I'm standing in the middle of the Puerta del Sol, the big square in the center of Madrid, and I'm amazed.

Because the language that I hear around me is not the fast, choppy, consonants and vowels swallowing Madrileno, no, it sounds rather, yes, like what?

Italian?

 

Real Madrid vs Napoli

Yes it sounds Italian, but on the other hand it does not.

It takes a while for the penny to drop, but only when some of the young men, standing together in groups, break out into battle cries, and others, now clearly understandable, chant NAPOLI.

Of course, Champions League, tomorrow's match Real Madrid vs. Napoli.

I see ...

 

Puerta del Sol revised

The place looks smaller than I remember. And there's something else wrong, too.

The entrance to the subway is located in the middle of it, as it used to be, but now it is roofed over, two semicircular glass things, an aesthetic insult, and here of all places, in the secret center of Madrid, the focal point of political and cultural life.

 

Puerta del Sol in Madrid
He is still there - guardian over life and death

The coffee shop where I used to have café con leche with churros every morning has disappeared and has made way for a fashion chain. Many facades around the square are no longer visible, huge billboards with some kind of advertising messages flicker in their place now.

But the Corte Inglés is still there, the bear with the strawberry tree as well (apparently since exactly 50 years as I read in El Pais), and also the statue of the famous hero I still do not know.

Outcry against machismo

In the middle of the square lie countless red, worn women's shoes in all shapes and sizes, reminding us of the numerous victims of domestic violence (in Spain, the country that invented machismo, it's apparently a huge problem with hundreds of victims every year).

 

Puerta del Sol
Abused Women's Shoes - A shame, like almost everywhere

Almost forty years ago I met up with my friends in this square, after which I went to the nightlife of Madrid, knowing that the next day would mean even more frustration and head shaking for the professor at Universidad Complutense.

But she was a lovable sweetheart, with infinite understanding for us idiots, whom she forgave everything: the unfinished homework, the forgotten preparation, the pathetic lagging behind the best of the class. At least she managed to get us all successfully through the final exams in Spanish, which has to be valued as a special masterpiece.

 

A tiny room ...

Before I finally sink into a depressive mood, I visit the old alleys and places, for example the house where I had my tiny room, with the landlord who refused to give me my own key and therefore had to get up every night to let the staggering guest in.

I'll always remember his grim face. But there, where a worn out staircase led through a door weighing tons into the interior of the house, there is now the entrance to a snobbish restaurant. Whether the apartments on the upper floors still exist at all, cannot be determined. Probably not. Has everything disappeared, including the huge apartment around an inner courtyard littered with garbage, where the rats cavorted?

 

... and a square with false notes

 And Plaza Santa Ana isn't what it used to be either. At that time it was a small idyll with a few broken benches under shady trees, unpaved, quiet and peaceful at night, by day a few old people looking after a gang of children.

Today the square is covered with stone slabs, the trees have disappeared, but instead cafés with overpriced offerings, noisy, hectic.

But I sit down anyway, order a beer and watch the hustle and bustle. A music orchestra lines up, a guitar, an accordion and a contra bass. I must admit that I have heard a lot of terribly sounding performances, but this contra bass surpasses everything.

It doesn't just sound wrong, it's as if he played a completely different tune than the rest of the combo. And since the musicians don't seem to be giving up in the foreseeable future, I hastily drink up and leave this place of musical serial killings in a bewildered state.

 

In love with alleys and restaurants

But the alleys with the wonderful restaurants, painted on the outside with elaborate drawings and the hand-written menus, they are unchanged. Only the prices have slightly increased.

 

Fragua de Yulca
Fragua de Yulca - known and famous
Las Fatigas del Querer
Las Fatigas del Querer - the weariness of want

In those days a plate of Judias (beans) cost a few pesetas, today I don't even dare asking. And a glass of Vino Tinto was worth perhaps fifty centimes.

I stroll through the alleys with a slightly elevated level of nostalgia, pictures and faces emerging from the shallows of memory. Henk, Ian, Jake and of course Roseline. Little Roseline, my dear little Roseline in love.

 

Magnificent buildings
Magnificent buildings
My flamenco bar
My flamenco bar

A happy birthday

In any case, today the big birthday I celebrated with my friends would cost me a small fortune, at that time almost nothing, because every barman we told about my cumpleanos invited us all for wine and cigars.

 

Churros

Before I make my way back to the airport, I want to revive my former daily breakfast one last time – churros, dipped in sweetened, strong coffee.

Churros
Churros - an incomparable pleasure

 

On the way to South America

Well, what am I talking about Madrid when I'm actually on my way to South America? Quite simply, my bad left knee kept me from finally booking the flight on time, which finally led to the fact that I had to spend more than ten hours in Madrid.

It reminds me a bit of the little disaster in Doha last year, but what the hell. Actually, I have enjoyed the trip into the past quite a lot (albeit with a few sentimental curtailments). And sometimes it's not bad to remember the casualties of a long life and impermanence (well, the morning look into the mirror is in itself enough reminder of impermanence).

And now - it's a little after nine and the flight is due just before midnight - I'm sitting at Barajas airport with coffee and cake, writing and killing time and memories before they finally ruin my mood ... and oops, the lights are actually turned off and I'm sitting in the dark. Cerrado, tells me the tired man who closes the restaurant and hurries off ... So be it.

That's for today, folks. See you in Buenos Aires ...

Mileage: zero

Matching Song:   Alameda - Amanecer al Puerto

And here the journey continues ... in Buenos Aires

 

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