mi sueño viejo de Madriz

You can't go home again.

Or can you?

Today, I went back to Toledo, where I lived my first time in Spain in 2003. It was amazing how much that city feels like home to me. It feels like home in a way that Kentucky and Madrid never have (maybe cause I visited Madrid so much when living in Toledo and Linares that I always have felt like a tourist here.)

It was like I had never left. No, the jerk who I kept in touch with for five years and who stopped talking to me after the night we stayed out all night waiting for the bus to Madrid wasn't working at the Phone House, nor did I see anyone I really recognised. But everything was still the same...well, more had changed in the two years since my last time here than in the five years between living there and my return to Spain. The construction that was going on in 2003 and still going on in 2008 was finally over...and an awesome new set of escalaras mecanicas. I stopped in at Palacios...where we ate at every night in Toledo....and lo and behold, one of the waiters was still there, seven years later. I didn't ask him if he remembered the group, but he did speak to me as if he recognised me from somewhere but couldn't place where. I mean...I'm 115 pounds less than when he knew me, for one, and for two, it's been seven years. (And I need to lose about 10 pounds right now, DAMN YOU PRINCIPE COOKIES).

This week, a major chapter of my life is coming to an end. The Madrid chapter. I've been doing all kinds of last things that I won't get to do on a normal visit here. And I'm sad. Once upon a time, as an overweight 21 year-old repressed gay boy living in Toledo, Chueca and Madrid were the dream. Chueca had this overpowering feeling of freedom and acceptance, it seemed. I never went out in Chueca until September 2008, five years later and thinner. But walking through Plaza de Chueca and seeing the gay Spaniards created this image in my mind.

I think I might be the only gay male who comes to Madrid and becomes more closeted and repressed. It's always been hard for me to tell others that I'm gay, and now I'm barely able to say it to other gay people...back at where I was when I was 22. Madrid and Chueca would've been so good for me when I was 23. Now? I'm wanting to settle down with my principe azul and build a life, wake up next to him on a daily basis, and just have that stability. From what I understand, this weekend's Pride, which I'll miss, is pretty much an orgy. Not for me. I've never been to a pride, but now the only thing I'll regret missing is Kylie Minogue's concert.

Madrid is an amazing, vibrant city on the outside, and I will miss it a ton. But on the inside, it's lacking so much of what makes Spain Spain. Sure, there is tortilla, guapos, fútbol and the crisis, but being a capital city, it has to conform so much to other European capitals in so much that the visitor doesn't see. Like that infamous song says about New York...live here once, but leave before it makes you hard. It's so hard to find true friends, people who care...let alone a decent boyfriend.

This year, I have learned a ton about myself, and I look forward to applying it to the future in Valencia. I do have a wall up around me that is hard to break down, but it is so worth it to try as much as possible to break it down. If your roommates are jerks, and the flat is expensive and in a SHITTY neighbourhood, go to a cheaper place with more understanding roommates. Tell the boy you like that you like him, so when he doesn't like you back you can move on much easier and appreciate a friendship for what it is instead of second guessing every move. You can't close yourself off to others. And you gotta travel and not sit online making travel plans for trips you have to cancel (took two canceled trips to Santander to finally go!)

There have been so many amazing memories too. Holidays and nights at the disco and new friends and some students who I'll never forget.

All this leads me to my next move. After a month of working at a summer camp, I'll be going to Valencia to try to strike my luck there. A lot of random signs (including meeting a very hot doctor from Valenciano who melted when I said "molt be"!) A new city, a fresh perspective and hopefully working on my master in Spanish and learning some catalandigovalenciano will keep me busy and optimistic. Gotta lose those ten pounds and tone. Gotta learn that Alejandro choreography. Gotta learn to let go. Gotta learn to let people in to know the awesome person, as I'm sure my principe azul would hate for me to miss him.

I may have hit rock bottom this spring in Madrid, but that only means that I can go up from here. And to go out to the places I will be from...most likely Valencia :) Molt bè, m'agrada València...i els valencians.

Mi Santander

Wednesday night, okay, Thursday morning, I left the house about 1 a.m. to stay the night at Barajas airport. I found a place next to the security and Ryan Air check in to crash, using my duffel bag as a pillow. I slept about twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. When I saw Ryan Air was open to check in, I got my cutre ticket stamped, went through security, and slept some more on a bench until I could board the stupid plane. I slept all the way until Santander, just seeing a little of los Picos de Europa. The plane went in to land...and suddenly took off again. The captain came on to inform us that the airport was closed until 7.32, and it was 7.30. ONLY IN SPAIN, I TELL YOU.

So I deboarded the plane, caught the bus to the centro and found an expensive tostada and café con leche. The first hostal was really nice...own room, own bathroom...I took advantage of it after I finally could check in at 12.30.

I walked around, saw the touristy stuff like a cathedral that was actually DIFFERENT. 99 percent of cathedrals in Spain are indistinguishable, but this one was free and had a unique look and ruins and stuff. The bay was quite beautiful. But the conservative feel of the city hung over everyone and everything. It was quite hard to take.

I ate a plato combinado and walked to the beach, which was really nice, and then up to the Palacio de Magdalena...amazing views similar to New England. I went back and started to get bored. I walked around town a ton...saw the famous Raquero statutes...and enjoyed not being many tourists. I tried finding a place for pinchos, but I found nothing, so I ate a crappy fast food dinner. I then took advantage of the hostal t.v....but found FREAKING SUSAN MAYER IN SPANISH. Ewwwwww!

Friday I got up, had a café con leche...checked out of the hostal and then caught the bus to Santillana del Mar, a medieval pueblo. Of course, drinking the water I was, I really had to pee...and luckily there was a cafeteria with good café con leche next to the bus stop! Really intresting café...I walked around, had an amazing plato combinado...and that was about it. I feel it was overrated. Having lived in Toledo (Spain, not Ohio...though my pueblo *is* close to that Toledo...it's not Toledo, it's To-leeeeeeee-do, stupid Americans saying things wrong) sorta spoils me for these things. Then I went to Comillas, which is a beautiful beach pueblo. The sun came out, I got more sunburnt...and missed the bus back to Santander as the bus stop was in the wrong place. It gave me time to see the actual village, have an ice cream, etc. I got back to Santander about 7, went to check into my new hostal on the beach, walked along the beach for a while, tried to find pinchos again but couldn't find a place AGAIN. I'd find the restaurant part of town Saturday, of course.

Saturday I thought about going to Bilbao, or a pueblo in Asturias, or los Picos...but I just didn't feel like doing anything. So I went walking along the playa, found a free zoo next to the Palacio de Magdalena and watched penguins and sea lions play for a while. I chilled on the beach despite the cool (20C) air and cloudy sky. I decided not to go out due to the conservatism of the city...and the fact I do live in Madrid and can go out in a liberal place any time I deign. I went for pinchos at an Argentine place...yummy...although burritos and tortilla española are quite Argentine ;) I managed to spill the La Rioja glass and cut my hand. Go me? I then spent some time gazing at the water and thinking...feeling confident that Valencia is the future and stuff. I had an early flight again, so I just slept some and got cheated by a taxi driver...and security wasn't even open at the airport!

Santander is quite beautiful, but it's no San Sebastián. I really am more of a Northern Spain type of boy than Andalucía type of boy, although Granada and Málaga provincia are also amazing I do have to say.