The evening of my arrival in Madrid I stumbled to an outdoor tapas restaurant on Calle las Huertas, across the street from the Prado, called La Tapería. I ordered vino tinto, a pequillo pepper stuffed with bacalao, and pan tomate con jamón. My Spanish was intact, a little rusty, but intact. The wine and food washed away hours of jet travel and I watched and listened as the Madrileños enjoyed their Saturday night. The familiar rhythm of the Spanish language soothed me and made me happy. I felt at home here. My reunion with Spain, and with Madrid, was a happy one.