Monday has proved to be a day of recovery, so far at least. Replete with muscle relaxant and various pain killers (actually I'm on a Valium holiday, something I've never had the pleasure of before) I've been moving rather easily though the centre of the Spanish capital, which is remarkably easy to get around, by the way. The excellent Metro system helps.
We spent the early afternoon in the Prado, and I sort of expected this to be a big highlight of our visit, but it proved something of an anti-climax. Not a patch on the Louvre, and way, way behind either of the London Tates or the National Gallery. Not that it was terrible - just rather old-fashioned, I suppose. A few stunning things - a couple of Rembrandts and Velasquezs, but honestly I'm hard pressed to recall anything that knocked me sideways. Even the bookshop was a bit boring - but the coffee was nice.
No, the real pleasure of the day was strolling through the streets in the centre of Madrid, popping into cheesy souvenir shops and just enjoying being there. The architecture is generally a bit over-the-top, like the sort of wedding cakes that the rich and famous think constitute a sense of class. But sometimes you need a bit of the monumental to remind yourself how daft folk can be.
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