In Old Madrid

 We've made it to Madrid, though as far as I know Blanche never did, perhaps because she didn't have to fly in from America. An on-time drive to JFK, an on-time flight, a very early landing -- which proved problematic because we arrived at our hotel six hours before we could check in. And we were TIRED. 

We went to a restaurant called Billy Brunch for breakfast (probably the only time in my life I will ever have to wait for a breakfast restaurant to open!) because it serves eggs benedict, and one of us is enamored of the dish. I have to find it for him every place we go. It was worth the slight wait, especially accompanied by mimosas (not necessarily recommended at 9:30 a.m. after no sleep). Then we wandered around the beautiful Retiro Park, where I was interviewed by some college students about my thoughts on trans athletes (responses for another blog entirely). 

"The greatest painting of the 20th century" -- Phil Sicker 

It was still early, so we went to the James Joyce Pub (I guess there's one in every city?) downstairs from our hotel, and during our libations
we heard the room was ready. We crashed for several hours, then headed out to Reina Sofia museum. The line was long but moving very quickly, and it turned out this was because entry was free on Friday nights. Lucky us! We viewed Picasso's Guernica, which Ben had never seen, several Dalis, and paintings by Miro. Then we went to Calle Cava Baja for tapas. The whole area was hopping; Friday nights are lively in Madrid. The place we ended up at made their own vermouth and used it in a delicious though brown cocktail, and we tried six different tapas, including fois gras on toast, squid in its own ink, and pork cheeks in red wine, before we started to power down. We peered in the door of the oldest restaurant in Europe, Botin, where we couldn't get a reservation without taking a tour. Then back to the apartment, thoroughly exhausted.

After a nine-hour sleep, we woke refreshed and headed out to the Prado, passing a huge demonstration in favor of pensions on the way. We had advance tickets so got in quickly, and spent a couple of hours looking at Velasquezes, Bosches, Goyas, and El Grecos, as well as a couple of Fra Angelicos, Raphaels, and Breughels for me. Crowded (especially the Bosch room, everybody loves his weirdness) but absolutely stunning.

We stopped off at a renowned sherry bar, La Valencia, where Hemingway often drank (yes, he probably drank at every bar in town) to introduce Ben to the beverage. We sampled fino, manzanilla, oloroso, amontillado, and cream sherries, and all preferred the amontillado. Now we must hunt for a bottle to bring home.

We walked to Plaza Mayor after resting and passed the second demonstration of the day. The first was in support of pensions, but this one...well, maybe it was against cremation in general, or maybe it against cremating the remains of an anti-Franco freedom fighters' graveyard. We were unsure, but the marchers felt strongly.

We ate black-ink paella for dinner, quite delicious though it's always a little unnerving eating food that is black. Phil almost devoured a customer's Iberian ham appetizer because he thought it was on the counter for entering diners to sample, but Ben slapped his hand and prevented an international incident.

Tomorrow we head to Burgos -- where Blanche, known as Blanca in her own country, was born.