Meh, Madrid

Guess who doesn't speak English?

*Surprise!*

All of Madrid.

"No problemo!" I thought.

Armed with my Sesame Street Spanish, I could handle these Madrilenos.

And still take in a bullfight by Sunday night.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Or in the words of my local hosts:

"Im-Poss-See-Blay!"

Jason insists that should have been the theme of our weekend.

Can our family fit in your taxi?
"No! Im-Poss-See-Blay!"

Could we take this train back to Madrid? 
"No! Im-Poss-See-Blay!"

May we order more chips with this bathtub of queso?
"No! Im-Poss-See-Blay!"

Accent on the "No!" 

Soooooooo difficult to imagine the Inquisition going down among these accommodating folks.

Sure, we saw their illustrious Royal Palace of Madrid which is reputed to rival Versailles.

Which it does.

And like every royal palace-  makes me fantasize about textured, damask wall-paper.

So a super thrilling place to be. 

And yes, we toured their National Armory. 

Since weaponry is my boy's love language - this was the *only* museum through which they did not whine and sloth-walk.

But otherwise, Madrid was just underwhelming.

I was expecting vibrancy and musicality and friendliness.

And got nada.

*Correction* 

We did stumble upon a small mariachi band in the Puerta del Sol.

Those guys probably worked for Chi-Chis before it filed for bankruptcy.

I recognized those sombreros from somewhere. *wink*

Hold-up.

(Can we just take a moment to pause and reflect on the loss of Chi-Chis and their spicy, Latin birthday serenade?  I miss it.)

Look, I know it's unrealistic to expect several matadors to just be parading along cobble-stoned streets.

But, maybe just one. Just one and I would have forgiven Madrid everything.

Well, perhaps that's an overstatement.

Their TSA did strip-search me and then throw away my friend's expensive wrinkle cream.

Some things are just unforgivable. 

Look, here's the skinny:

The people were not terribly friendly.

I wanted to flamenco dance and couldn't.

Oh and it was dirty. Super dirty.

That's when we decided to "peace out" (as the kids say these days) and head to "Holy Toledo!" which was just a train ride away.

Nothing was simple about this decision, I should mention. 

We ran for trains.

We overpaid.

We overstayed.

And . . . we ended up in another cathedral.

It's becoming a problem. 

My poor kids. It's going to come up with a shrink one day. This -too many cathedrals thing.  Someday on a leather couch in some guy's office with Bach playing softly in the background. I won't blame them.

Toledo was adorable. Like almost as cute as Assisi, Italy. Almost. But not.

Serpentine, ascending narrow streets. Quaint, charming tapas bars lined rustic roads that hinted at antiquity. All at the top of a mountain. Precious. Freezing but precious.

What did we love about Madrid?

The Mexican food. And my Mojito.

Everything else was just "Meh." 

Holy Toledo! 

Plaza Mayor: 22 Photos of everyone squinting

Primate Cathedral of Saint Mary of Toledo

The Royal Palace of Madrid