Madrid

Like all capital cities Madrid bustles with traffic, important people and tourists.  Backbackers abound.  But there are still whiffs of the sulphurous undertones of the Inquisition as well as the smell of tobacco from the many furtive smokers in the street and the saffron hints from paella being prepared.

International shops litter the lovely boulevards, the Zaras and H&Ms are ubiquitous.  Not so much the chic local shops that used to be here. There is here as in so much of the West an ineffable sense of exhaustion and ennui. Nevertheless people are unfailingly polite and helpful.  For example when we were buying our bus tickets to Toledo the machines wouldn’t work and we were one minute away from the bus pulling out of the station.  A bus station employee came rushing up and tried to get the machine to work.  He failed but he said “nevermind, you can pay on the bus.”  Of course had we known that or had there been a sign indicating that we would have hopping on much earlier.  But, of course, it all worked out so que sera, sera.