Saturday, September 7th

Madrid, Hotel Paris
5:40am
Woke at 5. Maybe noise in the street below, but more probably a fear of sleeping past 6, to be at the airport. Still, 5 is a tad ridiculous. Couldn't sleep anyway. Watch TV, news, some boring stuff in English, sport, boring. Pay TV has Captain Corelli's Mandolin, with bad Italian accents dubbed into Spanish.

6:15am
Sol Metro.

6:30am
Second Metro. Principe de Vergana, there's a young spunk opposite wearing just a red sequin wrap. Then, there's two American boys trying to impress the Spanish chicks, and they're attempting to do it by emphasizing their American-ness, talking about what college they attend, saying "St Josephs University, like Oxford and Cambridge". Yeah, right, I'm pleased that it utterly fails to impress at all.

7:25am
Connected at Columbia. This is obviously the Aeropeurto train, backpacks, suitcases. Then out, following signs to the terminals. I, 2 or 3? Dunno. Ask at Information. Flight Number? Dunno. Where from? Singapore (I'm, guessing by this stage). Terminal 1 then.
Made it with only an hour and a half to spare, wouldn't want to cut it too fine.

about 9:25am
Yes!

11:20am
And we're here, plural now, in the Cañas y Tapas bar, near the Toledo Metro exit.

2:02pm
Centro de Arte Reine Sofia, Picasso's Geurnica.

It has two armed guards, and, if you even think of sitting down to look at the painting, they get an urge to kill you. Well, warn you off anyway. It's such a huge painting, it takes time to really see it. In the next rooms are all the studies done in preparation for this. There's nothing accidental, or spontaneous in it at all, every detail meticulously planned.

Was really tempted by the souvenir Guernica mug. 11 euros. I'd have to carry it, so maybe next time.

4:20pm
We've walked from the Reine Sofia to Puente del Sol, through 'Old Madrid', giving ourselves the guided tour.

4:55
Plaza Major
The Cerveceria. C's just ordered a red wine and a beer. Bejaysus, it's her first day in Spain, and her Spanish is far better than mine. The waiter is making a great play of my 'sombrero', and the guitar-playin' busker insists on payment for his unasked for services.
I think the large beer has gone straight to my head.