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.)
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