Eat, drink, be Madrid

~ mjparman ~ 1 Comment

The kebab place near my friend Oda’s old apartment is this BOMB shwarma place. Hands down my favourite we came across, and we ate at A LOT of kebab places (you’ll notice pretty quickly they’re everywhere). This place was my group’s favourite because their spicy sauce was ACTUALLY spicy. For me and my fellow Texan in the group this was, taste-wise, a little trip home!! Woooo. However, we can’t for the life of us remember the name, but its in Malasaña! On one of the streets off Fuencarral. If you find the little shop that is literally just a room with vending machines (selling some pretty questionable items) it’s up the street, on the same side of the street as that little place. (I know my directions on this blog are bullshit, I’m sorry I am not even trying to make them better.)

El Infinito a coffee place a short jaunt from the Anton Martin metro stop, a rather local place where they don’t really give a damn if you’re served in a timely or convenient manner whatsoever, especially if they sense you’re American. Really, that’s the glory of it. They have a little section of books that you can take one/leave one, which isn’t revolutionary but I like very much. Their Irish coffee is stout and delicious.

La Bicicleta was a regular haunt for my friends and I in Madrid. We got coffee here all the time, occasionally a glass of wine, and studied, OR on a night where we were out a little early for Madrid, we’d have mojitos here. The staff deals with a lot of ex pats because its in the really trendy Malasaña neighbourhood, so they’re nice enough, wink.
Somewhere in the very close vicinity is a bodega that sells American style deodorant, which got a lot of business one tipsy evening from a group of very enthused Americans abroad.

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**My favourite bar in the city closed, so here is the part of this post where I ask you all to mourn with me**

Also, there seems to be a lot of trivia nights held as a sort of intercambio opportunity in bars across the city. This is brilliant, and I love it. If you are in town for a while, or want to rub elbows with locals while beating the shit out of them with your stupidly unnecessary knowledge of international currency, its fun.
I’d say go for a bar in La Latina, but that’s just because I’m partial to that neighbourhood and it seemed like some very interesting expats frequented the bars there.

The Madrid Male

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Wow.
Pretty men everywhere.
Like, really just everywhere.
A few pretty little anecdotes for you, to contemplate while you wait to see the goodness for yourself.

Once, standing outside of the Chueca club called Garbo (lowkey, often not very full, decent bar) I was smoking and chatting as I often did in front of bars at 4 in the morning. Nothing was out of the usual. Garbage men in their big truck were coming up the street, grabbing garbage cans as they worked their way towards us. Again, nothing unusual.
And then as the garbage truck pulled in front of me and my best friend we both fell completely silent.
Whatever vapid trash you talk in front of a club at 4 am with your lifelong best friend, it cut out. Because descending from the back of the garbage truck was honestly one of the most beautiful men either of us had ever seen.
In the US, think of what your average local garbage man looks like. Yeah? Ok. An average local man, i.e. he’s not warming up anybody’s dreams late at night. This guy, probably about our age, was golden and fit and had wild dark green eyes and was probably very aware of how handsome he was because when he caught us gawking (open-mouthed on my part) at him, he just smirked. Revealing a perfect picket fence of teeth, of course. And he was a garbage man, not a super model. Like this is normal in Madrid.

Another example of a guy in a laborious job being wild handsome: at my local metro stop, there were a few engineers, I guess you’d call them? Like, the guys who kept the literal stories of escalators running (some stations are as deep as 4 stories underground, so a lot of escalators, really).
I appreciated these guys mucho, because days the escalators weren’t running were pretty horrendous because I hate stairs after step, like, 25.
One day I’m just curiously glancing over at what these guys are working on on one of the power panels for the escalators and the engineer who turns around has slicked-to-one-side hair like a raven’s wing, slightly wavy from the sweat of wrenching something loose inside the power panel. Skin a bit shiny from it, the color of a roasted almond, and warm, inviting chocolate eyes. I think I tripped on my own foot just looking at him. He laughed a little bit at that, while making eye contact. I let out a strangled noise I have not made before nor since. I know guys in labour jobs in the US can be handsome, but on the whole– or stereotypically– that is not the general thought. I think of overweight poorly socially adjusted men doing both of these jobs– which is biased and rude of me, but true to my thoughts. Then, here I am in Madrid, and two of the best looking men I saw in five months were a garbage man and an escalator technician. Okay.

Gorgeous men really are just everywhere.
Once I saw two super fit, quite well dressed men, who were both walking arm-in-arm with their girlfriends kiss each other on the mouth as they said goodbye. It was like I had stumbled on to the indecent part of the internet, but NO, I was just trying to get to Kilometro 0 to meet some friends. The cultural differences in physical comfort just make the pretty men prettier.

On any given morning commute on the metro, someone so beautiful it makes your chest ache and your mouth water could step onto the train.
One such morning, a day I had class early so I caught the rush and the trains were packed so full some people couldn’t fit on at the stops, I was standing in front of two older ladies and a boy with green eyes like fresh herbs stepped into the car to stand across from me. There were probably eight bodies wedged between us but I kept sneaking glances at him. His hair was buzzed short on the sides and left long on top, as is the current trend. He was in a stripped shirt and a brown jacket.
After a few stops of trying to decide if it was worth it to say something to him, the train halts at a station, but instead of coming to a smooth stop, it jerked. Then I relaxed… only for it to jerk again and my balance get thrown off. And I was thrown into the lap of the older Madrileña behind me.
Immediately I exploded into a river of apologies, none of which she was having, and to make it worse I was using very formal South American forms of apology– outing myself as a foreigner, just adding insult to her injury. ALSO as I went to stand, I stepped on her foot in the crowded train car. Ugh.
Finally, I stood fully- a little dazed mind you- and there was the green eyed boy looking right at me from across the train car, pressing his lips together trying to keep a laugh in.
I widened my eyes at him and shook my head, made a “yikes” face, and we both let out silent laughs. He got off at the next stop. I never talked to him. I looked for him every morning the rest of my time in Madrid. Nothing.

And that’s not even the half of it.
Madrid is just teaming with super hot young men. It’s great. Beautiful art. The beautiful game. Beautiful men and women. A win win win.

A Note to the Beauty Junkie

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Stock up while you still can.
You’re about to enter No Man’s Land.

Access to makeup and beauty products is different in Spain.
High end makeup and hair care is still just that in Spain, high end. So if you go looking for Moroccan oil hair products or premium brand face powder you will surely be shelling out for it.
These leads me to believe in a round-a-bout way all Spanish girls have some secret cultural tricks to looking so flawless all the time, but I never got to learn those. I hope to yet.

ANYWAY

There is a MAC counter in the Corte Ingles in Plaza Del Sol and a free standing one somewhere on Fuencarral, however you need to be prepared to pay serious mark-up because of the currency difference.

There are Sephoras, but they don’t carry Smashbox, so No, you cannot get your Photo Booth Primer that was for cheapz in Duty Free on your international flight, but you decided not to buy and wait till you landed HAH.
Also, if you are incredibly fair like I am, they generally don’t stock the lightest shade you’re familiar with that any company makes, sorry.
So what I’m saying is: if you love it, take enough of it to last the whole time you’re gone, or be prepared to pay premium to replace it.
A lot of simple brands that we take for granted in the US of A are a given a bit more regard abroad, just because they’re imports. So, like, even still rather cheap Maybelline is slightly more just based on import fees.
I didn’t find any Spanish drug store brands whose makeup I loved, but I also kind of despise drug store make up (wee-ooh-wee-ooh bougie alert). I did find a drug store body wash I am super in love with still, however, and am happily rationing out what I have left of the bottle here in Texas. The brand is Le Marseilles and it is a lavender body wash I picked up for a few euro– highly recommend, from Corte Ingles (really you should avoid shopping there, it is super Americanized, but sometimes its just a comfort).

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Do you see my split ends???? (I’m the curly haired one)

SO, you need:

  • A whole stay’s worth of deodorant (only liquid deoderant is widely sold, and it’s awful. I know a place that sells the American style stuff, but you’ll have to wrestle it out of me).
  • If you have very particular skin or hair needs, the stuff for it. I have wildly dry hair at home, but it was even worse in Madrid because its so dry there, and I wouldn’t be surprised if smog levels factored in, too. I had to cut 5 inches off my hair when I got home to rid the damage done by not properly preparing to tend to my hair while there. My point: good conditioner, quality face moisturizer, coconut oil (its ahrd to find and expensive in the city), exfoliator, etc.
  • The foundation/concealer/powder that matches you best if you’re either quite light or dark, it will be a fool’s errand trying to find it (or pay for it) in Madrid.

GoLDeN lining, there is a LUSH on Fuencarral. If you aren’t familiar with the body & hair care brand LUSH, it is time to get familiar!!! And you’re paying as much or similar in Spain as you will in the US, which I appreciate.

Have fun, stay fabulous, enjoy Madrid.
Also, drink water. Really. The tap water in Madrid is delicious. Its the bet tap water I have ever had in my life. I insist it tastes like Fiji, the expensive bottled water brand.

 

El Mercado de San Miguel

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What you need to eat when you go to El Mercado de San Miguel a mecca of tapas in Madrid.

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Its touristy, but the kind of tourist attraction locals still go to, so you know its good. Probably my fave bigger tapas market in the city, but I hear a lot of dissenting opinions. My explanations of where the stands are is going to be… awful, but this is how my mind works, so maybe my directions will gel with your though processes, too.

I’d suggest getting the octopus on crackers. The stand it’s at is adjacent from a place that has its own mini kitchen, very near the main entrance door of the market. Next door to the octopi on cracker THAT TASTES LIKE SWEET FISH BUTTER is a wine place. I hope you can find that, it is so worth it.
Seriously, the octopus tastes like butter, but with a slightly fish taste. Think of what salmon tastes like, and think butter with that flavor. It is incredibly soft in texture and the cracker its on is also very soft and melts in your mouth. This is one of the yummiest things I ate in Spain.

There are little sausages that have a name related to flutes (which I of course can’t recall now, see here: walkingontravels.com), they come in a black paper cone. The stall that sells them is near to the main door on the long side of the structure. These are one of the most expensive things I got at the mercado, so if you’re on a tight budget, maybe skip these.

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One place only sells paella, it’s just down a bit from the place that sells the sausage in black paper cones. It is facing the glass walls of the mercado. The counter’s backdrop, if you can call it that– the wall behind the counter– is red and has info about what region each of the paellas it sells are from. I HIGHLY recommend the black paella. It’s made with squid ink, and if I remember correctly, is native to Valencia. The taste is strongly salty, but with an almost lime-like after taste. I had many bowls of this over the time of my stay in Madrid.

ALSO, the place with their own mini kitchen (adjacent from the octopus place) sells great Patatas Bravas for when you’ve had a rough day. Patatas Bravas reminds me of a spicier version of fries and ketchup my mom would home make me when I was a kid, so they were a good stand in as some sort of comfort food. After one especially grueling grammar test I chowed down on a plate with a friend and drank copious amounts of yummy vermut, which you should also get a glass or two of.

The Mercado de San Miguel is also where I met two really hilarious British guys who were in Madrid for a few hours on their way to Texas, so sometimes speaking English in public in Spain isn’t such a bad thing!!

Who Are You?

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The Caterpillar asked, puffing smoke into Alice’s face.

Living in Madrid, one of my main goals was to be a regular in places, in an attempt to be a part of the city’s landscape, or something pretentious like that.
Perhaps, after a while, so that there would be at least a handful of Madrid residents that knew me well enough not to revile me based on my nationality but for other, better-founded reasons.
(I jest… I think.)

The best place I’ve ever found to play The Caterpillar is Yambala, a little place owned by a Morraccan man where, if you take a good group, you can easily split the price of a hookah (the barkeep will write ‘xixa’ on your bill, and you’ll be charmed for months to come).

Yambala is tucked away on the same tiny side street off of Plaza Del Sol that the Cien Montaditos is on– the little street that ends in that fabulous churro place. If you don’t know the street #KeepExploring.

There are leather poufs and floor pillows and low carved wooden tables. A bunk bed of sorts you can sit up in and smoke & drink.
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(this image is from TripAdvisor, so I guess this place isn’t really a secret, but there were never any other Americans when we were there, but occasionally Brits, which isn’t a problem in my book)
This was the place where my friends & I showed up (like, probably eight of us) to smoke and chit chat, only to be told we needed to scoot over, there was going to be a show.
So some three-man-band sets up and plays in a wee room for what I imagine was 18-ish people. It was great, and definitely one of the more serendipitous things to have occurred in my time in Paradise.
It definitely has the American coffeehouse vibes, but not at all, because its way cooler because I can romanticize the hell out of it because its foreign, so I will, thanks.

Another time at Yambala (the same week, actually, perhaps even the next day– like I said, regulars) we ended up talking to an Australian couple for HOURS. I talked to the guy about Australian football alone for near an hour. I still get fussy when I think of how I should have asked for their contact information.
Note to readers: when you meet cool as heck strangers by chance on your adventures abroad, freaking get their contact info. If nothing else, they’ll be someone to appreciate a random as anything postcard from Houston, no?

The point of this all being: If you’re in Paradise on Earth (Madrid), go smoke shisha/xixa/hookah (might I suggest the mint flavour) at Yambala. Drink the cocktail called Hurucan. Chat up the bar tenders (they’re some of the easiest to get along with guys in the city). Enjoy the coolness of sitting on a floor cushion.

Missing Home

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I am not one to miss home.
Or even really people.
I am probably a little too good at stepping away from things and not thinking about them until they’re right in front of my face again.
That having been said, I miss weird things from home in little bursts sometimes.
For instance, in my time in Madrid I missed: pancakes, driving, open land, Mexican food, and little kids (I used to be a nanny– this isn’t weird, promise).

This post is about pancakes.
I know, that is weird.
I can’t explain to you why I missed IHOP and not my mom,
but I did.

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(photo from Yelp 😄)

VIPS, my friends, is the easy answer I found.
It is, really, just like your local IHOP, but with a wall-size screen you can watch Fernando Torres score volleys on WHILE eating pancakes. They even have special seasonal flavours just like your favourite place to stumble in drunk or over-tired at 2am.

My favourite VIPS is at the Quevedo metro stop, across the street. Actually, some of my favourite little parts of the city can be found from Quevedo, but that’s another post.
There is also another VIPS on Gran Via somewhere in between Cibeles and the intersection with Calle Montera. This VIPS is quite a bit more narrow, and can get kind of awkwardly tight when its busy (and since its not a Spanish bar or tapas place, but rather a VERY Americanized riff on a diner, its neither charming nor fun).

So if you’re like me and miss weird, random shit like pancakes, there you have it: VIPS.

If anyone knows of a better pancakes place in Madrid, PLEASE I BEG OF THEE TELL ME!! This will be important information to have.

Wide Open Spaces

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I grew up in a small town in the Panhandle of Texas.
I am not sentimental about the little dirt smear that is the town I was raised in, and I fantasize about a day where nothing is left that ties me to it.
That day will probably never come, but its nice to think about.
However, I do have very tender, dear feelings for the Flatlands of the Great Plains in Texas.
Driving for hours, being able to see everything in every direction for miles, watching storms roll in all afternoon before it actually gets to you.
When I got to Madrid, I had a weird need for open land the first month I was there.
I didn’t understand why I missed pasture land so much, as I sure didn’t miss small town life.
I felt more at home within 72 hours of being in Madrid than I ever had anywhere else in my entire life– that in itself was a little terrifying, knowing my time had an expiration date– and me missing open views felt misplaced. The buildings everywhere and the limited green space I’d encountered early on were not an issue by me, but something in my subconscious took issue.
A realization swept over me after about a week and a half: I had never gone longer than 3 days in my entire life without seeing a meadow, all uninterrupted view for at least a few miles.
Even in my time spent in Houston, its only a 30 minute drive in light traffic before you can get to pastures from city center
if you’re driving west, and I lived in a Western suburb.

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And then on the 10th day I was in Spain, I was taken on a little trip to nearby Toledo (a highly recommended trip) and there they were.
Open fields.
This is a terrible picture, but it was a great feeling.
Just seeing for so far felt so free and gooooood.

I didn’t miss open fields again, but the next time I saw them in April on the way to Grenada, I loved them just the same.
I guess this is to say, you may end up homesick for random, odd, surprising things, but that’s okay. You don’t have to understand it.
Just find your uninterrupted view, whatever it may be, and let it comfort you.

How to look like a Madrileña: Clubbing Edition

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How to look like a Madrileña: Clubbing Edition

 


Madrid and Barcelona are famous for their night life.
Madrid natives are literally referred to as “gatos,” or for those not savvy: cats.
This has more to do with a battle hundreds of years ago, but is just as applicable in the vein of thought that cats stay up all night, on the prowl.
Madrileñas party from sundown to sunup and I am not even a little bit exaggerating.
Granted, the “party” probably starts with an 11pm dinner with parents, but just the same, late nights and early mornings are a way of life in the Spanish capital.

So when you go out (no if, when) be mindful that this is a city built upon seven hills, as the story goes, and I don’t know about you, but walking in hills in stilettos is a no-go.
Get some cute sneakers. Locals rock this look a lot: hence the glitter Keds in the style guide!
Black, white, and grey are still going to be the most common colors you see girls wearing out, even to night clubs, but there is a bit more color in club wear, it seems. Red is always promising.
And just like in the daytime, if you are going to carry a purse, it should be a cross-body bag, to deter purse thieves. The smaller the better, so it doesn’t get in you way as you dance, and its harder for a pick=pocket to get in to!!
All the chic as hell local girls will be in crop tops and/or leather leggings. If not the night you go out, its what they were wearing the last time they went out. Trust me, its worth the wardrobe adventure.
REALLY if there’s anything you’ve wanted to experiment with stylistically, clubbing in Madrid is the time to do it! Experiment a little. Hence, the feathers, shirt with the weird sleeves, and the statement necklace in the style guide above!!!!
Spanish girls are cool. Embody coolness and they’ll be slightly less likely to sneer at you in line for the club.
Just barely less likely, but still.

How to look like a Madrileña

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How to look like a Madrileña

 

Madrid girls are cooler than you. Accept that now. All European girls are cooler than you. Just breath that deep into yourself so when it shocks you upon your first experience with this resounding truth, its deep in your lungs to remind you that you knew this would be true. It’s okay.
However, I’m the kind of person who always wants to appear like they belong, a native upon first entrance ANYWHERE. So let me give you a few fast and dirty pointers on How To Look Like A Madrileña.
  1.  Everybody looks so damn casual, so T shirts are a must. Generally, all the cool looking girls on the Metro are just in well-fit black, white, or grey Ts. The color palette never really gets too wild for the general population. And crop tops ABOUND, that’s why included a few here.
    With simple clothing, you can get away with fun details and still look like just another Spanish babe, so the twist in the grey shirt here is A-OK.
    The mint tank top is a bit of a departure from the simple colors, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see something like this occasionally on the metro, especially on a rather warm Sunday out at El Rastro.Just keep it simple, silly.
  2. Jackets.
    Leather, and in the left corner, denim. Obviously in summer during the day you won’t really need these, but it may get cool enough in the evenings and late nights in Madrid to warrant throwing one on. Beware: Madrileñas dress for season not weather a lot of the time, so even if its unseasonably cool one evening local girls may still be out in short sleeves, no jacket, just because its summer. Very odd to me, but c’est la vie.
    The jackets are as simple and standard as the rest of the Madrileña’s wardrobe. Leather and denim are common, hip, and hard to go wrong with, regardless of geographic location.
  3. Jeans, or bottoms in general.
    I was once told that if you wanted to be identified as someone from the US, wear jeans.
    It seems that is no longer true– everyone everywhere seems to wear them. Chic Madrileñas wear them skinny, and often black. Not so different from fashionistas in the US. Also common in the warmer months are cut offs, more so than any other short style I noticed.
    Another huge commanality, with no representation in the above graphic guide, are black leggings, often in faux leather. They’re everywhere, especially on not-so-warm nights clubbing. Heads up.
  4. Shoes.
    I don’t know if you know this, but Europeans walk freaking everywhere. If not all of Europe, sure as hell Spain. And definitely, definitely Madrid.
    Wear smart shoes. Not flip flops. You need something with a back, even if it is a sandal, it needs a back strap, because flip flops up a hill– no arch support included– is very frustrating and obviously not local.
    EVERYONE seems to be in Nike Roshes, Adidas Stan Smith’s, or Chelsea boots (often in black). With dresses, with shorts, with jeans, with jumpsuits– they wear them with everything.
    Some night you’re going to be standing in line at a club, see some Spanish vixen in a backless velvet maroon long-sleve mini dress and it’ll make you choke she looks so effortless, then you’ll notice she’s wearing this with white Converse Chucks and you will be overwhelmed with how cool she is. Be prepared.
  5. Small bags with cross-body straps.
    You need one.
    I’m not arguing with you.
    You will get one before you go to Spain, or you will regret it.
    Small, because anything too large will make your shoulder feel like it’s going to tear from its socket after the fifth mile you’ve walked that day.
    Cross-body strapped because then it makes it harder to be stolen if its slung across you. Also, this style is easier to carry in front of you so no one can slip their hand inside it while you’re not paying attention.
    And they’re in.
    And there are really cute styles in them.
    Don’t fight it, just get one.
  6. I included a bikini here, not because it’s likely you’ll swim in Madrid (public pools sketch me out, and private pools are often at highly exclusive clubs I don’t feel like paying to get in to, thanks).
    I included a bikini, because when you eventually wander out of Madrid it is very likely you’ll wander to a beach town. Barcelona, Malaga, Sevilla, La Palma de Mallorca– you get it.
    Most Spaniards aren’t going to wear much while swimming, if anything at all. So, you know, if you go to the beach prepare to see and be seen, and just embrace the wearing of not-very-much.

Have fun attempting to blend in with possibly the prettiest population on Earth.