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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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After a few hours the tourists began to depress me so I took the next bus back to Madrid.

In the evenings I drank a litre or two of Sangria, (In two of the hostels I stayed at which, this could be had 2:50 a litre), and tried to meet new and exciting (or at least mildly interesting) people. Most of the time I was successful. Changing accomodation regularly forced me to abandon all social inhibitions. If I saw someone who looked interesting I'd either ask to join them or just sit down and start talking. It is amazing how easy being outgoing is when you have to do it. I doubt I could keep it up back home though

Most nights in Madrid I stayed in. I was trying to save money and most of the hostels I stayed at had bars that were lively and more importantly cheap. In the Cat's hostel I met an English Girl named Mirriam who was a medical student at Cambridge. She was lovely, but inevitably had a boyfriend (isn't that always the case). We went to watch some Jazz which was very good, but the drinks were expensive so we moved on. Running into a Semana Santa Parade on our way to more bars,we talked about Languages and Careers and the complete with camp expressionintricacies of Felafal making. It was a good night, but I can hardly say I experienced the famously late, full-on Madrid nightlife. I was back in bed by 2:00. Maybe next time.

My Dad coming down for the weekend was a refreshing change, but after lengthy periods of solitude it was hard to adjust. Just keeping up consistent conversation was difficult because I have been so used to a sort of interior monologue. Most of the time was spent chatting in cafe's drinking a "cafe con leche" or a "cerveca". A few decent meals didn't go amiss either, particuarly after surviving on Cheese, Ham, Bread and Fruit for the best part of a week. A word of advice though: don´t eat in or around the Plaza Mayor, the meals are poor and at tourist prices.

On the Saturday night ...