Somehow, in 1983, I had missed the Plaza Mayor. But not this time.
It was a bright, sunny day. It´d been very cool in L.A. when I got up at four in the morning of July 3 to leave. The jeans I was still wearing the next day 6,000 miles away got to be heavy and warm. But, no matter. I was too busy taking in the sights.
I spent the late morning and early afternoon at the Museo del Prado. Again, as I had been so many years ago, I was genuinely excited to be there. The first time I saw it, I felt it was the finest museum I´d ever visited. They´ve tinkered with it since, to its detriment, I feel. They´ve gone all Louvre on us and created a fancy new entrance space quite apart from the museum itself. I think this detracts from the experience of the main building which I recall as being refreshingly easy to access in the 80´s. But once inside, it´s still gallery after stunning gallery of some of the world´s finest painting. I could spend days looking at Bosch´s The Garden of Earthly Delights and the few El Grecos in Madrid make me want to visit Toledo. I discovered a new Spanish painter - well, new to me: Maino. Like so many Spanish painters of the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, he seemed to me to be ahead of his time by centuries. There was something that very strongly reminded me of Dali and I wondered for a moment if I weren´t looking at anachronistically placed canvases.
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