De Madrid al Cielo

I think I might be ready to accept the fact that my vacation is over.

It has become increasingly obvious over the last few days that the laundry and grocery shopping are not going to get done on their own.  So I suppose it’s time to put my Spanish holiday in the “this happened a million years ago” files and return to real life.

But.  Let me just say, it was a heavenly trip.

In fact, there is a popular phrase in Spain that sums it up:  De Madrid al cielo {“From Madrid to the heavens”}.

Meaning, once you see Madrid, heaven is the next best thing.  And I get that.

As I suspected, Madrid did not disappoint.  Yes, of course some things have changed in the 19 years since I lived there, but so much is just as I remembered it.

I was gone for a week.  It felt like a month and it felt like a day all at once, if that makes sense.

If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just dump a bunch of photos on you.

* * *

The trip was sort of divided into phases, which worked out really well.

Phase One:  The Good Old Days.

I flew over with my close friend Rebecca, who had studied there with me back in 1993.  We had 48 hours there together, and we walked every inch of the city — taking it all in and remembering old times.

We also met up with our Spanish friends, whom we hadn’t seen in 19 years.  These guys were so good to us when we lived there — they showed us their city and taught us how to act like Spaniards.  And they basically partied with us every night of the semester.  They were dear friends.  Rebecca and I knew what a special time that was for us, but I don’t think we ever understood how fondly they remembered it as well.

So imagine, all these years later, to be able to see them again, and to meet their wives and sons.  To hear about all they have been doing.  To see that they are still the kind, generous souls who want to make us feel at home in their city.  Their hospitality was beyond measure, and it was amazing to feel as though we could pick right back up again.

And strangely, I found my Spanish coming right back to me in conversation.  On day one, I was hesitant and intimidated.  By day three, nearly fluent.  Which I totally did not expect.  Could I pick up every word?  No.  But I had an 80/20 rule that worked out pretty well, as long as I didn’t miss a key point in that 20% gap.

Phase Two:  24 Hours in Zurich.

While the impetus for the trip was to celebrate Rebecca and me turning 40 (though she still has a precious few weeks holding onto 39), the timing also worked out spectacularly that our dear friend Alicia — also part of the original study abroad group — just had her first baby.  In Zurich.  So, what’s a little side trip?  We were already across the ocean, right?

I’d been to Zurich once before to see Alicia.  It’s a fascinating place.  Not only is it textbook-gorgeous, but, as Rebecca said, it’s like visiting the future.  Everything is super-clean and super-efficient.

The irony of this is not lost on me.

It’s always great to have the three of us together, though it happens so infrequently.  Nothing is off limits in our chats.  You know those friends?  The ones you can have TMI girl talk with at turbo-catch-up-speed?  It was that.  A little unfortunate for Alicia’s boyfriend, whom we may have traumatized.  But he was a total trooper.  We had a fabulous and much-needed 24 hours together.

Phase Three:  The Newbies Arrive.

Rebecca had to fly back to the US from Zurich, and I headed back down to Madrid just as my husband and our friends from Boston arrived for the second half of my trip.  Of the three of them, none had been to Madrid before.  So it was in my hands to show them the city and make sure they loved it as much as I do.

It’s fun to be a tourist.  To walk and wander and discover something fabulous at every corner.

To join silly bus tours.

Oh, and to stop every hour or so for food and drink.  Because it was flaming hot.  About 104 degrees.  Basically, it was the Sunscreen Olympics I’d been training for my entire life.

So I ate and drank my weight in the following:  Spanish ham.  Churros con chocolate.  Cafe con leche.  Wine.  Cheese.  Times one thousand.

And we had some culinary adventures too.  Like eels.  And sea urchin.  And blood sausage.  Delicious, every one of them.

Truly, the Spanish lifestyle is one I could embrace in earnest.  They know how to live.

{Side note:  Why has nobody made a fortune off of a proper churros franchise in the US yet?  How the hell has this not happened?}

Anyway.  My husband loved Madrid.  So did our friends.  I couldn’t have asked for anything more.  Except, maybe, to have the Euro Cup Spanish victory occur one week earlier, when we were still there.  Instead, we watched at home with Spain’s newest fans.

* * *

So now I’m back and, somehow, my kids seem to have grown six inches each and appear a year older.  It’s funny how a week will do that.

I feel somehow like I never left home, while I wash dishes and pack lunches for camp.  And at the same time,  I feel myself still clinging on to the photos in my mind of my week-long adventure.  It’s odd how a place can feel so close to you and so far away.  How real life automatically hums and buzzes back into gear while your memory holds onto what was a temporary alternate reality.  Sometimes you need those photos just to prove to yourself that it actually happened.  That you were really there not that long ago.

It’s a strange feeling, the re-entry to real life.

But, above all, I feel lucky.

Lucky to have gone.  Lucky for how well it worked out.  And truly lucky that Spain has stayed in my soul after all these years.