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by Helen Macrae

As city, Madrid has got it all. With theatres and tapas, bars and bullfighting, shopping and sunshine, it’s cosmopolitan, frenetic, bold, brash and…smelly.

When I first touched down in Spain I was overwhelmed by the host of aromas to hit my nose (starting with that all-too familiar smell of smoke mere seconds after I had walked into arrivals), but after a while I became accustomed to it all as I busied myself with daily life, trotting around the city teaching executives useful words like chav, monkfish and Tesco clubcard. It took a visit from my parents and their non-initiated noses to remind me that Madrid has an amazing array of aromas, some of them nice and some of them nasty, but all combining to create that unique “Esencia de Madrid”.

My sensory journey begins each morning at Metro Sol, when I change from Line 3 to Line 1 and my nostrils are hit with the delicious smell of freshly-baked waffles coming from the cafe in the station. Luckily I’m always in too much of a rush to stop and buy any, otherwise I’d currently be the size of a small country. Unfortunately though, even this divine smell is sometimes not enough to mask the stink of drains which seems to permanently hang in the air round Sol. Other unpleasant odours I experience on the Metro to work are B.O., bad breath and, my personal favourite, the smell of someone sweating out alcohol they drank the night before. Yuk.

More agreeable aromas you might encounter as you journey round Madrid include cut grass when the gardeners have been out in force in one of the city’s numerous parks, along with the delightful scent of flowers as you walk by the Botanical Gardens next to the Retiro. The smell of cigarette smoke is pretty much unavoidable anywhere you go, as is that of frying food, both of which may or may not to be your taste. As you wander round Lavapies you’re hit with the pungent smell of curry, laced with a whiff of hash and perhaps a dash of urine. Walk round the more well-heeled barrios of the city such as Salamanca, Retiro and Opera, and you can smell money.

But my favourite smell in Madrid is one that it’s difficult to put my finger on, and which at times can be quite elusive. As my mate H puts it, it’s that smell you sometimes catch a waft of on a summer’s evening, just as dusk is drawing in, a smell full of promise and anticipation of the night’s adventures. The smell of fun!

Madrid Metro - Smells delightful?

by Lev Elgudin

If you look up the word quaint on dictionary.com, here’s what you’ll find:

quaint

–adjective, -er, -est.

After taking a five day rent-a-car road trip through southern France, I found that the word describes the historical charm of the region perfectly. And, as with all quaint places, a cheap, mapless, hippie-style ride through the side roads is a must.
The drive from Madrid to San Sebastián is about 4 hours with no traffic, which means about 5 hours in real life. Not too long if you’re used to driving longer distances, plus with beautiful sights and a bit of mountain weaving on the way.
But me and my two friends wanted as much southern France time as we could get, so we didn’t stop on the way, and arrived in Donostia (Basque for San Sebastián) at approximately 1 am, just in time to meet a couch surfer (check out couchsurfing.com) who’d agreed to show us the bar scene. It seems like a cool city, certainly a separate future trip altogether. One weird thing about it: in Madrid, we’re used to “chinos” selling beer and food on the street at night; in San Sebastián they sell glow sticks and weird glowing spinning tops for a couple of euros. And no beer. Needless to say, I was distracted for hours.

Wednesday night’s sleep was both one of the most uncomfortable and satisfying of my life. After leaving Donostia at about 3:30 am, we drove out past the border into France just a few kilometres away. We found a quaint little field, off a small, woodsy road, and parked. We had a tent, but it was raining, and we were tired. So we did the logical thing: we slept in the car. As I received a last minute upgrade from Atesa for some unknown Spanish reason, our car was a Citroen C5, which is a relatively large sedan. So we piled our bags in the front two seats, moved them up as far as they went, flattened out the back seats and stretched out on top of our home-brought blankets and pillows with our feet in the trunk. With the three of us, it was a tight squeeze, but a few tokes and some wine had us good and passed out.

When we awoke, we found that our quaint little field was actually someone’s house, and the small woodsy road was actually part of a residential neighbourhood where people wake up early and get to work. By our 10 am wake up time, the street was bustling with activity. It was a holiday too in France, so we were greeted with a lot of weird looks and stares. What would you do if you saw three bleary-eyed strangers emerging from a seemingly abandoned car parked on the grass right next to your house? The didn’t seem to care though, so my respect for the French went up a lot.

The rest of the trip was filled with lots of French food and wine, delicious chocolate croissants, foie gras, and crepes. And lots of other things too. Here are some highlights.
Bordeaux: Le Fiacre sound bar (www.le-fiacre.com) is located near Place Rey-Berland in the centre of town. It’s a “post rock” punk bar which was relatively quiet on this Thursday night, but the bartender said it’s usually packed with locals and regulars. They have a live band in the basement every weekend, and how can you miss a bar that features acts like Pussydelic and Funky Freaks. The highlight of the night was when we started talking to a Parisian visiting the city on holiday. Boy, did he make a lot of hand motions. Lots of weaving and twirling, sometimes using both hands, seemingly unattached to what he was actually saying. Neither his English nor Spanish were very good, but that didn’t matter, his orchestra directing hands didn’t stop. Nice guy though.

Every little town: has a tourism office, and amazingly, from Thursday to Sunday, they were all closed. It’s amazing the Spanish have a worldwide reputation for not working a lot, the French work week is capped at 35 hours.
All small French villages are equipped with cool-looking cathedrals. Every single one.
Highways are crazily expensive, at least by US standards. The drive from Bordeaux to Toulouse is about 2 hours, but it cost 16 euros.
The road you want to be on if you’re not in a hurry is N1113, a side road that gets you from Bordeaux to Toulouse in about 4 hours. It’s filled with off-road fruit stands with delicious strawberries, a million chateaux for wine tasting mostly in the Graves area, and small little quaint villages that are seemingly all the same but somehow different.

On a final and abrupt note, I want to mention a February article in Time magazine (http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1720316,00.html) that states, among other wondrous statistics, 90% of French women over 50 are sexually active. To me, that’s incredible. But after spending some time in the south of France, I saw why. These small little quaint towns, there’s little to do but drink wine, eat foie, and have wild outdoor sex. It’s a beautiful country, I recommend a visit.

By Will Cade

I never know if I should give money to panhandlers or not. Reading their signs about having children and no job, I do feel for these people, but I never know if my money is going towards a hot meal for the family or a fresh bottle for mom or dad.

Street performers, however, fit into a different category. They’re providing me with entertainment, which, if I like, I’ll gladly pay for. What they do with the money is their own business: they worked for it.

My favorite street performers in Madrid have to be in the Metro, because they give me a much needed break from a busy day running around the city. We have some talented metro musicians here - and some not so talented - but there’s nothing like hearing African bongo drums or an acoustic version of Ave Maria echoing through the underground.

Even with these daily pick me ups in Madrid, I have to be the most impressed with the metro performers in Berlin, although at first I didn’t realize they were performing. Out of the blue, a homeless or otherwise scrappy looking individual would step onto the metro. But before asking anyone for money, this person would proudly lift a newspaper - one specifically written for the homeless to sell - and commence to give a speech.

Now, I don’t know a lick of German (aside from a few curse words) but still these speeches were magnificent. Sometimes they sounded like the diatribe of a madman, but they were given with enough vigor to inspire me to do whatever it was I couldn’t understand them saying. And other times they were given with such a smooth delivery that I felt like I was sitting in the Globe Theatre listening to Shakespeare, or, in this case, Goethe.

Not until these performances were finished would anyone even start to rummage through their pockets, and sometimes not until after the applause erupted into the metro with more intensity than the speech just given. It’s times like this when I’m not only happy to emtpy out my pockets, but I would gladly sit with these people over a coffee and listen to their stories - even if I don’t understand German.

By Khilen Mehta

Since missing out on the Champions league final due to suspension in 1999, Paul Scholes has been itching to play in another one for 9 years. After his special strike last night, his name has already been guaranteed a spot on United´s team sheet for the final in Moscow. Last night had all the makings of a great Champions League semi-final. Two teams with so much to play for…United hungry for success, Barca trying their utmost to restore pride. In the end the game might not have provided the goals or the thrills but it kept fans on the edge of their seats and sent United on their way to a potential double.

With United missing arguably two of their most important players, many fans could be forgiven for thinking this tie could have been a lot closer than it eventually turned out. But as has belied United all season, in the absence of one superstar, someone else invariably steps upto the plate. Last night was the turn of Wes Brown and Park Ji Sung who propelled United to the first all English champions league final in the history of the competition.

Barcelona, for all their sexy football and poetry in motion, rarely threatened the United goal. They looked menacing, they attacked with flair but were just let down far too often in the final third. Lionel Messi was a joy to behold once again, and if anyone looked like providing a scare it was him. But he was also let down far too often by his teammates and in truth Edwin Van Der Sar had very little to do, much like the previous leg in the Nou Camp. Barcelona, of course, had the talent to make things tense as the game progressed but United looked comfortable and with the much maligned Wes Brown having the game of his life, it was Scholes who grabbed the headlines.

And what a beauty it was that won the game. It may have been a scrappy build up, but the finish was a moment of genius. As he picked up the ball 25 yards out, there was almost a collective shout of encouragement for him to shoot, and boy did he deliver. The ball flew into the top right hand corner, leaving Victor Valdes no chance.

And that was it all it took. It has been a long 9 years for United fans. A time period in which they know they have underachieved in Europe. But now they head to Moscow for the chance to make things right…

by Cynthia Goldman

I never thought I’d be so happy and so sad to leave a foreign, predominantly Muslim country. After being in Istanbul, Turkey for six days for what was originally a school trip, I was finally able to leave the country.

I had realized I lost my passport seconds before loading the bus to the airport. Of course, I panicked. I cried. I had no idea what to do. I asked myself why? How could this happen to me? I was forced to stay another day. Fortunately my brilliant religion professor was kind enough to stay with me. In the end, losing a passport in such an exotic city might’ve happened for the best. It was the most amazing experience I have had in my time studying abroad!

The country of Turkey is in both southeastern Europe and southwestern Asia, bordering the Black Sea. Istanbul is in the northwestern part of the country with a population of at least 10 million people. It is roughly the size of Los Angeles. The ethnic mix is mostly Turkish although it is easy to see a diversity of people and religions. Never in one city had I seen so many Catholic churches, Jewish synagogues and Islamic mosques. Nor women dressed in full-bodied black dresses with veils and gloves walking down the street chatting with their girlfriend in a miniskirt and blue hair.

The city is both modern and ancient. Istanbul was founded way back in 660 BC as Byzantium. In 330 AD, it was renamed Constantinople by Constantine the Great, who made it the capital of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire. In 1204, the city was raided by Crusaders, and then two and a half centuries later it was taken by the Turks. Istanbul was the official name in 1930.

Walking in front of the Blue Mosque in Sultanahmeht square, I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the mosque framed between colourful tulips and clear, sunny skies. And suddenly there’s a call for prayer that adds to the mysticism and beauty. It is absolutely spellbinding!

The grand bazaar is teeming with activity with vendors speaking several languages in attempts to lure customers in there shops. You can find almost anything at the bazaar like gold jewelry and precious stones, colourful lamps, hookahs, and knockoff purses and bags.

Although the vendors could be too much sometimes, I found the Turkish people incredibly warm-hearted. When I was sitting on the hotel floor crying over my lost passport the hotel staff and travel agent were so kind telling me not to worry. Smile. Istanbul wanted me to stay. At the Turkish police station, the officers joked around and offered me apple tea while efficiently writing up my missing passport report. The travel agent who so kindly booked me another flight home and translated everything to English took my professor and me out to dinner.

Dinner was amazing. We ate at vine-covered outdoor restaurant next to a busy little pedestrian street, ancient Ottaman artefacts and a fresh foods market. The owner of the restaurant was so kind to treat us to the most delicious fruits and vegetables with fresh baked bread that was spread with hummus, butter and cheese. Then we ate kebabs with lamb, chicken, beef, rice and yogurt. I would tell you the name of the foods but I don’t speak Turkish and have a horrible memory for names.

In the end, staying an extra day in Turkey may have happened for the best. It was truly a revelational experience to see such a completely different and beautiful culture on my own. I feel that most people would have to witness it to completely understand it. As I got off the plane in Barajas Airport, I felt happy to be “home” and lucky to have gotten my passport. But also lucky to have had such a wonderful taste of Turkey.

by Nicki McIntyre

The usual experience from Madrid, is from the inside looking out. Head down to the Palacio Real, Moncloa, hell, even the airport, and looking out you can see the swarms of people, the cranes in the distance, building yet another something… But look a little further in the horizon- yes, those are mountains that the sun slips behind every night. 

The Madrid that extends further beyond the downtown is usually overlooked. With plenty of buses out of Atocha, and smooth asphalt all the way, the trip is less than an hour from the city centre.

The winding roads take you over plains, Madrid’s water reservoirs and charming well-preserved Castilian towns. I’ve never been to the Pacific northwest USA but I imagine it looks a hell of a lot like the Sierras outside Madrid. The air is fresh, of pine and nature, it smells clean (we’re more than 2000 feet above sea level after all). It’s still the blue Madrid skies, except now the horizon is set against the mountain backdrop instead of smog. I’m sure even on a rainy day with stormy skies, the mountains must look majestic.

One of the many hidden gems of the Sierra de Guadarrama is the town of Rascafria, lying in the Valle de Lozoya. The parks and walkways, bike paths, playgrounds relate that this is a life catered to respect and enjoyment of the natural environment. There are a variety of activities available to appreciate the outdoors, including seasonal hunting, fishing, hiking and skiing.

Marvel and envy at the big free-standing stone houses and big backyards for people who choose an alternative to the chaotic city life as cattle. Arrive before lunchtime and parking in the town is simple. Take a peaceful walk from the town centre, on a path along a running stream that leads to the town’s main attraction.

Santa Maria de el Paular, is a 15^th century Carthusian monastery, half still occupied by Benedictine monks, half a Sheraton. But thankfully this hotel avoids a bad conversion and cheesy, cheap décor, by maintaining and preserving the grounds exactly as they were. Here you can find easy lodgings, access to a bar, restaurant and public bathrooms, and chapels and grounds available for picnics, business functions and your own personal exploration.

The chapel is filled beautiful with ornate Baroque décor and is popular for weddings, so although you might have to stand in the back and be quiet, you’ll be able to take in the settings. Collect your bearings in the gardens across the street, which boast flowers, plants and trees from around the globe. For another breathtaking drive, take the Navacerrada route back to the city.

By Khilen Mehta

The weather forecast may have predicted torrential rain but nothing is going to stop the Sevillanos from a week of partying. Although a wet April Feria is forecast in Sevilla this week, thousands of citizens took to the streets in order to witness the beginning of the celebrations.

The feria was traditionally started by the mayor of the city,  Alfredo Sánchez Monteseirín, and the local group, Los Cantores de Híspalis, opened the proceedings on what is their 30th anniversary. The celebrations got underway last night with the switching on of the fairground illuminations and the consumption of an estimated 16,000 kilos of fried fish and 8,000 kilos of gambas.  This year there are 1,040 marquees or casetas in the Sevilla feria, and as many as 25,000 lightbulbs in the grand archway which gives entrance to the fairground, and 367,000 in the whole fairgound.

The feria had been threatened by a local bus strike in the city but this has now been resolved and RENFE Spanish railways is adding 20,000 more places to its high speed AVE service from Madrid for the duration of the feria.

The feria is due to end on the 13th April, and will attract millions of people from all over the world. Whatever the weather, the Sevillanos will be celebrating in style!

by Helen Macrae

As all current and ex-students know, when your loan’s dwindled to nothing and you’re broker than Paul McCartney would be if Heather Mills had got her way, you need to get creative if you want to have fun without spending any money. Although my housemate H and I graduated almost three years ago, we don’t seem to have progressed much beyond the state of penniless students, so, when we found ourselves with nearly a week off work this Easter but barely 10 Euros between us, we had to come up with a plan.

Here are our Madrid top tips for minimum spend and maximum F U N !

1. Retiro it up

Madrid’s number one park is huge, easy to get to and, best of all, completely free. Go on a Sunday and count how many kids you can spot trussed up in their Sunday best after church (double points for any siblings in matching outfits) or have a laugh at all the people sweltering in their rubbish Spiderman/Mickey Mouse costumes. If you really want to blend in with the Madrileños, wear beige or, if you’re feeling fancy, a bit of gold (weekend beige).

2. Snog

While you’re down at the Retiro you might as well do as the Spanish do and have a good old snog. Just grab your partner, find a highly visible park bench and go for it! See how long you can manage without coming up for air, or perhaps try testing how amorous you can get (bonus points for any removal of clothes!) before someone comes over to tell you off/you’re thrown out by park security. If you don’t have a lady or fella to snog, then fear not, just try our next tip which is…

3. Stroll down Calle Lavapies

Take a walk down this street in our favourite barrio and you will more than likely get a few lecherous comments shouted at you by willing suitors. If none of them take your fancy, head into one of the many curry houses instead and see if you can sweet-talk your way into some free poppadums.

4. Explore the dark side

If all the romance is just too much or you’ve recently had an unpleasant break-up and are feeling particularly bitter, head back to the Retiro and annoy some snogging couples by throwing twigs/stones/frozen peas at them. Make sure you’re well-hidden before you start and plan your escape route should things get nasty.

5. Be cultured

Find out when the various art galleries do their freebie days and try to pass for an arty type (beret optional). Since it’s free the place will probably be heaving with both Madrileños and foreigners alike, but while you’re queueing you can play everybody’s favourite game “Guess the nationality” to while away the time.

6. Try the swapsies market

Not technically free, but if you do want to buy something from this market (unlikely) it won’t cost you more than a couple of cents. The stallholders set out their wares (i.e. tat they’ve found in a dustbin) just over the road from Atocha station most days in the early evening, and therein ensues a frenzy of bartering until the police show up and everyone gets moved along.

7. Go Swedish

Hours of fun can be had at IKEA, Sweden’s best export. The easiest one to get to if you don’t have a car (which, let’s face it, is pretty unlikely if you’re skint and if you do you probably don’t have the money to fill it up with petrol anyway) is Madrid Este on Metro Line 1 (Las Suertes). Bring your camera and take a few photos of you and your mates posing in the various home set-ups to send back to the parents (”Look mum, we DO live in a nice tidy flat”) and have fun testing the beds and sofas for comfort. See how long it takes before you are forcibly removed from the premises.

8. Ride the Circle line

Ok, so it’s probably not the most thrilling Saturday night you could have, but it’ll only cost you the price of a Metro ticket, jump on Line 6 and you might meet some new friends!

The ex-military compound of Christiania in Copenhagen has been a self-governed squat for 37 years. While he was having his very own squat, Simon Rashleigh pondered the Christiania locals’ assertion of the ‘right’ to free housing in one of the world’s most expensive cities.

 Christiania

by Simon Rashleigh

“Why should I pay for the right to sleep?” I read this neatly scrawled on the toilet wall as I sit quietly on the loo. It’s early and my brain is ticking over slowly. Why should I pay for the right to sleep? Because everyone else does. Because, well, because. Where do you start the story? With some feudal feud, some ancient king, one cave and two cavemen? Must I defend property rights, or shall I leave that to the state, that state that apparently doesn’t pertain to where I now sit?

Having finished the business for which I had found myself in that smelly concrete room in the first place, I walk out into the streets of Christiania. There’s a middle-aged gent, who looks like he’s seen some things in his life, sitting, toking on a joint. It is never too early for this in Christiania. I walk past the tiny little houses, that look haphazard, yet well cared for. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I think. There’s so much creativity, so much energy. The community is something organic, with each part still growing. It won’t look the same tomorrow. To be sure, it’s a lovely place, a little oasis in the middle of the city, but I’m uneasy about something… I can’t put my finger on what.

I find my way back to the van, where it is parked by the side of the canal: the border of Christiania. In ten minutes on the bike I can be smack in the centre of Copenhagen. I look across the canal to the apartments of Holmen; they are beautifully converted old warehouses. The architect has, like the residents of Christiania, made the best of the buildings that were already there. But the comparison between the two sides of the canal stops there. I am told that across the way is some of the most expensive real estate in the city. Every apartment has a little boat parked beside it, and it appears that no expense has been spared in providing every modern convenience inside. All cities have a Holmen: that very nice, too-expensive-for-most, residential area, centrally located and with a beautiful setting. Although, there are not too many cities with a Christiania.

“The community where every individual works for the betterment of the community,” or so went the talk, at least back in 1971, when the thing started. Like any place, the residents have not always agreed. Having a liberal drug culture while ensuring the safety of the community is a tricky task. There have been disagreements about the way this should be achieved, and a brief look at the history shows that the place has not always been big enough for everyone’s idea of Christiania. You have to wonder if the community is held together by some kind of common philosophy, or rather, simply by the fact that, like in any community, they share a space. You feel that it is simultaneously pulling together and growing apart.

The government wants it gone, redeveloped, normalized. They want the residents to realize what they refuse to accept: that they are in Denmark and that the laws of the land do apply to them. I walk past the police who patrol the community, in combat gear and in a group. Violence breaks out from time to time, for example, when they want to tear down a building. Scores are arrested in the process, but the police can’t win, and are forced to retreat. If the government ever really had the will to end the dream, to end Christiania, it would be war. For Christianites and Copenhagen residents alike, Christiania means too much.

But does it mean anything? I guess, like most people who visit the community, I want it to go on existing; not because I necessarily believe in the rights of the residents to the land they occupy, but because it is an interesting place. Not only is it an abnormality in an increasingly uniform world, it is a beautiful little retreat in the middle of a modern city. It is a centre of debauchery, no doubt about it, but also a centre of culture. How sad it would be, then, if it became just another suburb. It would push Copenhagen closer to being just another city.

I walk around the place, unconvinced that the dreams of the founders of Christiania were ever, or will ever be realized. It’s not paradise, but the place has a certain magic to it. Any time I enter Christiania I take something away with me. As I leave, reading those defiant words, “You are now entering the EU,” I smile at the cheek, at the delusion, at the truth of the statement. Everyone who has the chance should take a look, before the war comes, before the modern world definitively lays claim to these three city blocks and forces its residents to, like everybody else, pay for the right to sleep.

Check out April’s European Vibe Magazine for Simon’s article on the whole of Copenhagen, where he explains how to get the most out of a weekend trip to the Danish capital.