December 29, 2012 - Madrid, Spain

Estacion de Principe Pio cast iron terminal

"Prose is architecture, not interior decoration, and the Baroque is over."

~ Ernest Hemingway

I remember this place.  Arriving from Amsterdam, quickly grabbing a few Mediterranean grown old-world apples to munch on, I met up with 40+ educators from Alaska, Washington, Oregon, Hawaii,
California, and... Texas.  Departing the Estacion de Principe Pio, located near the Celuisma Florida Norte hotel (overlooking the Rio Manzanares to the west and Glorieta de Sa Vicente to the south), I remembered the stations elaborately designed cast iron terminal - creating a dreary industrialized feeling.  This train station is historically referred to as "ugly."  Confirming my 15 year old characterization of Madrid.

Madrid Aocha Railway Station Arboretum

Within minutes, our train arrived at Madrid Aocha Railway Station, where an outburst of laughter erupted from my nostalgia.  August 2, 1998, we arrived from Paris late in the evening and needed to sleep.  Hiding in the Aocha train station's arboretum tropical greenhouse, we hoped to sleep safely in a relatively natural setting, after a week of bustling-Paris travel.  Needless to say, we were discovered, kicked out, and slept on the Madrid streets that night.

Returning to December 29, 2012, a calculated march along the Paseo del Prado (museum road), we quickly arrived at the Museo Nacional del Prado.  Although Bosch's, The Garden of Earthly Delights left me... intrigued, the museum left me... craving modern art.

Food + Drink + Happy

Our bodies unsure if they should be tired, hungry, or enthusiastic - we maneuvered cobblestone streets and Madridians toward Puerta del Sol, in Downtown Madrid, eventually arriving at a cozy bistro for flavorful, and perfectly tender, duck dinner.

Only in Madrid for three evenings, a "motivated" group broke away for socializing with locals at an enjoyable evening establishment.

August 2, 1998 Journal Entry, cont.

The Dilemma, by anonymous

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk rejection.
To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.
To live is to risk not being loved in return.
To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure.
But tasks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.
They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, or love.
Chained by their certitudes, they are slaves.  They have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who dares to risk is free.