“Le queda muy bien,” I heard a voice say. I turned around to find an older woman admiring the shirt I was modeling for Art. I was in the Corte Ingles, the biggest department store in Spain trying on clothes.
I looked up at the friendly Madrileña,“Le gusta?”
“Si, lo debe llevar sin duda,” she told me. She was quite adamant that it was perfect for me.
“Usted me hace acordar de mi mamá,” I told her. She did remind me of my mother when we shopped together and she would tell me how perfect something looked on me. Then it occurred to me that this woman couldn’t possibly be like my mother. No doubt she was close to my age! There I was again…sliding back in time, having to remind myself that I, too, am an “elderly lady”. I forget that.
I bought the flowered polo shirt with the gold buttons she admired, thinking it would suit my Asheville lifestyle but also because I wanted to remember this exchange with a friendly stranger. The lady continued to stand and look at me admiringly as I we talked a bit more. Of course, she wanted to know why I spoke Spanish so fluently because I don’t look Spanish. I answered with what I told everyone in Madrid,
“Soy chilena….nacida en Chile…” Sometimes I left it there but other times I’d add that I was from the United States but had been born and raised in South America. No more explanation needed.
I paid for the shirt and Art and I went on our way. Thinking about the friendly woman I was reminded why I had wanted to come back to Spain this year…I was hungry to speak Spanish and to be immersed in a Spanish speaking culture. Being able to easily understand and speak Spanish is what I miss most in my American life because it is part of who I am.
Calle Ayala 156
We settled into a second floor apartment on the quiet shady Calle Ayala 156 in the barrio of Salamanca in Madrid. Each time we came and went to our apartment we passed the office of the conserje (concierge) who greeted us with a friendly “Buenos Dias” as if we lived
there. We walked the tree lined streets and avenues, sat in outdoor cafes with a coffee or a sangria y tapas, rode the Metro daily to get places and found Spaniards politely offering us a seat when a metro car was crowded. “We must look old,” I thought when someone insisted I take his or her seat, when I could have easily stood. We read the daily El País newspaper, watched the local news on the big screen TV in our living room, and listened to the Spanish conversations all around us.
In the early afternoon (Spanish lunch hour) we looked for a restaurant advertising the Menú del Dia which meant an entrée,main course, dessert, and choice of a drink including beer and wine all freshly prepared and reasonably priced. My favorite entree was the creamy gazpacho soup served with fresh condiments of chopped cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers and croutons and my daily dessert was flan con nata, caramelized custard with whipped cream that I have loved since my childhood in Argentina. Art was hooked on the tinto de verano drink which is a light sangria with fruit – a summery drink and for dessert he chose Natilla, a cinnamon flavored creamy custard. It goes without saying we devoured every piece of crusty fresh bread accompanying the meal.
Yummy gazpacho
Like so many European cities, street musicians are everywhere in the train stations, metros, and outdoor parks. Madrid was full of accordion players and I never passed one without giving him a few coins. After all, I am an accordion player, having taken lessons with a German teacher in Buenos Aires when I was a child. I can still play the accordion, though not as well as I used to. I am drawn to accordion music as if it were a thread connecting me with a long ago and far away past.
Accordion player at the Royal Palace
Accordion recital in Buenos Aires, Argentina
On one of our walks in Salamanca near our apartment, we came across the Parque Eva Duarte Perón. This is a neighborhood park dedicated to Evita Perón commemorating 50 years of her visit to Madrid in 1948! Evita was part of my Argentine childhood and her saintly picture was in all our school text books. I remember clearly the cold wintry July day she died in 1952 in Buenos Aires when the entire city came to a standstill and we children were home from school for days. Juan Perón was exiled to Spain after he was ousted from power later but Evita never went back because she died a few years later. Standing in front of the black marble bust statue of Evita at the park entrance brought that memory back .
Eva Duarte Peron Parque in Salamanca
Evita Perón
Our days were usually planned around one site or museum we chose to visit such as the Prado, the Reina Sofia Museum, the Royal Palace, Botanical Gardens, the National Library and others. Most Madrid museums offer reduced tickets for senior citizens. The Reina Sofia Contemporary Art Museum even gave us free tickets. But approaching the Royal Palace ticket offices both in Madrid and Aranjuez we were told that senior rate tickets only applied to Spaniards and EU residents. When asked what country we were from…Estados Unidos…the ticket agent said no, we didn’t qualify. When we questioned that every other museum had senior rates he quipped…”well, since you are paying for regular adult tickets you can be young for today!” That brought a smile and of course, softened the frustration.
We booked two day trips by bus to nearby towns. Segovia and Toledo one day, and Salamanca and Avila on another day. The tour bus for each of these trips left from the Las Ventas Metro station which happened to be one stop from Manuel Becerrra where we were living. As we emerged early in the morning at Las Ventas we were surprised to find that we were at the largest bullring in Spain. Early in the morning the enormous red brick ring and plaza were empty and quiet as we walked around it to find the stop for our tour bus. But returning to Madrid in the evening the Las Ventas square was packed with people, some quite elegantly dressed. There were open air stands selling souvenirs, drinks and foods. Bullfighting season began May 15th on the Dia de San Isidro. Not being a fan of bullfighting, remembering one or two I had gone to in the summer of 1970 in Aranjuez, we had not made plans to go.
Las Ventas Bullfighting ring
Roman aqueduct in Segovia
It was in Segovia, the picturesque town that sits high on a plateau and is known for its Roman aqueduct that I came across a large poster of famous Spanish bullfighters. I spotted it on the wall of a building on one of the narrow cobblestoned streets we walked along following our tour guide. I stopped to take a closer look and blurted out , “There he is…El Cordobés!” I recognized him from the photo I have kept for years taken of me and my Spanish sister Paloma standing next to a young Juan Benítez Perez, known as El Cordobés, outside the bullring in Aranjuez. Even Art knows that photo well although I didn’t know him then. Standing in front of that poster felt like another connecting thread to a past life - the summer I lived in Aranjuez now 48 years ago.
Famous bullfighters of Spain - Segovia 2018
Paloma, El Cordobes, and me in Aranjuez - July 1970
One day we took the train to Aranjuez , a quiet town 50 km south of Madrid. As far back as 1752, this is where the royal family and court retreated in the summers to get out of the heat of Madrid. Now a Unesco World Heritage site, it is the palace and gardens that attract tourists but only since 2001. I spent the summer of 1970 living with a Spanish family in Aranjuez when I was a group leader for the Experiment in International Living. I was in charge of of 12 American college students and we spent a month with families in Aranjuez and then traveled with a “brother or sister” from our Spanish families on a two week trip to northern Spain. It is Aranjuez that I remember the most clearly especially walking through the cool and luscious palace gardens with my “sister” Paloma as we headed to the community swimming pool where we spent our mornings before going home for a big lunch. All the family took siestas from 2 to 5 until stores and cafes opened again and we went out to pasearon the streets of Aranjuez. It was in Aranjuez I saw my first bullfight and had my photo taken with El Cordobés.
Royal Palace in Aranjuez
Going back this time after so many years I could not find the house I had lived in. But the quiet and clean tree lined streets and the gardens surrounding the palace seemed familiar. I stopped at a souvenir shop to buy a few postcards and found myself chatting with the owner, a lady who told me she had lived in Aranjuez all her life. When I told her my story in Spanish of coming back all these years later she was interested and told me “you won’t recognize the area around the Palace because much of it is new, but the town has not changed much.”
After touring the palace Art and I walked into town looking for a restaurant with a “Menú del Dia”. As we sat outdoors on a wide sidewalk enjoying our lunch surrounded by local Aranjuez people, I had to admit that there is much I cannot remember so long ago . However, somehow the ambiance of Aranjuez felt familiar. Walking back towards the train station we passed through the palace gardens once again and in my mind I saw myself at 23 and Paloma, my “sister” strolling along the Tagus River on a hot July day. Riding the train back to Madrid I caught a memory of going to Madrid with Paloma by ourselves. She used me as an excuse to show off Madrid (this is what she told her parents) but in reality she wanted to meet her boyfriend in the city…which she did. I was sworn to secrecy. I suddenly wished we had kept in touch, wondered if she had married that boyfriend or someone else, and if she still lives in Aranjuez or moved away as she always said she wanted to.
After touring the palace Art and I walked into town looking for a restaurant with a “Menú del Dia”. As we sat outdoors on a wide sidewalk enjoying our lunch surrounded by local Aranjuez people, I had to admit that there is much I cannot remember so long ago . However, somehow the ambiance of Aranjuez felt familiar. Walking back towards the train station we passed through the palace gardens once again and in my mind I saw myself at 23 and Paloma, my “sister” strolling along the Tagus River on a hot July day. Riding the train back to Madrid I caught a memory of going to Madrid with Paloma by ourselves. She used me as an excuse to show off Madrid (this is what she told her parents) but in reality she wanted to meet her boyfriend in the city…which she did. I was sworn to secrecy. I suddenly wished we had kept in touch, wondered if she had married that boyfriend or someone else, and if she still lives in Aranjuez or moved away as she always said she wanted to.
Tree lined streets of Aranjuez
Palace gardens in Aranjuez
When planning for a spring international trip this year, something compelled me to suggest “let’s go to Madrid for two weeks”. Art agreed right away as he had not been and is always up for exploring new places. As the time grew closer to May I wondered what drove me to suggest Madrid when I had been several times before except that I wanted to be in a Spanish speaking country. I gave little thought to the fact that I might find connections and threads to other parts of my life while in Madrid. Looking back on our two weeks I came home enriched by the sights, the art, the history, the Spanish conversations…but I also loved the accordion players, the Evita Peron connection, the real flan dessert which has been a favorite since childhood, and the chance to go back and remember a most unique summer in Aranjuez. Those were unexpected surprises but they are what keep me traveling.
Avila, Spain
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