MADRID

This is a brief post just to say that I am here in Madrid, comfortably ensconced (sounds like a wall fixture, doesn't it?) in the fine Hotel Ateneo, just a stone's throw from the school and the city center (defined as Kilometer Zero at the Puerta del Sol, just a strawberry's throw from the bear statue). Where apparently my ability to write syntactically acceptable sentences has vanished temporarily, but everything else is hunky-dory.

The bus ride from Salamanca to Madrid was comfortable and uneventful, though I shudder to think what it would have been like if I hadn't unloaded those 56 pounds of books earlier in the week. Unlike some airlines I could mention, the bus company provides a free headset with each seat.

Although I did wander through FNAC earlier this evening, readers will be relieved to hear that I maintained strict discipline throughout and contented myself with just pawing the books (lovely, lovely books) without actually buying any. It remains to be seen if this same discipline can be maintained for an entire week. Personally, I wouldn't bet on it, particularly since, tomorrow being the first Sunday of the month, all the shops will be open.

I did donate all my recently read Penguin Classics (The 39 Steps, Riddle of the Sands, Railway Children, Aspern Papers, Three Men in a Boat*) to the Don Quijote library, so maybe there is some hope for me.

*: OK, I didn't actually finish this book, which seems fundamentally unreadable. Besides which the name Jerome K. Jerome always conjures up images of Danny Kaye being silly. (Yes, the Danny Kaye show was a staple of Irish television in my youth).