Return to Madrid

It didn't seem like things were wrapping up, or even changing gear, but they were.

The train sped past the olive patchworks and small farms I was used to seeing: yellow sunflowers, pale gold wheat, light green beans, rows of corn, fluffy asparagus, and dotted with sometimes crumbling or roofless houses; and rugged mountains in the background. I drew some of the passengers, and Lola signed her picture.

Lola on the train

We talked about our respective travels: she was going to a ten-day spiritual retreat near Barcelona. She had no children of her own but showed me pictures on her phone of the latest niece who had been baptized the day before, and a lot more besides. Unlike on the China trip, I did not find my Spanish in a state of collapse by the end of the trip, or myself either-- still going strong. But there was a minor disaster: good that it happened so late in the trip: I lost all my art supplies except my sketchbook and paints. All my favorite faithful sticks of lines and color! I didn't even realize it until much later . . .

Madrid: serious art, relaxing strolls in the Retiro, wonderful food, and a waiting friend and the inevitable surprises. Of course, still going strong! The trip from Atocha to Tres Peces was distinctly uphill, but familar, past the Reina Sofia, the big stone plaza with kids and soccer balls in the middle, adults relaxing around the edges, and little shops that made the place a neighborhood.
At David's time seemed to slow. An artist friend of his came to lunch. He works in a number of mediums but we talked about a project involving layers of plexiglas with paint squeezed between each layer: intense colors and with the layers, striking and different from different angles. Well, words don't really avail.
Otherwise, a quiet day ending in a cafe with a view of the Prado through the trees. The next day we visited the nearby market which had numbers

The Tree

of stalls selling produce, meat, fish, coffee and pastries, candy, books-- and chatted with proprieters and neighbors. More walking around the neighborhood and the Retiro. Of course I remembered the glass house, the boating pond, the formal gardens, and the tended woods; but I also recognized a particular tree that I had seen four years earlier, because I had drawn it, imprinting its shape in my memory. So I drew it again, but wasn't pleased with the result.

All of Me

And, in front of the boat pond, there was a man playing a clarinet beautifully, at least to my ears, and he way playing the song that had been in my mind for days-- All of Me. Delightful-- and as the pictures show, the weather was perfect. I think I will have to come back here and . . . draw each tree in the park. Maybe the botanical garden as well.

Prado II

That night, we ate at Plaza Santa Ana, accompanied by various performers passing the hat. Suddenly, thunder! Lightning! And rain. We were cozy under our big umbrellas, watching and hearing the rain thudding down. Fantastic! And the performers mysteriously immediately produced umbrellas for sale. Soon, the rain stopped and we went back to David's place, the streets all shiny with wavy reflections of the lights around them.
Early the next morning, I entered the travel infrastructure that I would not leave until I stepped onto the tarmac at Charlottesville airport. Back to Atocha, to Barajas, where the security and hike from the checkin to the gate took about 90 minutes, even though I had no checked luggage and had checked in electronically, to the plane to Philadelphia. As the plane landed, big black clouds were rolling in, and flights were cancelled left and right  The glass skinned terminal was a fishbowl filled with people thrashing around, sitting around, or striding purposefully, making plans on their devices, but to no actual effect since no planes were going anywhere whether you looked busy and important or not. It seemed like a stage play, with that busy-time 50s music. I recharged all my things.  It wasn't clear I'd be spending the night there until quite late, especially since I was on Spanish time, 6 hours later. Two helpful things: many of the seats did not have armrests so that one could lie down; and I had two kilims in my little bag. Lots of people were encased in crackly foil space blankets that made them look like takeout hot dogs, but I snoozed in style, with my kilims draped over me.

overnight at PHI

 And woke up to the memory that the next flight was supposedly at nine that night. 30 hours in the airport, However . . . when I asked for a refund so I could travel home via Amtrak, they found a place for me on the 11:00 am flight.
This is when I should have been drawing-- great opportunity. But I just did a few quick faces.
When I arrived at CHO, the weather was perfect: blue sky, not too hot, taxi waiting to take me home by a scenic back road I wouldn't have thought of. It looks so different here. So green. Home.

I have made some resolutions based on experiences on this trip, and hope that I can keep them. I want to keep eating well: I don't crave french fries or even chocolate at all right now! Peaches-- that's another thing. I want to gather some new and different friends, from the large arts community in Charlottesville. I want to work on my own drawing and painting consistently. Maybe learn to sing and read music-- a long shot. I want to keep track of who I myself am and what I want and be a better self-advocate. And other things, too.  So far, so good.