Plaza de Gregorio Marañón

In mid-afternoon a driver named Salvaro picked us up from the airport and drove us to the Hyatt Regency Hesperia in Madrid. Glenda and I went to our room, took our shoes off, removed the compression socks we had worn for more than a day and crashed on the bed. The hotel here is a lovely refuge for weary travelers, and it sits adjacent to a roundabout containing an impressive monument to the Marquess of Duero, whose enormous bronze horse glares down disdainfully as millions of horseless carriages run rings around him daily.
The young Spanish woman Viking assigned as our Mama Duck for the next two days is named Susana. Her English is better than mine. After we rested for a couple of hours, she called a meeting of the 22 tourists in our group and gave us a brief introduction to this wonderful city along with our QuietVox devices. She led us on an hour-long walk of this vibrant precinct, pointing out its historical and culinary temples, including a moderately priced tapas bar called El Yate—the Yacht. Glenda and I hung around after the official tour with our new friend Joy there at El Yate. Inside gleaming brass compasses, barometers and even a brass binacle competed with shining polished hardwood walls so that one could be convinced he was dining inside the royal yacht—hence its name. We asked our waiter “Henry” (I’ll bet his friends call him Enrique) for suggestions. The first dish he brought out was Cheese Cones Stuffed with Goat Cheese and sautéed leeks, glazed with Port Wine Reduction. The texture of the cones was that of an ice-cream cone, but they were shaped like cigars. Next there appeared tuna tartar served over toast points. Finally we delighted in jamon iberico over fried eggs and French-fried potatoes. When we told Henry that at this hour 51 years ago, we were being married at the base chapel in Monterey, California, he surprised us with the complimentary gift of a unique Spanish liqueur called Orujo, a delicious chocolate and coffee flavored liqueur poured over ice. As we returned to the hotel, we saluted the Marquess and his horse, and I took a few more photos of the hotel and the parklike avenue running in front. Although Lufthansa carried and fed us well, we came back to our room, grateful that tonight’s long slumber will not take place on an airplane at 30,000 feet.Read more