As arrivals go, this one has not got off to a great start. Richard Rogers’s
cavernous new terminal building in Madrid is a bold statement in minimalism
that has doubled the airport’s capacity from 35m to 70m passengers a year,
making it the biggest transport hub in Europe. But it is so far away from
the rest of the airport that missing bags have become a standing joke since
it opened last year.
Mine takes more than an hour and a half to arrive, by which time my welcoming
committee have had one espresso too many and are getting twitchy. On the
taxi ride into the city centre, there is a lot to catch up on.
Since I was last here in 2002 the city appears to have undergone a
transformation. Much of the construction work is continuing, judging by the
cranes and new housing developments, which stretch as far as the eye can
see.
“It is crazy,” says my friend Begona, following my gaze out of the taxi
window. “Madrid is eating up all the countryside and the towns around it.”
The taxi driver explains that he will have to take a detour because building
works have closed off much of the centre. It sounds like a scam, but it
turns out that Puerta del Sol, the physical and emotional heart of Madrid,
is being ripped up to make way for a new train station. It will be a
building site for the next year, according to official reports, and a lot
longer if you believe the locals.
On my own, I explore the city. A block or two to the west of Sol is Calle de
San Bernardo, where I lived in a dusty, slightly creepy attic flat four
years ago. The facade is still there, propped up on huge beams, but my
lodgings are long gone. The entire block is being transformed into
subsidised accommodation for young people as part of a city regeneration
project.
Much of the building work was undertaken to support Madrid’s bid for the 2012
Olympics. Now, as the pneumatic drills ring out and diversions add miles and
stress to their lives, Madrilenos enthusiastically indulge in a
favourite national pastime, the demonstration.
Manifestacions, as they are known here, are a friendly, family affair,
usually rounded off with a good lunch or a few beers. When this afternoon’s
whistle-blowing and shouting (another two popular Spanish pursuits) are
over, the protesters and their friends and families decamp to the bars,
cafes and parks around the picturesque Plaza de Oriente.
The loveliest and most famous of these is Cafe de Oriente, a tearoom with
turn-of-the-century charm and an army of efficient, white-jacketed waiters
that almost justifies its inflated prices. Outside, enjoying the same views
of the royal palace and the opera house as the cafe’s patrons, some
demonstrators are unpacking picnics of roast chicken.
Though Madrid is a sprawling city with 6m inhabitants, the centre is
surprisingly compact and easily explored on foot. A good way to get your
bearings and stunning views of the city skyline is with a cable-car ride
from Parque del Oeste across Casa de Campo park.
The park contains a fun fair, zoo, swimming pools, tennis courts and a large
boating lake, and it is so large that country walks are possible along some
surprisingly wild trails. Down below, among the pram-pushing families,
joggers and smoking teenagers, a big group of demonstrators are relaxing in
the sunshine.
It is remarkable to think that, just three decades ago, these pleasure-loving
people were living under Franco’s harsh regime. Stylish cocktail bars,
nightclubs and restaurants have transformed Madrid into a popular weekend
destination, and Chueca, once a seedy no-go area, is now home to a thriving
gay scene, great nightlife and eclectic shops.
I have arranged to meet a friend in Chueca’s Cafe de Ruiz for chocolate tart.
While branches of America’s favourite coffee chain have replaced traditional
cafes on every second street corner, this place is delightfully unchanged,
with its maroon velvet booths and whirring wooden fan.
By the time we step out onto the street, the entire population seems to have
descended on Gran Via for the evening paseo. It’s not so much a walk
as an excuse to get dressed up and chat to friends, before venturing on to a
restaurant, the cinema or the theatre.
The Madrilenos’ ability to party is world-renowned and, for
bringe-drinking Brits, it requires pacing. The fun doesn’t usually start
until around 10pm, and ends with hot chocolate and churros in a cafe off the
Plaza Mayor at dawn. It is an attractive option (though for the over-25s
nearly impossible to pull off), but it competes with a visit to the Rastro
for the most authentic way to begin a Madrid Sunday.
This huge street market has been part of the culture for as long as anybody
can remember and sells everything from second-hand door knobs to one-off
pieces by local designers. Committed bargain hunters arrive soon after the
stall holders, who have usually unpacked their wares by 7am.
By mid-morning, the bars and cafes around Lavapies are abuzz with market-goers
of all ages, comparing purchases and eating tapas. One woman with vivid dyed
red hair and lots of jewellery looks as though she has settled in for the
day and cheerily greets visitors as if in her own front room.
At a neighbouring table a group of students with mullet hairstyles and
tie-dyed clothes look as though they hotfooted it to the Rastro straight
from a night on the tiles.
One cold beer later we feel sufficiently revived to wander over to Plaza
Mayor, the main square, where the weekly stamp market is in full swing and
grey-haired men in peak caps huddle together, peering intently into albums.
Spaniards are keen philatelists and this famous weekly market is second only
to the book markets for attendance.
We wander on, past Retiro park and down Paseo del Prado. Madrid’s chicest
boulevard, it is home to the city’s trio of famous art galleries — the
Prado, the Thyssen-Bornemisza and the Reina Sofia. The collections are vast,
making a visit to all three a daunting prospect for even the most ardent art
lover (though they can be visited with a discounted combined ticket, which
is valid for a year).
The Thyssen collection spans the ages, the Prado has works by Velazquez, Goya,
El Greco and Titian, while the Reina Sofia houses a more contemporary
collection of Dali, Miro, Bacon and Picasso, including Guernica, his
impassioned denunciation of war and facism.
The sound of car horns is deafening. Gesturing towards a group of protesters,
Ana explains: “The mayor is going to tear all this up so that they can
extend and link the galleries. The people are furious.” Environmentalists,
led by Baroness Thyssen, demonstrate weekly against plans to rip up hundreds
of trees to make way for the £110m (and counting) revamp.
Amid this colourful scene, an enormous queue snakes down the steps of the
Prado and around the block. On Sundays, admission to the galleries and
museums is free, and while you can wait a couple of hours, it is an integral
part of a Madrid Sunday. The occasion is as much about gossiping with family
and friends as it is about the art.
We take our place at the end of the queue, as on so many other Sundays, and
are soon engaged in conversation with a family in front. Madrid might boast
a newfound cosmopolitanism, but some habits are hard to break.
Details: British Airways (www.britishairways.com, 0870 850
9850) flies from Edinburgh to Madrid from £98 return, including taxes.
Iberia (www.iberiaairlines.co.uk, 0870 609 0500) and Easyjet
(www.easyjet.com, 0870 600 0000) fly from Aberdeen, Glasgow and Edinburgh to
Madrid via London.
Petit Palace Alcala Torre (00 34 915 321 901,
www.madridppalcalatorrehotel.com) has double rooms from £60. The Spanish
tourist board (020 7486 8077, www.tourspain.co.uk; www.spain.info)
