The City Walk

Last weekend we received my parents. My mother had already enjoyed a week of Madrid in May but this time also brought along my father. He would become the sixteenth person to stay with us this year. Amazing if you think about it.

Visits are tiring, but great. Those of you who have made the journey down here will know. The other day – when we were in the train heading back to the airport – both my parents were sleeping. I turned to Carmen and asked: “Why is it that everyone who visits us is totally destroyed when they leave us?” I have to admit that I am to blame for a large amount of this. I want to do too much with the people. There is always the city walk. Most of the time – due to lack of imagination and proven success – these walks are the same. We start in Parque de Retiro – in the summer tucking into a home-made picnic (tortilla, chorizo, empanada and fruity white wine from the fields of Galicia) and in the winter playing Frisbee – and soak up the relaxing side of Madrid. A false sense of what is to come for the unknowing visitors.
Hubi playing tunes in Parque de Buen Retiro

Heading out of the park we exit at Puerta de Alcala – arguably the symbol of Madrid – where I normally explain that it took nine years to build (and then inserting a bit of extra drama I add that it only took two to build Plaza Mayor) and served as a grand entrance to the wife of Filipe III who lived in Alcala. From there it is a short walk to Cibeles proudly housing the impressive Palace of Communication. At this point I rhetorically joke that it is now used as a post office – which is only partly true – and that it will soon be used as the city hall. Meanwhile cars shoot around the roundabout leading the way to our next destination. My mum in front of the Palace of Communications

After taking a photo I usher the people through towards Gran Vía – without doubt Madrid’s most impressive avenue. Here I explain that “Gran Vía is Madrid’s own Broadway with a majority of the city’s most important buildings. At the turn of the century city planners thought a new main street was needed, defining Madrid as one of Europe’s most important cities. It was built in three stages between 1904 and 1929.” I point out that the people should look upwards to appreciate the detail these buildings show-off. I don’t do that anymore and make time by counting people simultaneously wearing socks and sandals.
Clan and Pieter on Gran Vía

Following Gran Vía sometimes I head right at Calle Fuencarral to pay a visit to the Municipal Museum – home to a large model of the city of Madrid. However – depending on the tiredness of my listeners – I often continue along Gran Vía towards Plaza España which I use as a handy tool to tell something about Spain’s Franco period as it was the Generalisimo who personally had a hand in developing this square. All of you have been on the photo with Don Quijote and Sanch Panza whilst Cervantes looks down on me seemingly saying “Mate, are you here again?” Pieter and Clan at Plaza España

Cervantes – by that time – already knows where I am going next and five minutes later I am at one of my favorite spots: Templo de Debod. This Egyptian temple never fails and lays in the peaceful Parque del Oeste offering fine views of the Palacio Real – another photo favorite amongst our guests. Maiko and Hikaru at Templo de Debod Jan-Ole with the Palace Backdrop

Now by this time the visitors are getting tired but still I push on towards the Jardines de Sabatini – also known as the Royal Gardens. I know that it is only a short way towards the Palace and then Plaza Mayor where I finish the tour with a bang. The visitors have already been walking a solid five hours – only stopping for the occasional café con leche or caña – so the bang at Plaza Mayor rarely registers.

To make things worse I often want take my tourists out on Friday and Saturday night. Friday a ‘quiet’ night in La Latina and Saturday it is dancing with the crippled güiris. For those who on Sunday can still walk we suggest the Rastro Market – eating a tosta with those ugly grey things which they say is fish – and then to head off to the Prado Museum. Sylvie at the Rastro Market Irene and Tamara enjoying Rastro's tostas

I can honestly say that I have learned from my mistakes. For example, this weekend with my parents I opted out of a half-day excursion to Segovia where I would have liked to have shown my father the Aquaduct – something Emma and Alex where lucky enough to see. Neither did we go to Toledo or the Reina Sofia Museum. Guadalajara and Casa Lope de Vega also missed out. We did however go to see a bullfight. The thing is that there are so many things to do in Madrid that I guess – well – you all just have to come back! Agnes at Madrid's Paloma Party
Ace showing off his typical Madrid souvenir
My dad applauding the Torero Emma and Alex at the Segovia Aquaduct

The decision

Well, after weeks of being haunted by a Gordon Gecko look-alike I came to a decision which in the end was rather easy. I am staying in Madrid.

The race to finding a job in Madrid was not as exiting as portrayed on this weblog. Whereas Gecko served as an interesting metaphor the frustration was real. I did call many consultancies in Spanish, begging for a placement at their offices. I did chase leads on infojobs.net which resulted in interest from companies wishing to utilize my three languages for – mainly – customer service.

The envelopes handed to me by Gecko where – in fact – a telephone call from Brussels and an email from Madrid – both received on the same day last Friday. After a telephone interview with Brussels and a face-to-face one in Madrid I was convinced. My new Spanish boss would personally teach me a lot about the design and development of social projects throughout the European Union. After a six month trainee period I will be offered a contract – if everybody is happy that is.

Although Carmen was a very very important reason for staying I also made this decision in a professional way. After speaking with people who know about it I concluded that in my field there are many more opportunities in Brussels than in Madrid. Therefore, it is much easier to develop experience in Madrid and then – maybe later, you never know – go to Brussels (or any other place in the world!) and use it, than it would be the other way round.

Next week it will be exactly one year since my arrival here in Spain. If I look back I am very happy with what I have achieved and where I am now. Although I need to improve I can perfectly defend myself in Spanish. I have pocketed experiences at Just Landed and the NGOs (Comisión Española de Ayuda al Refugiado and the Centro Hispano Colombiano). My life as an English teacher has made me a confident public speaker and I have met many interesting people and businesses because of it.

Apart from the professional side I am happy that I shall remain in Madrid for some time to come. I would not like to lose moments like enjoying a coffee at the bar whilst reading el Marca (which as a rule tells lies about players on the verge to sign for Real Madrid) in between classes or missing another easy chance playing football on an old basketball field close to Moncloa. Neither do I want to say goodbye to our friends here who take us to nice places like Buitrago, share a Mahou with me in a random bar, or just listen to me talk about why Gordon Brown should win the next election (whilst wondering what I am talking about).

So it’s good news all around. Carmen has got herself a great new traineeship with plenty of opportunities and I can’t wait to begin my career as an assistant project manager. To top things off Tyler found himself a flat after a month (I read the other day that 50.000 young people are looking for a flat in Madrid!!) which meant no more couch-hopping. We celebrated this with a delicious Rioja (Marques de Riscal dating from 2000) and a meal prepared by Carmen. Salud!

The dilemma

I was reading the beginning chapters of The Shadow of the Wind when the doorbell rang. Carmen had already left to work and I wasn’t prepared to get up from bed and open it. I wasn’t expecting anybody so it was either the postman trying to enter the corala downstairs or the two ladies who I met three weeks earlier trying to convert me into some sort of catholic paradise believer (I – in turn – tried to convince them that I didn’t speak Spanish, upon which they gave me a paper explaining everything in English). Neither option tempted me to push the cream colored button letting them in so I continued reading.

I made it through a passage where Daniel – the main character – enters the Library of Forgotten Books for a second time where he – soaking wet from walking through the rain – notices that the door handle of the Library resembles the devil. This image both exited and scared me, oddly preparing me for what was going to come.


A burly knock on the door woke me up from my book which is set in Barcelona. I heard instantly that it had been a man’s knock and a strong one too. Who could it be? Surely not the two catholic ladies. Curious, but hesitant, I put down the book at the foot end of the bed and made my way through the living room to the entrance.


Just before unlocking the door I could make out that the stranger standing in front of my house was tall. I could see his dark silhouette through the rather transparent pink door window curtain. As I touched the gold handle a chill went through my body, one that makes you shiver all the way through. A quick swing of the door and the stranger was revealed: Gecko.


He had the same expression on his face as eight days ago when I first met – and last saw – this peculiar gentleman. Upon seeing the target of my chase questions shot to my head. How did he find me? What is he doing here? Where is his brown leather brief case? Is he going to give me the contract? Is that a small cut above his left eyebrow? Will he be disappointed that I opened the door in my pajamas?


We stood face-to-face a few seconds and all of a sudden I had the urge to offer him a cigarette because this seemed the time and the man to do so. I have never smoked so this was out of the question. I noticed that he was wearing the same suit but had changed his shirt and tie (matching grey and white). Unable to speak I nodded my head offering him to come in. In turn – also without speaking – he nodded a ‘no’. He had no interest in entering our flat. Instead he reached for the inner pocket of his blue chalk-lined jacket. He took out two envelopes and handed them to me. As I took them from him I fixed my eyes on the crisp white envelops. I could feel that both of them had maybe two A-4 sized papers (no more) inside. As I looked back up to finally ask my first question to Gecko he had disappeared. Gone, probably down the stairs, and onto Calle Tribulete. Of course.


I stood in the door opening holding the envelopes. My Latin neighbour walked past and cheerfully greeted ‘hola’. Only too conscious of my appearance I replied with ‘ja’ and turned back into the flat. Again I had been impressed by Gecko who seemed to use ‘shock-and-awe’ as his personal style of communication. Still dazed by our short and silent meeting I placed the envelopes on our dinner table which was – besides the three small Italian cups (a present to Carmen from my mother) and two vinegar and oil bottles – totally clear and sat down in front of them. Only then did a notice that – on the front – both of them had something written on them. The left one read MADRID and the right one BRUSSELS.
In these moments I do not stare and appreciate the moment, I am too curious for that. I opened the left envelope in a second. It basically had a similar job description in it as the one I had read eight days earlier on Gecko’s lap. This was however an intern position at an international consultancy where I would be responsible for the creation of project teams as well as designing projects myself after a learning period of a couple of months. Another task would be helping the consultancy get the project proposals to the European Union in order. I would only be paid a small amount of compensation money. It seemed perfect. In the evenings I could follow teaching English class and the rest of the day start my career right here in Madrid, where I am enjoying myself immensely.


I laid the papers down to the left of the three Italian cups. I turned to the second envelop which had BRUSSELS written on it. Again, it was a job description, this time for an international consultancy in the capital of Belgium, the capital of Europe. The work would be quite similar to the Madrid proposal, although I would be paid a bit better and there would be a good option of being contracted after the initial six months. Also being in Brussels could be very good for that favorite word amongst beginners: networking. However, I would have to leave Carmen and the flat we have just moved to behind.


So, that’s it. Gecko has given me two choices to think about. Two jobs, two cities. This past weekend Carmen and I have been thinking about it. By the end of the week we shall know, we shall have made a decision. You can still influence the outcome if you post your opinion on this weblog. I’ll keep you all updated.

The contract

The telephone slipped out of my sweaty palms falling on our white and brown duvet. I soon followed my worn-out Nokia as I laid myself down on the bed whilst my feet remained firmly planted on the floor. I was contemplating the words of the woman who I had just spoken to. Although she had spoken rapidly in a soft Aragon accent I had understood everything. “You don’t have enough experience for a job in our office,” I mimicked to myself, “and an internship is out of the question because we have signed agreements with Universities of whom you do not belong.” I was hardly surprised. I had been in contact with over ten consultancies who had answered the same. The message was loud and clear: Thomas Reeve, you cannot start your Spanish career here. Although this time it had been a woman I estimated that the gender equation of the people I had spoken to was about 50-50. As I stared at our pale yellow ceiling I wondered: who are these anonymous voices I am talking to? What do these people look like?

Exactly 4 hours and 23 minutes later these questions came back to me as I entered the southbound dark-blue metro line in Cuzco station. I had just taught a class on Calle Orense and had decided for no apparent reason to take the dark-blue line instead of the light-blue line at Tetuán which would have made more sense. I sat myself down on the second seat to the right-hand side of the sliding doors. The metro was pretty empty but I did as I always did, I scanned the faces of the people surrounding me, unconsciously looking for those unnamed people I had been speaking to over the telephone. On my left there were two attractive – but very young – school girls giggling their way through a magazine. The man opposite to them was annoyed by this and was angrily trying to crunch his ‘El Mundo’ newspaper so that the girls would stop. It was useless; the girls were also listening to music and paid no attention to the old man. A tired-looking Latin woman was looking at of the window whilst rocking a pram with – presumably – a baby inside it although I couldn’t see if there actually was.

As I turned my head to the right I saw him. Directly opposite to me sat a middle-aged man with a smart, tightly fitted dark-blue suit with chalk lines – matching light brown belt and shoes – confirming his style. He had his eyes firmly fixed on mine. His strong facial features made him remind me of Gordon Gecko – as played by Micheal Douglas in the Hollywood movie Wallstreet – although this man was definitely younger and slightly taller than Gecko. I tried to avoid his fanatical eyes by glancing down to his lap where I could see three neatly held together sheets of paper. It seemed that all the lights in the metro had been switched off and that the only source of light - deep under the surface of Madrid - was this package of paper. Their attraction even made me forget the stare of its owner.

As a professional metro passenger I could easily make out what the papers were (spying on other people’s papers and books is a common underground pastime). They were a contract. Assistant project-manager, in-house training in designing, evaluating and implementing social projects through-out Europe, 1725 Euros per month (which is a lot in Madrid), situation will be reviewed after one year with a possible extension of two at the end of this term, job starting on the 1st of November 2007. “This should be my contract,” I thought to myself. “After trying so many consultancies it can’t be a coincidence that this man – who was still staring at me without changing the expression on his face – is sitting opposite to me”. All of a sudden I understood. This was my contract. As I slowly raised my head my eyes finally met his obsessive stare. The automatic voice had announced the station Nuevos Ministerios twenty seconds earlier as the metro came to a halt. The race was on.

As soon as the doors had slid open, Gecko had put the contract in his brown leather briefcase and within in a second walked through onto the platform. Although I was quick to respond my exit was hampered by the old man reading ‘El Mundo’. On the platform I looked left and right and spotted a lean figure in blue turning right heading for the stairs. I started to run towards the exit he was taking. As I turned the corner I met a flight of stairs – no more than 15 – which he had already scaled. I jumped two at a time passing a group of Italians who were making their way to the airport. I entered the open space of Nuevos Ministerios station which was familiar to me, scanning the crowd for Gecko. Just as I thought I had lost him I saw him passing the exit gates to the left-hand side.

A quick glance to one of the three green exit signs confirmed what I already knew. He was heading towards the buses. I have to admit that at that moment Gecko was lucky. With his long legs he could easily make pace without attracting attention. After effortlessly climbing the three sets of stairs leading to the above ground Madrid street-life he had no trouble negotiating his way through the two pedestrian crossings which stood between him and a range of buses heading back north. The luck for him was that just as he arrived on the other side he managed to catch bus 14. At this instant I was still crossing the road but could already see that another bus – 27 – was approaching which I knew would follow the escapee. I entered the 27 without any problems closely following my target.

I remained standing next to the bus driver to ensure a rapid exit when necessary. At each bus stop I was checking who was leaving the proceeding bus 14. I was causing quite an upset amongst the entering passengers who I was clearly obstructing and the bus driver asked me more than once to move to the back of the bus. I managed to persuade him that it was ‘just one more stop’. He grumpily agreed. As bus 14 pulled over alongside the Santiago de Bernabeu stadium I could see the tall figure of my fugitive exiting on the street. Ten seconds past until my bus finally caught up and I jumped out through the front door accidentally bumping into the shoulder of a young man dressed in a pink shirt.

The next sight I had of Gecko was of him crossing the street, well not just any street – it was La Castallana – Madrid’s busiest avenue. He was crossing the road illegally with cars – quite rightly and for once with a good excuse – honking their horns in anger. This was simply too dangerous and I stood helpless waiting for the light to turn green. I followed him as I saw him walk – in not one moment did he accelerate to running – onto a little bridge which led him into the Azca compound – a medium-sized shopping centre surrounded by two of Madrid’s highest office towers: Torre Picasso and Torre de Europa.

As soon as the aorta of cars had come to a halt I dashed towards the Azca compound, crossing the bridge where Gecko had walked only 30 seconds earlier. As I passed through a small passageway I could see I that I needed to make a choice. A flight of stairs to my left would take me upwards onto an open square between the two high towers and two electric doors would lead me into the shopping centre. I could not reason which one Gecko had chosen as I didn’t known the man. I instinctively chose the electric doors because this is what I would have done.

I was in luck. Upon entering the shopping-centre I could see him on an escalator taking him to the first floor of the open planned space. There were however at least 40 meters between him and me. I took a gamble. I ran back outside, took the stairs – now to the right – again jumping two at a time, making my way to the big open square. I was now on the same level as Gecko although he was still inside. Five very long seconds followed and then I saw that my gamble had paid off. The man who I had seen for the first time only 16 minutes earlier was now – also for the first time – fully in my sight, but I was also in his. Like that first gaze he fixed his eyes on me and then – if I was not mistaken – smiled. I didn’t expect this so when he started moving towards the larger of the two towers – Torre Picasso – I hesitated in following him. He had reached the main entrance of the tall white tower before I started walking towards him.

I gathered pace and when I followed Gecko into the Torre Picasso something happened what I had dreaded all along. I passed the portero without problems. The elderly man had just returned from lunch and was in no hurry to stop young looking people like myself enter into his territory, instead he turned to his newspaper 'Marca' where he could read that Real Madrid had won against Getafe by one goal to zero although they had – once again – failed to convince.

I am afraid that I also failed to convince that Monday afternoon. As I saw Gecko entering the elevator I thought I had him – and the contract. Through the numbers I could make out which floor he would exit and then it would be just a matter of time. As the doors closed I patiently waited for the next. I noticed my error after two slight seconds. Gecko had used a key to enter the lift as all employees of the building did. I was distraught, I had lost.

The strange pursuit through the northern-centre of Madrid had simultaneously exited and surprised me. I had been uncharacteristically instinctive in deciding to start this mad goose-chase and it just demonstrated how badly I wanted that contract. Whilst I looked around the reception area – where everybody was oblivious to the fact that I had just chased an unknown man for nearly twenty minutes – I spotted a name card on the floor, just in front of the elevator Gecko had used. I picked it up and made no sense of what was printed on it. Unknown company, unknown name. Without thinking I turned it around and in dark-black ink the mysterious business man had written a message.

It read:

Try harder.