Livin’ la vida loca

My livin’ la vida loca over the past few months has definitely taken a different turn to the way I thought it would. So today I’m doing another imagination blog, about the holiday I can’t wait to go on in Spain when we are able to go there safely. So, deeply coloured by the memory of my last adventure in Madrid, a whole seven years ago now, here goes:

I am looking forward to walking through narrow streets in dry summer heat, with the buildings providing a little shade. It was in Spain on my first trip there that I really understood the need for siesta – it is just too hot in the middle of the day to be out and about. We stayed in a rather dodgy hotel in Madrid in mid-June, reasonably close to Plaza del Sol.

We walked the streets, going where we felt like, stopping when we felt like it for small beers and jamon and cheese croissants. I want to go back to that bustling bar, with barmen standing behind taps that ran constantly from about six in the evening til late. It was always a crush, it was always fast-moving. The barmen built towers of glasses under the taps, and knew the time it would take them to fill, so would serve patrons food, take their money and then expertly stop the taps and restart with a brand new tower.

We had a day’s glorious wander to the art museums, loving the Prado and the Thyssen-Bornemizsa.

Looking forward to that feel of warm skin (and suncream for me), wandering the streets then going back to the room to watch bad telly on the only channel in English for a few hours before heading out again – it was always Storage Wars, and we did that for all five days we were in Madrid, except for the day we went to Toledo. We still laugh if we ever catch Storage Wars on TV, because we can remember watching it, sitting on the bed, eating lettuce like crunchy green chips out of the bag. Then we would head out to find new sights, new tastes.

Warm skin, cold beer, new adventures.

Day 22.

Writing Song:

Ricky Martin’s Livin’ la vida loca

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