The real city of night
鈥淲ell the sun鈥檚 going down/ With its deep amber light/ Embracing the town as we fall into night/ To the silvery sound as the birds fly away/ Getting out of the day/ It is the city of night鈥�
In Madrid, the exquisite capital of the majestic and regal kingdom of Spain, night is the currency of life and love.
My train left Barcelona on a summery Sunday afternoon and catapulted itself through the dusty interior, tilting and pulsing through the land to the capital, seemingly eager to get there.
As my taxi navigated the fountains aglow with foaming crystal clear jets over sculptures in roundabouts, I looked up and the neon colour and energy of the capital struck me as what would become for me, the most beautiful, proud and energetic city in Europe. With no exception.
Sitting in a rooftop bar with my mate Carlos, the brilliant evening sun pierced our conversation about his life since returning home from Australia. Gone is the love in his life I wrote about a few months ago. The dry heat blew strongly in the palazzo as we sat with one-euro cans of beer in hand fed to us by savvy local Asians.
We were joined by Carlos鈥� handsome friend Javier. Javier鈥檚 name when mixed with the Spanish accent sounded like I was to call him 鈥楬avi鈥� which sounded like 鈥楬ubby鈥� 鈥� to my delight.
The three of us settled down with litres of spirits in ice cubes, numbing us before we descended the stairs to the friendliest place on earth 鈥� a bar with a flower-engraved arched roof, crammed full of locals dancing and miming English songs, all with happy smiling faces as they begin their nights at 1am.
The smoky corridor bar continued its happy dance until the boys surrendered to the poison they said they had consumed.
Rested and sleepy, Madrile帽os wind up for an evening out and when they do, in the city of night, they leave the troubles of the day behind and with the heady mix of smoke, heat and iced drinks, they dream a new dream each night.
