Day 7: The Day We Almost Ate at the World's Oldest Restaurant

Nov, 17, 2024

We kicked off the day walking from the Akeah Hotel Grand straight into a café that felt more like an art installation than a breakfast spot. Think walls covered in surreal murals, quirky sculptural lamps, and a vibe that blended a science lab, greenhouse, and painter’s studio.

After our trippy breakfast (coffee and snacks that felt calm in the chaos), we made our way to Plaza Mayor, where they’d already begun constructing the Christmas market stalls. While waiting for our walking tour guide, we sipped coffee and soaked in the transformation—it felt like holiday magic in progress.

Our guide arrived—she was originally from California, but had been in Spain eight years, having come for love and stayed for the paella. She led us on a 2.5-hour walking tour packed with local lore. First stop: Restaurante Botín, the world’s oldest continually operating restaurant. Founded in 1725, it boasts a wood‑fired oven that has literally never been extinguished, reportedly burning since it opened.

Then we wove through Mercado de San Miguel, which was so crowded it felt like a culinary mosh pit. Amid the chaos, our guide dropped this gem: the windows on Madrid’s old buildings are uneven because the tax assessor used to walk the alleys, measuring building height by counting windows. Buildings responded by giving themselves fewer symmetrical windows so as not to reveal floor counts. Sneaky.

We passed a convent on Calle del Ángulo (“elbow” street in Spanish) where nuns traditionally hand out cookies—but sadly, none were available that day. Next up: Plaza de la Villa, where each house towers more impressively than the next, and you’ll find the statue of Álvaro de Bazán. Tourists rub his butt for good luck—because why not? 

Rather than just viewing the palace at ground level, we climbed up to a viewpoint and got a sweeping look at the Royal Palace. There, we learned about the dramatic fire that destroyed the original Alcázar on Christmas Eve 1734—reportedly set by King Philip V himself. Legend says he threw a grand party, had all his precious artworks removed, then let the palace burn so he could build a new, grander one. Seriously?!

Post-tour, we sat outside by a public fountain, watching Madrid’s DIY hydration scene unfold—people refilling all sorts of bottles from the fountain spouts. It was oddly mesmerizing and relaxing.

We circled back toward Botín but were put off by how heavy the food looked (massive roasted meats—tempting but too much). We wandered down what used to be Madrid’s old city border street—the one historically nicknamed after… sewage. Public latrines used to line one side, and the waste drained down the other side, giving the street its well-earned “poop name.” Visitors were reportedly relieved it’s now just a tile‑lined pedestrian street.

Still hungry but wary, we passed by two more tempting midday food spots that looked equally heavy, until we finally found a pizza place and we both sighed in relief. It was simple and perfect.

That night we joined a food tour with Sergio. We started at a tiny, standing‑room‑only tapas joint where the garlic shrimp was still sizzling when served—you dipped your bread in it, and it was perfect. There was a couple from New York in our group who seemed impossible to please, and became more annoying each place we went.

We moved on to a cozy meat-and-cheese spot and nearly lost one guest—she kept stopping to take photos of the street tile lettering, insisted on decoding each plaque and then took a wrong turn. Evan heroically sprinted after her. At that stop we had quesa tetilla (“titty cheese,” a soft, mild Spanish cheese shaped like—you guessed it), quesa almogrote (a spread made of aged cheese and peppers from the Canary Islands), and cecina, a smoky cured beef. Evan very much enjoyed the white wine—Juan Gil—two rounds, because I was skipping alcohol. 

Next was an unexpected bite of shark—not the kind you see on animal documentaries—but instead prepared locally.

Our final stop was Las Gallayos, an atmospheric historic spot where we had croquetas stuffed with tender shredded pork cheek cheesecake and cava—I had a sip of the cava and was happy to pass it off to Evan- it was VERY bubbly- but I was happy to keep the croquetas and cheesecake for myself. 

On our way back, we walked through Plaza Mayor and grabbed churros con chocolate from the famous place everyone talks about in Madrid (Chocolatería San Ginés). We sat outside while Evan delighted in the sugary dunking extravaganza.

Day 6: Palaces, Pikachu, and Perfect Bread

 Nov 16, 2024

We started the day with a self-guided walking tour of the Royal Palace in Madrid. We rented audio guides so we could pretend we were cultured and informed, but my lingering nausea had other plans. About halfway through, I quietly switched mine off and just let myself wander. The rooms were breathtaking—massive crystal chandeliers dripping from painted ceilings, gold-framed mirrors catching the light, walls covered in silk damask, and furniture so ornate it looked like you’d get arrested for sitting on it. Every doorway felt like walking into a different world, and for once, I was happy to let the grandeur do the talking instead of the audio guide.

After the tour, we plopped ourselves down on the wide stone steps outside the palace and stayed there for quite a while. Our main source of entertainment? The random collection of life-sized costumed characters milling about—gorillas, Pikachu, and a few others whose origins were… questionable. The mix of royal architecture in the background and someone in a fuzzy yellow suit waving to toddlers was bizarrely delightful.

We wandered from there to the Monumento a Cervantes, where the statue of Spain’s most famous writer sits proudly overlooking the Plaza de España. At his feet, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza ride side by side in bronze, forever on their quest. It was one of those travel moments where you feel like you’ve stepped straight into a literature class illustration—except this time, there were tourists posing for selfies with Quixote’s horse.

From there, we strolled through the Sabatini Gardens, where manicured hedges formed perfect geometric patterns and fountains bubbled softly in the summer heat. We found a shady bench and just sat, letting the rhythm of Madrid life pass in front of us. Families strolled by, tourists posed for photos, and street musicians played softly in the distance. People-watching is one of my favorite travel activities, and this was peak content.

Dinner was a highlight. We went to a Georgian restaurant—our first time ever trying Georgian food—and it was delicious. We ordered khinkali (Georgian soup dumplings) and khachapuri (a glorious pull-apart bread filled with melted cheese and topped with an egg) that could probably sustain you through a small winter. I was still being careful about what I ate, but both dishes were too good to pass up.

We loved it so much that, once we were back in Chicago, we hunted down the only Georgian restaurant in the city just to relive the magic. Not only did we have khinkali and khachapuri again, but we added a traditional clay pot dish our waiter recommended—and we were not disappointed.

We ended the night back at the hotel, binging The Lincoln Lawyer and schooling one another at card games. (For the record, I maintain my wins were skill, not luck.)

Day 5: Pigeons Beware: Our Madrid Survival Guide

 Nov 15, 2024

We caught our early morning train to Madrid—8:25 AM sharp. Miraculously, we made it, despite me being deeply, persistently nauseous. We found our seat numbers and settled in, blissfully unaware that we were in the completely wrong car. Turns out Spanish trains are a little more specific than we were prepared for—cars are numbered. We had to hop off and scramble back on to the correct car, which was more stress than my queasy stomach needed before 9 AM.

We dropped our bags at the hotel, but our room wasn’t ready yet. I was starving and nauseous, which is a truly cursed combo. We set off to find breakfast. My stomach kept flipping on the walk, making every step a delicate negotiation. The first restaurant was full, so we wandered on. Eventually, I managed a few bites of scrambled eggs and toast before declaring myself unfit for public life again.

We headed to a nearby park to regroup. Evan sat on a bench while I laid down across it with my head in his lap, eyes closed, breathing deeply and pretending not to be a liability. While I was trying to keep my breakfast down, Evan entertained himself by watching the locals casually kick pigeons that got too close. I’m honestly grateful I missed that part. Ever since however, “go kick a pigeon” has become our go-to phrase for when we need a little comic relief.

Once check-in time hit, we made our way back to the hotel, where I immediately got into bed. Thank goodness I wasn’t actively sick at that point—the room was tiny, and the bathroom somehow even tinier. Since I still needed something bland, Evan managed to order two bowls of plain white rice from a restaurant 45 minutes across the city. Apparently, Madrid doesn’t believe in rice. Who knew? He also ordered shawarma for himself, and both deliveries arrived within five minutes of each other. The hotel concierge gave him some very suspicious looks as he went down (this creepy ass hallway!!) not one but two separate times to collect them. 

Later that night, in a desperate attempt to feel like humans again, we played a few rounds of Go Fish—and discovered, to our horror, that we grew up with completely different rules. This shocking revelation sparked an ongoing household debate: whose version is correct? The jury is still out.

We closed out the evening with—you guessed it—more Netflix. Just two world travelers… one trying not to puke and one pretending this is exactly the trip he’d hoped for.

Day 4: Netflix, Crackers, and a Saint Named Evan

 Nov 14, 2024

We were supposed to see La Sagrada Familia on Day 4, but after the Night of Regret™ (see: Day 3’s bathroom-bound horror), there was simply no way. I spent the entire day horizontal—too weak to stand, too nauseous to move, and flipping from Arctic tundra to furnace-level heat. A real treat.

Sweet Evan, who could’ve spent the day sightseeing, chose instead to keep me company in our very dim, very not-Gaudí-themed hotel room. I eventually convinced him to get some fresh air, which he used not for joy or tapas, but to pick up crackers (my gourmet meal of the day) and return with the exact earrings I’d paused to admire in a Gothic Quarter storefront the day before. Honestly? Too good for this world.

I managed to eat two and a half crackers. A feast. The rest of the day was a blur of naps and Netflix—no cathedrals, but still technically a cultural experience.

Barcelona, Day 3: Brunch, Flamenco, and the Brutal Betrayal of Spanish Buffets

 November 13, 2024

We started our third day in Barcelona with the most millennial breakfast possible: avocado toast. But, in my defense, the place was really cute. We were at Billy Brunch Headquarters, crammed into the tiniest table you've ever seen—on a propped up platform against the wall—next to a boisterous group of Brits having the time of their lives. Honestly, if you didn’t hear the phrase “cheeky pint” at least once, were you even at brunch?

From there, we wandered through the Gothic Quarter for a bit of shopping. Cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, the occasional whiff of incense and leather—it felt like we were strolling through a medieval Pinterest board.

Our main event of the evening was a flamenco show at Tablao Cordobés right on La Rambla. We’d booked the dinner + show option, which came with a buffet. I approached it with my usual strategy: try a little bit of everything and hope my stomach is feeling cooperative. (Foreshadowing.)

We somehow landed front row seats for the performance—close enough to see the sweat fly off the dancers as they pounded the stage with impossible precision. The male dancer was especially intense. He looked like he was either expressing centuries of Andalusian soul or trying to stomp out a kitchen fire. Either way, mesmerizing.

After the show, we tried out a bar called Three Cats, which had been recommended by one of my 'My Buddy’s' regulars. It was fine. The vibe was kind of sleepy, so we nursed a drink, gave it a respectful nod, and moved on.

Naturally, we returned to La Flauta—the restaurant from Night One that we loved so much—for a nightcap snack: jamón ibérico and patatas bravas. Perfect way to end the night… right?

Wrong.

About fifteen minutes later, I turned to Evan and said, very calmly and very seriously, “I need to go home. Now.”

What followed was seven hours of horror. I’ll spare you the gory details (you’re welcome), but let’s just say I became intimately familiar with the bathroom floor tiles. 

Evan, poor guy, had never witnessed food poisoning in the wild and kept asking if he needed to rush me to a Spanish hospital. (Bless him.) Fortunately—or unfortunately—I’ve had food poisoning multiple times, so I knew exactly what it was. Still didn’t make it suck any less.

So yeah, Day 3 ended not with a bang, but a barf.

Barcelona Day 2: Oysters, Rainstorms, and Pooping Figurines

 Nov 12, 2024

Kicking Off with a Walking Tour

We kicked off our first full day in Barcelona with a 10:30am walking tour—and thank goodness we did, because our guide brought us to some of the most jaw-dropping spots in the city.

Gaudí’s Dream House: Casa Batlló

One of the first stunners? Casa Batlló. This building looks like Gaudí let his imagination run wild after eating a whole wheel of funky cheese. With its colorful, scaled façade that mimics a dragon’s back and its undulating windows, it’s one of the best examples of Catalan Modernisme. Gaudí designed it in 1904, and honestly, it feels less like a house and more like a magical sea creature you could live inside. (pictured below are multiple Gaudi stops from our tour)

^^casa batllo

Winding Through the Gothic Quarter

From there, we wound through the Gothic Quarter, where ancient Roman walls blend with medieval alleyways and hip cafes. The energy is impossible to describe—like if a cathedral and a skate park had a baby and gave it a candlelit history book.

An Upside-Down Ship for Columbus

Then came the ship in the ceiling. Yes, you read that right. We stepped into the Reials Drassanes, the Royal Shipyard turned Maritime Museum, and there above us was a massive upside-down ship suspended from the ceiling—built to honor Christopher Columbus. It was a nod to his triumphant return to Barcelona after his first trip to the Americas. The space itself was atmospheric and cool in that "I might join a pirate crew now" kind of way.

Caganers: When in Doubt, Poop it Out

But the most unexpected stop on our tour? A gift shop dedicated entirely to Caganers. These are little figurines of famous people…pooping. Literally. Pants down, cheeks out, full squat. The tradition dates back to the 18th century, when locals supposedly used this tactic to keep invading soldiers out of their homes. A little front porch defecation goes a long way when you're trying to deter unwanted guests, I guess. Today, these cheeky ornaments are a staple in Catalan nativity scenes. At this shop, we found everyone from Betty Boop to Donald Trump to Obi-Wan Kenobi caught mid-poop. You're never too famous to squat, apparently.

Lunch Break: Paella-Sized Sangrias

After the tour, we headed to a paella spot our guide had recommended. It was... fine. Nothing special. The paellas were big, but honestly? The $5 sangria glasses were even bigger.

Rainstorm Detour and a Chocolate Revelation

Our walk back to the hotel took a turn when the skies opened up. We’re talking sideways rain, the kind that makes you question your life choices. We ducked into a tiny café, and that’s when we discovered drinking chocolate. Imagine the most decadent hot chocolate you’ve ever had. Now imagine it’s richer. Now imagine it’s so thick you need a spoon. We were in heaven. Barcelona could’ve flooded Noah-style outside and we wouldn’t have noticed.

Once the rain slowed to a tolerable drizzle, we made a run for it and waited out the rest of the storm at our hotel.

Dinner Adventures at Media Manga

For dinner, Evan found a few Infatuation-recommended spots and we tried our luck at Mont Bar. No dice. But they graciously led us next door to their sister restaurant, Media Manga, which turned out to be a delicious surprise. We tried a bunch of creative dishes—flavored oysters, tuna with clarified lettuce (?!), and even stingray for the first time. Neither of us loved the stingray. Texture-wise, it was giving "what if fish had anxiety" vibes. I might give it another shot someday in a smaller portion, but I’m not racing to reorder it.

Street Music and Crafty Karaoke

Post-dinner, we wandered through the Gothic Quarter again, this time under a dreamy night sky. The churches were beautifully lit, and the streets were filled with live music—outside one cathedral, a group of street musicians sang beautifully, and down a nearby corridor, three men were performing opera, their voices echoing off the stone walls. It was absolutely magical.

And because we weren’t ready to call it a night, we ended up at a bar called Craft, which had live band karaoke in the basement. We grabbed a table in the back, (next to some VERY drunk girls!) sang along with strangers, and on our way out, even met the owner—an American from Pittsburgh! 

Final Thoughts

On our walk home from Craft, we decided—naturally—that we needed to eat again. When in Rome (or, you know, Barcelona), right? I was convinced nothing would be open, so I marched into a convenience store and made Evan ask the owner if they had peanut butter. No dice. I begrudgingly settled on a box of cereal and some shelf-stable milk. Evan just shook his head, silently judging my snack decisions. But the joke was on me—right after we walked out and turned the corner, we ran straight into an open Popeyes. Guess the cereal and warm milk will have to wait.

All in all, it was an action-packed day filled with art, rain, delicious weirdness, and pooping figurines. Barcelona, you weird and wonderful gem—you’ve stolen our hearts (and maybe our digestive systems).

Champagne, Calamari, and Condoms: Our First 24 Hours in Barcelona

Mon 11 Nov 2024 - Mon 12 Nov 2024

We took off Sunday evening from Chicago with visions of tapas and Gaudí dancing in our heads. Evan used credit card points to get us into the airport lounge in Portugal during our layover, which made me feel very fancy. We sipped champagne with the confidence of people who do this all the time and raided the snack bar with the enthusiasm of people who absolutely don’t.

Thanks to the magic of time zones (and the cruel trick of overnight flights), we landed in Barcelona on Monday night, slightly disoriented but fully excited. We checked into the Axel Hotel Barcelona & Urban Spa, which we did not realize was quite as... let’s say, sex-positive... as it turned out to be. Near the front desk was a glass display case filled with penis figurines. The hotel shop offered every sex toy imaginable, and there were condoms thoughtfully placed on the nightstand. Definitely the kind of hospitality you don’t find at your average Marriott.

Our first stop was La Flauta, a cozy little tapas place near the hotel that hit the spot hard. The star of the show? Calamari fries—lightly battered, golden, crispy perfection with just a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of salt. These were not your average chewy fried squid rings; they were elegant little seafood miracles. We shared a few more small plates and each had a glass of local wine, which was both really good and really cheap. Like, are-you-sure-this-isn’t-a-mistake cheap. (Spoiler: it wasn’t.)

After dinner, we went on what can only be described as a very long “we’re almost there” walk so Evan could see Gaudí’s Casa Batlló. It was illuminated against the night sky and genuinely cool to see—though I didn’t yet realize we’d be seeing it again later in the trip in broad daylight, when it would be even more impressive. #Foreshadowing

But the highlight of the night was still to come: The Alchemix, a gastro-cocktail bar that felt like walking into a magical forest mixed with a high-end science experiment. There was literally a tree inside. The menu featured drinks inspired from around the world, and the bartender told us he’d curated cocktails in Thailand and London before landing in Barcelona. 

We sat at the bar and chatted with the bartender and his apprentice—a sweet kid from Italy on a work visa, in Barcelona with his girlfriend—while sipping the most whimsical drinks imaginable. It was like the bartender had bottled his travels and served them in cocktail form. I ordered the Khao Tom Mad, a Thai-inspired cocktail served in a coconut with banana chips on the side. Evan got the Apollo, which came in an actual Apollo bust and was topped with what he described as “the most glorious whipped cream of his life.” No joke—he talked about that whipped cream for the rest of the trip and openly dreamed of bottling it.

By the time we wandered back to our very cheeky hotel, we were full, a little buzzed, and completely smitten with Barcelona already. We went to bed excited for the walking tour the next day. More culture, less calamari (maybe)