That's quite the title, eh? It reminds me a bit of an aging rock star's last hurrah before descending into irrelevance and oblivion, for good. Well, since I am anything but a rock star this really should not be as much of concern to me than more immediate issues such as falling asleep and missing a flight, getting on the wrong metro, temporarily losing my passport, or not making it out of bed before the 4:45 a.m. pee. Getting old(er) is sooo much fun!
As I am not much a friend of big celebrations (especially if they involve my own persona) I decided about half a year ago to run away from Lubbock and do something that's extraordinary even for me and my peripatetic lifestyle. Why not travel around the globe? And so I started to hatch an itinerary that would allow me to see old friends and also explore new locales, all of that while maximizing airmiles and hotel points because, well, it simply feels better to spend less than $1,000 than in excess of around $16,000 for flights and hotels. The trip was born, and the first logical stepping point was Madrid.
Longtime visitors to this blog will remember my many dedicated trips to the Spanish capital (or simply stopovers on the way to somewhere else) when I spent time with Howard. We had first met in the summer of 1975 while in Israel. It's a long, long story with many wonderful twists and turns and everything in between, but here we are, 51 years later, the same crazy guys, just a little older but none the wiser. British-born, -raised, and -educated Howard met and married Lidya, way back when he still lived in Mexico City, at the same time as I was developing my first roots in Lubbock. I was there for their wedding, I met his older daughter, Sandra, before the grandparents did, and I beheld beautiful Karen as a tiny bundle after he and Lidya had moved back to Europe and lived in the UK's Milton Keynes.
Simon was born, they moved to Madrid to start a new life, and mum and his dad eventually died. There are all those stories involving his sister, Celia's, children and the times that Judy and I spent with the Davies family members in Upper Basildon and Twyford. And throughout it all, there was one constant: this deep, honest, life-long bond and friendship that Howard and I have developed and nourished over the years and decades. It seems we're getting closer and tighter every time we see each other again.
During my two days in Madrid we talked more than an intimate couple will converse in a month. We caught up with each other's life, even though thanks to WhatsApp and the blog we know a little more of one another than we used to in the days of onion-skin paper airmail letters that we exchanged regularly. I can still see Howard's flourishing handwriting covering 18 of those tiny, translucent sheets that weighed almost nothing so that the postage stayed reasonable. Forever etched in my mind are the memories of a telegram that Howard sent to his parents from—maybe Tunisia?—where we invented the word "safe'n'well" to avoid a three-letter charge and paid only for a one-word cable to announce our safe arrival.
All these years later, it is nice not to have to worry about the cost of the meals we took or the beers we drank. Just hours after my arrival on Tuesday morning we went off to lunch in a small restaurant in Barajas, the community outside of Madrid where Howard lives with his family, just five minutes away from Madrid's international airport. We had a long lunch with local delicacies, from scallops to fried pork belly, from herring filet to perfect lentil soup. The stage was set.
Tuesday evening we Cabified it to a brewpub a few miles away; Howard's choice for the evening was closed, which had eluded him when he had done the planning. You know, as retirees we have a hard time figuring out whether it is Tuesday or Wednesday.... The
Cerveceria Baden-Baden was heavy on the Bavarian theme even though the eponymous German city is located in Baden Würthenberg, not Bavaria. Ah, just details. The draft IPAs were fresh and flowery, the nitro stout was velvety and almost required a spoon to consume, and the overall decor of the place was so cozy that we and another two guests were the last ones left at closing time, well after midnight. It wouldn't have been Spain had we gone straight to bed once back at
la casa: Oh no, it was time for a post-midnight snack, and that bottle of red seemingly not just opened itself unaided but also evaporated without any obvious input. And all this less than 16 hours after my arrival from the US.
My one and only truly full day in Madrid was spent in similar fashion. Howard and I took the metro to downtown Madrid and embarked on a beer crawl that unfortunately resembled more a snipe hunt than visiting an orderly succession of artisanal establishments. It was either "Closed for Lunch," "Closed on Wednesdays," or simply "Closed." It didn't matter: We found a bite to eat, we found a crappy beer (mainly for the bathroom it offered to customers), and eventually we found
La Osita, a tiny taproom for the
Oso brewery. We enjoyed talking to the British bartender and finally took off for the last stop of our Madrid Beer Tour, the
Beer Joint, whose name matches the non-descript neighborhood it is located in. BTW, have you ever had a smash burger with a full ladle of chili con carne on top? Well, I hadn't either. I had to ask for a spoon.
Before I headed out of Spain on Thursday afternoon, Howard and I had a final breakfast in a small bakery near his house. It was a fitting close to our time together, huddled outside under the infrared heater because the inside tables were taken by others in search of a good cup of coffee and pastries. If there were one thing I could change about Howard, it would be his tolerance of and dedication to Nescafé, that gawd-awful powdered excuse for something that can be so delicious. Claiming that tea is just as good is—plain and simple— pure heresy. I love you, Howie!
By 2 p.m. I was back in the Barajas airport, easily progressed through the Fast Track lane and its dedicated security, and spent an hour or so in the Iberia lounge before heading for my next destination. What a great start for my 70th Birthday trip.
Jürgen
Tuesday evening we Cabified it to a brewpub a few miles away; Howard's choice for the evening was closed, which had eluded him when he had done the planning. You know, as retirees we have a hard time figuring out whether it is Tuesday or Wednesday.... The Cerveceria Baden-Baden was heavy on the Bavarian theme even though the eponymous German city is located in Baden Würthenberg, not Bavaria. Ah, just details. The draft IPAs were fresh and flowery, the nitro stout was velvety and almost required a spoon to consume, and the overall decor of the place was so cozy that we and another two guests were the last ones left at closing time, well after midnight. It wouldn't have been Spain had we gone straight to bed once back at la casa: Oh no, it was time for a post-midnight snack, and that bottle of red seemingly not just opened itself unaided but also evaporated without any obvious input. And all this less than 16 hours after my arrival from the US.
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