DECEMBER 12-22, 2001: As we leave gray and drizzling Portugal and reenter Spain the sun returns.  First we head to Trujillo, home of the Pizarro brothers, the famous Spanish Conquistadors. (Old MBA consulting case I used to give: in 1532 Pizarro entered what is now Chile, and with an army of 147 men defeated the Incan emperor Atapuluh and his army of between 30,000-40,000.  How is this possible?)  I am hoping to get a picture with the statue of the Pizarro brothers (helpful visual aid if I ever go back to giving consulting cases) but it is about 40 feet tall.  I consider a picture of myself with Pizarro’s calf, then pass.

The next night we go to Toledo, which is also beautiful.  But it is very cold.  And we are a little worn down.  As we enter Toledo Heather remarks that it was a great town when she visited with her mom ten years ago.  We search for our hotel.  We get lost.  We find it.  We walk to the Cathedral, also beautiful, and have a little tapas.  Leaving we again get lost, and end up taking a brisk, teeth-chattering stroll around the perimeter.  Somewhat defeated, and exhausted, with the convenient excuse of a early flight, we call it a night.  Rising early the next morning, as we leave Toledo Heather remarks that it was a great town when she visited with her mom ten years ago.

Driving to the Madrid airport the road is badly fogged.  Mindful of our little encounter with the Portuguese police, we drive pretty slowly, getting passed by numerous cars going their usual 120k/hr (75mph).  Over the next two hours we get to pass many of them again, for there are three multi-car accidents and numerous duos, totaling about 35-40 cars.  We make our flight, but barely.

We are flying to Mallorca to join our friends Javier and Lisa (coming from London) at Javier’s parents house.  We meet Javier and Lisa and the airport and take a taxi.  When we arrive, the Medranos are waiting for us with champagne and caviar (note to our parents: we liked this).   We barely stop eating for longer than the digestive process for the next three days.  Which is good, because a cold snap has descended on Spain and Mallorca. 

Over the next three days we, between bites, manage to get into town to see the Cathedral (with a rather striking Gaudi altarpiece), do a little Holiday shopping, receive a quick tour of the house and Christmas light show, eat a lot of Mrs. Medrano’s wonderful cooking, and pick up quite a few pointers on digital piracy from Mr. Medrano (who is in fact converting his old LPs to CDs which is permissible under the Fair Use clause and who would never, NEVER, be involved with any unauthorized duplication. Especially by his son).   Javier and Lisa take us out for drinks, a marvelous dinner, and we manage to even stumble into a club.  Heather and Lisa even dance – with young Spanish men, not with their husbands who stand at the bar: 1) smirking (Heather’s version) 2) talking to Penelope Cruz (Alex's version).  

We fly back to Madrid, and settle down in a spacious and inexpensive hotel, which is close to most major attractions.  At night we notice that it is also in proximity to some minor attractions, for when the neon lights go on we find that we are surrounded by a handful of soft-porn shops.  The first day we head to the Prado.  Almost there, several young Spanish schoolgirls approach us, in halting English, to see if they can ask us a few questions for a school project.  These follow the anticipated lines of inquiry (Where are you from? How long will you stay in Spain? What is your favorite Spanish food?).  It is only when we get to the Prado, and see half-a-dozen similar groups surveying away, that the opportunity for mischief strikes us (well, me).  Hoping to get approached again (Where are you from? TAPAS AND ROASTED PIG? How long will you stay in Spain? SAN FRANCISCO AND DENVER) we are disappointed.     

The Prado is immense and somewhat poorly organized.  We eventually figure it out.  There is much to see, the highlights include El Grecko’s (which I never liked in reproduction but thought stunning) and both Goya and Velasquez were as good as anticipated.  Wandering past a painting I am suddenly struck by the similarity of one of the characters to Tom Lamm, albeit grinning madly and a little more ruddy-faced.  I point this out to Heather, who agrees, and when the crowds part, we see the painting’s title: “Los Borrochos” (The Drunks).  Needless to say, Tom is now the owner of a refrigerator magnet of the painting of his doppelganger. 

When we depart the Prado, we wander around central Madrid for a bit, and have a snack.  At one point, Heather looks up with a slightly glazed look and says “I don’t know what is interesting anymore.”  She has a point.  With only a few days left in our trip we are starting to look towards home.  Almost in acknowledgement, we decide to head off to a movie, for which I am, as they say, totally jonesing (note to esteemed senior generation: v., “desirous,” “in want”).  We see Spy Game, which is about as American as you can get, and it is bad enough to cure me of wanting to see a movie for another three months. 

The next day, after a morning at the United Airlines office seeing if we can make our 26-hour trip home into a teenager (answer: not in Madrid), we head off to the Thyssen-Bornemiza museum.  It is a gem.  A private collection organized as a mini art history course, from the Italian Primitives to the early 20th century.  Even the hand-held recordings, which I normally abhor, are excellent.  The whole museum takes us nearly four hours. 

Next we do a day trip to El Escorial.  The Palace is, initially, pretty plain.  But then we descend and see the crypts. Among the other tidbits of wisdom we receive on the tour is that it takes a body about 8 years to rot (they only put the bones into the crypt when they are clean).  Being a good MBA I immediately think of numerous opportunities for process efficiency.  We also visit the Valley of the Fallen, a monument to the Spanish Civil war.

Our last day in Madrid we go to the Reina Sofia museum, modern art and also the resting place for Picasso’s Guernica.  It’s quite stunning, and they have some cool Bacons, Freud (Lucien, not Sigi) and Cornells.  Heather goes to the palace, where she sees “the most amazing King’s pharmacy she has ever seen” (note: number of “King’s pharmacy’s” Heather has ever seen: one).

The first of our three flights home leaves early, so we rise are outside the Hotel at 5:45 on a Saturday morning to hail a cab.  Bad news.  Every other Spaniard under the age of 30 is just now leaving a club and is also hailing a cab.  It takes about 20 minutes. So we don’t even feel bad when the guy rips us off.  We make it back to Denver, thanks to some standby seats, in a mere 18 hours.  Heathrow, under heavy security, is a mess.  The guy in front of Alex has to take of his shoes. Our bags end up in Chicago.  Around 7pm, we are home.

on to colorado...