We stepped off the metro into the scorching heat, unsure of
where to go. We found ourselves in an unknown neighborhood in an unfamiliar
part of town, spontaneously searching for the elusive festival of Madrid’s
patron saint: San Isidro. There were crowds in every which direction. “Which
way should we head?” Daniel and I asked each other. We followed the path with
the heaviest traffic, apprehensive of our new surroundings.
We turned down an
unassuming street, lured by the thumping of music and flurry of balloon vendors
being chased by exuberant children. We spotted the entrance to the park,
Pradera de San Isidro, colorfully adorned with unlit twinkle light signs and bottlenecked crowds. Upon entering the park, we were immediately overcome with the
intoxicating scents of grilled meat and cotton candy wafting through the air,
along with the sweet smells of anis-flavored donuts called
rosquillas.
Amongst the throngs of festival-goers carrying enormous cups of
tinto de verano were locals dressed in old-fashioned
chulapos and
chulapas, the traditional costumes of
madrileños. Like a less flamboyant flamenco dress,
chulapas are typically paired with an
embroidered shall and a white head scarf with bright red flowers on top, while
the men’s dapper
chulapos entail houndstooth
flat caps, waistcoats and jackets with a red carnation in the lapel. The locals
effortlessly donned their vintage attire as they wandered past the myriad of
food stalls lining the bustling pathway, occasionally purchasing a steaming
plate of paella, a rich assortment of meats or a greasy scoop of
huevos rotos to soak up the massive
portions of sangria and Mahou beer being served.
Darling children dressed in
picturesque
chulapos stood entranced
in front of the cotton candy machines, while boisterous vendors enticed us with
chorizo,
bocadillos and other
beckoning treats. Although tempted by the mouthwatering Spanish versions of
fair food, we continued strolling towards the church, where we happened upon a
group of locals dancing the traditional
chotis.
In their customary dresses, the men and women glided across the pavement with
grins on their faces. A few enthusiastic crowd members eventually made their
way into the festivities, including a lively elderly woman who had probably
drank one too many sangrias and was hell-bent on inching her way into the
middle of the dance circle. Her husband chuckled along with us as she danced
the
chotis solo, unintentionally
stealing the show from the dancers.
We wandered up the grassy hills, where
every square inch of space was covered with picnics and
botellóns. As we hiked up through the park, the paths were littered
with vendors selling sangria, beer, mojitos and
calimocho, a
popular mixed drink made of wine and Coca Cola. The party was only just getting
started. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a rickety Ferris wheel, and so
we set off to explore the carnival. The repetitive rhythms of Reggaeton music
echoed from rides filled with screaming children, and in a dreamlike trance we
walked past the flashy rides towards the endless rows of game booths. We passed
a booth packed with crowds playing Bingo, except the only prizes were giant
legs of ham.
Only in
Spain...
At this point, I had difficulty comprehending just how sprawling this park was. The
festivities were seemingly never-ending. We turned the corner to discover yet
another long promenade alongside grassy knolls, besieged with food vendors and a
large stage at the very end. My stomach was growling with hunger,
but I couldn’t even begin to fathom the infinite number of options. Then just
as fate would have it, Daniel and I passed a large pan of
huevos rotos that we simply couldn’t resist. Although I typically
can
never resist
huevos rotos – my all-time favorite
Spanish dish comprised of fried eggs atop French fries and sprinkled with bits
of
jamón – this batch looked
particularly enticing. We settled down with our drinks and began to feast upon what I now look back on as one of the most satisfying meals of my life.
Fueled
by a mix of fair food and
tinto de verano, we made our way through the park and back to
the metro station, where we ventured to La Latina for some more savory Spanish
treats. I dragged us to Taberna El Buo, where we relished a
tortilla española with caramelized
onions and goat cheese. My heart was just as happy as my stomach, for our
escapades were turning into the perfect day.
Our goal was to head straight to
Parque del Buen Retiro where the city was holding a fireworks show later that
evening, but we got sidetracked by a concert in Plaza Mayor. As I swayed along
to the music for a couple of songs, I couldn’t help but soak in my surroundings with awe and have a profound
“Oh my God, I live in Spain” moment. The scenery
was entirely magical. I could have stayed there for the rest of the evening,
but we had a fireworks show to attend to that I simply refused to miss.
We arrived to
Retiro with only a few minutes to spare.
A single shot rang out in the dark, and we raced to get a good spot in
front of the glistening pond and regal Monument to Alfonso XII, whimsically lit
up and changing colors. Soon the majestic explosions began, bursting with bright hues and synched to the soundtrack of a dramatic orchestra. I couldn’t help but grin up at the sky as if I were a child again.
We dodged the crowds and began the long walk
home, past the glowing Metropolis building and up Gran Vía. The city lights
sparkled against the deep navy sky, while the warm breeze made me feel undeniably present and alive. I
was buzzing with an electric happiness, immensely satisfied with our day’s many successes. It was the perfect day through and through, proving itself to be one of my favorite memories in Madrid thus far.
