A very surrealist love affair

The Persistence of Memory

When I first saw the melting clocks, I was hooked.  I was in the middle of one of my time & alternative realities obsessions, reading my way through Cortazar and Borges to Einstein (which I had to give up in about 2 minutes due to apparent lack of brains) and here was a visual representation of my newly formed ideas.

Then came the Venus of Milo with Drawers, another very visual demonstration of the secrets we all bury inside; the Hallucinogenic Toreador, a painting that I can look into for hours; the Space Elephant and many other paintings, furniture, objects and sculptures. Like his heros the Renaissance artists, Dali refused to confine himself to only one medium.

After observing Dali’s work in as many museums around the world as possible and reading about him and his life, I reached the obvious conclusions:

- Dali was an egomaniac genius whose works make me understand and appreciate surrealism.

 - He was either incurably crazy or had a very unique sense of humour. Or both.

  - I envy Gala.

The second feeling got stronger after I’ve visited their houses in his native Costa Brava and caught a glimpse of the life they built together.

When Dali met Gala in late 1920s in Paris, the city was full of artists, writers and jazz musicians from around the world creating works that would shape the 20^th century. Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald, Bunuel, Picasso, Miro, Cole Parker, Joyce and Stein were among a group of young people who survived the Great War and came to Paris to paint or write or compose or do whatever they wanted to achieve and the city gave them the freedom to try. The Russian born Gala was very much at home in Paris and an influential member of the Surrealist movement, being married to one of them. She also had a daughter, dozens of admirers, a ménage a trois and a passion for young artists. Dali was a budding artist ten years her junior, without money and the mustache. They all would come later, together with Gala.

Shortly after they had met, Dali invited a group of artists, including Magritte, Bunuel, Gala and her husband to his childhood home in Cadaques for a summer holiday. He later wrote in his autobiography Ma Vie Secret that when he met Gala, he knew that only with her he could reach his true potential and true life goals. All his life Dali was no stranger to exaggeration but this time he was correct; they were never separated after that summer in Cadaques and Gala became his muse, model and beloved wife all of her life. 

I read somewhere that when he declared his undying love for her, Gala told him ‘My dear boy, from this day onwards we shall never be parted’. I always thought that finding the one person that you just feel that is right for you and acting on that impulse against all odds is the stuff one reads about or watches in romantic movies. It is inspiring that it also happens in real life, albeit a surrealist one.

There are three museums in Costa Brava where the memories of Dali & Gala are still very much alive, for these are the places where they actually worked, lived and played. The Dali Theatre Museum in Figueres; Castell de Pubol, the castle Dali bought for Gala in their later years and their seaside house in Portlligat, Cadaques.

The Dali Theater Museum, Figueres

The Dali Theatre Museum is a huge and crazy place built on the remains of an old cinema that was burned down by the Franco troops. Later when Spain became a republic, Dali insisted to build his dream theatre there; by then he had the money and the connections so he got his wish. I guess he wanted to create an inspiring playground, so he filled the building with his installations, paintings, sculptures, optical illusions and his favorite pet project, the Mae West room. Today it's full of tourists and school children who came with their teachers to see the works of an artist as imaginative as any of them. His tomb is also in the museum.

In an adjacent building, there’s the Dali Joiles, a small museum showcasing 38 extraordinary jewels Dali have designed. It's a must-see for all my girl friends. Some of the pieces took my breath a way but unfortunately – or shall I say luckily? – they are for exhibition only.

Pool of Castell de Pubol

The Castell de Pubol is a small castle in the beautiful village of Pubol, that Dali bought, designed and presented to Gala. Apparently this was something he promised her earlier when they got married. He also signed a legal document detailing the ownership rights; stating that Gala was the Lady of the Castle to live as she wanted and visitors – including Dali himself – would only be allowed at her invitation.  It was known that Gala had a very active sex life and had many extramarital affairs throughout her life including her ex-husband so Dali, with this gift, was presenting her the perfect playground with utmost understanding and freedom. One can only imagine the fun she had there.

The castle is an odd mix of period furniture, Gala's paintings by Dali where she is shown as an angel and a Warrior Queen, a giant piano, books, diaries, letters, records and lots of dress gowns that Gala wore to parties. Almost all of them are couture and some are just horrible. Some of the rooms have a fresh lived-in air so one almost expects to see an old and eccentric woman to walk around. The gardens are filled with  Dali sculptures hidden among exotic trees and a small labyrinth ending at a pool decorated with a couple of Roman goddesses and Beethoven's faces. In fact there are fourteen of them, all in different colors. The old horse carriage that she used to drive around the village next to her beloved Cadillac are still in the garage. She was buried at her castle.

Portlligat House

The Boat Tree @ Portlligat

The house in Portlligat is my favourite among all, most probably because it’s on the lovely Med coast with gardens adorned with olive trees. In other words, it’s a white house near the blue sea with gardens full of silver-green trees. I can’t imagine better colors.

Portlliagat is five minutes away from Cadaques , a very lovely seaside village. Dali lived in the area all of his life and when you see the light, you understand why the area attracted a painter. The house was actually made of nine fishermen’s huts that Dali bought and expanded over time, so it’s a bit of a maze. Having said that, I found the interiors shockingly normal. Of course there are the expected giant stuffed animals and the Oval Room with the strange acoustics that Dali designed for Gala, but it’s also full of light, lovely Catalonian furniture and the yellow wildflowers that Gala liked so much. 

  

Pool Furniture ?

The gardens are as big as the interiors and there are many niches and half openings in the gardens to enjoy the long Spanish summers.

The real Dali effect is in the swimming pool. Which swimming pool is complete without a couple of thrones to sit on, Michelin dolls, Pirelli tyres and a Mae West coach? Well, this one had all and some more.

When he heard about Gala’s death, Dali was at Portlligat. He left his house to live at Castell de Pubol because he didn't want to leave her all alone. He didn't take a single thing with him and he never returned back. The two unfinished paintings he was working on are still hanging in his workshop at Portlligat.

Dali once famously said ‘Surrealism ? It is me.’  He had a point. 

A tale of times

I am getting old. The passing years start to show their effects on my face and my body. I once found joy in every season, now I prefer the hot days of summer. But there are not many who lived what I had been through and still stand. After all, I’m 2000 years old.

Maison Carre, Nimes

I was young and beautiful once. It was like yesterday when they opened the doors for my first ceremony. Everything was more glorious then.  I was dedicated to two young men, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of the mighty Augustus , emperor of Rome! They sacrificed two bulls on my steps; one was white as the clouds and the other as black as the wings of the raven. What a wonderful day it was. The priests were singing and burning sweet smelling incense, the consuls were scheming as usual, the legionnaires walking around in their shining armour while the common people were trying to catch a glimpse of someone important .One of the senators, I forgot which one, even threw silver coins to the crowds filling the Forum. The merchants and the prostitutes at the Agora did good business that day, I knew. They all came to me with their offerings afterwards.

Arena of Nimes

I remember another ceremony, not long after the first one. It was the day the Arena opened. Many people travelled to my city to see the animal fights and the gladiators. I never saw them fighting of course, but came to know most of the gladiators. I used to hear their names chanted by the thousands filling the arena. There was the brave Calistus for example, young Eros the Secutor and the mighty Retiare Xantus. They seldom came themselves, but their concubines were making many offerings for their victory, so were the gamblers who betted on their blood. Some won their freedom and riches, but most became memories on the sands of the arena.

I watched my city grow around me with new buildings but I was always the most beautiful. My priests used to adorn me with offerings and images of the Gods they were praying.  At first, my people were worshiping many different gods; I was -mais bien sure- dedicated to the mightiest of them. Then they started to pray for the One that was killed at the cross and changed me to one of His temples. I didn't object. I wanted to tell my people that as long as they had love in their hearts they would be heard by whichever God they prayed for.  I've never spoken the words, but I think some have heard me when they left their worries behind after spending time in my peaceful halls.

Pont-du-Gard

There was a young man once, an architect who came often to pray. He whispered in his prayers that he wished to build the world’s highest aqueduct. He stopped coming to me one day, later I heard he died at his work. But his dreams came alive soon afterwards; the waters of the Gard river flew into the ancient baths just two streets from where I stand today.

Don’t think it was all celebration and prayers; I had my share of wars too. The soldiers always came to me to pray, one day this group and the other day the next. They all prayed for the same things though, for the health of their families and to see their lovers once again. I watched many of them die on my steps. I shouted them to stop hurting each other, but nobody heard my voice. I did what I do best then, restored their memories in my stone body, so they could be remembered as long as I stand here.

Talking about my steps, it wasn’t always humans who climbed them. There was a time when my people killed their kings and killed the ones who killed the kings until they found a new kind of king, the one who called himself Nap. During that time they were using me as a shelter for their horses. I didn’t mind it, I always liked horses. I didn’t like the smell tough. Afterwards they gave me a new facelift and some new accessories, et voila, I became gorgeous once again.

The Arena survived through the worst of it as well, people were using it as a garrison in their wars once; but now they started to use it for bull fights. I’m hearing people shouting ‘Ole’ every once in a while , even see the new gladiators – they are called matadors now – in their beautiful clothes. Although I’m not a fan of any kind of violence myself (you know the old saying : once a temple - always a temple), I prefer it to the memories of the past wars.

So many things happened till then, sometimes I’m getting confused. But then I realise that things are changing for the better. Now children play on my grounds while young boys and girls come to sit on my steps. They laugh and dance and make a lot of noise. I always liked the sound of laughter.  Instead of soldiers and politicians, students are coming to me now. They sit under my columns for hours and study. If I listen carefully I can hear their thoughts like I used to hear the prayers of the past.

Still beautiful

And every once in a while someone comes from far away who is willing to listen to my stories. To her, I open my secrets.

I am Rome. I am the legionnaire praying for glory and I am his wife praying for safe return. I am the wisdom of the poet and the genius of the architect.  I am the blood at the Arena and the laughter at the Agora.

I am also Nimes. I am the wine on the table and the camera of the tourist. I am the perfume of the beautiful woman shopping on my back alleys and the noise of the kid on his skateboard. I am the spirit that shook a kingdom and changed the word.

I am eternal. And I plan to be here for another 2000 years. If you are around, stop by. I’ll have some new stories by then.

Knights & Witch Hats

Witch Hats of Carcassonne

Both in France and Spain, one thing in abundance is the castles. It seems every feudal lord built one in his time and today many are beautifully restored.  Most of them are protected as historical buildings but some of them have hotels and restaurants built inside. Twice in our road trip we stayed at such hotels.
By a nice coincidence one of the books I'm currently reading is from George RR Martin's Game of Thrones series which is full of knights, evil queens and dragons so I was in the mood for my own castle experience.

The first one was in Spain, the wonderfully named Parador de Tortosa.  Parador means ‘inn’ in Spanish and that castle-hotel belongs to a Spanish boutique hotels chain, the Paradores.  So, the hotel’s name literally means ‘the inn at Tortosa’. Although Tortosa has a few nice looking buildings (most of them left from the Moorish era), the town itself is quite ugly and we found the Parador as one of the few attractions. The hotel was built on the entire interior of the 10^th cc castle so the sense of history was quite alive, not only in the building but also in some of the staff who were probably working in the castle since the time of the original owners. 

Two things are worth mentioning about this place, the castle’s history and the regional cuisine:

The Parador’s restaurant was placed in the Common Hall of the Castle, which was a good touch. The menu was mostly Catalan and some of the dishes were based on very old and traditional recipes. We tried some of them and believe me when I say that if a recipe doesn’t survive through times, there’s usually a good reason. Having said that most of our choices were pretty tasty like the paella with game & meat or the Fisherman’s Dish which is basically day old bread pan-fried with olive oil, spices & herbs and served with small portions of fish. It may sound weird, but the taste was there. And to wash all off, bottles of Rioja. Not bad.

Hotel Entrance

The castle of Tortosa was originally built by the Moors during their 700 years of occupation of Spain. In early 13^th cc the Lords of Spain said enough was enough and took the city back with the help of the Order of the Knights Templar. Then they gave this castle together with two others to the Order as a reward and extra protection of the region. From that day to their demise, they managed the castles at  Tortosa, Peniscola and Miravet.

It was quite interesting to reflect on the legends surrounding Knights Templar while staying in one of their castles. There were (and still are) many religious orders in Christianity, but none of them aroused the legends that surrounded the Knights Templar nor become the favourite of Hollywood, and with good reason.   It all started with the Crusades. After the Christians took Jerusalem from the Muslims, many knights and believers flew to the Holy Land either for pilgrimage or to fortify the Christian hold in the region. As usual, some were just looking for riches and fame. Among them were nine knights who approached the King of Jerusalem and proposed to form an order to protect the pilgrims from Muslims’ attacks. The King agreed and gave them some space in the premises of the captured Al-Aqsa Mosque, which was believed to be built on King Solomon’s Temple.  The tiny order of nine knights took the impossibly long name of ‘The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon’ and the emblem of two soldiers riding on a single horse to emphasize that they were indeed poor. For the next nine years they didn’t do much fighting but spent most of their time digging. What exactly they have found was never confirmed but whatever it was, after a decade or so later, they suddenly became one of the most popular orders in Christendom.

The seaside castle of Peniscola

Many rich and powerful families got in line to join the order, which had one small condition. The knights had to be poor to join; therefore they had to donate their wealth to the Order. And many of them did. The Poor Soldiers of Christ become incredibly rich both in cash and in land. As if these were not enough, the Pope decided that the Knights Templar (someone thankfully shortened their name along the way) could pass borders freely, were exempt from taxes and answered to no earthly king but only to Pope himself.

Then came the combatant knights, the military successes and the international banking. The Knights Templar got so rich, they started to give loans to Kings and even the Pope himself. Well, somebody had to finance the Crusades. Since Christ himself forbade interest earnings, the Templars were collecting operating income in return for their services.  As a result, they not only become the first ever international corporation managing lands and business across borders, they became the first international bankers as well. Come to think of it, they also opened the way to Islamic banking which frowns upon interest earnings but rewards its clients with operating income. The ways of money don’t care about religion.

One of the few nice views from Tortosa

The Knights Templar also facilitated the first cross border fund transfers.  Imagine that you were a knight wishing to travel to Holy Land for a bit of pilgrimage and infidel-killing to guarantee your place in heaven. But the roads were long and dangerous especially around Constantinople, where the Turks were hunting anyone that came their way.  In order not to lose your life and your money, you gave your money to Knights Templars in return for a coded letter which confirmed who you were and how much money you gave to them. If you managed to arrive at the Holy Land alive, you could stop at any one of the Templar castles and withdrew your cash minus the ‘operating fees’. Sounds familiar?

In the end, money prepared their end. The Muslims, united around Saladin, managed to take back Jerusalem, decreasing the military importance of the Knights Templar.

The Templar castle at the cute village of Miravet

More importantly, the King of France ,  in order to finance his war with the Brits, was heavily in debt to the Knights Templar and didn't see a reason why he should pay them back. so he convinced the Pope (who was borrowing from the Templars as well) to look into some of their religious practices. As a result, by the Papal order and with incredible secrecy, almost all of the French Templars were arrested on Friday 13th October, 1307. (Ever wondered why Friday the 13^th was unlucky?).  After an investigation involving very innovative types of torture, most of the arrested knights confessed to whatever their inquisitors were asking and sometimes more.  They were all found guilty, their assets confiscated by Church without any mention to their debtors.  Their punishment was death by fire.

Their rise and dramatic fall fuelled many legends. My favorite ones are around the treasures they’ve found while digging the Temple of Solomon. According to the popular myths they have found The Holy Grail / The True Cross / Veronica’s Veil / Solomon’s treasures / Arc of the Covenant and took it (them ?) to America about 200 years before Columbus. But wait, didn't they bury most of the same under Roslyn Chapel ? Hmm, maybe they found two of each.

Cite de Carcassonne

Our second castle was in Carcassonne, France.  And what a beautiful fairy tale castle it is.  It is so big, the correct way to call it is a fortified city (La Cite) instead of a castle. With its Witch Hat towers & bastions and high double walls, Cite de Carcassonne seems like a Pixar animation come to life in giant proportions.It has quite a history as well, starting with Romans in 1^st cc and ending with a very skillful architect called Eugene Viollet-le-Duc around 150 years ago.  The region had it share of feudal and religious wars where Cite de Carcassonne came under attack more than once. 

Lovely at dusk

It was once an important border city between France and Spain. Later when the countries agreed to rearrange the borders in line with the Pyrenees the importance of the city was diminished and its Castle was left to ruin. Then one day in late 1800’s a brilliant architect was commissioned to restore it to its former glory. There was one hitch tough: The fortifications were very large & very old and every single owner added or changed something during the centuries which then got ruined, so Viollet-le-Duc had no idea how it looked like originally. Therefore he did the best he could and used some imagination. In the end, he decided to give the castle’s towers the pointed cones which were never used in that region before. The result is a beautiful castle with romantic fairy tale towers and an old town with lively restaurants, luxurious hotels and shops all placed inside its fortifications, so I guess he did well.

My knight in his (non) shiny armor

We spent a lovely day there visiting the Castle and walking on top of its high labyrinth of walls. Carcassonne has the additional advantage of being in Languedoc region, which is famous for its wines. After our tour in Bordeaux and Spain we were a bit spoilt by choice, but nevertheless the regions’ Corbieres were worth a try.

Barcelona Tales

I like places with stories to tell. And Barcelona is filled with so many stories that it’s difficult to choose which ones to listen to:

There’s the story of the city of arts and history where the city proudly shows its glories in its many museums and palaces.

There’s the modern and hip city full of expensive boutiques and chic residences, answering every possible whim of its citizens. Here the life has a different rhythm, there’s always time to stroll the beautiful boulevards, visit the art galleries to check on the new ‘it’ artist and stop for a glass of Rioja with friends.

Park Guell

There’s the one about the ex-Olympic City, where the facilities built for the games are now a part of the daily life, especially around the Port Olympic.

While walking one afternoon we decided to check some of the restaurants around Port Olympic and liked the look of one in particular for dinner. The bar-resto-nightclub, a hybrid between Buddha Bar and Al-Jamaal, turned out to be one of the hottest spots in the city. We later found out that Paris Hilton who was visiting Barcelona at the same time, was supposed to make an appearance there -Carpe Diem, in case you’re wondering- for late night clubbing. Thanks to that rumour, we spent a very enjoyable evening people-gazing on the Barcelona’s young & beautiful in their best party attire waiting for Paris. When we left after midnight, she was still nowhere to be seen.

There’s the very tasty and equally dangerous story of the wonderful Catalan cuisine with its numerous tapas and famous paellas.

City from Fundacion Miro

There’s the story of the free Catalan spirit, where Barcelona was the stronghold of Catalan separatism first, and then fighting against Franco’s dictatorial regime during the Spanish Civil War afterwards.  The effects of these wars are evident in the works of 20^th cc Spanish artists including Dali, Picasso and most of all, Miro.

The tree-like columns of La Sagrada

And there’s the story of Gaudi whose dreams have spread through the city in the form of parks, palaces, apartments and most importantly, the La Sagrada Familia.

Because I like both history and architecture, it became almost a reflex to visit every major mosque or cathedral that comes my way. I always see them as hands opened up to the skies, sometimes to pray but mostly to overwhelm the people.  But whatever my beliefs are, there’s no denying that some of these structures are beautiful and impressive, some are even peaceful.

The Passion facade

For me, La Sagrada Familia is all of these and more. Being an expiatory cathedral (i.e. funded only by donations), the building work has started some 130 years ago and it’s planned to be finished around 2030. Even in its half finished state, it’s one of the most beautiful cathedrals I have ever seen. Gaudi planned the whole building in incredible detail and the architects who took over after his death, although following his plans, are reflecting the spirit of our times. The result is a unique building, wonderfully gothic and incredibly rich. It’s rich in colour, space, sculptors and symbols, and one day soon it will be very rich on music with its chorus of 1000 people. But it’s also a happy building. It doesn’t try to overwhelm or scare as most cathedrals do but aims to celebrate life and all of natures’ creations. I can’t wait to see it when it’s completed, but I’m not holding my breath.

It’s rumoured that Gaudi once said ‘my client is not in a hurry’.  Indeed they still aren’t.

La Sagrada Famillia

Spaceship Valencia

CoAS at night

Imagine that you are the mayor of a major city with a busy port on the Mediterranean coast. The city’s rich history and culture together with its golden beaches and turquoise waters already make it an ideal destination for tourists. The city also hosts high profile sports events like ATP Men’s Tennis tournament and America’s Cup, the most celebrated and expensive yacht race in the world. What do you do next? 

Agora

a) Nothing.  If something’s not broken why fix it?

b) Never miss a photo opportunity with the visiting celebrities for your Ego Wall.

c) Start a 10-year project to build an arts and sciences centre together with a huge aquarium showcasing all marine life on the planet, not to mention a beautiful opera house, among other things.

If you’re the mayor of Valencia, you choose option ‘c’ and add another 4 million tourists and couple of hundred million euros each year to your city’s annual earnings, while putting it on the map as a major center of research and education.

Hemispheric

The City of Arts and Sciences (CoAS) is a complex of buildings housing a science museum, an opera house, the Agora to host major sports events, the Oceanographic with its range of aquariums from all the seas and oceans on earth, the Hemispheric with its IMAX and 3-D movie theatre and the Umbrace for art installations and private parties. In addition to the usual fast food places, it also has its own gourmet restaurants and bars. The whole complex is surrounded by pools and parks offering the citizens with many sports and recreational facilities.

CoAS  is not just impressive because of its space-age architecture or the facilities it offers. Almost all large cities have all or most of the same. It’s impressive because the entire complex was planned from scratch in such a cohesive way that the end result is not only functional but also chic and cool. As a result people with different interests, from school groups and families to culture vultures and city’s young & beautiful find something to enjoy in their own spaces, just like in a real city.

Chilling out with mojitos

Thanks to it – at least for me- Valencia is not just another seaside town with a nice cathedral but a city I would like to revisit again, just to check what its creative management comes up with next to make the city more attractive.

I remember a certain other politician who was claiming that if every mayor in every town starts distributing coal and freebies to his citizens, the country will ‘fly’. I’m sure he’s also right.

The village that stoned Picasso

For some reason the Spanish architects who created miracles elsewhere decided to ignore most of the Mediterranean coast and sadly it shows. Since most of the coastal towns are full of huge ugly concrete buildings, we decided to check what the Catalonian hillside offers instead and found some pretty little towns with amazing stories.

Horta de San Joan

One of them is called Horta de San Joan, a medieval town sitting on top of a hill. The place itself is not spectacular but its story definitely is:

Once upon a time when Picasso was just Pablo, he spent a few years in the little town, painting with a local friend. Later when he became famous he returned back with his French girlfriend, Fernande, with whom he wasn’t married. The townswomen, deciding that the situation was unacceptable to their morals, reacted by throwing stones at Fernande, at one point forcing Picasso to defend her with his gun. Not surprisingly the couple left the town the next day, never to return.

A bit late for that , no ?

When Picasso died as one of the most famous painters in the world, the town decided that it’s not such a bad idea to open a Picasso museum to attract tourists, so they asked the Picasso family for a donation of some of his paintings. The family saw no reason to award the town with a fortune and refused.  So they had to buy lithographs of the paintings that Picasso painted while he was living in the town when he started his Cubist period.These are what they put in their museum, which we didn’t believe worth a visit. 

We are married, but you never know!

What happened to the Aztec gold ?

Cathedral Almudena

After our lovely time along the Atlantic coast, we decided to take the long way to the Mediterranean to pay a visit to Spain’s capital city. But before that, we made a slight (!) detour to Santillana del Mar, a small hillside village from a different century. After walking its cobblestone roads lined with stone houses & feasting on anchovies with olive oil and red wine at a little restaurant called El Castillo, we continued to Madrid.

I’ve always wondered what the Spaniards did with all the gold they had brought from their colonies in South America. Just imagine all these conquistadors finding new lands one after the other and bringing all the fabled treasures back home for almost four hundred years , making Spain a global force to reckon with and you can’t help wondering .  Now I know: They used it to make Madrid as beautiful and impressive as possible.

Autumn colors @ Cyrstal Palace

Palacio Real

If I have to describe Madrid in one word, it would be ‘grand’. And overpowering. Ok, it’s two words, but the motto in Madrid seems to be ‘more is more’. Its boulevards, the palaces, the museums, the parks are all huge and beautiful and built to impress.  The city is so full of artwork in some form, it’s impossible to appreciate all. Most of the buildings and the artwork are from the Siglo de Oro (Golden Era) of Spain in 16^th/17^th cc when the country was enjoying its ultimate glory. With money flowing in, the rulers wanted to have a capital city worthy of their new prospering kingdom so they invited some of Europe’s best artists and architects to Madrid.  Artists like Velasquez, El Greco, Rubens and Goya were soon a part of the Spanish court, creating masterpiece after masterpiece, making Madrid exceptional. Then came the new generation geniuses like Picasso, Miro, Gaudi and Dali. (There must be something in the Rioja to make the Spanish artists so creative). I wish I could have seen this place at the turn of the 19^th cc.

There are a lot of things to do and a lot of things to see in Madrid, the city is full of art and monuments, restaurants and nightlife. We did our best to captures some of it. While sitting at a sunny roadside cafe, Erbil with his cerveza and I with my glass of Tinto de Verano (summer wine) , we reflected on what stood out  for us:

Spaniards are among the most laid-back and fun loving people on the planet. I noticed that while I was visiting Madrid for business; the impression got stronger this time.  Whatever their schedule is, there’s always time for a cup of coffee and a friendly chat. The bars are full all day long with people of all ages reading the papers, watching football or sharing a joke. Most restaurants don’t even open before nine pm and going to dinner after ten pm is very normal on a weekday. Life is a fiesta to be shared with friends, and why not?

Flamenco , when done properly is truly exceptional. Born from the gypsies of Andalusia, it’s an endless  dialog between the dancer, the singer and the musicians, accompanied with the rhythmic clapping of the hands or palmes.  The music is dramatic, the male dancers are just the right amount of macho but what I loved most were the female dancers. In flamenco, the woman is neither a dying swan in need of protection nor an exotic dancer. She is powerful and passionate, both in love and in pain.

It is an intimate experience created with only the vocals, the guitar and the body of the dancer moving to the rhythm.