My Madrid, Told via a Bookmark
Coming from the Alhambra in Granada, it has the stars and shapes characteristic of Arabic art on the front, that visually arresting pattern stamped over Toledo, in particular, and other parts of Spain. On the back, a dedication from Catalina, the longtime Spanish partner of my friend from school.
A few things stand out from her dedication. It was in Spanish, which I didn’t understand at the time. It was my first year in Madrid. She even used the subjunctive, a grammatical clause that, if it were a person, would be that difficult person you would avoid at a party. She called me ‘Endita’, the diminutive of my name. Adding that little tail at the end of names is common in Spain, as is ending a communication with a big kiss or hug. Until recently, this kind of open affection did not exist in Ireland, so it was a novelty to see it. Even with our closest friends, the affection was implied rather than stated. Not in a buttoned-down, repressed way, but neither was it sun-kissed Spanish openness. But lately I have noticed a sea-change, and hugging and terms of endearment between even Irish men are more common. I don’t know how it happened, but we’ve been liberated.
This is a long way from what were like in Cork, many years prior. When my German friend Franka was leaving, her boyfriend Dieter gently mocked me for offering a handshake instead of a hug.
A cultural hope
The bookmark also held one hope for me, that one day I would visit the Alambra and see it for myself. It took me about a decade, but splendour was worth the wait. In the intervening years, I had come across traces of a culture that had been in Spain for 800 years. The Arabic imprints in words beginning with ‘Al’, as well as the aforementioned architectural style in Toledo – with Ned, when everything else was closed for renovation – and in an exhibition about Sufism – a philosophy, art form and architectural style that aims to bring a person, from the poet to the believer, closer to God. Close communion with the Almighty can be cultivated by developing the inner self and through shunning materialism.
But the bookmark is not just a page divider with cultural pretensions. It also speaks to how the immigrant can be helped along the way by the kindness of others.
Catalina met Ned and I a few times in our first year, taking us to cinema nights and her sister’s house. Going to the latter, we crossed the Arganzuela Bridge on what was a bitterly cold night. The bridge fords a river in a long, sprawling park called Madrid Río, a menagerie of cycle paths where cyclists doing speed runs curse you if you should happen to get in their way, outdoor gym installations, soccer pitches, padel courts, walkways, restaurants and bars. The Madrid Río refurbishment caused a lot of controversy during its construction, but once opened, the city collectively agreed that, actually, hang on, this is a good thing. And the prize-winning Arganzuela bridge is the jewel in the crown. It sparkles in the sunlight, and it is illuminated at night. The spiralling, bending-in-on-itself curve of the bridge’s roof is eye-candy for the observer and the person crossing over. I distinctly remember thinking when I first saw it: What is this?!
Catalina eventually moved back to Ireland, but I will always be forever grateful to her and the power of circumstance, that her stint in the Spanish capital coincided with my first year, that knowing her brought new corners of Madrid into focus.
Toledo connection
The same power manifested itself when I lived in Cork, just before my departure. A Spanish girl I barely knew gave me her brother’s number. Edgar, the brother, was originally from Toledo but was now living in Madrid permanently. Once I was more or less settled, I met this guy for a drink in Montaditos. This drink blossomed into a solid friendship. Recently, I watched him get married, surrounded by his friends and family, sitting next to his schoolfriend from Toledo who was bawling his eyes out.
Alhambra @Pexels by Victor Lavaud.
