Don´t ´do it´ for me, so it´s a blog.
I am conflicted in Spain. I love the people and the humour. The men at the milonga tonight were lovely and sweet and tried to encourage my anglo heart to listen to their heartbeat. Sigh. But were able to joke.
The people are kind about my bad language skills.
The Prado is a hymn to colonisation and looting. The Botticelli, as Tim says, was stunning. I stumbled upon it-them. Goya gave me hope as he painted the trials and horrors of war, not the glories.
Sofia Reina made me sad proud curious interested affirmed. I need to return for the surrealism as I got a bit stuck in the war, Brunel and Picasso, Man Ray and Kerstez.
The birthday dinner at Lhardy on the recommendation of Max´s friend was great, although my Latin American focussed sensibilities made me wonder how many people had died to produce all that silver ware. The waiters were kind, funny and sweet.
The buildings are lovely, the people kind and the weather cool.
I am in the midst of a grey power movement as the baby boomers gird themselves to discover art, hire guides and equip themselves in sensible labels for the attack on culture.