We left Lisbon on a night bus to Madrid. Eight long hours across the border, the kind of journey where you try to sleep but never really do. The bus was cold, the lights too bright, and every stop was like a small interruption. At some point during the ride, my power bank got stolen. One minute it was in my bag, the next it was gone. It was such a small thing, but in the middle of the night, exhausted and half awake, it felt like the universe was testing us again.
But even with the tiredness, even with the small annoyances, something was exciting about travelling at night. Watching the darkness shift into dawn as we crossed into Spain felt like entering a new chapter.
Madrid. Madrid greeted us with heat, movement and a kind of energy that was instantly different from anywhere else we’d been. We checked into our hostel, simple, loud and full of travellers, and somehow it added to the charm. Madrid didn’t need luxury to feel good. It had personality.
Madrid fed us well. On the first day we arrived, we got in at 6am; our hostel wouldn’t let us check in until 2pm, so we went and found a park, lay down and watched the sunrise, until it was 9am and any cafe would be open for some food.
We started off the day with a much-needed coffee, one of the best meals I had the whole trip. Once we dropped our bags off at the hostel, we went for our first wander until we finally checked in and took a nap.
The evening came around quick; we got ourselves dressed and went on a wander to try and find something to eat. Then there it was: 1 euro tacos. Cheap, messy, perfect. They became our go-to, the running joke, our comfort food, our excuse to stop walking and sit for a moment.
After filling our bellies with tacos, we wandered down the streets trying to find a bar, where my friend decided we would order absinthe shots, fancy cocktails and see where the night takes us. The bar we found ourselves at became a staple for us as we visited it every day we were there for a drink. It is also the place where I got a phone call from my partner telling me he got into university. A small bar on some random street, forever etched in my brain as one of the places I truly felt happy.
Despite bad decisions at the bar, we found ourselves in bed not long after, as the next morning we had to find a laundromat to wash our clothes. So that’s what we did. Once the chores were done, we could finally see what Madrid had to offer. The city itself was a maze of beauty. We walked everywhere, letting the streets guide us.
We walked through El Retiro Park, battling the dry Madrid sun blaring down on us. The park itself looked like it belonged in a painting; it was filled with greenery, it was peaceful, and it allowed me to relax. We wandered through the park, then through the streets as the sun set, leaving the sky looking yellow in colour. After a successful day of relaxation, we found ourselves in another bar, one with much bigger drinks to offer, locals, and the sounds of laughter and joy.
I have a funny joke where I like to see what was stolen from Egypt in random countries I visit. In Madrid, there was the Temple of Debod, not stolen, but gifted to Madrid. It stood there in the middle of Madrid, looking surreal. Stone blocks, ancient carvings it didn’t feel like Spain; it didn’t even feel like Europe. It felt like home. Egypt. Walking through the temples at Luxor, or visiting the temples in Aswan. It reminded me of something familiar. People were gathered around quietly, taking photos, sitting where they could find some space; it was peaceful in a way that felt almost sacred.
After that, we wandered to the Royal Palace of Madrid, the city’s crown. The Royal Palace didn’t just look grand; it felt grand. A massive white facade stretching across the plaza, every window perfectly aligned, every statue carved with intention. Standing in front of it made you feel small in the best way, like you were looking at centuries of history stacked into one building. The guards, the symmetry, the quiet hum of tourists. It all added to the sense that this was Madrid’s heartbeat. It was the kind of place you don’t rush; you just stand there and let the scale of it sink in. That is, until the heat forces you to move on.
We spent our last few days taking in the city; we visited a cathedral, I learnt that magnets in Spanish are “Imanes”, we ate some of the best creme bru le, and of course we saw The Bear of Puerta del Sol. This bear statue was a lot smaller than we expected, but somehow more iconic. Set right in the middle of Puerta de Sol, surrounded by crowds, street performers, and the constant movement of the city, it felt like a symbol of Madrid’s personality. Proud, playful, rooted.
People lined up to take photos, touching the bear’s paw for luck, laughing as they tried to get the perfect angle. It was one of those landmarks that impress you by meaning. A simple statue, but it captured the spirit of the city.
Madrid wasn’t just a city on our list. It became the city I yearn to go back to and the one that stayed with me long after we left. There was something in the air there, a lightness, joy, a kind of exhale that made the whole place feel warm. You could sense the relief, the excitement, the everyday happiness woven into the streets. The locals had stories, proud of their city, proud of its rhythm, proud of the way Madrid holds people.
The streets hummed with the past, with history layered into every building and plaza, yet nothing felt heavy. Madrid carried its history lightly, like a song you recognise but don’t need to understand to enjoy. And the food, bold, loud, unapologetic, like the city itself. Madrid fed us, welcomed us and wrapped itself around us in a way no city on the trip managed to do.
It was alive, and it made me feel alive too.
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