There were heavy grey clouds over Stansted as Sheila (my amazing Californian friend who I met at Pueblo Ingles last year) and I took off, buffeted by crosswinds and blasted by the rain.
According to the Spanish pilot, it was a bit drizzly in Madrid, too – but the temperature was about 12 degrees higher than in England. Having only one cabin bag and an EU passport, I breezed through security on arrival (yay!), and we then began the 20 mile trek (or so it seems) from the arrivals hall to the metro.
Madrid’s metro system is clean, efficient and very easy to use; the station names sound so exotic to English ears…..Rios Rosas, Acacias, Cuatro Caminos, Pacifico, La Latina…
We emerged, hot but happy, at Puerta del Sol at about 8.45pm, the bright Tio Pepe sign shining down on the bustling plaza, and crowds of people posing for photos in front of the statue of the bear (the traditional meeting point for a night out in Madrid).
Our hostel (the lovely Hostal de Nuestra Senora de la Paloma – which was on the floor directly above a hostel I’d stayed at the previous year!) was just a short walk away, halfway between Sol and the Plaza Mayor. Our twin bedded room had a teeny bathroom with a shower, and shuttered doors opening onto a little balcony festooned with geraniums.
I was desperate to eat once again at the cheap and cheerful Bodega Bohemia (opposite the Mercado de San Miguel), where the year before we’d had the most delicious spit-roasted chicken and chips (I know… not exactly a local speciality!); it was less than 10 euros, but
the chicken was succulent and garlicky, the waiter (Nicolas) very friendly and the food was accompanied by cheesy keyboard music and elderly Spanish karaoke singers – sounds awful but it really added to the atmosphere (as did the very large and very welcome glass of sangria)!
We left the restaurant around midnight, just as other diners were arriving for dinner….
Madrid can be very noisy, and especially so in the early hours of the morning, when you’re desperately tired and even earplugs won’t muffle the sound of revellers, motor bikes, police sirens, more revellers, refuse lorries…so we woke, bleary-eyed and brain-dead, and set off for coffee and breakfast…
…which we found in the Mercado de San Miguel. The food there really is a feast for all the senses. There are stalls selling seafood, fruit, pastries, tapas, coffee, cheese, olives, jamon, smoothies, paella, tortilla……
..we toured the hall about three times before deciding on what to eat (café con leche, a creamy nata tart, and a tiny spinach quiche for me).
This popular indoor market is busy, lively, full of chatter, clinking cups and rattling cutlery; all kinds of delicious smells waft from the different stalls: fresh coffee, spicy chorizo, pungent cheeses, briny seafood, sweet vanilla from the bakeries……and every single stall presents their wares as works of art.
We were due to meet the other Anglos (English speakers) at Casa Patas – a famous flamenco club and restaurant, at 2pm. It seemed that many of them were already Pueblo Ingles converts – some having already been at least five times. The Anglos who’d not done the programme before must have been reassured by the number of people who regularly give up a week of their lives just to take part – it must be good, right? We all got to know each other over paella and dessert before heading upstairs to watch some very good flamenco; the restaurant runs a highly regarded flamenco academy. Then the Pueblo Ingles leaders (Jez, Jason, Amelia and Sabela) took it in turns to talk to us about the meeting point for the bus the next morning, what to expect from the Spaniards, what kind of activities we might be doing during the week, and how hard it may all seem at first. Then we were free to head off around the city. Having visited Madrid four times before, I feel very comfortable here, and I know my way around the centre reasonably well. I love watching the street performers in the Plaza Mayor and the Puerta del Sol; I love the architecture, from the famous buildings to the tiny architectural details; I love the shop signs and the window displays and the street signs. I love the people – Spaniards are cheerful, exuberant, opinionated, noisy, lively, friendly and helpful. Apart from the fact that I can’t walk around Madrid without a camera in my hand, I don’t really feel like a tourist here any more. Even so, I know that I’ve barely scratched the surface of this vibrant city. But for the rest of the afternoon and evening, we took it easy, strolling around the shops and having dinner with some of our new Anglo friends.
We left our hostel early the next morning for our metro ride to the bus meeting point at Nuevos Ministerios. We just had time for a croissant and coffee at a nearby café before joining the crowd of people waiting to join the bus. Sabela and Amelia, our Programme Director and MC for this trip, were ticking names off a list and welcoming the Spaniards who, as usual, looked somewhat nervous. “Spanish stops here!” said Amelia, inviting us all to board the bus, and reminding us that Spaniards had to sit next to an Anglo. Quite a few of the Spaniards had chosen to drive directly to the venue, so there were a few empty seats; I ‘shared’ Sheila’s Spaniard, Miguel, who (in very good English) pointed out various famous sights as we drove out of the city.
As bustling Madrid gave way to rolling countryside scattered with olive trees and castles, the Gredos mountains gradually came into view. We continued through acres of oak trees, home of the black pigs reared for their Iberico ham. 
We crossed narrow bridges over rivers, the water fresh from the mountains, sparkling clear and freezing cold. Small groups of bulls languished in the sun, and about two hours after leaving Madrid we turned into the entrance of El Mirlo Blanco, our home for the next week. Let the fun begin…..!!
Info: We stayed at the Hostal Nuestra Senora de la Paloma in Madrid (www.nuestrasenoradelapaloma.com ).
Our venue for Pueblo Ingles in Candeleda was El Mirlo Blanco (www.casaruralavila.es). Email: info@el-mirlo-blanco.com .
You can find out more about Pueblo Ingles at http://www.diverbo.com .
Breakfast at the Beach 