I went to Madrid to influence libertarians

More than a decade ago I spoke at what must have been the first or second European Students For Liberty conference. What did I say? I have ideas based on what I was writing at the time. But I have no memory of my speech — except I think I was the last or almost last speaker.

I don’t remember much of that trip. But, if you can get free travel and accommodation to Berlin to go party with libertarians, especially in your 20s, do that.

I appreciated being invited back. This time, I discussed my Family Formation Theory of Everything. Here’s something I remember saying, in response to an audience question about what we can learn from so many “libertarians” going MAGA:

1. Misogyny (and racism and homophobia) undergirds authoritarian populism

2. If a movement chooses to alienate feminists in order to keep misogynists comfortable, when a more openly, explicitly misogynistic politics comes along you’ll lose the misogynists and not have any feminists. I said libertarians made a choice, and we can do better.

So, I may not get a third invite. But I said what (I felt, and feel) needed to be said.

Travel-wise, things got off to a very ADHD start. I realized, in line for TSA at the Huntsville International Airport, that I lacked a single, solitary boarding pass. That didn’t stop me. But TSA did flag my suitcase. The offending item was not my microwavable eye mask for preventing clogged ducts (sexy). This time, she got through fine. It was my prunes. “So you guys hate regularity?” got barely a smile from the agent rummaging through my suitcase.

In Chicago, I learned to admire the commitment of the ORD international flights community to offering information on a strictly need-to-know basis. I discovered which gate I needed exactly when I needed to start hauling ass in that direction. I found out that I’d have to take a bus to get there when I arrived at a bus waiting area after following the signs to what I assumed was a gate. I discovered when that bus would arrive when it arrived.

Actually, I got to the gate in plenty of time, as my flight departed 55 minutes late. The reason? That’s information that I clearly do not require, and thus do not have.

Then I landed in Madrid. To summarize the city’s attitude, I’d use two words: “Fuck you.”

I’ll acknowledge that I could navigate every aspect of a five-day stay with zero Spanish. This speaks to a level of accommodation for which my spoiled, entitled, American candy ass is immensely grateful (and simply immense). On the other hand, just because you’re bending over backwards doesn’t mean I can’t tell that you’re giving me the stink eye while you do it.

My first impressions of Madrid:

1. “Hm, it’s kinda poor-seeming”

2. “What’s with all the unleashed dogs?”

Pro-tip: In DC, SF, and now Madrid, ignore Google Maps’ transit directions. Find a jpg of them metro and find the station closest to where you need to and just follow the metro map to get there.

Impressions after five days:

• The coffee sucks.

• The milk is weird.

• The food is expensive.

• The portions are tiny.

• The tiny, expensive food is mid.

• Maybe that’s why everyone smokes here. It’s as bad as Berlin a decade ago.

• The service is usually rude, incompetent, or both.

• Every building is burning hot when I arrive in the morning, hot and sweating from walking through the wet, warm air to get there, but by the time I’ve been sitting down for a few hours and my body temp has regulated, the air has come on with a vengeance and it’s freezing cold.

• At least most of the dogs are small and adorable.

• (How’s this for disrespect? My boobules are not really big enough to warrant underboob sweat stains, yet somehow…)

Generally speaking, accusations of “virtue signaling” reveal a lot more about the originator than the target. But in the case of Spanish air conditioning, I don’t have a better way to describe a setup that is maximally uncomfortable and, at the same time, more wasteful.

a “meal” in Madrid

Also, there was no microwave in the entire hotel (NH Madrid Ventas). I hauled the eye mask past TSA and all the way to Europe for no reason. Thank God Madrid’s weather is basically a warm, moist mask for the whole body.

Now, there were exceptions.

First, let’s talk about Sala de Despiece. It means “meat dressing and processing room” in English, and was (and I mean this with all disrespect to Madrid) truly exceptional. Great food. Fun atmosphere. Incredible service.

I also really enjoyed cocktails at Medium Club. It’s got a super fun, goth interior and a daily rotating menu of cocktails plus services like hypnosis and tarot readings.

I also hit up an EDM club (!) with two colleagues. Now, to be honest, I needed hard drugs to enjoy an EDM club when I was 28. I saw a guy giving girls who looked to be aged somewhere between 16 and 26 something using the longest coke spoon I’ve ever seen in my life. I wondered if I got 20 Euros from the ATM and offered it to him whether he’d let me take a hit. Then I thought, okay, but then after that you’ll just want another and you have to get up tomorrow and go to the conference and also he’s going to think you’re a cop because that makes more sense than some total stranger middle-aged American woman offering him money for drugs. As an American, I guess I’d be a DEA agent. I was there for maybe an hour. I figured I couldn’t sleep yet anyway since I’d broken the cardinal rule of jet lag and napped on my first day.

Looking for the exit, my life flashed before my eyes. The sign said no one could leave until 4 am. The bathroom attendants nearby confirmed it. We were trapped. As I started to panic, my companion suggested we make a run for it. Thank God a man confirmed that as long as we were going home, we could leave.

The conference itself was pretty neat. I really loved meeting Lobsang Sangay, a democratically elected President of Tibet and successor to the Dalai Lama. He’s now a Senior Visiting Fellow at East Asian Legal Studies Program at Harvard Law School. I also enjoyed catching up with Ilya Somin, who I know and respect from my D.C. libertarian days. Dr. Tom G. Palmer is such an incredible speaker.

I was kind of disappointed to see that more hadn’t changed in the past 12 years in libertarian-land. On the one hand, there was open acknowledgement that the far-right was a salient problem. On the other hand, that problem was blamed on Russian interference, antifa, and the far left rather than low social mobility, status loss, or inequality.

On the one hand, they’ll talk about how it takes five years to open a standard-issue coffee shop in Madrid. On the other hand, they won’t mention the lobbyists the transnational coffee and retail corporations hire to write these rules. For some reason.

At the same time, I was super impressed with what Students For Liberty has been able to accomplish in terms of their chapters. They have a lot of them, and they’re very active and impactful. And yet, plus ça change… The brown girl who risked her life to start her chapter and fight for freedom lost the SFL award to the white guy who, I shit you not, started a YouTube channel.

After the conference, I hit up the Museo Nacional del Prado.

Let’s discuss the bathroom location there.

I followed the map. I followed the signs on the walls. I traversed every area either could possibly mean. Finally, I asked a worker. It’s hidden between floors, tucked under a stairwell. There is no indication on the map or the wall signs that any stairs are involved.

Perhaps sensing that I was about to lose it, he apologized and smiled. “Thank you,” I said. For explaining the situation, or denying his heritage and seeming to give a single, solitary shit about an American’s experience at his place of work? Yes.

Also, as far as I could tell, every other room in the Prado has one number. All of them, except for room 64, which had the May 8 Goya. That room has two numbers, 63 and 64.

I saw a bunch of amazing art at the Prado, in between bouts of getting lost. I was pumped to see the Garden of Earthly Delights, but I actually enjoyed The Triumph of Death even more.

The conference kept me busy, so I’d only gotten to see the Prado because I’d booked a hostel to stay an extra night affordably, something I’ve never done before.

That was… a mistake.

the Garden of Earthly Delights

The Triumph of Death

But, we’ll get there.

After dropping my bags at the hostel, I took my time walking to the Prado, stopping in a few clothing shops. My favorite was La Musarana, where I bought two dresses and a necklace for like $53.

Next time I’m in Madrid, I’m only bringing one or two outfits and buying the rest there. Lots of what seem like natural fibers, super cheap. It’s got lots of fabric shops as well. It makes sense. Spain and cloth go way back.

Post-Prado I hit up Inclan Brutal Bar. I tried to catch a Dali exhibit, but it was all in Spanish and my phone did not have enough juice to translate for me and then navigate me back to the hostel. So I did the responsible thing and walked back.

Let me be clear. OK Hostel was great. If you want a hostel, it’s a great one. It was exactly what I would have hoped a hostel would be. Everything was as advertised, or better.

I’m simply deficient in self-awareness. I just, as it turned out, did not, do not want, and will likely never want to stay in a hostel.

It’s absolutely adorable that I thought I would sleep.

Me realizing, in real time, that I done fucked up

I brought neither earplugs nor a sleep mask. I thought my trusty sleeping meds would suffice. They did not.

There were three bunkbeds in my room. I was assigned a top bunk. I did not figure out how to exit the top bunk without hurting one or both of my shoulders until the very last trip down. I had just remembered that I’d brought the book I’d just bought at the Prado up. I seriously considered just leaving it.

Maybe libertarianism hasn’t changed as much as I’d hoped since my first European Students For Liberty conference, 13 or so years ago. But I sure have. And I’m grateful for that.

I’m also grateful for American milk. And air conditioning. GOD BLESS THE USA.