Madridapalooza

March 18 — roughly 35,000 feet over the Atlantic

I’m worried. And it’s not just because I’ve entrusted the next three hours of my life to the irresistibly low-cost lovin’ of RyanAir (although that certainly has something to do with it). I’m worried because, as I approach the end of my year away, I’m starting to get a funny feeling (other than the oxygen deprivation, I mean).

All airline bashing aside, I’m worried because the closer I get to leaving Madrid, the less I actually want to leave.

I would love to dreamily recount how my feelings toward the city have slowly grown from initial seeds of resentment into a tiny bud of appreciation and finally a blossoming flower of love, but I don’t have a page minimum to reach so that won’t be happening. What I will say is that over the past few weeks, maybe the past month, I’ve been really enjoying being in Madrid. More than any kind of revelatory perspective shift, I think the feeling comes from a fortunate streak of random little experiences. Because I’m a pathetic, shy excuse for a human being, I couldn’t honestly tell you that I’ve gone out of my way to chat up strangers and seek out adventures, but I compensate by making an effort to put myself in situations where things might happen. That means turning off House of Cards, getting out of my apartment, and saying yes on the rare occasions that someone invites me out to go do something.

As a result of that, a streak of nice weather (I’m a sucker), and a heaping spoonful of good luck, Madrid has been making a strong case for itself. I’ll be thrilled beyond thrilled to get back to the Bay Area, but I get the sense that leaving here will be a little bit harder than I imagined. With all that said, here are a couple of the nice moments from the past two weeks of El Año Madrileño. Because these stories don’t have much in the way of continuity, and because it’s about time this blog went ~viral~, I present them to you in clickbait/listicle form:

Amazing! Some guy went to Spain and you won’t believe what happened!

Top five ways to know you’re Andrew and you’re having a good time abroad

Learn these easy study abroad hacks to become the ultimate basic bitch

1. At Wash U, when a frat or sorority wants to fundraise for philanthropy (which is, if you think about it, an incredible euphemism for beer money), they sell donuts. That’s great. But I’ll put it out there that UC3M does it better, because they sell sangria. And just to be extra Spanish, the only size in which they sell said sangria is about a liter…which they call (I shit you not) “mini”. So a few weeks ago, I went with a couple of Spanish kids from my radio class to that day’s sangriada. I was there of course, to support the cause, a protest against some new school legislation (be more Spanish, please). So a liter of sangria it was, at 1PM on a Thursday. I made sure to get a chorizo & cheese sandwich to complete my balanced lunch, and to avoid repeating an earlier sangriada-induced mistake that resulted in a more entertaining than usual train ride back to Madrid. Healthy comida in hand, I spent the next two hours shooting the shit with my classmates and their friends, all in Spanish, comparing cultural differences, bashing the USA, and all the usual stuff. Because apparently life in Madrid consists of sitting in the sun and chilling out over a nice school-sponsored sangria. I dig.

2. That same weekend, my friend from MA Walker Kehoe popped over from his extended stay in London for, presumably, an afternoon of sangria in the sun. Instead, we went out to explore the bars of Malasaña and reminisce about our golden years back in high school. Everything went rather normally until we detoured to Walker’s hostel to pick up his jacket. He mentioned that there might be people hanging out on the rooftop balcony, so we went up to explore. What we found was a dozen high school girls from Cantabria (in the north of Spain), who generously invited us for a few rounds of calimocho and yo nunca, Spain’s answer to the American classic game, never have I ever. We joined, which meant having to translate their surprisingly graphic yo nuncas for Walker. I picked up a few words that they don’t teach in Spanish class, to put it mildly. We moved on with our night at around the time the game switched over to spin the bottle, sensing that our continued presence might have been unethical, but that whole encounter was a prime example of those great, impossible to plan abroad moments. And being able to chat up random folks (granted, high schoolers), is the kind of thing that makes suffering through Spanish 307 and 308 almost seem worth it.

3. The next day, I went back out with the English/Spanish hiking group from last semester. Claire came along, and even though neither the hike or the group were anything terribly special, any chance to get out of the city and into the unfailingly pleasant mountains of Spain is worth it. The next weekend, Sharanya and I went for a day hike in Manzanares el Real…er, more of a quarter day hike plus some snacking atop rocks and enjoying the view.

4. Slacklining! Madrid has an excellent slackline group, a bunch of Spanish and international folks who flock to Parque del Oeste at the first sign of nice weather for long afternoons of slacking and being harassed by illegal beer vendors. If you ever want to feel famous, just head out there and flop around on a line for a bit; though I may someday die, I will forever be preserved in the iPhoto albums of hundreds of random tourists. I’ve left my mark on mankind. Also I can now almost do tricks without breaking my face!

5. For a little bit of self-induced homesickness, Sharanya and I wandered out to Madreat last weekend, Madrid’s answer to San Francisco’s Off the Grid. (I suppose not everything is a corollary San Francisco, but it helps me make sense of the world, so just let it go.) The tasty calamari sandwiches were the main attraction, but spending an afternoon peoplewatching was a good reminder about the many things that Spain does right. There’s a level of appreciation given to downtime, where the only obligations are friends, food, and Mahou. It’s the same way in the plaza outside my apartment on warm weekend days, roaring with children and lunches and musicians. And here I go, starting to think about how much I’ll miss it.

That’s probably a good sign that it’s time to wrap it up here. I leave you with this photo of the chocolate chip cookies I made last weekend becuase they balanced me out and made me think of home. Come back soon for thoughts on a long weekend in Tenerife and 12 signs that you’ve definitely eaten too much jamón!