Move over Almodovar - my arrival in Madrid

The heart of Spain - the Plaza Mayor. A place to pull up a seat and enjoy a sangria
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The Peruvian musicians moved from table to table. Smiling inanely at numerous diners they moved around the baroque Plaza Mayor under the benign eyes of the Guardia Civil. Their music echoed across the cobbles which were strewn with restaurants, painters, pigeons and cafes. All under the watchful gaze of the green encrusted statue of Felipe III. Madrid is not deluged by tourists like many other capitals and in 1999 it was just becoming a favourite of the British weekender but there were enough here to fill the tapas bars snacking on calamares and mezones; perhaps washing down a red vino or cafe con leche.

The small lanes off the Plaza Mayor
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Twelve hours before I was hauling my tatty green backpack up the escalators at Kings Cross tube station on a very humid sunny day in London. I would catch the Thameslink to Luton and then one of the new budget airlines to Spain. The new budget airlines have really opened up Europe to the discerning traveller. I can now fly into Madrid and two weeks later fly out of Barcelona for only thirty pounds. At Luton a small 'hopper' bus negotiates the tiny streets of the Bedfordshire town and takes us to the airport. Debonair was my airline and I must be getting old as the newness of the airline was matched by its orange costumed staff - none seemed older then 21 to me.

I could throw open my shuttered window to reveal a balcony looking on to the street. Below me were excitable madrileno youth, bustiling old women, gays and old men who have lived in Cheuca for generations

The 11.10pm flight to Madrid-Barajas was a small DC313 and the price meant generally no inflight food but for the cost I was not complaining. Kathy, a youth worker from Northampton, was sat next to me and was good company for the flight. She was overseeing a youth exchange in Zaragoza and was getting a connecting flight at Barajas. As we approached I saw the Spain I remember from childhood holidays (I had not been near the country for thirteen years) and its mountainous expanse seemed endless. From this height I could see the rolling orange groves and red earth the country is so famous for.

At Madrid-Barajas a bus to Plaza de Colon waits outside the entrance. Every travel guide moans about the unpreprocessing outskirts of Madrid but the sight of row after row of apartment blocks, bus queues and dusty squares didnt faze me. Entering the city proper we stopped at Calle Cartegena and Avenida de Amreica METRO stations and down the grand avenidas. All around me Madrid was coming to life - people in suits, young girls at zebra crossings, avenidas lined with bordegas and farmacias - all lit up in bright Castilian sunlight.

We eventually pulled into the underground car park at Plaza de Colon. I climbed the stairs and had my first look at Madrid. Tall pastel buildings with wrought iron balconies surrounded the plaza. Serrano METRO station was nearby and 135 pesetas (remember this is 1999) was the flat fare to Gran Via. I bashed through the turnstiles and took the train to Aluche. I emerged blinking into the daylight at the Gran Via - the great entertainment artery of the Spanish capital. Scaffolding blighted the entrance to Calle Hortaleza and as I progressed I realised this was the centre of the red-light district. I chose it because it was near the "happening" section of Cheuca. All around me in Cheuca were tapas bars, gyms, restarants, sexshops, discos and gay bars. You could almost smell the decadence in the air.

My hostale was on the third floor of an old balconied building overlooking Calle Hortaleza. It was squeezed between two sexshops and reached via a clanking birdcage lift. A meek old lady who looked like she would blow over in a gale booked me in and the room was a shoebox. But what did I expect for 3000 pesetas a night? I could throw open my shuttered window to reveal a balcony looking on to the street. Below me were excitable madrileno youth, bustling old women, gays and old men who have lived in Cheuca for generations. Inner city Barrio life in a nutshell.

But I was in the centre of things and a short walk to the Gran Via. I was immediately blinded by the sun in the west. Situated in the dead centre of Spain Madrid fries in the summer and freezes in the winter. But the unique Spanish light (which is like light I have encountered anywhere else) is always there. It really sets off the buildings and the sunsets are spectacular.

Heading downhill was Calle Montera with its coin shops, casa de cambios, prostitutes and bullfighting shops. It merges into the geographical centre of Spain - Puerto del Sol. The 'Tio Pepe' advertisement gazes down from the Habsburg balconied buildings and the square buzzes with portrait artists, newsagents and fountains. West of here is the medieval thoroughfare of Calle Mayor and it was here that Madrid began to charm me with its tapas bars, fishmongers and the popular Museu de Jamon with its forest of hanging hams.

My final adjustment stop on my first day in Madrid is the famous Plaza Mayor - Madrids showpiece square. A huge cobbled expanse grandly set off with scarlet baroque balconies and sweeping columned arcades. Built in the 17th Century this was a bullring, a jousting arena and more famously a place where the inquisitions Autos de fe's were held. Hundreds were burnt at the stake in this plaza. It is extraordinarily beautiful with its northern side covered in the muti-coloured frescoes of the Casa Panederia.

It was now time to take stock so I found a bordega and sat outside with a sherry. Madrid was beginning to seep into my bones. I could tell this was going to be a terrific sojourn in Spain....