My family came to Madrid on Friday,
just in time to greet the new waves of overwhelming heat and tourists. When I
was younger we used to take family vacations every year, starting at age seven
when we took a fantastic trip to Alaska with a big group of people. Things
still went great the following year when we traveled to Mexico, and I only
harbor fond memories of white sand beaches, warm water, and great hotels that
probably cost less than an hour of tuition at my university. But suffice it to
say that since then our trips went downhill proportionally to our age: with
each year Katie and I got more adolescent-like and bratty and less tolerant of
our parents’ obsessive love of hiking and museums and constant map-usage. The
last family vacation we took was to New York when I was 13, and I think after
that we all decided some things were best left alone, and one of those things
would be attempting to travel together in harmony. So we decided vacations were
best done separately—hence my parents took fantastic trips to the Swiss Alps,
Italian Tuscany and Maccu Picchu, all “conveniently” timed when my sister and I
had to stay in school. There comes a point when you realize you just can’t
travel with some people, or maybe you realize that even though you’re now a legal
adult and can drink in bars and rent cars, you still resort back to that
bratty, immature teenager whenever you’re caught in a foreign city with your
parents.
So
their trip to Spain is the first time we’ve attempted to travel together in 8
years, and some things never change. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great to see
them after 9 months, and I appreciate it so much that my parents took such an
effort to come visit me so far away. And there have been very enjoyable moments
this past week. I’m only saying that if this blog isn’t gushing with the most
glorious and loving of anecdotes, it’s because I feel so internally torn about
being on the verge of ripping my parents’ heads off and then feeling guilty for
falling into the same old rude and inconsiderate ways when I’m around them.
(And I think when they read this they’ll agree that for the majority of the
time they wanted to rip my head off too.) So here’s a recap of the first week’s
events (they’re staying for three), leaving out some of what I hope are general
conflicts typical of all great families:
I met them on the steps of the
Reina Sofia on Friday afternoon, and after a long embrace we set off for a
place to eat (which miraculously only took 30 minutes to decide on a
restaurant, as opposed to our normal 2-hour indecision). Then, because everyone
was approaching near-death from jet-lag, my family embraced their newly adopted
culture with a long siesta. In the late afternoon we saw the Prado museum
briefly, because it wouldn’t be a Marshall vacation if they didn’t squeeze TWO
museums into one day (see above about our differences of interest). I saw about
ten minutes of 16th century art and decided my time was better spent
reading on the lawn outside. Call me uncultured, but reading To Kill a
Mockingbird in Spanish seems much more
appealing than staring at biblical oil paintings.
For dinner that night Katie and I
split off and went to a Mexican restaurant at my request, and although the
burrito contained mushrooms and lacked rice and beans, the place had its merits
as the waiter kept slipping us free Coronas. Then we headed off to a small club
where my friend Javi was playing a concert that night. It was really fun,
although we felt like the ultimate groupies because it looked like we followed
the band all the way to Madrid to hear them play. Later that night we hung out
with Javi and his friends a bit. Madrid nightlife is great not only because
it’s the lively capital, but also because it’s legal (or maybe not legal, but
generally accepted) for people to come up to you on the street and sell you ice
cold beer out of their backpack. It’s like door-to-door service—literally no
need to put in ANY effort in order to drink . . . yikes.
Retiro Park in Madrid
The
next day we took the AVE (the high-speed train) to Toledo, just south of
Madrid. Toledo is a beautiful medieval city in Spain that truly seems like it’s
out of a fairy tale. Of course, with fairytale cities come crowds of tourists,
and I couldn’t help wondering if there was a SINGLE native in that whole place.
Toledo’s also where some of the family relations started to fall quickly
downhill, as my parents somehow thought the back entrance to the Cathedral was
a perfectly appropriate way to enter, even though there was a clearly marked
sign saying “Entrada solo para cultos” (entrance to worship only). Ok, so maybe
they couldn’t read Spanish. But could they possibly note that there was a
suspicious lack of any tourists at this entrance, and that literally everyone
in the surrounding crowd there was wearing a tuxedo or extravagant dress and
heels? Or maybe that everyone was holding grains of rice in anticipation? Much
to Katie’s and my protests, the parents still entered in a sort of confused and
overwhelmed manner, insisting that this was the right way in. All that I can
manage to say is that I guess they were lucky enough to participate in an
authentic Spanish wedding only 24 hours after arriving in this country.
Massively
shaken and downright mortified from what can only be described as this major
tourist blunder, Katie and I decided to wander on our own throughout the city
(and I’m sure my parents happily welcomed this break from us as well). Toledo
is truly beautiful, perched on a hilltop overlooking a river and rolling green
hills. But the concert and bars the night before didn’t leave us with much
energy, so we caught an earlier train back and took another long siesta.
The hills of Toledo
I like this artsy picture of Katie
On
Sunday we caught a bus back to Granada, and I have to say that lately I always
get very excited to return to my adopted hometown. I felt proud to show my
parents where I’d spent the past nine months, and to come back to a place where
I’m no longer a tourist. I brought them to some of my favorite tapas bars that
night, although it quickly became clear that two people who don’t really enjoy
beer and wine might have a bit of a hard time getting fed in Granada. They were
very impressed, however, when an entire hamburger accompanied their sangria for
free. Ah, the novelty of Granada. Later that night Katie and I met up with Javi
for some drinks, and we brought my sister to a very authentic Bodega so she
could feel welcomed to Spain—no tables or chairs, just a counter, some barrels
of wine, and plenty of hanging legs of ham.
The
next day I spent most of my time in class, so the rest of the family explored
the city on their own and I’m pleased to say that they too fell in love with
Granada. Especially my sister, who has seemed to find her place here among all
the “alternative” styles, a.k.a hippies with their dreads and scruffy dogs that
are very prominent in certain areas of the city. That night we all went to a
flamenco show in a tiny bar in the Albaicín. I’m ashamed to say this was my
first time seeing flamenco in almost 9 months in Andalucia (the birthplace of
flamenco), and after the show all I could do was kick myself for not taking
more advantage of my surroundings and seeing it more often. It is so amazingly
complicated—the singing, the guitar picking, and most of all, the dancing.
On
their last day in Granada my family went to the Alhambra, which they all loved,
while I….stayed at home. In reality I was a terrible guide in Granada, but they
also happened to visit me in a time when I’m swamped with school and studying
for finals, so I let my parents rely a bit heavily on the tourist office and
city maps while I buried myself in schoolwork. Luckily no pasa nada, and everyone left Granada assuring me I had chosen
a fantastic place to spend my year abroad.
On
Wednesday we all packed up and went to Sevilla, which I immediately fell in
love with. Except for the heat, as Sevilla is the hottest city in Spain and
lived up to its reputation. It’s quite a lot bigger than Granada, although
maintains the same southern-Spain feel that I love so much. The winding streets
of the city center are so charming and colorful, although they make maps nearly
useless—a heated source of contention between the generations in my family.
Nothing like getting lost in the heat of the day to ruin that happy trip vibe.
Plaza de España in Sevilla. (Katie ruined every picture by putting her arm up to block the sun...)
We
saw the beautiful Cathedral, Giralda, and Alcazar of Sevilla, but by far my
favorite part was simply wandering around through the neighborhoods and
experiencing the feeling of the city. On our last night there I headed out on
my own along the river, which oddly reminded me of Paris, but I liked it even
better. The great thing about scorching hot days is the warm nights, and I
walked around past midnight with no need for a sweater. I even stumbled upon a
bar with free flamenco, and decided to stay to sip a cold sangria and watch the
show without trying to look too awkward drinking by myself.
The
next day my parents caught a plane to Barcelona while my sister and I returned
to Granada. More to come as I document the Marshall-Goldin family reunion in
Spain…I hope we all survive it!
