City Access

There are some cities that are more welcoming than others. Barcelona has a reputation for opening its arms to visitors. An example in the United States would be San Francisco. Madrid, however, seems more difficult to crack. The city was a key destination on my solo backpacking trip during college, but I cut my stay short and headed to the sunshine of Lisbon. My second trip to Madrid proved the city more promising, yet still not entirely accessible. It was like looking into a still pool of water: what you see is mostly your own reflection and that of the world you inhabit. And then, suddenly, the quick shadow of a fish.

Boston is very much the same way, slightly unwelcoming for a while unless you were born in the state or went to one of its fistfuls of universities (and many of the state’s dwellers fall in either category.) So, what I am saying is, I am accustomed to living in a place where I don’t feel entirely at home.

But just a year and a half into Madrid, something has happened. (You guessed this was coming, right?) The outside-in feeling is slowly but surely being replaced with the ease and familiarity of walking off the plane and into Barajas Airport.

It’s many little things (clichés are after all…) like the fact that my vegetable and fruit seller greets me each Saturday at the rushed hour of 1:30pm with a double kiss. (My vegetable consumption is such that my roommate suggests I assure them I buy produce for the entire piso and that I eat meat during the week.) Or maybe it’s the fact that when I walk into my bank’s branch, they welcome me as if I were entering the bar Cheers. (Surely my command of the Spanish language has put me on a “special” list taped somewhere near the panic button.)

Or it might just be the weather. Day after day of blue skies and a dry 88 degrees can’t hurt.