Then again, the frost in the park outside the Palace may indicate that the wiser ones had stayed indoors this morning. It's not surprising that December can be cold, but that didn't mean I liked it.
Both the palace, and the church across the courtyard, looked different compared to the night time visit yesterday. In part, the lack of people seemed natural in the moonlight. Against the bright morning sun, however, both buildings seemed abandoned somehow. A little while later, however, people started to trickle in, so I went to the gate to get my ticket and entered.
I found the Palace more interesting than I anticipated, in part because the audio tape tour was actually better and more informative. The design and furnishings of the interior conveyed how the palace must have functioned in historical times, and the armory and pharmacy were just fun places to poke around. My biggest disappointment was the total ban on indoor photos, even without flash. This is a pet peeve of mine. I understand how some venues might be sensitive to flash photography, and I also understand how from an intellectual property viewpoint why some art venues might ban all photography. I can even appreciate how religious sites might prohibit photography as simply inappropriate while people are worshiping. But to ban it in a historical palace just struck me as petty and boneheaded.
The day had not warmed up much when I exited. I thought I would check out what was happening at Puerta del Sol, the very center of Madrid, on this Saturday morning. I meandered over in that general direction, stopping to poke around here and there at whatever caught my eye. As I mentioned in Barcelona, I still don't get this penchant for placing mannequins in outdoor patios. Do they keep burglars away?
I stopped inside Plaza Mayor again as it was on the way. One of my most memorable sights of Madrid was encountering the local Spider Man. At first, I thought the bowling pin shaped costumed hero must be a joke, but then I noticed the official action figure, pot belly and all. El Hombre Araña es fantástico! The scene at the Plaza hadn't changed much from the prior night. People of all walks were out just having fun, even in the colder weather. In fact, all the streets were once again soon bustling with loads of people.
Just outside the plaza, a crowd had gathered outside the antique clock store Antigua Relojeria as the puppet performed on the hour. Ho hum.
I was still headed to Puerta del Sol, but the crowded streets made it slow going, not that I was in a rush. I occasionally did a body check as I get paranoid about pick pockets, but I encountered no problems during my entire visit. Indeed, I really enjoyed just being out and appreciated how these pedestrian zones can add vitality to a city center. I wish we had more of these in the cities back in the U.S., but I guess we Americans love our cars too much.
Puerta del Sol is just a great place to hang for awhile and people watch. That is exactly what I did. I also ventured off and explored some of the side streets, but soon got hungry since I hadn't eaten breakfast.
I thought it was a little strange that Vodafone had become the corporate sponsor of Puerta del Sol. I suppose in an era of naming stadiums after corporations, this isn't a total shock. And technically, Vodafone is branding the metro stop, not the square itself. Still, it felt odd. Imagine if Central Park were called General Motors Park, or if Picadilly Circus were rebranded as Samsung Circle.
I felt like eating something different, so headed just up the street to Oishii for ramen. The restaurant's name and menu seemed authentic enough, and the conveyor sushi system was reminiscent of the mass places in Japan. The ramen, alas, was very run-of-the-mill. It wasn't terrible; I am just a bit of a ramen snob. As I looked at the mural on the wall, I had that vague feeling that I had seen that model somewhere else before, but couldn't place her. That bugged me while I slurped down the last of the noodles. I must be getting old.
I consulted my guidebooks, and decided to do a loop towards the museum area. It was a fun walk, with the mix of civic buildings, offices, residences, and small side streets. Crowds of families, couples, and tourists were everywhere as well. I was a bit surprised to find that one the main streets radiating from Puerta del Sol was filled with "working girls", but they didn't seem to bother everyday people. They only reacted when a "customer" approached them. Everybody has to make a living, I guess.
The neighborhood changed, and became much less crowded, as I got closer to the museums. This may sound stupid to those who are more knowledgeable, or perhaps I am just guilty of lumping all of the Iberian peninsula together, but the area reminded me of the walks I took in Lisbon, especially with the big hills, the make shift bars and colorful murals.
I reached the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, and thought about going in. I noticed, however, that admission was free that evening, so decided to return later. Instead, I walked down the block trying to find a lunch spot.
I found a tapas place. I ordered beer and some food and sat outside, just watching the people go by. All was fine, until a bird decided to use me for target practice. Luckily, the bombs landed on my jacket instead of my head or my food. The Chinese say this means I get good luck. I'm not sure whether that prediction is true, because my body had been aching again all day. I was desperate enough to go to a local pharmacy to see if I could get some relief.
I found a nearby drug store, and managed to convey the type of medicine I needed. I walked back to the hostel to take it and get some rest. I took a different route back, along museum row. This path was more classically picturesque, especially with the Prado and other prominent buildings.
I stopped by the Goya statue. Birds bomb him all the time, and he is a famous Spaniard. That made me feel less bad about the earlier incident.
I continued back, and noted that this route really did have a very different feel than my earlier one. I was seeing the opposite sides of Madrid.
As I approached my hostel, I noticed a unique breed of street performer on Gran Via. A crowd had gathered, causing a commotion and some heated discussion. I realized that she was not a performer, but a protester against the new antiabortion rules. Whatever one's politics, her protest was powerful enough to engender quite visceral reactions among the passerbys.
I rested my sore body in the hostel. I couldn't tell if the medicine helped, but I did manage to nap. It was nightfall when I awoke. I was still in pain, so took some more meds. Deciding that I was not up to walking much, I hopped on the metro instead to Reina Sofia. Annoyingly, the metro broke down just one stop later, and forced me to walk anyway! Who said the bird bomb brought good luck?
I actually liked the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. That surprised me because I am not a huge fan of much modern art. I got so bored at the Tate Modern a couple years ago that I sat outside until my companion finished. Sure, I appreciate the MoMA. It's just several blocks from my apartment. But I haven't been there in a decade and have no plans to go for another decade. I do like "free", however, and that's why I was inside the Reina Sofia. I don't know if it was the Spanish angle, or whether my tastes had changed, but I really enjoyed that evening walking around their galleries. Or maybe I was just feeling a groove because I was medicated.
The museum has a bunch of Picasso works. The museum generally allows photography, but I discovered (after I shot these) that they don't allow people to photograph many of the Picassos. I'm not sure why.
I always found Salvador Dali a bit bizarre, and his works here did nothing to change my opinion.
I didn't recognize many of the other artists, but found some that were either visually pleasing, or made me stop and think, or both.
I stayed until the museum closed, and it was quite late when I headed back. It was a weekend evening, and people were starting to venture back out into the night. I leisurely strolled back, reflecting on my productive day.
I wandered the local neighborhood for a dinner place. Nothing jumped out until I bumped into the Restaurante Gumbo. I love Cajun food! But could it really be authentic? All the way here in Madrid? The place was packed, and the maitre d' told me it would be an hour wait. I was starved. I just asked directly in English whether I could sit at the bar. The guy smiled and said "No problem." The affable gentleman ended up being the owner, and was apparently originally from Louisiana. Whatever the case, the food was quite good. Perhaps not as the good as the food I had just eaten in NOLA a couple weeks earlier, but authentic enough to pass muster.
I half limped back to my hostel and took a hot shower. Before I knew it, I was snoring in bed.