When I travel, I like to walk.
I like to walk until my heels blister and my head aches and I’m suddenly dehydrated and stuck out of the tourist zone in a residential neighbourhood, needing water and the bathroom and to get back soon, since my phone is down to ten percent. I like sitting down at that point and feel the waves of good-ache radiate upward from my boots, while I catch my breath and look about, then slide out my ebook to read a chapter or two of the book I brought along.
An ebook is good. It makes people think you wanted to be sitting on the gum-covered steps of an administration building, so they leave you alone. Meanwhile, you can zone out and read a bit of a story before snapping the ebook closed and continuing on.
In Madrid, I read a book about Poland.
I read a book about an old woman who takes care of homes during brutal, biting winters on the Polish plateau. I flicked page to page and read about murders, cruelty, found family, and how animals do not deserve us. It was unseasonably warm, even for Madrid, and I was sweating in January while reading about thigh-deep snow. It made me wonder when the last time was that I’d seen snow that deep – Boston, 2015?
Olga Tokarczuk’s novel takes a crime story, which is typically not my genre, and slipstreams it into fairy tale and nature writing. It takes all the Thriller and Courtroom Drama out of it, which suits me quite well, because that’s usually what I dislike about crime fiction. It was a great compendium to the trip and I got to read an entire section of it while sitting in front of Goya’s Saturn Devouring his Son at the Prada. There is something so lucky and privileged about getting to match up a book’s mood to your setting. It makes you appreciate it.
I had a great time in Spain. It was a short trip, my foot bled, and I was exhausted by the time I got back to Frankfurt. There isn’t much more to say.
Trip Highlights
– My mom texted me and asked me if I got to try authentic Spanish nachos. I had to break it to her that nachos are, in fact, not a national dish of Spain. Though I also didn’t have Iberian ham the entire time I was there, either. Instead, I went to Jollibee. Fast food in the heart of Spain? It’s not the worst thing, I don’t think. Jollibee is Filipino and Spain would never be as rich as it is today without leeching from the Philippines, so I’d argue there is a cultural element to the fast-food pasta. Not to mention I followed up on my Jollibee meal by seeing art from Juan Luna, a Filipino painter whose art Spain likewise refuses to give back.
– While at Jollibee, I went to throw away my meal and a homeless man yanked my tray from me before I could throw it away. He scoffed that I’d eaten everything and shoved the tray back at me which, like, yeah dude, the food is good here. Of course I’m going to pick the plate clean.
– El Retiro park was crazy beautiful. I got to hang out with a flock of Quaker Parrots and helped them open up chestnuts. I did that for an hour and a half.
– Seeing Goya’s art. Seriously, that shit is insane. He’s my favorite artist, so it was cool as Hell to see it in person. This is probably what a lot of people felt at the Van Gough Museum in Amsterdam, though I was mostly bored there, since his stuff doesn’t resonate with me. Two people beating each other to death with clubs in a field though? I love that.
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