The chroniclers with long monocles, who are those who act as passers-by, have often repeated that Madrid is a hidden city of water, and it is, Mr. Mayor, because I have drunk from its pipes and I have seen how each fountain is an intimate heartbeat of water. … neighborhood. I like drinking from the hidden fountains of Madrid, because it’s like drinking the stars, upside down, like drinking the firmament that you suddenly see, while using a tap.
Madrid is modern, certainly, but it remains a village or a city, in terms of pedestrians, a mayor. We have two monument and celebration fountains, the Cibeles Fountain, which more than giving water gives an identity, and then the Neptune Fountain, where football celebrations play an anthem instead of water. And yet, the true grace of this city lies not only in the monumental fountains, but also in the humble piping of the squares. The Fountain of Fame, in Retiro, opens like a baroque backwater. That of Cabestreros, in Lavapiés, still retains the traditional air of a corrala. The Galapagos Fountain, where children splash among stone turtles, is a childhood riot.
If I’m not much mistaken, Mr. Mayor, we have two thousand water fountains, although half of them are silent, useless, due to adjustments and repairs. But this suddenly flowing fountain includes a miracle in the journey. Drinking at Fuente de Apolo means savoring a little of the music of Ventura Rodríguez. Approaching the eastern one, in front of the Royal Palace, is like feeling that the water comes from the invisible mountains of the cordillera.
Madrid’s water is a treasure, Mr. Mayor, you know it well, and doctors and travelers confirm it to us. It is water that is clearer than bottled water, nicer than sparkling water, cleaner than that of many high quality rivers. So, every time a fountain is filled with water, the city comes back to life. There, in the Fuente de los Delfines, there, in the Plaza de la Villa, there, in the hidden Fuente de las Conchas del Campo del Moro. An extinguished fountain is an urban wound, like a closed piano, awaiting aquatic operas. But a living fountain is the applause of water for the neighbor, a thrilling gift that turns walking into song and playtime into ceremony.
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