Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

Our backs were aching, our feet were swollen with soreness, but we had done it. We toured the Prado Museum in 4.5 hours.

The arrival into Madrid had us undertaking this behemoth of an art museum where Europe’s finest collection of more than 3,000 paintings resides. We saw countless works from some of the most famous artists in Europe, including what’s considered the world’s greatest painting, Diego Valazquez’s Las Meninas.  

Though hardly art buffs or even true art appreciators (as noted by the exhausted and ‘is it over yet?’ looks that marked our faces for probably 50% of the visit), we felt more cultured and more educated for having accomplished it. It would also serve as a valuable backdrop for essentially all other art, culture and history experienced on the trip.

With the exception of extremely important museums like Prado and Reina Sofia (which we also visited to see works like Picasso’s Guernica), and the Royal Palace modeled after Versailles (impressively grand, though hardly comparable to the insanely lavish Versailles) Madrid, to us, was a bit of an anomaly on this trip.

While the rest of Spain is rich in history, culture and unique architecture, Madrid felt void of that same richness and identity. If you transported us there with no knowledge of where we were going and asked us to tell you where we were, we wouldn’t be able to identify it. Even its grandest street, the Gran Via, was largely modeled after American buildings in New York and Chicago. French influence is everywhere, though without the caché of Paris. There are, no doubt, beautiful corners and unique streets that we savored for their photo-worthy qualities. But in a country with so much color and vibrancy, it felt a tad flat by comparison.

The food scene was also strangely hard for us to get a pulse on. High-end restaurants are easy to find and we experienced an incredible, upscale modernist meal that had us completely enamored with the culinary and service experience. It may have been the most special we've ever eaten, period. Yet, less expensive quality experiences were difficult to identify and not largely reviewed in the media.

Food writing friends in Nashville and beyond: your services are desperately needed for Madrid. Consider this a heads up to make your pitch to the Madrid PR machine for a free foodie trip. The world of food lovers will thank you.

On the dessert front, Matt was quite excited to try the popular churros and chocolate, which are essentially phallic-looking crispy doughnuts you dip in chocolate sauce. He somehow convinced me to eat them for breakfast, dessert and then for breakfast again; three times in a 24-hour span. Once was great. Twice was ok. Third time was a bad idea. If he puts churros and chocolate in front of me again, I will gag. Guaranteed.

Note: The above paragraph was in no way intended to be a sexual innuendo, though upon second reading or perhaps a symptom of my dirty mind, it sounds raunchy. However, it is virtually impossible to eat churros and chocolate (or write about them) without at least thinking of the sexual innuendos, which are further reinforced by the photos tourists are snapping around you that are blatantly sexual. Consider yourself warned if you plan to partake in churros and chocolate.  

After a few days exploring Madrid, we set out on a side trip to the little town of Segovia. Craving the slow country life after being in the fast-paced city, it was a treat to show up early in the morning to empty, quiet streets. Ah, peace.

Our main motivation for side-tripping was to see the Roman aqueduct that dominates the skyline in the old town. We are suckers for Roman ruins, so the fact that this one was not only completely intact, but scenic, made it a must-see for us. Another sight Matt was particularly excited about was an old Knight’s Templar church that had once claimed to house a piece of Jesus’ cross. The tiny little medieval church was the most simple and stark of any we had seen on the trip, but its primitive feel and secret past left us more excited than the massive cathedrals we’d experienced.

The rest of the day was spent wandering the parks and trails along the river, touring the royal palace, and meandering through the streets. We savored the smallness of the town, knowing it was the last of the little places we would visit in Spain.

Though not filled with major or particularly important sights, small towns like these are quickly becoming our favorite places. While certainly that sense of experiencing greatness, such as when we took in the amazing works in the Prado, is no where to be found, our souls leave nourished. Our guard comes down. Our sense of wonder goes up.

Cities are great. Perhaps the small town life, at least while we’re on vacation, may be even greater.