By CHRIS ANDERSON
Relaxed charm: Diners eat al fresco at a busy cafe in one of the city's spacious plazas
It was with this in mind that I went to irresistible Madrid for a long weekend. More than that, I travelled there and back by train, taking my time, looping discursively around and between a number of other splendid towns and cities. And while in the Spanish capital I stayed at the Ritz. To do any two of these three things would have been a magnificent treat. To pull off all of them was heaven.
First, the trip out. An early-ish Eurostar to Paris to begin with, feeling pleasantly frivolous alongside all the business types frowning into their BlackBerries, finding myself eating every atom of the rubbery, airline-style breakfasts served in first class.
Then, at the Gare du Nord and with Europe at my feet, out came my secret weapon: an InterRail Global Pass, allowing unlimited travel around the Continent - from Lisbon in the west, in fact, all the way to the approaches to the Iranian border in the east. (I should mention that there are some small-print conditions to all this, such as reserving long-distance seats in advance, that you need to familiarise yourself with before taking the plunge.) The best thing about it, of course, is that you can plan your whole route yourself, and at your own pace. And that's what I did.
To begin with I skimmed down almost the length of France to my first overnight stop - monumental, cultured Avignon, some 450 miles south of Paris's Gare de Lyon but reached in not much more than two-and-a-half hours on the speed-of-light TGV.
For sightseeing, there's the gigantic Gothic palace that housed a succession of exiled medieval Popes; for corporeal pleasures there's an inviting, characterful old town with proper French shops, restaurants and bars. The next morning I was tempted to linger, but I had always wanted to see Carcassonne - only an inch or two away on the map, as a few of my former news editors used to say - so that's where I headed.
It meant a detour, but it was worth it. The ancient fortified city, romantically restored, exerts a powerful magic. I explored the mazy streets, sampled the astringent local wines and climbed the ramparts. To the west reposed the Pyrenees, calmly glorious in winter sunshine; there were no crowds; I dined regally in what I was told was the city's best restaurant, the Comte Roger, where the subtle perfection of a scallop mousse starter was followed by a knockout, gutbustingly authentic cassoulet.
A longish haul the following day, curling along the marshy coast towards Perpignan and then on the new high-speed link that crosses the border into Spain. This short stretch, which extends as far as Figueres, opened only at the end of last year and makes it comfortably feasible to reach Spain by train from London in not much more than a working day.
I'd been planning to pause in Figueres to visit the Dali museum but momentum propelled me on to Barcelona and, because I had been there before, I pressed on to Zaragoza.
It's a handsome place - bigger than I'd imagined - with impressively stately civic landmarks and a throbbing heart full of noisy tapas bars. Many of these are upscale, and not cheap; the dishes on offer, though, are outstandingly fresh and good. One tapas was composed of anchovy, soft cheese and chocolate shavings - an audacious combination to be sure, but this alien pairing of saltiness and sweetness made me try another one simply to work out whether I loved it or hated it. I loved it. or at least I think I did.
Two more good things about Zaragoza: because I visited it off-season my hotel - the five-star Melia Zaragoza - cost little more than a quarter of the advertised peak-season rate. And the city is so placed that my train ride the next morning to the main event of my trip - Madrid itself - amounted to a pleasant downhill coast of about 90 minutes.
Everything was brilliant in the Spanish capital that Saturday lunchtime - from the welcoming sunshine to the smile of the limo driver who was waiting at the station to whisk me up to the Ritz. The limo service is one of the things Kirker holidays pride themselves on. It's good thinking on their part because one always feels a bit unsure arriving in a foreign capital.
Five minutes later I was in the Ritz - cocooned by its balming elegance, and the imperturbable professionalism of its staff. As with all the best hotels, you sense that behind all this effortless calm is a mighty machine, humming away around the clock. The public rooms are masterpieces of mirrored, belle epoque swishness. My own room, like all the others, was beautiful: airy, tranquil, deep-carpeted, replete with those useful extras like an umbrella and bathrobes and dinky little toiletries.
Sociable city: Friends enjoy a snack and a chat in one of Madrid's many tapas bars
The hotel's position is unsurpassable, lying at the very heart of the grandly spacious centre of the capital (the building is a baroque landmark in its own right) and of the so-called Golden Triangle of world-renowned art museums that boasts the Prado as its senior partner.
The Prado is next door to the Ritz, and is of course essential. The only problem with this vast gallery is that it offers such a rich banquet of treasures that no matter how hard you go at it, you still feel that you've failed to do the paintings justice. The secret is to plan and execute surgical strikes.
The two other elements of the Golden Triangle - the Thyssen-Bornemisza, and the Reina Sofia - are not as well-known as the Prado but are equally unmissable, and you can buy a ticket that gets you into all three.
The Reina Sofia's must-see is Guernica, Picasso's incendiary, wallsized dissection of war and fascism and the horrors that they visit upon an innocent world. It's extraordinarily powerful. I went closer to get a better look; klaxons screamed in tones as outraged as the figures in the picture itself, and guards too remonstrated crossly with me. I reddened. I maintain, however, that the lines on the floor forbidding encroachment towards the picture are not marked terribly clearly.
Time for some fresh air - and Madrid's got lots of it, at least when it's not high summer, because its thoroughfares and squares are roomy and gracious. The government ministries have a certain majesty to them and the shopping districts are as sophisticated as any in Europe.
But, for me, the joy of Madrid lies in the wonderful communality of those areas where the whole city appears to congregate to eat and to drink and, more than anything else, generally and unabashedly to celebrate life. For Madrid is a uniquely sociable place. According to legend there are more bars here per square yard than anywhere else on the Continent; the Calle Alcala alone, it is said, boasts more drinking holes than does the whole of Belgium. The bars themselves are authentic, atmospheric and welcoming. And, while the formal restaurants are pretty good - I had some fizzingly fresh cod in oil and garlic - tapas is king.
To immerse oneself in all this is a night-long thrill - made all the more exotic, and therefore enjoyable, by the way the Spaniards insist on keeping to their own idiosyncratic timetable: they really do lunch until four, and they really don't eat dinner until 9.30 or ten, and they really do then go on and on until the small hours. And nor is it an exercise in getting tanked-up.
Taste of city life: Tapas is king in Madrid and there is a staggering variety on offer
On the Sunday of my visit, the areas around the Plaza Mayor, Santa Ana and La Latina were thronged all day with Madrilenos radiating a sort of serene, civilised buzz. No rowdyism, no silliness (coming from England, one can't help but notice these things). In any case, beer and wine are served in thimble-sized measures, in a way that complements the staggering variety of tapas on offer. People of all ages are invited to this party; everybody joins in, or at least seems to.
But we all have to leave even the best parties sooner or later, and now it was time to have one last stupendous Ritz breakfast and to get into the limo and head for home.
At least, though, I wasn't facing a glum ride to a sterile airport. I was going to the station to head north - first to Vitoria (historic, pleasant, a bit provincial after Madrid) and then to San Sebastian. My arrival here coincided with the city's annual saint's day: its superb streets and central square, and its narrow old town bursting with tapas bars, were flooded with townsfolk, many of them banging on drums. In fact, the place went crackers.
Then my last stop, and the only dud one on the whole trip: Biarritz, which I found to be gratuitously expensive, antiseptic, and more than a bit stuck-up. Everywhere else I had gone I had felt positively grateful to be there in winter. Freed from tourists, the cities had seemed both more approachable and more themselves. Not so Biarritz. But perhaps I was getting a bit tired by now.
Still, there was plenty of time to daydream on the trip back to Paris. And then, after a quick stroll around Montparnasse, it was on to the evening Eurostar and home - where life seemed no longer oppressive, nor routine, at all.
Getting there
InterRail Global Passes start from £230 for an adult for a 'five travel days in ten days' pass or £327 for a 'ten in 22 days' pass. Return fares on Eurostar from London to Paris start at £69. Some high-speed trains and overnight services will require seat reservations in addition to the InterRail pass. Call 0844 848 4070 or visit www.raileurope.co.uk.
Kirker Holidays (020 7593 2283, www.kirkerholidays.com) offers three nights at the Ritz Madrid from £1,398 per person, including return Eurostar to Paris and 'Preferente' class sleeper to Madrid with transfers, B&B and a 48-hour Cultura Card giving access to museums and palaces. A three-night break with flights costs from £878.
source: dailymail
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