When we arrived at our friends' apartment in Madrid the first unusual thing was trying to get our luggage into a slim little elevator built to hold 4 people, no more than mid-sized, smashed together like sardines. We had to go up in twos plus bags so we regrouped upstairs in front of the apartment. I loved the apartment which contained two balconies overlooking a narrow European street scene and a tower with an orange ball at it's top a couple of blocks down. I admired the art hanging on the walls, a watercolor with turquoise and rust variations of colors and some handsome abstract prints. They gave us a quick tour of the apartment, served us cafés con leche to ensure that we wouldn't fall asleep until our newly acquired bed time, seven hour later than we were used to, and then ushered us out of the apartment.
"Want to go see an art exhibit just of works by Paul Klee?" She pronounced it Klee as in Kleenex while I had always called him Klee as in Clay. I have just confirmed that I was the one pronouncing it correctly which, to be honest, is unusual for me. I was delighted. Many moons ago, I had worked in an art gallery that boasted several works by Klee so I was especially familiar with his childlike spirit and flare for rare combinations of colors.
The walk to the exhibit was full of sidewalk cafés and black tiled sidewalks. Most of the streets were narrow and had an intimate feel to them until we arrived at a very large thoroughfare with walk lights that chirped like birds when it was time to cross. Two days ago I heard the chirp of the same kind of bird near my house in St. Paul and the sound instantly transported me back to that first afternoon. I love it when sounds bring back images.
