Nearly two months later I find myself writing my second blog; eight weeks of tomfoolery to order and detail. As such I am going to try to confine this blog to ‘la marcha’...
After the death of Franco in 1975, and the country’s return to democracy in ‘78, Madrid became the symbol of the country’s liberation. It quickly embraced all that had been forbidden and currently has one of the most, if not the most, amount of bars of any city in Europe. Indeed, ‘la marcha’ (nightlife) in Madrid is great. We have dared to go where the pijos (posh/rich kids) go but have found our niche; the euro-trash equivalents to the Roxy/Moonies. Shameless. The first prestigious establishment I refer to is a place called ‘Copas Rotas’. We find ourselves there at least once a week, ushered in by the very eager Spanish Eduardo who will always supply us with a free shot or two, and has more recently upgraded his kind gestures to include the occasional free cocktail or even a rose. What luxury. Copas Rotas (lit. broken glasses) offers one euro cava to consume whilst they accompany chart hits with visual entertainment in the form of Embarrassing Bodies. So enamoured of Copas are we even a half-hour visual examination of hemorrhoids won’t deter us from this delightful place... Once we’ve guzzled our way through a few classes it is time to head to the surprisingly Spanish 'Irish' bar where encounters with the Madrilenos are ever enjoyable and after befriending Spanish Justin Beiber, engaging in inbetweener-style dance-offs, avoiding drowning in tequila-or all of the above-we religiously drag ourselves to indulge in a well deserved slice of pizza from one of the many 24 hour pizza pitstops. Thankfully this city never sleeps. More eloquent than me, Hemingway wrote:
“In Madrid on cold nights you can drink sherry brandy and go to bed. To go to bed early at night in Madrid marks you as a little queer. For a long time your friends will feel a little uncomfortable about it. Nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night."
However, as in London, we do stray from this type of clubbing. The supposedly ‘trendy’ part of Madrid is called Malasaña and since we all live pretty close, we have a few favourites there. We’ve visited Chueca-the gay barrio of Madrid-where I have never seen so many toned, bronzed and fabulously sculpted men. Michelangelo would be impressed. We have recently discovered Madrid’s answer to Ronnie Scotts and with an Amaretto in hand we reveled in some good old-fashioned jazz courtesy of ‘DJFunkwoman’. I will most definitely be returning. The weekend that my sister Lydia came out we were lucky enough to go to the Bon Iver concert at El Palacio Vistalegre. This has been one of my highlights of my time here. It was absolutely incredible but cannot be done justice by my words here.
The differences in drinking habits between home and Spain are ostensibly similar but inherently different. Not only has this been my observation, but my Spanish flatmate’s too who has been surprised at the amount consumed at 'British' pre-drinks. And yet I am continually surprised by los jóvenes here. The quintessentially Spanish phenomena botellón is their pre-lash taken to the streets, replacing cider with a calimocho (red wine and coke) or two. I’m not convinced. I have also noticed at Uni that the Spaniards like to have a couple of bottles of beer with lunch before going back to class; and yet we’re still considered to be the drinkers! On one occasion I was told by an anonymous party-goer that he ‘doesn’t like British men because they’re always drunk’... but apparently British girls are fine. Phew. So I am yet to come to my conclusion on drinking habits, and I’m all for cultural immersion, but for now I’m going to stick to being a Brit on this one...
Until next time,
La Rubia
(Yes, apparently I’m considered blonde here!)
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