My first day “alone” in Madrid and I was already on Spanish time. I left the hotel at noon and wandered across the Plaza Santa Ana to have breakfast at a bar. Since there were no churros left, I had a donut with my café con leche, unmistakably one of my favorite drinks in Spain. Having no particular plans and all afternoon free I decided to do some sightseeing and to follow the Itineario 1 in the guide book which would take me from the Puerta del Sol- the first business area and true “center “ of Madrid and Spain- to the Palacio Real- the official residence of the Spanish king. The luxury of having what seemed like so much free time to roam the city at my own rhythm (after the past couple of days apartment searching) was more than appreciated and reminded me of previous travels where each day began with deciding what new direction was to be taken to explore uncharted territory.

I explored the Calle de Alcala, the social and merchant capital of the nineteenth century, that is still home to many famous architectural masterpieces like the Real Casa de la Aduana, la Real Academia de San Fernando, and the Banco Espanol de Credito. Unfortunately, as I crossed the street a man was closing and locking the doors to the Iglesia de las Calatraves, built beginning in 1670 by monks from the military order of los Caballeros de Calatrava. The reddish-pink façade was a welcome change from the other cement-grey colored buildings that lined the streets and I knew immediately I must come back to see the interior.

After crossing the Puerta del Sol I wandered down some of the best shopping streets in Madrid, so I had been told. I headed down the Calle Arenal, named after the sandy surroundings of medieval Madrid, or Mayarit “madre de aguas”, as the city was called by Arabs centuries ago. The majority of the buildings are characteristic of XIXth and early XXth Centuries, about four stories tall with large windows. A small used book store near the oldest church in the city, the Iglesia de San Ginés, reminded me of the fact that I was still in Europe. I soon arrived at the Teatro de la Opera, unpleasantly surprised to see yet another famous square under construction and I could only hope that by the end of my stay everything would be finished…but at the same time knew the unrealistic possibility of this happening. A short break sitting on a bench in the shade of the illustrious Plaza de Oriente, with a view of the Palacio Real and a few of the many statues in the distance, provided a relaxing moment among the hustle and bustle of city life…

A 10€ menu complete with Gazpacho, Spanish ham, tostadas, croquetas, eggs, potatoes and café con leche…wandering through what at the moment were deserted streets, as after all it was around 4 o’clock…leaving my hotel that had become home and saying goodbye to the mother and daughter who had offered advice and also done my laundry…a variety of tapas- Spanish olives and chorizo among other things…staying at a friend’s apartment that felt like being with family…leaving to go out at midnight…the Plaza 2 de mayo full of life and energy at all hours of the night…overall an excellent introduction to the city that would be my home for the next five months…

by Michael Kaeflein

“Hash!” hisses the man. This is Retiro park and it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. I am nailed to the spot, wondering if I have heard right. “Hash!”, this time more urgently. Yes, this man is trying to sell me soft drugs in the middle of what is arguably Madrid’s most famous park. Talk about a downer, I came to the park to get away from it all, not to take part in shady drug dealings.

Hash or ‘chocolate’ as it is known in Madrid, is in my experience, as ubiquitous as the botellón and as popular as fútbol. Let´s cast a retrospective eye over my encounters with this substance in the past year and a half.

Upwards of sixty percent of the house parties that I have been to, of the lines outside concerts, bars and discos that I have stood in, have had the distinct smell of hash wafting over affairs. On countless occasions I have smelt hash in the streets, sometimes so strongly that I feel that I am back in Amsterdam! One of my flatmates has seen, on several occasions, people on their way to work having a sneaky joint, before they begin what is likely to be a surrealistic day of work.

One of the free daily newspapers reported a few years back that Spanish teenagers consider smoking hash less harmful than cigarettes. The Spanish authorities are trying to change imagine of hash as a ’soft drug’. Police in Barcelona last year began imposing 200 euro fines on people smoking hash and marijuana in the streets.
After countless visits to Retiro park I must have been propositioned by most of the hash dealers in Madrid. That’s quite honestly, why I now prefer to go to Casa de Campo!

by Sima Kalmens

The day draws near, very near. On October 2—this Friday—the International Olympics Committee will announce the host city of the 2016 Summer Olympics.

I look forward to the Olympic Games, summer and winter, biennially, but the 2016 bid is particularly important and exciting. Two of the bids are Chicago and Madrid (I actually had no idea what the other two bids were until I snuck a peak at Wikipedia, answer to all questions).

I am a bred Chicagoan, having lived there for the last sixteen years. I use linguistic aberrations such as pop when talking about soft drinks and some people pick up on my Midwest accent. So the prospect of the Olympics being held fifteen minutes away from my house (everything is 15 minutes away in Chicago) is horribly exciting. To think! No airfare, no hotel fare. Just gas money, horrible traffic, and time wasted trying to find parking.

What makes the bid even more interesting than the possibility of the Olympic Games in Chicago, is the fact that the other bid city, Madrid, is my current place of residence. Therefore, I cannot help but take part of the festivities. I consider it cultural immersion, not betrayal.

On Sunday, I attended the candidature celebration at La Plaza de Cibeles and contributed to the human mosaic of Madrid’s Olympic logo:

This is the aerial view of the incredible human mosaic, which thousands of madrileños assisted in making:

While it is entertaining being part of Madrid’s Olympic pride, my corazonada is for Chicago, because, well, I don’t need a $1,000 ticket to get there.

by Sima Kalmens

I remember getting on the train five years ago, during my last visit to Spain. The train was white and sleek with minimal purple writings. The impeccably neat interior boasted a relatively wide aisle and comfortable, roomy seats. The train took off smoothly and within minutes, Anger Management was playing on the video screens descended from the ceiling. En route to Seville, I gazed out the window as the brown and green Spanish countryside whizzed by me.

For those of us who prefer our transportation to stay on the ground, the Spanish railway company, RENFE, boasts the train that combines the comfort and convenience of ground transportation with the speed of airplanes. AVE, which stands for Alta Velocidad España and also cleverly, and appropriately, employs the use of the Spanish word for bird, is the gem of Spanish railway services.

AVE service premiered in April 1992 with daily routes between Madrid and Seville, conveniently in time with the 1992 World Fair that was being held in Seville. By 1994, the trains were running faster, cutting travel time from Madrid to Seville by 40 minutes and completing the route in two and a half hours. Madrid is 471km away from Seville.

The Madrid-Málaga line was completed in 2007 and the anticipated Madrid-Barcelona line debuted in 2008. Madrid and Barcelona are 600km apart and the trip takes a little under three hours, punctually ending at Barcelona’s Estacio Sants.

RENFE began offering middle-distance services via AVANT in 2004. Routes include Madrid-Toledo, which takes less than 30 minutes, Madrid-Segovia, Barcelona-Huesca, and Málaga-Seville.

AVE now has 1,835km of track in service throughout Spain and is well on its way to becoming the world’s largest high-speed service with the most kilometers of available track.

RENFE does not compete with airline prices and choosing AVE service over cheap airlines will not necessarily save you money. However, the convenience of train stations’ central locations beats the lengthy, and expensive, commute to and from the airport. Furthermore, you completely avoid the drama that is airport security. Same price, less hassle? I’ll take that anyday.

by Sima Kalmens

I am probably one of the few people in Madrid who did not take full advantage of La Noche en Blanco this past Saturday. That does not go to say, however, that I did not take part in the festivities. I did. I put myself right in the middle of the action on the stretch of Calle Alcalá between La Plaza de Cibeles and La Puerta del Sol, where it was difficult to stop moving even for a moment to take a picture.

Having been in Madrid for only a week and a half, La Noche en Blanco was, in a way, sprung on me. I found out about it the Thursday before and although I read about it, heard about it, and talked about it, I was still not sure exactly what it was until Saturday night when I exited the restaurant where I had eaten dinner and found myself among throngs of people walking this way and that.

First stop: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. Being in an art museum at 23:00 is certainly not something I have ever done before. Exciting would not be the exact word I would use to describe this event, but for lack of a better word, it was exciting. I spent a large chunk of time in the museum courtyard/garden. Although there were other visitors strolling down the gravel paths, the dark shadows cast by the trees at midnight and the misty yellow lights created a very private ambiance. And there was this outside (I did not go inside because the line was too long):

Second stop: the migration from La Reina Sofia to La Plaza de Cibeles via the tiny streets in between (not quite a stop). It was packed. I lingered to look at some street vendor items, but too much lingering seemed to make people impatient, so I floated on. On the way, I noticed some interesting bars and cafés. For future reference, I suppose.

Third stop: La Plaza de Cibeles. In front of the behemoth of intricacy that is the Palacio de Comunicaciones, there was a ginormous screen playing a hip-hop dance lesson. I found it more interesting to observe others struggling with the choreography than dancing myself, although I am sure that my own moves would have been severely entertaining for others as well.

Fourth stop: the walk down Calle Alcalá (also not a stop). The view of the illuminated buildings and signs was incredible. Unfortunately, my probably obsolete camera did not do the scene justice:

On the walk down Calle Alcalá, I learned that sostenibilidad is not defined in the dictionary. I even got to write my own definition of the word (among many others’)!

The next day, I heard about a gazillion other events that I could have attended, but as I was not in the mood for metro hopping all night, I was content with my evening and my first taste of La Noche en Blanco.

by Sima Kalmens

I arrived in Spain from the United States last week with the awareness of cultural differences seated somewhere in the back rows of my mind. The rest of the seating area was densely occupied by my excitement. I was finally in Madrid!

Conveniently forgetting all the Spanish I know as soon as one of the Barajas employees asked me something, I incoherently mumbled something along the lines of es bueno while lugging my stuffed suitcases towards the row of taxis. As soon as I got into a taxi, I realized that I was completely clueless as to how tipping works in Spain; this preoccupied me for the entire 30-minute ride. I knew that tipping is not as big a deal in Europe as it is in the United States, but that was the extent of my knowledge. How much less of a big deal is it? What if I undertip and the taxi driver hates me? I realized I didn’t even know how to say “keep the change.”

The total came out to 34E. I decided it would be acceptable to round up, so I gave the driver 40E. To my confusion, I got 6E back in change. Apparently, expecting the driver to keep the extra 6E as a tip was a purely American thought, one that has not yet crossed the Atlantic Ocean.

Although I must admit that it is considerably easier not to have to fiddle around with a pencil after receiving the check at dinner, trying to figure out the tip (basic arithmetic is not one of my fortes), the odd feeling of leaving only 50 cents or so still remains. Which brings me to another point.

I am simply not accustomed to change being worth anything. In the United States, change is petty money. People often forget they even have any. Here in Europe, clanking change has more variety than anything with the word variety in it. There is a 2E coin, a 1E coin, 50 cents, 20 cents, 2 cents, and 1 cent. Seeing the number two on American money is rare, with the exception of $20 bills and quarters (25 cents), of course. A $2 bill in the US is ooh-d and ahh-d over, and kept as a collector’s item, while 50 cent coins are rare and 2 cent coins are virtually unheard of. So you can imagine my unrest when I leave a restaurant table adorned with a huge pile of coins; in the US it is considered disrespectful.

Cab fares and restaurant tips aside, in the past week I have come to the realization that the metro is a prime location for cultural observation. While it is not necessarily the corazón of Madrid life, it is nevertheless a bustling center of people coming, going, and interacting. Greetings aren’t hugs or macho slaps on the back. Quite the contrary; they’re docile kisses on the cheek full of cariño or hearty handshakes.

The madrileños seem genuinely interested in each other, a refreshing change from American indifference, where the phrase “how are you?” is usually a mere equivalent of “hello” and the speaker does not stop to hear the answer. Having gotten lost more times in the past week than I would care to admit, I have gotten in the habit of asking fellow pedestrians for directions and have discovered that they are more than happy to ensure that I reach my destination, even if they themselves cannot offer adequate directions.

I could get used to this.

by Isaure Cointreau

The 13th of May the San Miguel market reopened its doors to the public. After years of refurbishing it has become a gourmet center where gastronomy it top notch. What a fantastic place, it was worth the wait. Not only is it a market but it combines as well the function of a bar and tavern, though all in style.

The Iron architecture of the place make you think of Charlie Chaplin and its Modern Times, however through this wink to an industrial era it apparently was designed as inspired by Les Halles de Paris. Although it relates to the French 1900 market’s style it was revisited as to suit the southern culture and rhythm.

The ceramics that can be found all around the ceiling recall the precious Sevillan azulejos and the variety of products on offer present only the best of Spain. Because the Calor is part of the culture, the fans and water sprays have not been forgotten and that for the very pleasure of its customers. The composition of the building has been well thought through as to prevent from the heat to invade the market, that’ll explain the wide glass composition. Although it does underline the apparent refurbishing of the place the crystalline walls actually add to its charms a little modernity. Therefore like an oasis in the Madrilenian summer everything has been put together to prevent you from melting while shopping or enjoying your wine and tapas.

Have your pick there is everything one would wish for such as oysters, fish, sweets, bread and wine. Everything looks delicious and ready to go. It however has nothing to do with your local Dia as your wallet would say, though you’ll find there wonders. Bringing to you the sea side gustative pleasures and as many kinds of Vermouth you would ever dream of, let’s say it is a little piece of paradise for any mouth to fill. As much variety of cheese a British could ever dream of, as many fantastic breads and pastries that would make any Frenchmen jealous, everything is brought to you on a silver platter.

A few days ago I wanted to try it myself with a group of friends. The center of the market has been arranged as a sitting area, with tables and tall stools, where people can enjoy their drink until midnight. Having a seat we were amazed how the place had chic written all over it. Every architectural and design detail is a pleasure to the eye, and the people all well dressed with poise and smiles give to the market a very soothing ambiance. However be prepared to sip slowly your wine as it can get pricy.

At midnight a bell will ring and a voice will notify you of the closing doors, though no one will actually push you out right away. Hanging out a little longer, we witnessed the cleaning up and the closing of the little stands. At some point, the venders and the waiters were moving from one shop to the other as if bearing gifts. They in fact had put away on a tray some leftovers and were sharing them with the others.

While we were about to leave, the bakery had put a selection of croissants and brioches on the winery stand. Our eyes saw them gleaming in the light and while people were hanging out with the shopkeeper, we stopped by. Chatting a little bit with the group, we found out that they were all good friends and that the exchange of Oysters, sweets and pastries happened often has it would otherwise be wasted, thrown in the trash. Wouldn’t it be terrible to see such delicious things not appreciated by anyone? Seeing that our stomachs were speaking for themselves through our passive leering at the tray, they offered us to take whatever we wanted. Grateful and thrilled to see our wish fulfilled, we left only a half hour later. We were the last customers and even the doors didn’t want to let us out, was that a sign? However we left then and plan to come back pretty soon.

by Isaure Cointreau

People keep asking me the same question when they come to Spain:

-What do you like about it so much?

I guess I never knew what to say but honestly what are the good and bad sides of this place? When thinking about it, the relaxed pace of life is the first idea that pops into my head. As if holidays were around all year, the feel is part of the everyday life. People just take their time to do their thing, what else could explain the siesta and the slow reactions of the shop assistants, the relaxed walk of the crowd down Gran Via and then again the outraging number of bars in Madrid? Spain has its way and to any foreigner, used to a more tensed lifestyle, this comes as a shock. Although all the newcomers aren’t used to this southern rhythm, they accommodate themselves well and pretty fast.

However, it can be seen as very frustrating when the two different visions of life confront each other. Firstly, if people are used to live on a high speed level they’ll find a little cankiness take over them when encountering a slow response to their enquiry. Secondly, if one is in a rush or on a crisis, he’ll just have to cool off or plan ahead. Let this be a lesson to us all as there is no need to panic; the world is not falling apart. Therefore, patience is the key to prevent from any nervous breakdown.

The friendliness and the good mood of people appears as another factor that makes Spain an enjoyable place to live. Think about it, even Madrid shows off a tranquil lifestyle. Comparing it to other capital cities such as Paris or London is an outrage as it is like pointing to another direction; it has nothing to do with the pace of life in these countries. Therefore it feels good to be a Spaniard, even a temporary one.

However, because there is always a flipside, one shouldn’t be surprised by the much less enjoyable edge to the character of these people. Yes, they are loud and that is a fact, but to add a little more to the picture they also have a little tendency towards egocentricism, or should I say excessive pride. Not that they won’t welcome you into their home and gladly show you around, these warm people just like things done their way. Don’t get offended if while walking you happen to get in someone’s way and they just push you away with their predominance. It’s just how things are.

The qualities required to a country for us to fall in love with it are “Good people, good food, good culture and good access”. Well for the most part I guess Spain succeeds into having every single one of these appealing characteristics. People’s warmness is undeniable, but let’s find out about the rest. Referring to culture, I would mean to target the historical heritage and the modern inclination towards Art in the general sense. Spain offers a cosmopolitan grasp of cultures as the Mediterranean civilizations made it a principal destination to invade. Therefore the Moors, the Romans, the Greeks, the Christians have left throughout the centuries an incredible amount of architectural and artistic leftovers from their different regimes. So wherever you will go in Spain you will find a necessary sightseeing tour.

However in our more modern times Spain appears as to have its place next to the main cultural spots such as Paris & New York. Madrid holds every international exhibit such as Bacon, Rembrandt or Max Ernst in its museums or foundations. Bilbao has its own Guggenheim and Barcelona other than its Picasso museum has a wide variety of places that are worth a detour. However the little plus appears to be the access these cultural centers offer. Most of the exhibits are free or of a very reasonable charge. Even if they occur in a variety of places in Spain, they are never more than a few hours of train or bus ahead. Who could want more? The cultural horizon in Spain is endless.

How about food? Internationally renowned it however shows a wide variety in terms of quality and diversity from one end of the country to the other. Because there is something else than the Spanish comfort food known as the famous and trendy tapas, the cardinal points change a Spaniards habits to food although they all cherish their ham. The gourmet side of the Iberian soil appears to be up North around the French border where San Sebastian has more Michelin Stars per inhabitant than anywhere else in the world. Down South the food is more inspired by the Sea side and always accompanied by the strong Rioja Wines and up East however Valencia’s Paella is a wonder. However, the only critic I would make is the emphasis on oil and its outraging quantities in every plate, is it really necessary?

Other than that, if you ask me why I like this place? I’ll just ask you: What is there not to love?

by Jeanne Reidy

I had heard that college students in Spain are in little rush to finish their schooling. Some stay at their university for 6 or 7 years. I guess the cost is not pressuring them to finish as they pay a very small amount for classes and the vast majority live at home which saves on room and board costs.

Still, everyday, I was surprised by the fact that the cafeteria and courtyards were always more crowded than the library and computer labs. The students never seemed to be stressed about homework or tests, which could’ve been thanks to the forgiving curriculum or to the fact that they were not being hounded to finish school by their parents, teachers or loan collectors. Perhaps the difficulty of getting a job in this economy is keeping them enrolled for as long as possible. 

But what happens after the eventual graduation? Due to the limited housing in Madrid, the expense and most of all, tradition, these twenty-somethings are encouraged to live at home. They are not being forced into the work world nor do they need to as they have very little to pay for on their own with their rent, food and maybe more are paid for by their parents. So, from my understanding, most young madrileños do just that. They live at home, help out around the house and put off the work world a bit longer. Most Spanish children, if fact, live at home until close to the age of 30 or marriage- whichever comes first.

My señora’s daughter amazed me. She was an unemployed college-educated 27 year-old living with her mother. Now I understand the job market is tough right now and Spain’s unemployment rate is brutal- about double that of the United States’. However, she never seemed to be looking too hard for a job either. She seemed content living at home having her meals and laundry taken care of by her willing mother.

I always compare her to my sister of the same age. Since graduating from college, my sister has fulfilled a two year contract with a respected law firm in New York City, where she paid her own over-the-top Manhattan rent, moved back to Chicago for Law School for which she is currently searching for a job to pay for her looming loans. Now, I don’t say this to look down upon the madrileño and pat the American on the back. I just find the cultural differences fascinating. And who is to say which way is the “right” way.

One of my teachers at the Complutense said in regards to this topic that even though Spanish parents complain about their older children living at home, “we have created this problem”. The “problem” being that the kids live at home much longer than usual. He explained that parents actually prefer it so they can monitor their children and not worry about them living on their own. I understand this point of view, but I doubt most American parents would feel the same way.

I recently read an article in El Pais, a Spanish newspaper, that identified this age group, ages 18 to 34, as “Generación Ni-Ni”, a generation that “ni trabaja ni estudia”, neither works nor studies. Basically, the article explained that with a growing number of graduates who aren’t finding jobs, a new generation has been born. At the same time, this is a group of people who have grown up in a time that has always experienced and believed in continuous economic development, until lately. They are used to living conditions, with their parents, that are constantly improving and don’t feel like they should experience anything less. In other words, if never having lived and paid for their own apartments, they don’t understand living any other way than in their parent’s established homes.

The wanna-be Spanish side of me wishes she could live in her parent’s home forever with meal and laundry service. The “hardworking American” side of me knows that until I live and pay for my own starter apartment, I won’t understand what it takes to pay for and build a home like that of my parents.

Maybe it is the sense of freedom the young Americans gain when they move away from home for the first time. I mean, young Spaniards can drink from an early age and stay out until 6 a.m. without a single question from their parents. So why would they want to move out? They have all the freedom they need already, plus meals and laundry service on top of that.

As much as I think I’ve adapted to the Spanish culture, I don’t think I will ever understand this phenomenon. I can respect the reasoning behind it but I think I speak for most Americans my age, I hope not to be living at home at the age of 30. No offense, Mom and Dad.

by Mary Doman

After a month in Madrid, I had expected the late nights, alcohol, miles of walking, olive-oil overdoses, and boiling heat to get to me, somehow. A little tummy ache? A sunburned shoulder? The slightest hangover? Though none (miraculously) of these symptoms have crept up on me yet, I still await the effects of my extreme lifestyle change to pounce on my poor body soon. When the time comes, though, I won’t be afraid. I know there are pharmacies waiting for me at any hour, on any street.

They’re everywhere. Almost every corner in this city has a bright green cross on it, glowing 24 hours a day: “farmacia.” Why do Spanish people need so many pharmacies? I wondered. The massive number of cervercerias is an excess I don’t mind a bit. The neverending tiendas de alimentación are curious, but convenient for chocolate, candy, and soda cravings. But pharmacies? What can explain this over-abundance? I took some down time to really focus on the dilemma (tears, empty coffee cups, chocolate bars…you know how these things work themselves out) and came up with a few ideas.

Some things I’d read a while back came to mind. When I was getting ready to leave for Spain, I thought I’d do a bit of research on the healthcare system in Spain, just in case something happened. I took a big sigh of relief because I realized that drugs are quite easy to get in this country.

Drugs! Without a prescription! And cheap, too. MadridMan writes about how his $20 prescription in the states only costs him 2.40€ in Madrid! What a steal. I also read about a lady who used the same British prescription slip in Spanish pharmacies for over a year. When she forgot the prescription, she just asked for Prozac or showed the pharmacist an empty pill box. Ta-dah! Antidepressants at every corner, no hassles. Of course now, the woman reports that actually doesn’t need her Prozac anymore because sunny Spain keeps her happier than the grey days of England ever did!

Another aspect of the Spanish government’s unique drug regulation system are the requirements for pharmacy store hours. At least one pharmacy must be open at all hours within a certain catchment area and, while some stores never open at night, there are plenty of farmacias that rotate an all-night service. So I suppose in a large city like Madrid, keeping a pharmacy on every corner is a pretty sure way to make sure all the residents, and especially all the pharmacists, get a healthy night’s sleep.

But simple regulations and drug availablity couldn’t be all that was keeping so many pharmacies in business, was it? I thought I would go to a farmacia myself to look for more clues. Taking a 30-second detour on my walk to work, I stepped into a farmacia and had a peek. Here I realized that the Spanish concept of “farmacia” doesn’t directly translate into the English word and American concept of “pharmacy.” Instead waiting seats and long lines, there was 90s music and aisles stuffed with snacks and drinks. The amount of creams, lotions, hair and dental products was impressive. The pharmacist was friendly and customers purchased everything from bottled waters to birth control.

Since the pharmacies have to be open so late and have so much competition, it’s no wonder that they pack their shelves with goodies and snacks, play fun music, and try to appear as appealing as possible. I almost wish my Spanish lifestyle would hurry up and take its toll on me so I could go for a chat with my friendly pharmacist! Not really, but if it rains I might drop in for some Prozac.