72 Hours in Madrid

Amigos, I took the risk. On my first solo adventure abroad I gained perspective. There were also losses: a leather belt, chapstick, fears of the unknown…and a small blood sacrifice.

I visited Madrid for a once-in-a-lifetime Kanye West stadium concert, Spanish language immersion, and the chance to step beyond my comfort zone by traveling to a foreign country on my own.

In the days before I left, wildfires in France and Spain dominated the news. By the time I landed, the smoke was gone but the glorious, merciless Spanish sun remained.

The shade is everyone’s best friend when it’s summertime in Spain.

For three days, Casa de las Artes in Madrid’s Literary Quarter Barrio de las Letras became home. I couldn’t have picked a better neighborhood as someone who loves books, writing, and wandering through public parks.

I was within walking distance of the city’s central neighborhoods like La Latina, Lavapies, Gran Via, Puerta del Sol, the Almudena Cathedral, and the Royal Palace of Spain.

The Almudena Cathedral rooftop offered sweeping 360-degree views of Madrid.

On this trip I celebrated a 900-day streak on Duolingo for Spanish. As it turns out, speaking Spanish is far different than studying it. Conversations did not come naturally; this foreign language immersion experience exposed the gap between knowledge and fluency.

This was humbling; even small-talk challenged my cognitive processing. There were many lessons in action. Nouns and adjectives carried me farther than verbs.

One evening I dined at Viva Madrid and ordered the Jamón Iberica.

After exchanging holas the waiter asked me: ¿Inglés o español?

I hesitated. I searched my brain for the vocabulary and couldn’t find it.

As the delay grew longer I knew I had to break the silence.

“¿Cómo se dice ‘both’?”

The word had vanished from my mind.

He smiled. “Ambos.”

Then he and I shared my favorite universal language together, LAUGHTER.

My Spanish uniform was off-whites, neutral linen, comfortable platform shoes, statement scarves, sunglasses, and enough SPF to battle the relentless sun.

Because el sol felt vengeful. I spent the sweltering siesta afternoons in the art museums Museo Reina Sofia (contemporary) and The Prado Museum (classical).

Among the Picassos and Dalís at Reina Sofia, the Felix Gonzalez-Torres special exhibit Sweet Revenge featured candy spill installations and stacks of paper that gradually disappeared because visitors were invited to take a piece with them.

The artwork wasn’t complete until someone took a piece home, reminding me that travel isn’t about collecting places, it’s about collecting moments.

Saturday I woke up early to rent an e-bike and explore El Retiro Park where there were runners, dog walkers and families. In broken English I was told by the bike rental staff that there were 3 speed settings to the e-bike. The moment before I mounted I pointed to my head- “helmet?”. The bike shop guy said “it’s your choice”. So I strapped it on.

El Retiro is a comparable size to Central Park and I wanted to cover as much ground as possible. And I’m a New Yorker so I went full throttle.

My first stop was the rose garden where I stuck my nose in a few pink, lush ones and deeply breathed in their sweet fragrance. Then I headed north to see the water fountains with high inertia on the wheels, but gravity had other plans.

The e-bike caught the curbso to avoid a crash I swerved and fell. Two strangers stopped for me and poured agua fresca on my scrapes and made sure I was okay.

I looked at my palms which began to cry small red tears- sangre.

Luckily I had sanitizer spray and tissues on hand, but my ego stung more than the cuts.

I had to slow down. You cannot see everything, Kay- and that’s okay.

I walked the bike back to the rose garden where I stopped and smelled the flowers a bit more while realizing that no city can be conquered in 72 hours, only experienced.

I spent the rest of my trip strolling with ease through neighborhoods and plazas, stopping at bookshops, eating tapas, and nibbling on chocolate.

The night before I flew home, I returned to Puerta del Sol one last time. The moon glowed almost as brightly as the Spanish sun but kinder, gentler. It was there where I felt God’s presence and guidance.

Moments like that outlast monuments. I crossed an ocean believing I was planning a trip, only to discover that God had been planning a transformation. We spend so much of our lives believing we’re the author, only to realize someone else has been writing beside us all along.

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