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when
london was to celebrate queen
elizabeth’s golden jubilee weekend from june 1 to 4 in 2002, i flew to
madrid for a
spanish long weekend. actually, though i’d visited
barcelona and several cities in
andalucía before, i’d never been to
madrid, i’d known of
madrid only through visual and written information until then.
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so, that was real
madrid. you might know this if you were a football fan: “real” in
spanish means royal, incidentally. my hotel there was
villa real, which is not a super hip but really cool hotel with 5 stars. matter of fact, it was the 1st prize of a travel essay contest organised by a
spanish travel agency and
mr geek, whom i went out with at the time, won.
mr geek, who is a self-claimed anarchist, invited me there to escape the golden jubilee together.
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the weather was brilliant in
madrid as you can imagine. by day, we rambled about town visiting museos such as the
prado,
reina sofía and
thyssen-bornemisza for master pieces of
velázquez,
goya,
el greco,
bosch, but
picasso’s guernica was “away’ unfortunately, and
jardín botánico was a real oasis for chilling out. by night, we went out for tapas, or a meal at 1 michelin-starred
zalacaín, or to
teatro real for the modern adapted “madam butterfly” where i needed a bucket for my tears.
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it is always so nice to go on holiday with a companion who has lots in common. still, to be honest with you (and with me too), my memories of being a traveller can be more vivid somehow when i travel all by myself. maybe, because i’m too selfish and greedy to have all experiences in foreign countries to myself? and, because i want to be free anytime for taking pictures without keeping anyone waiting. in this sense, our
madrid trip was fun but tends to slip out of my memory.
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