Half Full or Half Empty?

Oh Madrid, how you have captured my heart.  I am trying to remind myself that my glass is half full, but as I continue to fall in love with Madrid and my number of days here decrease, the “half empty” feeling is trying to take hold.

After my first trip to Madrid, I wasn’t sure I would ever come back.  A short visit (which included a Sunday when much is closed) combined with jet lag and no football matches, made Madrid feel lifeless.  Despite my initial misgivings, however, my love of Real Madrid football (soccer) overpowered my less than enthusiastic impression of the city and I returned.  The second trip was better, longer and included a trip to the Santiago Bernabeu (the home of Real Madrid) and I began to appreciate the city, but I still wasn’t convinced…

Ah, but how things change.  When faced with a move to a new city, a likely change in job, a decided lack of vacation going forward and a strong desire to learn Spanish (which increased with every Real Madrid match I watched on ESPN Deportes), I began to wonder…what if I went to Spain for a few weeks?  I could improve my Spanish AND go to football matches.  Win-win.  The obvious choice was Madrid, but my hesitations returned.  It wasn’t my favorite Spanish city.  Would I enjoy spending four weeks there?  Yes, I would be able to go to several football matches, but four weeks is a long time when unsure about a city.  In the end, however, I took the plunge.

I had 16 glorious days in September where I fell in love with Madrid.  I was able to explore the intricacies of the city with friends.  We enjoyed glorious sunny weather.  El sol y la ciudad invigorated me and I felt alive once again.  When my travels came to a crashing halt due to an injury, I was devastated, but I had enjoyed good times and knew I would return to Madrid.  But when?  In a year or two?  Or would it be longer?  Upon returning to the United States, those questions began to weigh on my mind…when I first went to Madrid, it was simply a fun outing, but back in the States, I found myself longing to return.

The decision to make my way back to Madrid was the best I have ever made.  My housing situation isn’t as good this time.  The weather is questionable from day to day.  I have less free time because my classes are in the afternoon.  But I am back in Madrid.  I have returned to the bars in Malasaña to watch football matches.  I can see friends who I wasn’t likely to see for several more years.  I am back in classes, can talk with my favorite professors and improve my Spanish.  I am able to have jamon y queso y patatas bravas (the good stuff) once more.  And I have returned to my beloved Santiago Bernabeu, to my Real Madrid players and my fellow Madridistas.

As I walked through Retiro Park on Thursday, my joy at being able to once again live and experience life in Madrid brought actual tears to my eyes.  November 1^st was a holiday in Madrid, a day to remember those who have passed.  The closure of offices and stores brought everyone to the park:  young and old, rich and poor, those in love for the first time and those who have loved for many years, the essence of Spain, and the essence of los Madrileños.

So now, as I come to grips with the end of my days in Spain, I struggle with seeing the glass half empty.  I now know the sadness I will feel upon leaving Madrid.  I now know the brilliance of the city.  But I refuse to believe that this is the end and I will continue to look at the glass as being half full.  Hala Madrid!

There’s No Place Like Home

Madrid is not my home.  In fact, it is nearly 3,800 miles from my actual home in Washington, DC, but when the lights come on and the whistle is blown, there is no place like the Santiago Bernabeu, the home of Real Madrid.

Saturday night was not my first Real Madrid experience, and it won’t be my last, but entering the stadium and hearing a familiar buzz, my emotions were stronger than ever.  Surprisingly, I was nervous as I walked in to the stands.  It wasn’t because of the team Real Madrid was facing.  Celta de Vigo has been fighting a good fight this season in the Spanish La Liga, but I wasn’t worried about their threat against Real Madrid (who would win 2-0).  I was facing a personal anxiety, as the last time I was at the Bernabeu I had to be escorted out by 4 paramedics and 2 suits after the best and worst injury of my life – a shoulder dislocation due to excessive celebration.  As bad as the injury was, I would do it again and again, even knowing the outcome.  On Saturday, however, as I found my seat, my fears dissipated.  The “splurge” on tickets was worth every penny – 13^th row, mid-field looked damn good.  (And for those of you who are superstitious, 13 is my lucky number, so no need to be afraid of the outcome.)

It is difficult to describe in words the atmosphere at the Bernabeu.  There are the typical sounds…people talking, the lights whirring, the stadium announcements, but there is so much more.  For me, Saturday was happily familiar:  the sound of the crackle of sunflower seeds being consumed, the beat of the drum in the Ultras section, the cries of delight from the fans when things were going right and the groans and growls when they were not.  The Bernabeu breathes as if alive when one hears the rapid Spanish being spoken mixed with languages from fans far and wide joining together to watch the beautiful game.  But more than that, life at the Bernabeu means the cessation of the chatter when the whistle is blown.  From the 3 year old sitting next to me to his elderly grandfather with him, it is known – when the game starts, nothing else matters but Real Madrid.

The sounds of the Bernabeu, however, are nothing compared with another powerful sense:  the smell.  The smell of the Bernabeu is distinct from any stadium I have been to in the United States.  There is no fried dough or popcorn, but an intermingling of the Madrid culture.  Perhaps it is the strong cologne being worn by the Madridista sitting in front of me or the cigar being smoked by the man behind me or even the faint whiff of the still warm ham and cheese bocadillo being eaten nearby, even better, the scent of the wine from a bota bag.  I suspect some of these things are repulsive to some of you, but to me, these smells are the pull of a foreign land, of life in Spain itself, of my home away from home.

However, on this night, the most powerful pull came from the players themselves.  Hearing, “el capitán” Iker Casillas lining up his defense during set pieces and “el jefe” Xabi Alonso barking orders to the players causes powerful emotions in this Madridista.  These are players I have watched for years.  In the case of Xabi Alonso, a player who has championed the only two teams who will ever have my heart:  Liverpool and Real Madrid.  To hear for myself the voices that I have heard so many times on the television completes the night.  I may not be from Madrid, but there is no place like home, my Madridista home, the Bernabeu.