Madrid is calling. I have been to Madrid but I have never been to Madrid.
Back in my college days, when you do things that only 20 year olds do, I flew to Madrid with a cheap air ticket and a eurrail pass. It was to be a month of wandering Europe. The plan was an eventual return to Madrid a few days before it was time to depart. I went from Spain all the way to Sweden and back. A few weeks later, an overnight trip from Austria had me arriving one morning in Barcelona. The plan was to store the luggage for the day and take another overnight train to Madrid. Then have a few days in Madrid and head home. In the trains station I followed the signs to the place to store the backpack. I saw nothing but scaffolding. A gaping hole was where the luggage storage was supposed to be. It was something to do with bombs and separatists. I decided to find a hotel and head to Madrid the next day. One of the wonderful things about travel is getting sidetracked and tossing out the itinerary. Barcelona seduced me. A few days later, at the last possible moment, I took an overnight train to Madrid and headed straight to the airport.
With a few crumbled 100 pesata bills in my pocket not worth exchanging, I spent the last of my money on some goofy postcards at the airport. The silly ones wear lace has been sewn onto images of beautiful señoritas. I’ve always known I’d put them to some use. So here is my Madrid postcard piece. Unfortunately, I still haven’t been back to Madrid except with the vicarious trips taken in Pedro Almodóvar films.
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