(no subject)

The streetlights in Madrid go on at ten, but it isn't dark enough to need them until about eleven. I know this because last night I wandered around the narrow cobbled streets until eleven thirty. I was looking for a cup of tea, but all anyone had was coffee, and that was the last thing I needed.

Outside my hostel, at eleven thirty there was a full marching band. I'm not sure what they were up to, because no one could hear any question I asked, but it's disheartening to know that even on the other side of the Atlantic, the only song marching bands know is ¨When the Saints Go Marching In.¨

I have been enjoying eating out, though I have to confess I'm not certain what I'm eating half the time.

I went to the museum today, (I promised myself I'd only go to one) and staggering heartbreak awaited me there. My favorite painting in the entire universe is The Grey Tree by Piet Mondrian. (I am not a fan of much else of his, but this I love.) Up until three months ago, it hung in this museum: three months ago, they sold it to the Hague. There is no god I tell you. None at all.

I saw Guernica and it made me cry. I don't like Picasso, and it still made me cry. Unfairness!

These recent art travails have hardened my heart to Madrid, so in the morning, I board the train for Barcelona, where I will have my heart broken by Gaudi. It's a vicious cycle this art stuff.