flat fiesta

This weekend was decidedly more active than the last one; after a week of working hard with Kate at training for her new job from 9 til 7 and me supervising classes of manic children, we decided to play a bit harder too. (Though not as hard as our flatmates it has to be said!)


We started off with a flat-warming party on Saturday night, inviting along friends of ours from both Pueblo Ingles and Vaughan Town, plus our flatmates. Apparently it's not really the custom to invite friends round for food - the Spanish tend to just meet in a bar - while starting things at 8pm is definitely not the usual way of things in Madrid, but the food at least was reasonably Spanish. Indeed my first efforts at Spanish-style tortilla and aubergine fritters were gobbled up with pleasing enthusiasm! We'd set up an ice-breaking exercise ("find someone who?" bingo) for a bit of fun and nostalgia (it's something we had played at Pueblo Ingles) and to get people talking, not that we needed to encourage them - they're a sociable bunch! Pete our flatmate got on the DJ decks and spun a little set, which started to make us think it might be nice to go somewhere for a dance. Cesar obligingly phoned a friend and had 10 of us put on the guest list for a trendy club, which we headed out to at 1am - still early by Madrid standards. In fact when Kate and I left at 3am we had to queue to get our coats from the cloakroom - because there were loads of people waiting to hand theirs in!! It was a great night and lovely to see our friends again.

Sunday lunch and curries are two great English traditions, though it's rare that we combine them. Today however, after a lazy morning, we ventured out to the Guru restaurant in central Madrid to meet an old childhood friend of Kate's, Kirsty Frost, her husband Juanmi, parents and aunt and uncle (all friends of Kate's parents). Kirsty has been living in Spain for 10 years now and she and Kate really enjoyed seeing each other again - our social circle here is rapidly expanding. Despite our protestations, we were treated to lunch. Again. If we have to buy back all the meals we've been treated to we're going to be bankrupted rather swiftly. Just as well Kate starts work tomorrow!

Paris day two

Our second day in Paris saw us attempting a philosophical discussion in a left bank cafe near the Hotel Les Invalides (the place where the rioters of 1789 seized the arms that allowed them to successfully storm the Bastille). But our topic, "What Is Love?" was quickly abandoned in favour of a few games of backgammon, which drew the conclusion that love is not getting too infuriated when your husband beats you all the time.

A short bus ride saw us in the well-to-do shopping district of St Germain, where we salivated in various specialist chocolate shops while picking up a few gifts for friends and family back in Blighty.

We strolled back over the Seine and checked out the Stravinsky Fountain, whose various attractions inspired by the composer are now badly in need of retouching and repair. The Michael Jackson impersonator was deservedly drawing more attention than the no doubt once splendid water features.

We took ourselves past the Pompidou Centre and found a cheapish bar (by Parisian standards, anyway) for an apero or two, then took the Metro to find a vegetarian restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet. The friendly dykes having a smoke outside the lesbian pub next door informed us it had been closed for some time.

Nothing daunted, we got back on the metro and aimed for the Indian quarter just off the Strasbourg Boulevard. We had a very tasty and well-priced three-courser (complete with free glasses of kir) in the Passage de Pondicherry, which kind of reminded us of eating in St Nicholas Market in Bristol. It's a covered arcade and is buzzing with shops and restaurants from India, Pakistan and Bangladsh, not to mention a colourful and cosmopolitan stream of passers-by.

Our next plan, to see the Trocadero Gardens illuminated by night was thwarted by them being closed, but it did afford an excellent view of the Tour Eiffel and the giant stage being set up in its shadow ready for the Celine Dion concert taking place to mark the glorious quatorze in a few days time.

Our trip back on the metro was marked by a lively puppet show by some in-carriage buskers, a welcome change from the backing-track accordianists, bad guitarists and worse singers we'd thus far endured. We chucked them a few cents by way of thanks.