be Irish!

I awoke on Tuesday morning to the sounds of my movil buzzing with textos from home, wishing me a Happy Paddy’s Day. Feeling ever-so-slightly put out at having to work and knowing I was missing out on mucho craic at home, my students were subjected to Irish-themed English lessons! The festive spirit was embraced by all at the ‘Escuela de Guerra’ as I attempted to define the great intangible “craic” to the Spanish Military…an indispensable concept in any lexicon! The spectacle of San Patricio was centred in the Irish pubs dotted around the city of Madrid. My friends and I assembled in Scruffy Murphy’s in Malasaña to drink green Magners and revel in our Irishness, decked out in the obligatory green and sporting humongous leprechaun hats! The whole leprechaun image has a special resonance with my Spanish friends here, who coined the nickname leprechauncita for me last year…beats guiri anyway!

We hit Scruffy’s again on Saturday to see our own “Slamdog Millionaires” beat Wales in Cardiff in what was 80 minutes of tense rugby and an epic performance by the Irish team. After half-time, with Wales leading by 6-0, the Irish team returned to the pitch with an urgency that showed us they were not to be beaten. The dramatic finale made for compelling viewing, with Ronan O’Gara drop-kicking us through the goalposts of victory to Grand Slam success for the first time since 1948. By all accounts, this Grand Slam, Triple Crown and Six-Nations title was well deserved and well overdue!

Now I’m no rugby expert and I’ll be the first to admit that my interest in rugby was spawned more from an interest in rugby players than the sport itself. But for the duration of the match I was totally engrossed in what was an exhilarating and breathtaking performance! OMG…what legends!!! My favourites, the O’ Trio of Paul O’Connell, Brian O’Driscoll and Ronan O’Gara are undoubtedly modern Irish sporting heroes. But each and every member of the squad had a part to play in this massive performance. It was truly an all-Ireland victory with players from throughout the land instrumental in Saturday’s win. Media reports showed scenes of grown men crying such was the extent of their joy. In a country where big Celtic boys don’t cry, even in the midst of recesssion meltdown this was significant! In short, the victory was a much-needed tonic to raise the spirits of the nation.

And if that wasn’t enough sporting glory to elevate the country’s mood, Irish boxer Bernard Dunne was crowned WBA World Super-Bantamweight Champion in Dublin at the weekend. Also, I hear reports of sunshine in Ireland at present. Like the old Irish phrase goes…An rud is annamh is iontach. (What’s seldom is wonderful.)

http://www.irishtimes.com/indepth/slideshows/patricks-day-2009/

by Kika Patrick

European Vibe is celebrating its 30^th Issue. So here are 30 things I’ve found out about this beautiful city whilst living here for near on a year.

Trains.

Atocha train station is the largest in Madrid. It serves all local trains (Cercanias), regional (Media-distancia) and fast connections to Seville and Barcelona (AVE).

Despite the above, the station is only served by one metro stop on one line. Commuters needing connections and fast speed services need the Metro named Atocha RENFE on Line 1. Tourists wishing to visit the refurbished old stations terminal (refurbished 1992), providing a concourse containing attractive cafés and an indoor garden, should take the Metro simply named Atocha. That’s not confusing at all, is it?

The 10^thJune 2004 saw Atocha have a Virtual Shrine dedicated by the Spanish Minister of Transport to the victims of the 11^th March 2004 train bombings.

Museums.

Museums have free entry on Sundays.

Madrid boasts the Golden Triangle of Art. It includes the Prado Museum, famous for its fine art collection, the Reina Sofia for its modern art and the Thyssen Bornemisza, housed in the old Villahermosa Palace. All can be found on the Paseo del Prado near Atocha Railstation.

A Moorish King originally built his palace where the current Royal Family resides.

The palace is cheaper to visit for student card holders.

Parks.

Parque del Retiro is officially Madrid’s most popular green space.

El Retiro’s Palacio de Cristal was inspired by London’s Crystal Palace.

You can enjoy a bird’s eye view of Madrid’s largest parkland, Casa de Campo in the Telerifico cable cars from Argüelles. Once there, you can take in the view from the café or venture into the park to find the zoo, aquarium, fairground or outdoor pool. 

Miscellaneous.                                                    

Barajas International Airport Terminal 4 won the RIBA Stirling Prize for Architecture in 2006. It is also one of the world’s largest terminal buildings.

Shops.

Dia is the largest supermarket in Spain, second to Carrefour. It is also the most unreliable. I was once forced to buy Nocilla as a cheap replacement for Nutella. I was teaching the Dia stock manager English at the time so I took it up with him. He tried to convince me that Nocilla is just another brand name for Nutella which all Nutella fans will know is not the case.

Don’t mess with Grannies in the supermarket queue. If they want to go in front of you then let them. They may look the image of Spanish loveliness but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of them, that’s for sure.

It is almost impossible to go into a supermarket without having to put your bag in a locker. 5 minutes can be spent looking for a €1 locker that actually works and if you’re environmentally conscious and re-use plastic bags or use your own shopper, this makes for a complicated dash to the lockers to retrieve your belongings at the checkout.

Paying for anything with a credit card requires a flash of your passport. Though I have a credit card-sized copy of mine which is accepted by everyone except Zara for some unknown reason.

El Corte Inglés Supermarket is the only place to get decent Tea Bags (unless you are of the PG Tips persuasion).

The Carphone Warehouse is called The Phone House. This is the easiest place I find to top up your mobile phone credit.

Small shops still close for siesta.

Siesta does not automatically mean having a sleep. It means eating lunch.

Leisure.

Restaurants in the evening are empty until close til 10pm.

According to European Vibe March issue, the best Guinness is to be found at Shamrocks near Plaza de España. Though you could easily compare it at one of the numerous Irish pubs Madrid has to offer.

Real Madrid and Atletico de Madrid are bitter club rivals. Football is not a game, it’s a life. I agree and even though Torres is back home playing for Liverpool, my love for the game (or maybe just for him) grew strong when I watched Spain win the European Championships last summer.

Daily Life.

Dog owners do not feel obliged to pick up after their dogs. It makes for hazardous pavement walking.

Cars are surprisingly willing to stop at pedestrian crossings despite the Spanish reputation for driving.

The ‘Daily Death Count’ on the news is Spain’s way of trying to get their drivers to slow down, not an adverse dark obsession.

Snogging in public is appropriate. I say this as an observation that wouldn’t go down too well in Britain. I pass a massively loved up couple every morning at one particular metro stop on the same corner. It’s like they’re never going to see each other again and then sure enough, they’ll be in the exactly the same place, same time, the next day.

Madrid is the gay capital of Spain.

The Chueca area of Madrid has the best clubs but is not the best place for a girl to meet a guy owing to the fact that it’s also the gay area.

Everyone has double-barrelled surnames owing to the fact the Spanish take the surname of their father and mother.

Most married couples do not wear wedding rings.

So there you go, in no particular order, 30 things I hope you find useful about this fair city we call home for a bit.

by Helen Macrae

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Madrid. In fact I would even go so far as to say it’s my favourite place in the world (apart from Birmingham obviously, which has the unfair advantage of being my hometown and which, for all of you out there who think it’s not a very nice place then you are w-r-o-n-g). Anyway, Madrid is certainly my favourite place in the world at the moment, which is why I’m here. But I must admit that, as cities go, it’s a quite a tough nut to crack especially for the uninitiated tourist. For many visitors, I reckon a typical day in the city might pan out as follows: an overpriced coffee in Plaza Mayor whilst being hassled by musicians and various poor imitations of Disney characters, having your wallet lifted during a quick browse round the Rastro, queuing for hours in the baking sun to get into the Prado, walking back through Sol to be pounced on by beggars with no arms/legs/heads then rounding things off in an expensive yet rubbish restaurant in the centre and wondering why the place is completely empty at 7pm.

Ok, so I’m painting a picture grimmer than a snog with Jabba the Hutt, but you get the idea. Of course in reality, Madrid is such a cool city that you can’t fail to have a good time here and is so compact that you’re bound to stumble upon some of the good stuff without even trying. If you want a few ideas to get you started though, whether you’re here for just a holiday or have more long-term plans and you don’t fancy ending up drinking a 5 euro caña whilst being serenaded by what looks like Mickey Mouse’s evil twin on smack, then here (in no particular order) are some of my favourite places in Madrid so far:

El Jardín Secreto (C/San Bernadino 22, Metro: Plaza España/Ventura Rodríguez)

Fantastic bar with weird and wonderful décor that changes every time I go in. Low lighting and plenty of nooks and crannies to hide away in make this a great place for an intimate drink or three. The cocktails are to die for and the rest of stuff on the menu is tasty too.

Moharaj (C/Buenavista 42 & C/Ave María 26, Metro: Lavapiés)

Lavapiés is full of top-notch Indian restaurants but this is hands down the best one. Or the best two since there is one tucked away in C/Buenavista and the other easier to find on C/Ave María. My curry-hungry mates and I can often be found here on a Thursday night, tucking into spicy goodness accompanied by melt-in-your-mouth naan bread.

De Mode (C/Ballesta 7, Metro: Gran Vía/Callao)     

Friendly people, funky décor and wicked music all combine to make this a great place to spend the night and best of all it’s completely free. There’s even a complimentary cloakroom where you can leave your coat whilst you dance yourself into the ground until the place shuts around 4am.

Madrid³ (C/La Cruz 35, Metro: Sol)

If you’re fed up of the usual shite you can find in souvenir shops, try this place. Full of original gifts and Madrid regalia, I often come here to buy presents to send to friends back home. The guy that runs it is a complete sweetheart and I usually find myself chatting to him for at least half an hour, before being sent on my way with a bag full of free sweets along with that day’s purchase.

Yambala (C/Coloreros 4, Metro: Sol)           

So there aren’t any decent bars right near Sol, right? That’s what I thought until I found out about this place, which by day is a relaxed venue serving an huge variety of teas and milkshakes, then at night gets packed out with a very friendly crowd. Try the mojitos here and you’ll definitely be coming back for more. 

Ohm (Pl. Callao 4, Metro: Callao)                 

Fun fun fun is the only way to describe Ohm, which used to be a gay nightclub until the heteros cottoned on to how good it was. It’s pretty obvious when you get in there which is the gay half and which is the straight, but on the dancefloor in the middle anything goes as everyone gets down to techno and funky house. It’s open until 7am and is free before 3am with a flyer. Just watch out for the queue.

Nest Boutique (Pl. San Ildefonso 3, Metro: Tribunal)

If you’re desperate to send a birthday card to someone at home that doesn’t include a picture of Garfield or a baby dressed as a daffodil then look no further. This is a brilliant shop in the heart of Malasaña run by a lovely lady originally from Harrogate, which stocks an excellent collection of cards as well as loads of other beautiful gifts.  

Olsen (C/Prado 15, Metro: Sevilla/Anton Martín)                

Not the cheapest place in Madrid and not very Spanish, but the Scandinavian cuisine here is exquisite and definitely worth paying a few extra euros for. Try the weekend brunch menu or come here in the evening and sample a few of the vodkas from their humongous selection.

Depilación Marisa (C/Gaztambide 48, Metro: Moncloa)

For girls, as the warmer weather rolls around and you start to think about flashing the flesh at the pool or beach, waxing will no doubt move up your lady-MOT list of priorities. This place is friendly, efficient and cheap, although the waxing is done in curtained cubicles whilst sitting/standing up, so if you’re shy you might be in for a bit of a shock. If you go at a quiet time you often don’t need an appointment although for a full-body job it’s probably best to ring beforehand.   

San Roman (C/Segovia 1, Metro: La Latina)           

Tiny bar in La Latina round the corner from Cava Baja decorated exclusively with pictures of naked women. You get a hearty tapa with every drink, although the price varies depending on how merry the barman is. When he whacks up the flamenco music and the place is filled to capacity (err…probably about 20 people) then things are pretty jumping.

La Casa de las Tostas (C/Argumosa 31, Metro: Lavapiés)

Delicious stuff. On toast. There’s not really much more to be said about this excellent bar/restaurant, other than the fact that the service is brilliant and always with a smile, which can sometimes be a rarity in this city.

Café Lolina (C/Espíritu Santo 9, Metro: Tribunal)   

Fantastic café with fantastic coffee and über-retro décor. You can chill out with a cuppa, enjoy a delicious savoury snack or a cheeky slice of cake and even plug in your laptop and pretend to be working while you admire the mismatched furnishings and people-watch through the big windows onto the street.

Tabula Rasa (Corredera Alta De San Pablo 33, Metro: Tribunal)

All you hipsters out there looking to get suited and booted, then head here. This is an awesome shop full of gorgeous clothes, although sadly the last time I went in they’d pretty much sold out of girls stuff, so fingers crossed they get some more in soon. Don’t be put off by so-cool-it-hurts look of the staff, they’re actually really friendly.

Sound Sick (Ronda de Toledo 1, Metro: Puerta de Toledo)

And finally, what better place to show off your new threads than at Sound Sick, a tip-top night held every weekend at Club Maxime, banging out nu-rave, techno, punk and God knows what else. The crowd is cool and the music spot-on, a perfect place for an extended Saturday night thrashathon. See http://www.myspace.com/soundsickclub for more info.

by Martin Quinn

I know this guy back at home who isn’t exactly the brightest torch in the hardware store. He used to love punk music and was well into its subculture. You know the hair, the tattoos and all that. The problem was he was also a bit too much into the lyrics of some far-right bands he was listening to. Anyway, the early nineties was still grim back in the black north of Ireland. Not many jobs for a Mowhawked punk sporting six or seven swastika tattoos so it was off to London for himself and a mate. Well they’re walking along this street when they see an Asian guy and decide to beat him up. Embarrassed and totally rejecting what he used to be, he managed to laugh as he described himself and his friend being subjected to a severe kicking by what turned out to be a martial arts expert!

Skip a few years and I’m getting another anecdote from my old mate George, a Glaswegian. A self-described moderate left-winger, and strangely for a Weegie, a pacifist. He visited Hamburg once and went for a pint in a supporters bar for local team St. Pauli. Unlike the former Nazi their punk-rocking, heavy-metalling ultras are very much on the left. On a political spectrum, you could probably put these boys slightly to the left of the Baader-Meinhof gang and just as willing to use violence. Well, Georgie got a warm welcome as he’s a Celtic fan and the St. Pauli fans love us. So they’re having a nice pint when, suddenly a brick comes flying through the front window. “Whit the f*!ks goin on!” screams George as the barman produces a clump of baseball bats and starts throwing them to the St. Pauli fans. He’s informed that the bar’s being attacked by skinheads. As a sea of ultras in Jolly Roger T-shirts run to the street and get tore into the Nazis, he’s offered a baseball bat. A little calmer, George replies “Naw mate, I’m happy enough here with me beer”.

I’m thinking about these two stories as I jump into a crowd of maniacs at the Stiff Little Fingers concert in Joy Eslava. This nightclub is really snobby but tonight it’s overrun by lunatics. I’ve been to a load of rock and metal gigs but never a punk concert and I must say it’s jolly good fun! Well if you don’t mind getting grievously injured, that is. I see a load of St. Pauli Jolly Roger T-shirts and one maniac with a Mowhawk going absolutely Radio Rentals on the dancefloor. The mosh pit (metallers call it that, I dunno what punks call it) is heaving from side to side and I’m smashing up against dozens of other basket cases. The band SLF are great and all their old classics are played though they’ve only one original member left, their singer and inspiration Jake Burns. These Belfast boys are anarchistic in outlook and followed by left-wingers, people like myself who were sickened at how the punk movement was hijacked by Nazis. Many of SLF’s songs have an anti-army, anti-paramilitary and anti-establishment outlook and were written during the worst days of the Northern Irish war. Their opinions make them sound like peaceniks but, in fairness plenty of their followers seem to enjoy a bit of random violence, with willing participants, of course.

The next day I wake up with an agonisingly sore shoulder and can’t go to Thaiboxing for a week, but I figure you’ve guessed that…