As I entered into the Plaza Mayor,
Suddenly I “feel” the history all around me
As our tour guide starts talking about the place
I start to visualise all the things that has happened in that square
From the celebrations it had held, market stalls to the dark moments
where it was the place where people came to watch
executions.
It was first constructed entirely out of wood and
suffered many fires…
I see the place suddenly a blaze in front of me,
there is panic around me as the people
try to put the fire out,
They all ran for buckets of water in their rugged clothes
and faces blackened by the smoke, they are exhausted…
eventually the fire is put out.
It wasn’t until King Philip III that completed the
construction by the architect Juan de Villanueva.
Then the square had four name changes over the years,
but it now remains as Plaza Mayor,
to this day it is still a place for celebrations, shops and cafes.
Also one of the major tourist attractions visited
by the thousands a year, me included!

Franco’s profile in the Plaza Mayor after the Huelga General…. Of the many profiles in the plaza the authorities always cover this one during times of unrest to make the vandalism easier to clean off.

Alrededor de las ocho de la noche, los grandes centros comerciales cercanos y los últimos paseos de los turistas, camino de Sol, abarrotan una de las vías más concurridas y emblemáticas de Madrid. En los alrededores divisamos y escuchamos a varios artistas en su búsqueda, casi desesperada, del interés y de las monedas sueltas de los transeúntes. Cuando nos cruzamos con Reinaldo, somos nosotros quienes nos fijamos en él.

En este argentino de 44 años –quién lo diría– el carácter de artista se percibe a primera vista. Exhibe sus pinturas con cierto aire protocolario, como si llevase haciéndolo desde siempre. El manejo diestro, fluido y ordenado de las herramientas, los sprays y las plantillas dan buena muestra de sus estudios de Bellas Artes.

Reinaldo Medina abandonó Argentina en 1998 para formar parte de la “gran cuna del arte” que es Europa. Estos últimos 15 años le han bastado para conocer los principales centros culturales del viejo continente (París, Londres, Ámsterdam, Berlín…), así como la práctica totalidad de la geografía española, de la que cuenta que sólo le faltan por visitar Asturias y Galicia.

Sin embargo, el temple bohemio de Reinaldo choca con el crudo pragmatismo de la realidad de la calle. Aunque reconoce que vender sus obras en la calle le ayuda a aliviar su situación económica, detesta el ambiente de la calle, del que resalta las rivalidades que sacan a la luz el lado más primitivo de las personas. De hecho, hasta las ocho de la noche la policía no le permite establecerse porque es entonces cuando la mayoría acaban sus guardias.

La locuacidad de Reinaldo no se detiene ahí. Casi sin darnos cuenta, conduce el tema de conversación a la actual fuga de cerebros que se vive en España derivando, de alguna forma, en el origen de la bomba atómica y los cambios geofísicos durante la historia de la Tierra. Asimismo, disfruta explicándonos la historia del graffiti y su propagación hasta llegar a España. Su dialéctica, además de al placer narcisista de ser escuchado, se debe a que estudió Filosofía en Argentina. De entonces conserva una verborrea incontenible que aplica con voracidad con todo aquel “con materia gris”.

Resulta paradójico que, como artista, el tema que más le cuesta sacar sea su propia obra. Sus óleos se han expuesto en diversas galerías de Madrid, donde su precio ronda los 500€ de media. Suele despreciar las obras que crea en la calle (las vende por 10 y 15€) “porque son fáciles”, aunque incluye en ellas detalles que impregnan su obra, como la disección del círculo mediante líneas rectas y curvas, el contraste de tonos muy cálidos y muy fríos y las influencias del expresionismo de Kokoschka.

Consternado, Reinaldo afirma que volverá a Argentina en cuestión de meses porque la situación en Europa en general y en España en concreto es insostenible. Hasta entonces, seguirá vendiendo sus obras en el centro de Madrid y, probablemente, disertando sobre temas tales como la pasividad del español medio.

Ah Spain, a memorable trip.

Metropol Parasol: The World’s Largest Wooden Structure Seville, Andalusia, Spain

Built by J. MAYER H. Architects

hanging out in one of the plazas

Palacio Real

This last picture is of the Mercado de San Miguel, which was one of the coolest things I have seen in Spain.  I think that the markets might be my favorite thing in general about Spain because they are all so unique and fresh and different from eachother.  Although the picture quality isn’t the best, this market was indoors, unlike the one in Barcelona under a tent, and it is heated and surrounded by glass walls so you can see inside and all around.  The market was very modern, chic, and organized, and each little stand was unique.  They had dessert crepe stands, candy stands, yogurt stands, a stand for paella, a stand for burgers, and a bunch of stands for cheeses and wines that you could taste and bring with you as you walked around the market.  The other pictures are from various plazas and lookout points that we visited throughout the walking tour, including plaza mayor and the Palacio Real, which we got to observe from the outside.

The majority of this trip was spent just wandering the city and enjoying our time in Madrid.  Since this trip followed our trip to Italy, we were a little worn out of tours and intense sight seeing, so we took it easy and saw a few main attractions, but mostly wandered around and leisurely explored.

One of my favorite things about the trip was Parque Del Retiro, which is a huge public park in Madrid covering over 350 acres. We spent hours walking around the park and enjoying the different trees and flowers and animals, and it was very fun to people watch.  When we got to the center of the park by the small little lake, there were a bunch of street performers and it was very popping.  I was a bit jealous walking through because we do not have a park like this in Barcelona, and I feel like if I lived there I would walk through every day.  My favorite part about the parks – finally getting to see a bit of fall with the leaves changing colors! (we haven’t experienced much of that pretty look in Barcelona)

As I said before, it was a very relaxing weekend, but it was nice to get away from Barcelona for a little bit and stay in a hotel compliments of our program!  Although this is a short post, it was a great trip and Madrid is a really cool city!

My wonderful trip through Mexico continues with such a lovely group of people. As we bid farewell to vibrant Mexico City I could feel the excitement building within our group as we headed to Puebla and Oaxaca.

San Domingo Church

Our first stop after Mexico City was the historic town of Puebla. This city was purpose built in colonial times for the Spanish population and the indigenous peoples of Mexico were not allowed to live here. The Spanish influence on this city has resulted in many well-preserved buildings remaining from the colonial era. One of the most beautiful of these is the ornate San Domingo Church. The walls are intricately decorated with gold.

Pueblo, local artists strip

After our visit to San Domingo Church we walked to the area where you can find the famous Talavera tiles. These tiles have been produced in this area from the local clay since the 16th century and are discernible by their milky-white glaze. This area has many tourist and artists shops where you can purchase your own piece of this stunning pottery.

Puebla is also well-known for its many sweets and its local cuisine. Our lunch was in the historic hotel. We enjoyed delicious food and in particular the special treat of a chocolate mole. The Mole Poblana is one of Mexico’s most famous dishes and is served with chicken but also tastes great with bread. The local musicians played for us while we ate and I am the proud owner of yet another CD capturing the sounds of the local music. We all enjoyed listening to this as we drove on to our next stop, Oaxaca.

Puebla colonial building

There is always so much happening in Oaxaca where the Plaza Mayor is the meeting place, with its many restaurants surrounding the square. We had such an incredible day and such wonderful food and dining experiences. In the evening we enjoyed our dinner outside. At the restaurant two people were playing their guitars, their music adding to the already great atmosphere. Local sellers wandered by hoping we were interested in what they had to offer.

By this stage we were all savouring the local beer Sol. The local Mexican wine is not really to our taste as back home, in Australia, we are certainly spoiled in our choice of quality wines. Beer is the way to go!

In another part of the Plaza people danced to the music of a local band and there were fireworks celebrating the Revolution.

Monte Alban, Mike Stroud

We spent two nights in Oaxaca and the following day our tour took us to the archaeological site of Monte Alban. This amazing temple complex was the religious capital of the Zapotecan people. It is so large and still so well-preserved to this day. We climbed around the various temples and were lucky enought to take some truly beautiful pictures. The pictures of Monte Alban that I have used in this blog post are from Mike Stroud who was kind enough to allow me to share them.

Monte Alban, Mike Stroud

They say “a picture speaks a thousand words” but it is really difficult to capture and convey the true grandeur of this archaeological site.

Local dancer in Oaxaca, Mike Stroud

In the evening we attended a cultural performance with dancing in the colourful and beautiful costumes all from the local area in and around Oaxaca. These photos are also from Mike Stroud. Just wonderful!

I took this one last February in Madrid, in the calle Postas, in my way to the Plaza Mayor. It was almost Carnival so the costume shops were full of masks staring at the visitors.

Otra novedad del blog: de ahora en adelante iré compartiendo algunas {de los millones de} fotos analógicas que tengo.

Tomé ésta el pasado febrero en Madrid, en la calle Postas, en mi camino hacia la Plaza Mayor. Era casi Carnaval así que las tiendas de disfraces estaban llenas de máscaras mirando fijante a los visitantes.

This photograph was taken with my Halina Paulette and an Ilford FP4 film. And, despite the other analogue photos I’ve shown you, I had to adjust the brightness/contrast because, out of nowhere, my scanner decided that the main colour was grey, not white, not black, just grey… leaving the photograph looking not a single bit like the original print.

Esta foto la tomé con mi Halina Paulette y un carrete Ilford FP4. Y, al contrario que las otras fotos analógicas que ya os he enseñado, he tenido que ajustar el brillo/contraste porque, de la nada, mi scanner ha decidido que el color principal era el gris, no el blanco, ni el negro, simplemente gris… dejando la foto sin que se pareciera ni un poco a la copia original.

Plaza Mayor, Madrid, Spain.

And you can also check out the Second Part for another bunch of pictures of this amazing, warm, lively city.

Please click on thumbnail

© Ilyas Ayub and ilyastravelphotos 2012. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ilyas Ayub and ilyastravelphotos with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Plaza Mayor

Colegio Arzobispo Fonesca

Der Dom

Die Universität (Escuelas Mayores)

Die Bibliothek

Der Astronaut (am Dom)

Eine Drache esset Eis (am Dom)

Warum gibt es einen Astronaut und eine Drache am Dom? Es hat eine Renovierung (im Jahre 1992) gegeben und der Architekt hat Bilder hinzugefügten!

(Fotografien © linguisticsandcake)

Please correct any mistakes in my German in the comments, thank you!

We thread through the cars that are parked (in those days) smack in the middle of the Plaza Mayor.  We take the Knife Cutters’ Gate and descend into the “caves” under the Plaza.  Once used by merchants from the provinces to hang hams and store barrels of wine meant to be sold in this central marketplace, these mesones are great, stone basements under the plaza.  Now students come to play music, sing, dance and drink.  There are tables – long, low slabs of wood, spilled upon, carved upon and danced upon for years.  We crouch on wooden stools.  There are clay plates of potato tortilla and sizzling chorizo shared around.  There are pitchers of cold beer and jugs of cheap, killer wine.  The guitars at every table compete to see who plays the loudest while others sing and tap tricky rhythms as only the Spanish can do.  The air is thick and smoky and hot down here.

I have not yet learned the songs, though I leave hours later, hoarse from singing.  I am years away from the legal drinking age in my own country, but I leave tipsy.  And I am more than ever in love at first sight. He holds my hand and leads me home.

I am boarding this “junior year abroad” with the Widow Cánovas on the Calle Lagasca in the upscale neighborhood called Salamanca. It is past midnight, so all the great doors, built a hundred years ago to admit horse carriages into the courtyards, are locked tight.  We clap our hands to call the “sereno“.  This public servant, there is one in every neighborhood of Madrid, is a watchman who carries the keys to any door that opens onto the streets in his district.  They are not ordinary keys that he carries.  These are heavy, elaborate, iron keys that I have only seen before in movies.  The keys are all looped on a ring attached to the sereno’s cloak.

It is so quiet that we hear an echo when we clap our hands to alert the sereno that we are waiting. Then we hear the keys, far off but jangling louder, as the sereno hurries toward us.  It is so cold we can see our breath in the lamplight.

The sereno arrives and warns me that my roommate, who also had a date tonight, has forgotten her key to the flat upstairs. Can I wait for her? She does not dare to ring the bell after midnight.  But I am wearing a California wrap on this cold Madrid night.  How long must we wait? The sereno has a solution.  He will open the milk shop next door.  We can wait there, where it is warm.

We go into the milk shop, lit only by the street lamps outside.  And it is surprisingly warm.  There is a long, marble counter that stretches across the width of the shop, but no bench, no stools.  My date throws his jacket on the stone floor, and we sit down to wait, leaning against the counter. He strums the guitar and I am deeper in love at first sight.

Strange, this milkshop.  What is that odd smell? Where are the refrigerated cartons of milk and cottage cheese?  Ah, but I am too much in love at first sight to dwell on these thoughts.  The shadows, the warmth, the guitar, a first kiss and “Moooooo”!

I hit my head on the overhang of the marble counter as I jump to my feet.  There is a living, breathing, mooing cow looking at us from the other side of the counter.  My date is astonished that I am astonished.  What did I expect?  This IS a milkshop.  And this is the source of fresh milk in the middle of a city in Spain in 1964.

Keys jangle.  The sereno opens the door to tell us my roomate has returned. A last glimpse at the cow to reassure myself that I am not dreaming and we are back on the cold street.  The sereno opens the great wooden doors with his great iron key and we give our dates a quick good night kiss in the doorway.  We take the elevator, although we do not trust it yet.  It is a rickety thing with intricate grill work.  The floor is wooden, the buttons are ivory.  The noise is not soothing as it shudders to the fourth floor.

I open the flat with my key and behold the Widow Canovas!  She is wagging a finger at us, scolding us because she has already been informed that her boarders have dared to kiss boys goodnight, in the doorway, in front of the serreno and God knows what other eyes peeping through the shutter slats.  She promises to knock some Christian morals into us before the year is out. Just wait until she hears about the cow …

(A note to my grandchildren: this is the truth about the first time I kissed your grandfather, 48 years ago this Halloween.)