SABADO, 13 JUNIO 2009
The sun, it seemed, had reached its zenith when we reached the expressway, which was kind of baffling because it didn't set until around eleven the night before. It was a few minutes after seven but the temperature was hellish. Good thing I was wearing a pair of rubber flip flops I picked out at Carrefour. If things didn't go awry, I would be wearing the Italian pair I got from Bloomingdales. Damn Continental!
The terrible temperature notwithstanding, the drive to the city was smooth. Except for a couple of cars cruising on the multi-lane highway, it was practically empty. I opted to take in the sights.
As was in the center of the city, the outskirts were a beehive of activity. Big box commercial and industrial buildings provided a stark counterpoint to the royal and elegant structure of Palacio del Gubernador. Madrid, to this observer, had succumbed to the blow of globalization and, thus, had begun to morphed into a generic city. This was New York, only Castillan!
Madrid was bathed in gold as we wound our way down Calle de Alcala, the buildings along the way almost taking in an ethereal glow. A lone biker was out for his morning stretch, gliding leisurely, perhaps delighted that he had the boulevard all to himself which on a weekday would be choking up with vehicular traffic.
PRADO AND OUT
We took a side street and was soon driving along one of the most beautiful avenues I've ever seen, Paseo del Prado. The expansive island was thick with foliage, the trees almost blocking the sun. Steel posts bannered Madrid's second attempt at hosting the Olympics and a limited engagement of Matisse's masterpieces. The Neoclassical building of the Museo del Prado stood proud along one side, shops and restaurants like the Museo del Jamon on the other. The wrought iron beauty of the Estacion de Atocha hovered in the distance.
As we crossed over Calle de Atocha where my train was waiting, I made a mental note to check out Henri at the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza when I got back.
Comments