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Every Sunday El Rastro is a frenetic, bustling entity. Stretching down from Metro Latina to the Grand Arch of the "Ronda de Toledo", the vast mass of browsing tourists, rickety stalls and hard bargaining locals sprawls so far in every direction that it seems a disservice to label it a street market. One can get quite literally anything here; from Moleskin Notebooks, replica football shirts, various "natural" cosmetics and questionably authentic antiques. The prices are on the right side of decent, but surprisingly it isn't the place to bargain. I picked up a military surplus jacket for 15 euro and though I attempted a fairly pathetic ploy of pretending I only had a tenner (if that stapel of British slang can be successfully applied to the euro), the stallholder would accept nothing less.

Pickpocketing a Pickpocket

James Taylor
2006-08-23 12:07:07

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it comes out of the pickpocket's hand with almost no resistence. Someone pushes one of his accomplices, and angry words thrown back and forth in Spanish. The would be thieves sensibly take this as their cue to leave. My father spots his wallet but he doesn't see that it's me who has it so he rushes over and is on the brink of punching me, when he realises I'm not a pickpocket.

We are left standing in a rapidly emptying street, locals swiftly go about their business with facial expressions that proclaim their inocence but are at the same time scornful of our stupidity. They seem to be suggesting it's our fault, Gullible British tourists. We check the wallet. Nothing is missing. My Dad buys the football shirt and we leave; shaken but financially secure.

I was in Madrid for an inconcievably long time. Almost two weeks by the time I got round to leaving. Towards the end I was giving advice to lost tourists on the location of the nearest internet cafe. I didn't plan to stay that long, but I dawdled too long after my Dad had left and I also hadn't planned on the disruption Easter would cause. Easter means a lot more than chocolate eggs round here, it's serious business. When I tried to leave all the trains and buses out of the city were booked and all the cheap accomodation pretty much anywhere else in Spain was full. Even in Madrid I had problems. Towards the end of Easter week I was having to switch hostel every night. Even though I was technically in the same city, I had no sense of stability.

By the end of the first week I had seen most of the tourist sites: The Palacio Real, the three major art musems (which are all outstanding in different ways). I had walked down the Gran Via and promenaded around the Plaza mayor countless times. To pass the time I took to the parks. Madrid has fantastic Parkland and I would hit up a different one every day; The lively and popular El Retiro; The wilderness of the Casa ...