The following day was a balmy sixteen degrees, and our plan was to visit the El Retiro Park in the city centre. More specifically to see the Fuente del Ángel Caído (Fountain of the Fallen Angel) also known as the only public statue of Satan in the world. The edge of the park was a series of beautiful wooden stalls selling a huge variety of books. Thankfully as my Spanish is weak there was no temptation to buy any. The fountain and statue are beautiful and unless you knew in advance you’d never guess who it represented.

Onward to the glorious Prado Museum. This would be my third time at this gallery. I visited as a tourist back in 2006 and revisited on my last day in that city as a means of escape. The night before our departure my companion and I had dined at a local restaurant – he chose the pig’s trotter as his main course. I chose the fish. The dish that we shared was a Spanish omelette. That was the culprit that caused us both to be violently ill for the following three days. The next day was Sunday – I was travelling back to Amsterdam on an evening flight. He was heading south to Malaga. I had read that one Sunday a month the Prado offered free entry – that very day. I needed to be located next to a toilet and this beautiful museum had splendid facilities. Once again, I enjoyed the Goya; El Greco and Velazquez between urgent and frequent toilet breaks.

The gallery is as splendid as I remembered it. Like many galleries of its size, it is too overwhelming to see it all at once, so I was strategic in what I wished to see. I know that my capacity for art galleries is about a three hour stretch and that it would be wise to get my viewings within that time span.

Afterwards we repaired to the Mercado de San Fernando – a food market favoured by Madrilenos in the city centre. We enjoyed a few beers while waiting for our Spanish friend who had moved home to Madrid after years in Dublin some time earlier. It was her suggestion to eat at this market. We dined at a tapas bar, listening to live music performed by a folk group from the Canary Islands singing Christmas songs. It was highly festive.

On Friday I had arranged a free walking tour of the medieval city of Toledo. Today was a solo day. We’d walked twenty kilometres the previous day and only I was foolhardy enough to continue. Located about eighty kilometres south of Madrid, Toledo had once been the capital of Spain – divided into Muslim, Christian and Jewish districts. My tour was meeting at 1pm so I left the apartment at 10am thinking I’d have loads of time. I dawdled to the Atocha train station – the largest in Madrid – whereupon I realised that all trains to Toledo were sold out. I asked the woman at the information desk, and she told me that I’d need to go to another station – on the Plaza Eliptica to take a bus. Upon arrival I saw a queue about 100 metres long. This was the queue to buy a bus ticket. It moved at a brisk pace and after twenty minutes I had a ticket acquired. The I joined an equally long queue to board a bus. Thankfully this was an equally fast-moving queue and we departed at 12.15.  This was too late to join the walking tour. Never fear – I’d figure it out. Eighteen years ago, I had planned a visit to Toledo. My misspent youth of debauchery and carousing meant however that I’d not gone to bed until 4am the night before and my vile hangover the next day prevented travel. Not this time. I was ready.

Toledo is a marvel of a city. The medieval, gothic cathedral built in the thirteenth century is as gaudy and ridiculous as I hoped it would be. The Monastery of San Juan de los Reyes is beautiful. The northern city gate – the Puerto del Sol – is ornate and striking; the main square – Plaza de Zocodover – is a hive of activity; the Alcazar Palace overlooking the river is impressive. My time in Toledo was too short. I had arranged to be back in Madrid by sunset so I didn’t see all that I wanted to. It’s a place that I will return to on my next trip to central Spain. That evening we dined on paella and I called over to my Spanish friend’s apartment for an aperitif –she lived in our neighbourhood.

Our flight on Saturday was at 17.30 which allowed us to check out and store our bags near the Atocha Station and then cross the road to the modern art museum La Reina Sofia. I wanted to see Picasso’s Guernica once again – and once again it was a mesmerising piece.

Madrid is a wonderful city that I will return to. It won’t be another eighteen year wait – of that I am certain.

After lunch we made our way to the airport. Our flight to Tangier, Morocco was awaiting…