Go Citybreak:Visit Spain's grand capital, once the centre of a global empire, and discover the nocturnal charm of a people who still retain the pride and pastimes of vanished nobility, writes ARTHUR DEENY
IT BEGAN AS a hunt for a bargain. The plan was to catch an off-peak flight to an off-piste destination and catch a great city off its guard, but open for business. It transformed into a vision of towering tradition, bloodied costumes and huevos rotos.
We lucked upon the Hotel Emperador, a grand old place on the Gran Via, where they kept bottles of cava on ice in reception, from which guests could help themselves. Our room was on the 8th floor and from our balcony we could appreciate how tall and proud the whole Centro area of the city stands, with the offices of banks and insurance companies crowned by triumphant gilded statues of angels and heroes.
We went in winter but, despite the fact Madrid sits on a northern plateau, it was fine and dry for us. The local grandees were trimmed in fur as they promenaded by. We did not need to button our coats.
Gran Via was built through old Madrid “like an axe through a map” at the beginning of the 20th century, around the same time as that wedding cake of a building, Belfast City Hall. It carries similar echoes of empire.
You can totter down this great way, after the hotel breakfast buffet, consisting of a lot of cold meat leavened with an agreeable omelette, and soon you find yourself in Plaza de Cibeles. The fountain in the centre of this most Catholic city is dedicated to Cybele, aka Ceres the Roman goddess of fertile earth, and it is here the fanatical followers of Real Madrid, the Merengues, come to celebrate their frequent sporting triumphs.
The most prominent structure in the plaza is the Palace of Communications, formerly a post office, now the City Hall. In splendour and whackiness it rivals Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. Turn away from this Disneyland edifice and you can stroll down the Paseo del Prado to the Prado Museum to view the largest collection of great paintings in the world.
If you want to speed-read through the history of European art, the Prado is a handy spot. After a single tour you can justly claim to have seen some of the greatest works by El Greco, Velázquez, Goya, van Eyck, Fra Angelico, Mantegna, Botticelli, Titian and Raphael. I don’t know about you, but I find that an intense exposure to fine art makes me thirsty. So, after the Prado, we repaired to the nearby Ritz Hotel for some vintage cava. It cost an awful lot more than it would in the supermarket, but the setting was magical, and we felt we’d earned it.
We continued on an historical theme by dining in the oldest restaurant in the world. The proprietors of Restaurante Botín, founded in 1725, claim that Guinness World Records acknowledge them as the first. Since it is my understanding that the use of the word restaurant is properly associated with post-revolutionary France, I took their claim with a pinch of salt, but I consumed their roast suckling pig with relish. The building is certainly old, and the troubadours in traditional costume who serenaded us were young and handsome, so we were all content.
THE NEXT DAYI swore I would not go to a bullfight, but I equivocated by visiting Las Ventas, the largest bullring in Spain. A bespectacled student in an anorak took a group of tourists on a multilingual tour of this temple of death. At the end of the tour he brought out a comic opera sword and a tatty cloak to demonstrate what he called "A Good Death". Suddenly, posing on his tiptoes, with his gaze along the blade, the little nerd was transformed into an elegant killer, whose anorak hid the heart of a psychopath.
Afterwards, in the museum, as well as the heads of famous bulls, we were shown the torn and bloody “suit of lights” in which a famous torero had achieved his own “Good Death”.
My gentle help meet had dodged the bloody bulls by escaping to one of the branches of El Corte Ingles, the biggest department store chain in Spain. There was a lot of leather and some very lurid pants, but no amazing bargains to be had.
That afternoon we went to bed. It is important to adjust your body clock in Madrid. The Spanish nobility have always set their people a bad example, and for generations the “best” people sneered at all forms of work. I believe that is why the tradition of the siesta persisted for so long. Until very recently, the most humble office clerk regarded it as his birthright to sleep all afternoon, so that he might be able to party all night long, like a noble señor.
Eventually, we headed out to dine at Teatriz, in what had been a suburban theatre. The centerpiece here is a backlit cocktail bar set above the diners on the stage. The menu was very grand but my eyes were drawn to the promise of huevos rotos. My daughter Shaula said: “The Spanish are very literal. If it says ‘broken eggs’, then that’s what they mean”. When, eventually our overbearing waiter brought me a dish of bacon, egg and chips in a stainless steel dish, I was still puzzled. Then, with a suitably theatrical flourish, he took a silver knife and cut my eggs to bits, and I understood. I don’t know why having your eggs smashed in front of you is a treat, but apparently it is.
We dined earlier than the locals. All visitors do. The Madrilenos are nicknamed “The Cats”, because they come out at night. So we were the first there to dare and go up for a cocktail on the stage. The exotic barman smiled when I spoke of Los Gatos, and showed his teeth, which had been filed to a rather alarming point. I asked where we should go afterwards and he got very excited. He knew a place where there were artists, real artists, who were performing. These were “artists who are women, real artists, you must understand, though they are not, in fact, real women”. He wanted to close the bar there and then and take us, but we made our excuses and left.
WE RECUPERATEDthe next day in Atocha, the central railway station, which contains the most amazing tropical garden right next to the trains. Alas, there are echoes of death here too, ever since the 2004 al-Qaeda train bombings in which 192 died. Still, the palm trees – some of them 30m tall – have forgotten that savagery and, over a lovely cup of coffee, you can too.
Finally, inevitably, we committed flamenco. The bargain hunt had long been abandoned at this point, but a line was drawn at the lavish flamenco shows on offer. These charge €30 for a show and anything up to €70 for the meal to go with it, though wine is included in the price.
So the smart move is to wander around the bars, grazing on tapas and drinking house wine for a modest outlay. Then, when you’re ready for your bed, the bars begin to come alive after midnight. Actual gypsies, who have earned their living in Corral de la Moreria or Casa Patas, will turn up in smaller places where, if you can squeeze into a table, you can glimpse something like real flamenco and then your cover charge will be truly worth it.
Madrid, like its people, is proud, beautiful and dangerously enchanting and you would have to stay up very late indeed if you hoped to exhaust its charms.
Get thereAer Lingus (aerlingus.com) and Ryanair (ryanair.com) fly from Dublin to Madrid.
Madrid where to . . .
3 places to stay
Value: II Castillas, Abada 7, 00-34-91-524-9750, hoteldoscastillas-madrid.com. A nice clean place, centrally located near the Callao metro station, and a few minutes from the shopping on Preciados Street. Best of all, they have a €12 menu del dia available throughout the day and evening. Twin rooms from €80.
Mid-market: Hotel Emperador, Gran Via 53, 00-34-91-547-2800, emperadorhotel.com. Old world charm in an imposing building that stands up to its grandiose surroundings. In season there's a swimming pool on the roof, and all year round they serve spectacular measures in the bar. Get a balcony and enjoy complimentary sparkling wine with a Classic Room from €103.
Upmarket: Hotel Ritz, Plaza de la Lealtad 5, 00-34-91-701-6767, ritzmadrid.com. Opened in 1910 at the express wish of King Alfonso XIII. The leafy terrace is the place to be seen for Sunday brunch, when you're putting on the Ritz. Enjoy chauffeur-driven collection from the airport, complimentary bottle of cava and dinner for two for €385 per night (two nights minimum).
3 places to eat
Value: El Tigre, Calle Infantas 30, 00-34-91-532-0072. There's no such thing as a free lunch, but if you buy a drink for a couple of euro, you get free food here. Classic tapas is slung around with abandon. The result is that the place is always packed and you don't have much say in what they serve you but it's for nothing. Picky eaters move on.
Mid-market: Restaurante Sobrino de Botín, Calle de los Cuchilleros 17, 00-34-91-366-4217, botin.es. They have the cert from Norris McWhirter to say they're the oldest, and the winding stairs and knobbly beams to back it up. The house menu, with suckling pig and half a bottle of wine is €39, but you can eat for less and you'll always have a laugh.
Upmarket: Teatriz, Calle de Hermosilla 15, 00-34-91-577-5379. Come dressed up for this cool place in an old theatre. There's a café in the foyer and private rooms inside. We dined in the auditorium. Dare to have cocktails on the stage. Have a very special night out for under €50 a head.
Shop spot
Of course you can find Zara, Pull Bear and Stradivarius on Calle de Preciados and Gran Via. It's like you never left Dundrum! For something funkier try the gay district. Calle Hortaleza and Calle Fuencarral have vintage clothing boutiques and staff who'll make you wish you'd laid off the patatas bravas. There's also an hilarious Christmas market on Plaza Mayor, full of comedy wigs and hats.
Night spot
Corral de la Moreria on Calle Moreria hosts the most famous flamenco show of them all and the cocktails in Museo Chicote on Gran Via have lured in everyone from Ernest Hemingway to Catherine Zeta Jones, but you'll have most fun in a little place with whole hams hanging off the ceiling and a dodgy looking guitarist in the corner. Stay up all night and earn your siesta.