Stepping into home

by Aldo Saldaña (Mexico)

Making a local connection Spain

Sometimes a trip becomes something more than just discovering a new place or post happy selfies on social media. It becomes an emotional refuge, where a new destination becomes an emotional refuge and a place where one can shed its past fears and enjoy a brief taste of his or her best self. Or at least that’s what happened between Madrid and me. I grew up dreaming of faraway places that were featured in my encyclopedia. Lost temples in Southeast Asia, untouched Roman ruins in the Middle East or Gothic cathedrals in France, no place was inimaginable for me. My reality, in turn, was the one of a Mexican working class kid in the 90s, with a single mother that sold everything she could to make ends meet. It was bitter and hard, and when it got worse I held on to the idea that, one day, I could witness those places I always leafed through in my books. Fast forward to 2013: I was in my mid twenties, fresh out of a long depression that I dug myself out of, and with a dream job I fought hard to achieve. For the first time, I got a passport and my boss sent me to a weeklong trip to Madrid. I was going to have a busy schedule and mostly spend my days in IFEMA, an exhibition space in the outskirts of the city, but I was going to cross the Atlantic and get my first taste of Europe. After the shock of my first jet lag, I felt home at once. Maybe it was because the crooked streets leading down to Gran Vía reminded me of some Colonial neighborhoods in southern Mexico City, or the balmy late summer weather that inspired me to walk aimlessly and forget about public transportation or guidebooks, I had a vaguely familiar sensation that I was at a city I knew really well. I got lost many times and had to take taxis back to my hotel, but every wrong turn was an opportunity for a deeper connection. Then we met. At a bar, of all possible places. While we headed to his apartment, we passed by the Parque del Oeste and I told him I wanted to see the Temple of Debod. He just smiled.  “Stop the car and leave the counter running”, he told the taxi driver. I had relived those moments over and over again and I still don’t know what made it so magical. There was no full moon or music in the air, we did not serenade together under a starry sky, but I had a speechless moment of awe and he reveled on it. And I felt that a piece of my heart dislodged from its main structure and fell into the fountain next to the Egyptian temple. A couple of days later, while crossing the Puerta de Europa skyscraper complex, I wept while the driver took me to the airport. To quote a top 10 single, we (the city, him and me) belonged together and now I was losing what we had by flying home. I went back many times: on an 8 hour layover where I felt the melancholic streak of the city under a cloudy sky, and on a hot summer for two days. Both of them were magic, but not like the first time. Fourth time was the charm for me: it was 2017, I was barely 30 and was heartbroken because my career goals didn’t turn out like I wanted them to be. So I packed two bags and decided Spain was the place to get back on my feet. I was not disappointed: Madrid took me in as soon as I got off the plane. I roamed the city in euphoric silence. I met him and we split but remained close. It was a month where, like the legend of Antaeus, I regained my strength to rearrange my life as soon as I stepped on Spanish ground. My journey did not take me to the exotic locales, but made me fall in love with a city that gave me so much in return.