Salamanca Soul

The city of Madrid comes alive at dusk as the sun departs and the cool breeze arrives. Children scamper ´round the plaza while the grown-ups sip their drinks at local cafes, under large kahki umbrellas that at one point served as a shield from the glaring sun. Teens sporting the latest chat in groups, leaning and sitting on the dirt laden stoop below noteworthy statues, engrossed in each other´s being and hardly in mind of the scintillating energy around them. Tourists snap photos of local preformers staged on the periferals in costume and dance and refuse those selling roses and trinkets who stalk the maze of metalic patio-like furniture. Discrete hues of soft blues, purples, and pinks highlight the smooth sides of the buildings, accentuating the beauty in architecture and lighting the narrow cobble stone paths. Locals pour out of bars and line the side streets, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, and banter with thick accents that linger in the waft of tabacco smoke.

Danise, Miguel and I sat at a tall red-stained wood ledge that extended perpendicular to Vida Vida, the holistic organic and vegitarian bar sipping a large beer that we passed back and forth. Over an imanent dinner of tofu and beansprout salad, sweet potatoes and veg. pallela we talked everything religion, politics and the base of human nature. Soaking up the rich nutrients of both the spirited food and words, rooted in a thirst to connect with a force greater than the three of us, thoughtful and animated in the heart of a night on the town, we lived and learned.

Satiated, Danise and I left Miguel and sauntered in and out of our neighborhood for a midnight stroll. We lazed up and down the cobble stone streets sharing stories and songs and stealing pictures of graffitied store fronts that caught our fancy. Happy and high from a lovely day out and a wonderfully engaging evening we retired to the hostel where we, books in tote, climbed into Danise´s bunk to share the night light. And half past one we fell asleep to the reverberations of Scottish, New Zeland and Spanish breath against the stiff night air, still sweet with street spirit.

I woke at half past nine and climbed out the dutch doors to the small balcony to soak in the rays of a fresh, new day. Sitting ajacent to the twisted iron railling I leaned against the door frame and read my book to the quiet puttering of a city slowly waking. A cool breeze and low clouds masked the heat and heightened the city scents to my second story perch. When Danise roused we voyaged to the neighborhood Salamanca to explore a new area of town. We followed long streets lined with birch trees that drizzled pollen forever in our hair and littered the streets with thanks to the still breezy air.

There is nothing like a city shaped by a romance language. With every street and shop sign we sounded out the names and let the spanish language roll off our tounges. Calle Serano, Ayala, Jose Ortega, Prado and Jorge Juan. Even Velazquez fit with the Spanish ´th´lisp can sound sexy. We entered el parque del buen retiro, our favorite and most brilliantly designed park around noon within which are hidden alcoves with smaller fountains and statues canopied by large trees and shrubery that liken the playing grounds of Shakespear´s Puck. Here, couples engrossed in each other, stare into the others´ sparkling eyes or kiss to music only audible to their engagement. Drumming to our own beat we found the lake and spent the better part of an hour navigating the coarse waters aided by the fortuitous winds. Taking turns padling, we ate green beans and let the wind carry us around the banks. Fish nipped at the waters´ surface while the more brazen took leaps into humanity´s air before delving back into their dark and lagoon-like home.


Warm from our uper-body work-out we left Retiro and for glamerous Salamanca where we perused the streets among the upper echelons of Escada, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Armani and the rest of their friends. In and out of boutiques full of colorful garmets we ran our hands and eyes over the stichings of silks and linens, embroidery and more. Scores of floral dresses, a-symmetrical in shape and tone surrounded scarfs and knit summer tops, light capris and bedazzled swim wear. The streets of Salamanca were lousy with construction, white and red tape strewn about to protect their elite from slipping through the large holes in landscape or catching a stileto in broken pavement. Dust filled our eyes and we escaped into a cafe to rest our sandal bearing feet and sip some hot chocolate and cafe con leche.

We walked north to a small university that sat next to el museo de ciencias naturales and caught up on our reading on the stone benches surrounding a fountain that misted recycled water our direction. After sucking the salt from postatio nuts and following the characters of our respective novels for an hours time, we wondered back to our hostel stopping only to relish in the sweet figs purchased at one of the locals. Tonight we will spend the last of our evenings in Madrid amongst tapas and the glitz and glam of dance hot-spot night club, Joy (Shout out to Stephanie Buck who told us we must go to this club).

Tomorrow we´re off to Santander.

Much love,
MK