Roden Readers — Hi hi hi from Madrid. This was the first city I visited abroad on a random near miraculous-seeming (now in hindsight) high school Spanish class trip some thirty years ago. That trip felt like a horse — one raised on churros and jamón — had kicked open the barn doors of my forehead. Walking Madrid: That was it. I was leaving America. Felt that in my bones. Where to, I didn’t know, but I was out.
