Is Madrid a Healer?

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A lot of us will agree that most people visit a different country in order to relax or experience a different culture. After all, nothing beats donning your swim suit, laying your towel on the sand, propping your shades over your eyes and watching the world go by, feeling absolutely NO guilt about that stack of paper that you have left on your desk in your office. In short, generally not giving a shit about anything else. Being carefree and shameless are fleeting emotions for some and we must do whatever we can to savour them.

However, what happens when you experience a time where the emotion of being carefree has been taken away from you and it feels completely out of your control? Escapism. That is what happens. I am not afraid to admit that one of the reasons I travel is to escape the stress and mundane experiences of life. The old ‘when life gives you lemons, make lemonade’ proverb is, whilst cliched, a saying that people shouldn't take for granted.

So when you experience the extent of loss that I have recently, including having no support from an elusive significant other and feeling like your heart couldn't possibly bear any more pain after already having been shattered into a million pieces, spontaneously escaping to another country and spending quality time with a good friend for a weekend seemed like a very logical thing to do at the time.

Escapism: does Madrid heal you?

On arriving at Stansted airport, I was greeted with an immediate sense of relief. Travel. My heart began to swell with happiness as I walked through the familiar departures lounge, knowing that I was leaving it all behind, if only for a weekend. My heart was already beginning to heal.

Obviously, this was helped by the consumption of a cocktail. A long, tall Russian to be exact.

But let's move on. If you're living in the UK and you are looking for a quick escape, Madrid is a great option; the flight is short and cheap, especially when booking last minute with Ryanair (although I have grievances with them regarding boarding passes and checking in, but that's another story), making it easy to fly out straight after work on a Friday evening and return on a Sunday, feeling refreshed and ready to return to the daily grind. It’s so quick that I even beat a colleague who drove from Peterborough to Yorkshire on the same evening. She drove one hundred miles in four hours. So, ask yourself this: why drive one hundred miles in four hours, when you can fly 1,150 miles in the same amount of time?

My friend and I were amazed at exactly how much of Madrid you could fit into your schedule in a mere two days. Our first port of call (with the help of her lovely friend, Eduardo, who had lent me his metro pass for the day) was the Palacio Real de Madrid, the official residence of the Spanish Royal Family. Holding onto the bars and gazing through the railings like a small child filled with wonder and amazement, the Palacio Real de Madrid made me dream of what life is like on the other side, what life is like when you're rich. The outside of the palace was covered with grandeur, so ornate, that it's worth being outside in the 37 degree heat just to marvel at the sight and wonder at it. And, rather fortunately, immediately opposite the Palacio you have the Almudena Cathedral, renowned for its Gothic and Romanesque architecture. Whilst the cathedral itself was beautiful both inside and out, I remained thoroughly entertained at seeing one of their confession boxes lit up and in use, reminding me of my favourite Rodriguez film: Once Upon a Time in Mexico. The voice of Johnny Depp’s “Are you a Mexican or a Mexican’t?” echoed in my head repeatedly as I gazed at the colourful stained glass windows and beautiful sculptures. Call me immature and blasphemous if you wish; I just couldn't help it.

But it certainly helped for me to heal. As I donated money to light a candle, I thought that my friend who I had lost recently would have been looking down upon me and felt proud.

As we walked further into the centre of Madrid, we paid a visit to the Mercado de San Miguel – a market which is a must for all of you ‘foodies’ hiding out there (although my irrational phobia of dead fish did prevent me from walking past several counters. Google it. It's a real thing). I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. The sweet smell of cakes and macaroons enshrouded me as I entered, and my sight was momentarily blinded by the blazing, vibrant and beautifully bright colours of the most delicious-looking food imaginable. And it most certainly was delicious. If you ever go, try the ham and spinach wrapped in mozzarella, topped with a berry jam and balanced on top of toasted bread; it is absolutely to die for.

Walking eastwards down towards the Plaza Cibeles, it's not hard to miss the remarkable old post office building. Now home to the Postal and Telegraphic Museum, the building looks like something out of a fairy tale, like after the moment in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast when the terrible Gothic castle is cleansed of it’s curse and is transformed into a pure, ethereal masterpiece. This was not just any old post office. Because this building truly was like something out of a fairy tale, it made me feel like buildings that you could only imagine in your wildest dreams really could come alive. It made me smile.

However, we did not stop to explore the inside of the old post office; my friend had a better idea, which was certainly more appealing to me.

Parque del Retiro. This ended up being my most favourite place of all. The gardens were of immense beauty, containing beautiful pathways lined with trees either side, welcoming you into their embrace and, as I walked further into the park, the trees stopped and we were greeted by the wonderful boating lake. In a moment of pure joy, my friend and I hopped into a rowing boat and took a few laps around the lake, although my failed attempt at serenading her with a limerick in the style of Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’ Diary did little to help our bursts of giggles and laughter whilst constantly trying to avoid crashing into others and capsizing. After indulging ourselves in the water, and having copious amounts of ice cream, we slowly made our way towards the crystal palace which contained a large fabric tent with lots of soft benches, rugs and cushions underneath. Pure delight. It had obviously been used for some kind of work shop or craft event, but my friend and I instantly took advantage of the surroundings, found ourselves a bench each and curled up to take a siesta. Each time I opened my eyes, my sight would be entertained like a baby watching a mobile: the colours of the fabric danced vibrantly against the decorative glass panels, shading our eyes from the afternoon sun. We lay there as other people came, laid down, and left. There was no rush.

I certainly didn't rush my time partying and drinking sangria either! Yes, Madrid … you truly were a healer.

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Photos

Chillaxin' all cool...
.... dangling my legs inside the pool at Parque deal Retiro.

Crystal Palace
Parque del Retiro, Madrid.