How to Survive the Weather

When I arrived in Madrid, I was greated by a city drenched in a golden hot sun which, after having endured the worst summer imaginable in Britain, was a pleasant lick of warmth for my sun-depleted soul.
However, after a few days I began to realise why the madrilenos say they have nine months of winter and three months of hell. It was the trapsing around looking for somewhere to live that did it. For the first few days in Spain I was hopping on and off metros from dawn till dusk, I was discovering new neighbourhoods with quirky names such as Lavapies (wash feet) and Bambu. Whilst doing this I was having to contend with constantly sweaty feet and endlessly empty water bottles. Despite the so-called air conditioning, Madrid's wonderful metro system can get rather stuffy. When I emerged from the airless metro, I entered the airless city. Big cities don't do so well in the heat - all the people, buildings, cars, CO2 ... the romance of a skin-kissingly warm Madrid quickly dissolved into a feeling of 'I think I am about to die' and this was in mid September.
Madrid is Europe's highest capital. It is all between 600 and 1000 metres above sea level. This accounts for its rarified air but it also accounts for a sun that makes one feel they are under a magnifying glass -like little ants sweltering under a relentless and unforgiving heat. As soon as the grip of summer begins to release, the cold is in straight away. There is not much of an autumn in Madrid. One day it's summer, the next it's winter. For the last couple of weeks I have been looking out the window to make sure I am not really in Russia. The brit's view of Spain is of a country that is always warm and balmy. NOT MADRID.
What a silly place to put a city. On a high plateau in a part of the country with no navigable river and hardly any water. This is why on every tap here there is reminder to conserve this precious resource. Having a bath in Madrid is the equivalent of taking a taxi in London - you just never do it!
The way to survive Madrid's weather is to look at your feet first thing in the morning. If they are stiff, it's probably advisable to wear a thick jacket that day. If they are blue, you will need a snow-shovel and ear-muffs. If, by any chance they are wet from that drip in the cealing, that means the first rains in 3 months have arrived and all hell has broken loose. The latter has happened this week. It's been chucking it down. As I skip the puddles in the streets I quietly giggle away with amusement at how the Madrilenos cope with rain. They all jump into their cars and find the nearest and most convenient traffic jam. This way they are all huddled together in herds and must therefore be safe.
The Spanish are rather good at crashing cars and even more so when it rains. The news this week bemoaned the terrible weather for the innately spanish skill of swerving off the road but I am yet to see the them admit that they may just be terrible drivers.
As I sit here I have a heater warming my feet. I go to bed each night wondering if I will survive till the morning but somehow, despite hypothermia, I do wake every morning - must be something to do with that rarified air which has just that bit of life-giving magic in it. It's great.