Madrid airport is large and modern and efficient. Hugh ponders various unfamiliar looking Mediterranean baguette sandwiches.
The people in the airport give off all kinds of vibes, like a big city. Some have a dash of firey New York Bronx mixed with Italian charm, others radiate Mexican hombre.
Outside we join a taxi queue, well ordered, but longer than I think I’ve been in in my life.
A couple of young Americans try to skip the queue and are successfully shouted off by locals. The Transatlantic harmonious spirit is waning.
As you leave the airport you immediately join onto a highway, like Sydney, contributing to the big city vibe.
We drive along freeways and through tunnels, in a city with less strict planning controls on its buildings and more pragmatism. The brownstone towers give less of a sense of consistent aesthetic beauty in the buildings compared to Lisbon, but still a sense of group identity and compassion.
As we leave the freeway we drive through streets of fir trees.
We drive past an arch in a roundabout near a university. From 1827 it celebrates the defeat of Napoleon and the return of a Spanish King to the throne – the end of Tyranny. (“TYRANNIDE GALLORUM EXCESSA”).
In Lisbon, the posters hanging from balconies talked of the hope of tourism creating opportunities. In Madrid the balcony posters said “Tourism is killing Madrid.”
Our apartment lobby has fridge style lifts, which we leave the suitcases and take the stairs.
The front door opens with a phone, a promising sign.
We open into a kitchen decked out like a Gucci store, a red feature wall with silver chain drape covering it.
The kids room has a city fresco on one wall.
Our room has two towels shaped like swans kissing sprinkled with red chocolates.
Hugh discovers the wifi is doing serious business.
A cupboard on the wall opens synchronously upward and down maintaining the asthetic effect.
In the kitchen, a fridge integrated into the overall look says interior designer and not DIY.
