Madrid Me Salva

            Madrid is the best city to deal with jet lag.  I once landed on a transatlantic flight at 6 a.m., and arrived at a friend’s apartment as he was returning home from a night out.  We slept until afternoon, syncing up with much needed rest, me barely registering the change in time zone.  But now my jet lag is warped with insomnia and writer’s block.  After tossing and turning on a futon, futilely chasing sleep, I slink onto a narrow street, silent save for the rhythmic patter of my sneakers.  Before rounding bends, I peer into emptiness; ultimately shake off paranoia of would be assailants crouched behind trashcans.  There aren’t many places on the planet where I feel safe strolling at 4 a.m., but the capital of Spain is a rare exception.

Only this lit at Carnival... not idle Wednesdays

As (most of) the city slumbers, few creatures bejewel her radiance: lip locked adolescents huddled outside discotecas manned by burly bouncers, their voices garbled with Eastern European accents and Marlboro tobacco.  I circumvent flocking vagrants shrouded in smoke, as well as the splashing mist of street sweepers power washing the pavement, preparing it for a new onslaught of Zara heels dodging doggie doo.  The winding, shining avenues are protected by chizzled cops nursing impeccable, seemingly requisite stubble and café con leche.  And the crowning gem? An ancient abuleo slicing through the silence on a Segway boasting LED lights, bumping techno from an iPad, up way past his bedtime.

Randi <3

There’s the lone Americana, channeling it all through a pen greased from saturated and satisfying chocolate con churros, served 24/7 at San Gines.  I tease out a novel’s plot, accompanied by the Peruvian dishwasher’s reggaeton thumping from the kitchen, enjoy the early morning emptiness of the touristy café.  Madrid has seen me through many sleepless nights, seemingly endless heartbreak.  What’s one more?  Madrid me mata, they say… but Madrid has, time and again, saved me, breathed new life into a piece of wearying writing, my soul on the brink of collapse.   I owe my devotion to her and the people she keeps. 

Father says don’t chase buses or boys—they’ll always leave you behind.  I propose we add “sleep” to the list.  Instead I seek snacks, a fount of flowing chocolate and inspiration in the city that always eats and spits me out renewed.