Goodbye Madrid

I've been playing "This is My City" by Timothy Victor ever since it got stuck in my head walking home at 6 am from a night club on the other side of Madrid. I stopped and looked at a map of the metro, and broke down in tears. It was such a familiar picture. Here I was, on a street I'd never been on before, but perfectly confident of my way, many kilometers home, because by now I get this city.

I wasn't even sad about leaving it until yesterday. Until I read some of "Silicon Processing for the VLSI Era" for the very last time. I cleaned out my desk, said goodbye to the professors by sharing some pastries and gifts with them, and walked to the Ciudad Universitaria metro stop for the last time.

On the way, I dropped off my extra keys, and I walked through the Alphonso XIII botanical gardens. I followed weird twisty streets until I found myself completely disoriented but where I needed to be. It was a nice little adventure. I almost regret not following the path I had taken every other day. I always want just one last time.

Having consumed of pastries, I went to the Prado. One last time. I cried there, my first goodbye tears. I was very subtle about it. I hope. Mostly, I just wanted to see Saint George's battle with the dragon. I took a last look at the Garden of Earthly Delights as well, and some of my favorite Verones and Murrillos. It's funny, the first time I went I was frustrated that I kept forgetting which stories were being portrayed. By my fourth visit, I know every myth. Well, not all of the christian mythology, because I'm really not very interested. I can definitely pick Saint Augustine out of a crowd though.

Leaving the Prado was difficult.

I slept afterwards. I was going out with Sophia (the daughter of the professor who set everything up over here) and in Spain 'going out' means until the sun rises. So, I needed the rest. When I awoke, I was still without wardrobe inspiration. I could write a whole blog post on why self-expression in Spain is disasterously difficult. In the end, I got a classy but weird dress that fits like a glove. I was glad to be comfortable with what I was wearing.

We were meeting at 12:15, at a club near my house, but also near a metro station. I guessed a 15 minute walk. I was right, but I also started at about 12:13 so I was quite late. Somehow starting a load of laundry is an activity that warps time. When I got there, I asked the bouncer if he'd seen a blond girl with few other girls. He shrugged unhelpfully. I stood a few meters away debating whether to go in and look for them or just wait outside.

Waiting outside proved to be the right decision, bless my shyness, as a group of 7 girls approached, Sophia in the lead. They hadn't had anything to drink yet. I'd taken a shot of vodka (something a room mate left behind) which I chased with nutella, at home. Awful, to say the least. They were carrying around a bunch of booze, most of them under 18.

When they found out it was 12 euros to get in, they decided to go to Catz, which was the original plan before they decided to try something new. So, we got on the metro to Guzman el Bueno. They were an animated group, and I learned all about their gossip, which was fun. There was also a lithuanian or latvian (she was too sarcastic for me to figure out which one was true) girl with them. She'd met one of them in Ireland, where she lived now. So she required English conversation, which I was all too happy to indulge. I'm not sure I've ever met anyone with so forceful of a personality. It was funny until she accused me of breaking her teeth with a glass. Then it was annoying. Her teeth were fine. But that came later, at Catz.

Anyways, before going to Catz my compatriots needed to get drunk. Drinking in the streets is illegal, and drinking under 18 is illegal. And the cops rolled by. The girls denied any involvement with the bag of drinks, and Sophia pretended to be an exchange student with me since no one in Spain speaks English anyways. In the end, the cops just ended up sticking around, and the girls were desperate to get their money's worth on the booze. So, some of us went ahead while others waited for the cops to leave.

We mixed vodka and Sunny D Light in the shadow of a hospital and drank from the bottle, in an effort to remove any semblance of class. The mood was much lighter without the cops around, and we had a good time. The rest of the group caught up, and then we were off.

By this time it was past two, when we would have gotten in for free because of our femaleness. 6 euros got us in, and a free drink went along with the entrance. I had a "black vodka" which was excellent. Sour, and boozey and lovely. After that, I was a little drunker than I wanted to be, so I didn't drink any more that night. Just danced. The club was projecting the last game of the Eurocup on the wall, and the proprietors would announce whenever a goal was about to happen. The music was mostly Spanish pop, which I was glad of. It far exceeds American Pop in general grooviness.

At 5:30 we all split. The girls had a long ride home. I had a long walk, by myself, in a tight dress. I was only harassed by one man, who was unconventional about it and avoided most of the things I hate about being hit on, so it was a good trip. I might have even flirted with him had I not been about to break down in tears at the idea that I had actually built something of a life here, that my identity now had Madrid woven in, and that this was my city.

I know Madrid better than Portland. I have more favorite places here than I do there. My Reed Recovery took place here, and it was hard and intense and I was alone and scared and I survived and now it's gone.

The research group invited me back next year. Even though I don't think that microelectronics will ever be my specialty... I'm tempted to return. Just for Madrid. My Madrid.