We had tackled the mundane chore of laundry our first night in Madrid, trying to decipher the enigma that is a European washing machine. We hung out the damp clothes to dry for a full day and night, but with no sun and cool temperatures, the majority of the load was as damp in the morning as it had been before. And then it started to rain right on our semi-dry laundry.
So off to the lavanderia I went to throw the pile into a proper dryer. The first establishment was closed, gutted on the inside, so I trudged back through the drizzle to look up a second choice. Wouldn’t you know it–the second choice was right past the Carrefour, closer than the first option. An hour later, after chatting with a young couple from Montreal who were traveling around Spain, I marched home with a bag full of warm dry clothes, and we were ready to head out to explore.
The mundane accomplished, we walked down to the Paseo del Prado park to view the surrealistic art at the Museum Sofia Reina, one of the triumvirate of museums in Madrid.
Our route took us toward the Botanical Gardens and the Atocha train station, whence we will eventually depart for Barcelona. It was a reasonably short walk to the station, but we agreed that we will take a cab when it’s time to leave. The Atocha is a typical big city European train station, a major transportation hub with the usual African trinket sellers lining the outside perimeter.
Madrid offers a pass for all three of the city’s major museums that gives you a year to visit for only 28.50 euros. When we inquired at the Sofia Reina, the clerk explained that I get in free there anyway, so we bought the pass only for Lynn. My tickets to the other two museums, the Thyssen and the Prado, will be at reduced prices. Europeans discount heavily to 65+ residents and visitors. I like it.
The Sofia Reina is actually two buildings, the second of which surrounds a large garden featuring statuary by Calder and Miro. The first floor of the main building showcased a most forgettable temporary exhibition of narcissistic self-indulgence by a European artist of the 20th century we had never heard of.
The major attraction at Sofia Reina is Picasso’s masterpiece Guernica, depicting the horrors of the Spanish Civil War. Guernica is to the Sofia Reina what the Mona Lisa is to the Louvre. The large room where Picasso’s signature work is displayed is packed full of visitors, mostly in guided groups with a leader explaining the features of the huge painting.
Along the facing wall is a fascinating set of photographs taken by Picasso’s lover at the time documenting the progress of the work from its basic outlines to the finished piece. Overall, this section of the museum is divided into at least ten different small galleries that include graphic films of the Spanish Civil War, many documents and posters from the time, as well as dozens of works by Picasso and his contemporaries.
The Civil War collection is impressive for its historic value as well as its artistic qualities. The Spanish Civil War comes alive here as the precursor to WW II that followed just a year later. Spain’s was the first war to utilize aircraft as a weapon of mass destruction, to coin a term. And I could sense that the subsequent dictatorship that ruled Spain for nearly half a century after and well into our own lifetime is still very much remembered by many of the older patrons there.
The rest of the museum displays a large collection of surrealist works, including dozens by Miro and Dali, both native sons of Spain. After another hour of surrealistic immersion, we were ready to emerge ourselves and head to lunch.
The museum’s cafeteria is quite stylish in a 50s mode. Lynn enjoyed the turkey sandwich, similar to a club, and I really, really enjoyed two duck tacos.
Refreshed and reinvigorated, we walked up to the Prado end of the park to inquire about tours to Toledo and sprung for a full-day. Then it was back to the apartment for decisions about dinner. But not before one more stop at Carrefour for more wine. This time I chose some Catalonian varietals, both priced at a stunning 3.45 euros. So far we have not had a bad choice.
For dinner, we found a restaurant actually older than anything in North America, including Antoine’s. Taberna Antonio Sanchez has was founded by a picador in 1830, a decade before Mr. Alciatore started serving pommes souflee to New Orleanians. It is not only among the oldest in Europe, it is one of the best preserved matador restaurants, of which, we were told there are but a few left in operation.
The decor was modernized in 1884 and has not been changed much since then, except for updating the portraits of famous bullfighters on the walls. Inside the first room are two bulls heads mounted on the wall, one of which convinced the bullfighter Antonio Sanchez to retire from the ring and work with his father in the restaurant business. Today they serve many of the traditional dishes of Spain, including bull (ox) tail, Madrid stew, Gypsy pot (use your imagination there) and snails.
The snails are unlike anything we Americans and the French are accustomed to. Instead of six in a little dish, at least three dozen were piled into a pot of savory sauce. We scooped up snails by the dozen and picked the meat out of the shells with toothpicks. They had a flavor quite different from what we are accustomed to but delicious in their own right.
OI could not resist the stewed ox, and I was rewarded with tender, tasty chunks swimming in their own gravy accompanied by smooth creamed potatoes that must have been cooked with mountains of butter. Lynn was not so fortunate in her choice. She ordered the cod, which tasted truly fishy, likely because we are located in the middle of a country that loves meat.
The waiter insisted we try some of their digestif, which was much less sweet than limoncello (thank God) but really does help the meal go down. Overall, a good meal for me, not so much for Lynn. Next time, perhaps she will pass on the seafood that can only originate hundreds of miles away. When in Kansas City, don’t order the sea bass.