Madrid Me Mata

And we're back in Madrid. Never have I had such mixed emotions about a place. I found a post card once while meandering the back streets of the center of the city and it summed up my relationship with Madrid in one catchy phrase.  "Madrid, Me Mata" it said, alongside a sketch of a pretty women with a black mysterious, somewhat piratey eye patch.  In English the translation is; Madrid, it kills me.

It's sort of like this:

 For months I rode my bike through the city everyday, it was my only and favorite transportation. Whizzing through the traffic in the hot sun or that freezing cold; it didn't matter, I loved every minute of it. My blood pumped freedom, thrill, excitement. There's nothing like rediscovering the bicycle after a stint of not having transportation. How much faster than walking, how much less stressful than driving! And then I started noticing the ache in my throat every evening. Or that somehow breathing became painful, my nose almost reeling at the thought of having to draw in air. That along with the combination of either nosebleeds or black snot and I realized for the first time in my own body the concept of traffic pollution.  Even after being in the countryside, each return to the center of the city causes the same body bio feedback message to my brain - avoid breathing!

There are the beautiful parks and yet I yearn for the kind of natural wild unruly growth that can never be designed by the hand of a landscaper.

A country in a real crisis and yet they have a rich King still, who takes public money.

The many markets and quantity of things to buy and then my empty wallet.

The picturesque apartment overlooking the river that's ours to live in if we gave all our waking hours over to working in a job market where there is no work available anyway.

The many lovely people to have thrilling conversations with if only I didn't mind all of their incessant chain smoking. 

Madrid will dazzle you with her sparkling array of Christmas lights, keep you busy in amazing museums and exhibits for years, overwhelm your tastebuds with tapas, gazpacho, jamon, tortillas and paellas, thrill you with soccer games,and seduce you with the notion that afternoon naps are built into the schedule of society.

It's where half our family is. My first experience in city living. The place that taught me Spanish. The home of mi companero. And how I try so hard to love her. And yet, I synchronize most with a postcard that says, "Madrid, me mata." But we are here now and I try again to let the charms of this place flood my life. It's good practice for me and my illness of perfectionism. Not everything is perfect. Life is not a game of comparing. Just see what's there and take it for what it is, not what it could be if only....