Nostalgia in Madrid

A chilly day in Madrid.  It was February 2011 and I was on my way back, for lunch, to a restaurant I first knew in 1965.  

I had been walking up the Gran Via in June 1965, my first month living in Madrid. The Gran Via, as now, was a bustling busy street – but then it had a shabby feel to it. It was the main shopping street in a city climbing out of being third world.  It was after two, time for lunch – a Madrid lunch - but I had not yet decided where to have it.

“Excuse me. Sabe Usted Restaurant Estrella?” a foreign voice asked me. I hadn´t a clue – never heard of it. But the asker was tall, blonde and attractive.

“No, but I´ll help you find it, if you like,” I replied.

We found the Restaurante Estrella, in Calle de la Estrella, just off San Bernardo, and had lunch together. She was Australian and on her way to meet her sister, arriving from Sydney by boat to Marseilles.  The restaurant was agreeable, with the sort of atmosphere you get in places with good food. It was nearly full, so we had to wait a while for a table.  The fixed price menu, consisting of three courses and a half bottle of wine, cost Pts. 30 (the equivalent of € 0. 18). The food was superb and we sat over lunch for over two hours, finishing with “copas” on the house.  In the two years I was in Madrid, before moving on to Barcelona, I went back to the Estrella frequently, at least twice a week and often more.  I introduced many people to it and all raved about it.  Mondays and Thursdays were big days, with paella and cocido Madrileño on the menu and, always, long waits for a table. The owner was Pepe, short, tubby and middle-aged.  He had a couple of waiters to help him, as well as his wife and two other family members in the kitchen. One of the waiters was Paco, thin as a stick and full of nervous energy, rushing around with plates piled dangerously high.

After I left Madrid, I lived in Barcelona, Porto, Milan, London, Frankfurt and Barcelona (again), London (again), Rome and Malaga.  I went back to Madrid occasionally, but always only for a day or two, on business and, somehow, I never went back to the Estrella.  Probably, I was corrupted by expense-account restaurants, which were usually no better than Pepe´s place, but looked better on an expense account.

Then, one day in 2005, I was back in Madrid. This time I was accompanied by my third wife and,  again, it was a hot June day and lunch-time. We were in the Gran Via, near Calle de la Estrella.

 “Let´s go to the Estrella, for lunch”, I said. 

“Why, is it good?” my now-ex asked.

“Terrific – at least, it was 40 years ago”, I replied.

We went into the restaurant – and it was just the same!  Outside, Madrid had changed, into the fast, modern city it now is.  But the Estrella had not changed. The same three rooms, with the tables arranged in the same places. It still needed a coat of paint, but, as always, it was  full. We found ourselves a table and sat down.  Eventually, we were spotted and the waiter came over to our table with a menu. 

He stared at me, then said: “¡Hombre!   ¿Donde has estado, todo este tiempo?”

He clapped me on the back and we shook hands.  It was Pepe, the owner, who had hardly changed.  Still tubby and middle-aged, with a little less hair now  -  I would have recognized him immediately, even if I had met him out of context.  Then I spotted Paco, one of his two waiters from forty years ago.  Also, unchanged.  Still stick-thin, still rushing about, using up the same  amount of nervous energy.  He came over to the table, having recognized me, and, again, there was more backslapping and hand-shaking.  The food was just as good as I remembered it, though the menu-del-dia had gone up to € 15.   I wanted to go back again, during that trip, on the last evening,  but wife no. 3 wanted to go to Botins and she won the argument.  It was not long after that that we separated!

Now, it was June 2011 and there I was again.  Going to have lunch at the Estrella, nearly fifty years  since I first went to it!  Alone, this time, as wife no. 3 had long gone the same way as no.s 1 and 2.  I walked down San Bernardo, from the Gran Via, and took the third turning off to the right.  Calle de la Estrella.  I noticed that at the far end of the road, there was a space, where they had torn down an old building.  More changes to the Madrid I loved!  I neared the end of the street, where the Estrella was.  Amazingly, wife no. 1, had lived exactly opposite the Estrella when we met – but I met  the Estrella before I met her.  I looked across from her building.

The Restaurante La Estrella was gone!

   

In its place, there was now a slot-machine establishment.  Oh no!!  Pepe and Paco retired!  Their great restaurant closed, after nearly fifty years!  At least  Pepe had moved on before the great crash, so he had probably got a good price. I remembered he´d told me, in 2005,  that Paco was going to retire soon, so he probably decided to call it a day at the same time.  I didn´t dare enquire from any of the neighbours as to when or why the restaurant had closed,  for fear of unpleasant news. I wondered at how someone could take over such a wonderful popular restaurant  - and close it.

 It felt as though a chunk of my life had vanished with that restaurant. For decades, it had been a part of my life – the sort of place I could return to after a gap of forty years, and find it was as though I had been going regularly all the time.  And it was gone!

Andalucia in Winter

Andalucia in winter can be a bit of a disappointment.  People expect that it is pretty much like summer  - that you would need a calendar to be sure you´re in winter. I remember walking up a street one afternoon in Guadix, a large historical town near Granada, a few years ago, with a pair of Brits.. It was August, about 35 degrees C in the shade.  Even the flies were walking listlessly, to save energy.  Peter mopped his brow and said:  "I suppose it´s like this all year round?"  I was in real estate at the time, so I compromised a little.  "Well, it can get chilly in winter."  He nodded wisely: "Need a sweater sometimes, I suppose."  I lived in Guadix for a while and, though 35 degrees is a typical summer temperature, a typical winter one would be below zero.  The winter I spent there, there was over a foot of snow on the pavements and the temperature dropped to minus ten at night.  Nevertheless, the snow-topped Sierra Nevada mountains that overlook the town compensate for the cold in January in Guadix.

Now, I live in Velez Rubio (Almeria), an attractive small town of 7.000 inhabitants.  It´s only just off the Granada-Murcia motorway, about 45 minutes from the coast, so it´s not remote.  At 814m (2670 Ft.), it can get chilly in winter here as well.  It was, and to a lesser extent still is, a local agricultural centre - surrounded on all sides by almond fields stretching into the distance.

Scandal in Velez Rubio

Hola, Sue:

This is  about events concerning your friend Miguel.  I never understood what you saw in him.  He may have been a suave Latin lover fifty odd years ago,  tho´ I  think his ex-wife might disagree. Of course, he certainly sees himself in the role. The Velez Rubio answer to Antonio Banderas – with a lot less hair and a lot more brandy in him.

   

You know him much better than I do, so you will not have been as astounded as I was at the news concerning Miguel.   If you had told me that my aunt Caroline  was running a brothel from her  house in Buenos Aires , or that my sister held up a local bank and has gone to live off the proceeds in Copacabana, my mouth would not have dropped open, other than to say: "Really?"   But...Miguel!  Who would have thought it?  As it was, I was in the Cabra Loca Bar when I first  heard and my mouth gaped open, as wide as the Channel Tunnel, for a full 10 minutes.  I was having my breakfast brandy and reading the El Mundo for ideas as to what to do next  (win Wimbledon or become a contract killer seemed the best bets).  I was just ordering a second brandy,  which comes in a half-litre glass -  when the local Chief Priest came in.  Usually, when he sees me, he drops to his knees, holds a cross up high and screams "Be gone foul spot!" ( His sister has a dry cleaners in Puerto Lumbreras).  As it was, he sat at my table and ordered a large rum.  "Have you heard, about Miguel?", he asked, in a shaky voice.

In retrospect, I realise there had been some clues.  I hadn´t, for example, seen Paco El Panadero around for a while. He always spent  his waking hours, about 5 a day, in the Crummy Dump Bar. (That´s the one where I was discussing with Luis  whether white paint dries faster than blue when you first accosted us, during your visit to Velez Rubio).  But still, I never would have guessed that Miguel might be involved in such a thing and even you must have been a bit shaken. 

News travels so fast now. I got a call from Sydney  (Australia - not Carton).  It was Gumbel. "What´s this about this guy Miguel?", he asked.  How does news get to Australia faster than the speed of light?  I think it may have something to do with spinach, confirming the Joyce Vegetable Paradox.  Anyway, Gumbel´s coming on a visit, which is not good news for Velez Rubio, but he wants to offer Miguel a job with the Gumbel Corporation.

Because of your close relationship with Miguel, you are obviously a prime suspect as an accomplice.  I was hauled into police HQ., the mock-baroque building with the screams coming from the cellars below and the stream of blood down the front steps, to be questioned about you. "Never heard of her!" I told them. Then, a little later: I don´t know her".   As I was leaving, four hours later, I said:  "Anyway, she´s in Brazil. In Manaos, running an engineering business she bought."  I think I made a mistake somewhere, as I noticed a puzzled look in their eyes.

Please tell me immediately about any further news you get on the Miguel matter.  I hope things are going well with you and Manaos is not too hot.

Luv,

Roberto

Velez Rubio in January

Hola, Sue:

Lovely day in Spain. Well, Velez Rubio, at any rate.  I went “up-market” for lunch,  with Guillermo. We went to the Zurich and he had a good time practicing his English.  It left me exhausted and I think, maybe, he was a little frazzled at the end.  “Come on, Guillermo! How do you say “this paella´s over-cooked”, in English?  I´ve already told you sixteen times!”  He got a little sulky at that point, so I asked him a seventeenth time.  Why are all the Spanish learning English? If they´re under 40, 

shouldn´t they be realistic and go for Chinese?  The paella, incidentally, was fine – particularly as part of a € 10 meal.  Only the canned fruit at the end was a disappointment. Surely the country that would have invented the orange had not China beaten them to it can do better than fruit out of a can?
  
I think it important to tell you that Winifred called round, to ask about DigMar, your dog from Krypton.  You remember Winifred?  Large head, out of proportion to the rest of her body, black hair and a pink plastic rose attached to the top of her head?  She had an affair with Miguel and is rumoured to have her own lamp-post in the Velez Rubio red-light district.  She lives with Ramon, an out-of-work astronaut, in one of the shacks behind the petrol station.  I told her that, as far as I know, DigMar is adapting well to life in Dijon, among the Frogs.  He is thinking of changing his name to "Marcel" and taking out French Poodle papers.  A quantum tear trickled out of her left eye, down both sides of her muzzle, and met up again at the tip of her nose.  I never could understand DigMar´s obsession with her. I think a Rottweiller with a pink plastic rose taped to her head is just plain silly and not at all suitable for a dog with gravitas.

Got to rush  -  the Bishop of Bogota is waiting for me the Crummy Dump Bar.