Madrid Reawakening

Life doesn’t always go as planned. This seems to be a recurring theme. I don’t help really. My mind is constantly churning out fantasies of how things should be. So much so that some days I risk ruining by sticking so adamantly to my vision. The truth is that travel is anything but perfect. Unforeseen and unavoidable events have a way of reshaping and often superseding travel plans that were so diligently arranged. I’ve fallen into a slump recently; feeling as if traveling has become more of a hassle and far less of the adventure that it had seemed before. Yet sometimes all it takes is reexamining the situation and rediscovering the magic of the innate adventure in everything. The magic of life.

Adventures rarely originate from days that turn out exactly as planned. Adventures are most often found in the missteps, in the places where you’ve wandered to yet where you never intended to be. Unintentionally taking the proverbial road less traveled by. These adventures force you to open your mind and they enhance the sense of accomplishment you feel when things finally fall into place.

Where did this life lesson come from? It dawned on me during my most recent and impromptu trip to Madrid. From the offset things were not going right. As I mentioned above, my sense of adventure seemed to be fading. Bus schedules were all wrong, forcing me to head down to Madrid a day early; thus providing me with a superfluous day in a city who I thought had already shared all the charms it had. I followed the same old routine: find hostel, check in, go for a long walk around the ever more familiar streets, and call it an early night. Then something happened. I made friends. The kind of friendships that last for a night forming bonds across nationalities and bridging language barriers, if only for one night.

I was in heaven. We were quite an eclectic group, French, Australian, American, Colombian, Argentinean and even Swedish. The conversations were living entities, seamlessness shifting from French to Spanish, Spanish to English as needed to facilitate the comprehension of those involved at the given moment. Sharing multiple languages made any grammatical errors obsolete. I was spellbound by the way French and Spanish words, usually at odds in my mind, suddenly worked side by side. We learned so much about one another, opening up the way you only can with total strangers, sharing tales of adventures, mishaps and lives back home. As I finally laid my head onto my pillow I felt at peace, even in a room with five strangers, because for the night we were the best friend each other had. Thus, in one night my uncertainties about traveling alone began to crumble.

The next morning I was faced with my least favorite hassle of traveling with others, meeting up. The truth is that no matter how detailed the directions, there is always so much out of one’s control. This is made all the more difficult when one party is phoneless and thus uncontactable; an odd sensation in a time when everyone is constantly connected. There is no greater test of patience.

I had made plans to meet with a new friend; a kindred spirit I’d met on a recent outing. Having only met once, I was filled with slight trepidation about how the day would progress, having forgotten he innate trust I used to have in my gut about people. I was nervous that the conversation would not flow as smoothly as it had the time we met. As time passed I realized this was the least of my worries. After an hour had gone by I began to worry. As the second hour approached I had befriended the friendly gypsy woman selling jewelry and I was desperately trying to put myself in the head of someone I had met only once before. The doubt melted away when he turned the corner, as relieved to see me standing there as I was to see him no longer lost.

I dragged him to my favorite sites of Madrid. Every time I come I fall more in love with the city. So many friends have experienced it with me and each time I discover something new, and this time was no exception. We bypassed many of the monuments, opting instead for the parks that dot Madrid. It was magical, I can think of no better place to experience my first spring in three years.

We headed to my favorite park. A place I had found charming even when the trees were bare and the ground nothing by dirt. This time it was alive. The trees have exploded with color, flower petals rained gently from the treetops. The scent of fresh beginnings overwhelmed the air. Each part of the park has its own personality. One moment you are walking through arches covered in roses, the next you are surrounded by street performers. In one corner nature has been left to grow freely, and across the street there sits a well tended garden lined with statues. We spent hours wandering the paths. I became lost in the sounds of happily chirping birds and the scents of flowers that wafted by in the wind. We paused for a rest in the grass. I took my shoes off and felt the blades of grass slip between my toes as the sun beat gently on my back. I appreciated the spring like I was seeing it for the first time. Every sense enhanced by the lack of this season in Benin.

In the end, the conversation flowed more seamlessly that I could have ever imagined, even with my overactive imagination. His passion for what he does was addicting. As a musician, his descriptions of music were fascinating. By the end of the day I felt like I had learned so much and had gained a stronger appreciation of music. It was a pleasant reminder of how nice it is to make new friends on the road, especially the kind of friends that open your eyes just a little more to the wonders of the world around you.

As I awoke early the next morning I felt ecstatic, nothing could make this weekend better. I was so adamant in this belief that I decided to take the first bus back to Benavente before Madrid could ruin the enchantment which had been cast upon me. So, heart set on home, I packed up and headed to the bus stop only to discover that there was no bus until 5:30pm. I stood shocked and dejected trying to figure out how I could waste nine hours without spending a dime. My mind suddenly filled with roses, the park was calling to me, so I rolled my bag back to the metro.

In order to make the most of this unexpected day in Madrid I took a quick detour to Starbucks, figuring I’d sip one last American coffee. I heard a strong American accent behind me in line, asking if today was a holiday or something. (Aha! That explains the little bus dilemma.) I went to their table to ask where they were from and they immediately invited me to join them. In return I shared my expert advice on how to see Madrid without entering anything, since their plans of museums and palaces had been thwarted by the holiday. Through conversation we discovered that their son had been one of my patrons at Sweet Sinsations. It was one of those moments when the magic of events unplanned lights your heart and heals the wounds of things gone wrong. The American woman’s eyes light up as she recounted her year in France, one of the best of her life. Her eyes light up as she said, “I remember the feeling, I’m sure you know it, when after feeling so isolated by the foreign language that surrounds you, one day you just begin to understand.” Yes, it is a feeling I know all too well. I was comforted knowing that the hour alone I spent sharing tales and amazement at the diminutive size of the world was worth having to wait on that bus.

Soon the park began to call again. I rolled my suitcase down dirt paths until I found a sunny patch of grass on a hillside that called to me. I laid out my pagna (for one should never travel without one!) and gazed at the treetops, enraptured by the variety of colors and shapes.

Not long after sitting down an Asian woman approached me with her camera out. I prepared to agree to take a picture of her and her friends, only to be astounded by the question that left her mouth in broken English. “Picture can my friend with you?” Sure why not. Life can be so amusing when you let it. He sat beside me, posed, and suddenly I knew what it felt like to be a tourist attraction. Three others from the group approached with cameras and began clicking. The novelty of it was amusing so I handed over my camera; this was a memory worth recording.

In the end what threatened to bring this perfect weekend crashing down just enhanced it so much more. I’m not thinking of what should have been but rather what is. Although nothing about this weekend went quite as planned, once I accepted that, I opened myself to something so much better, I’ve rediscovered that magic that had originally drawn me too far away places. I woke up this morning just wanting to go home, but as I sit in the park and feel the breeze on my face, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.