A break in Madrid: Not quite a local

I arrived in Madrid determined to do it properly. I didn’t want to follow the crowds, queue for the obvious sights, or announce myself as a tourist the moment I opened my mouth. Instead, I wanted to blend in. To experience the city as my partner did during his year abroad, through easy mornings, cafés round the corner, and routes that felt intentionally unplanned. Of course, this ambition was slightly ridiculous. I was still a British visitor with questionable Spanish and an inflated sense of pride every time I ordered coffee without switching to English. But from a small balcony overlooking La Latina’s patchworked cobbled streets, Madrid felt like a place that might allow me to try.

A lazy wake-up sets the tone for the day. There is nowhere to rush to, no itinerary to follow. Coffee comes first. With the majestic Retiro loosely in mind, we stop at El Perro de Pavlov for pan con tomate and Iberian ham, ordered in a Warwick-tinged Spanish and gently corrected with a smile. A reminder that blending in requires more than confidence. Still half-asleep, we move on to News & Coffee, a cosmopolitan concept store stocked with beautifully designed magazines. Their Spanish headlines charm me, even if I understand very little of them. While my partner chats easily with the barista, I nod along, hoping my limited Duolingo practice might finally pay off. Despite this, I knew most of it was completed half-asleep on the U1 bus back from campus, banking phrases that feel more Latin American than Madrileño, and wishing I’d watched more Spanish television like Machos Alfa instead.

As I browse shelves lined with mountaineering triumphs and distant adventures, I half expect a Sorting Hat to appear, ready to assign me one of Spain’s regions

From there, we wander through Madrid’s Centro, quietly commenting on the tourists – like myself – and the premium they pay for sticking too closely to the trodden path. It is a judgement I make confidently; despite knowing I would happily join any queue if convinced it leads somewhere sufficiently “authentic”. Eventually, we stumble upon Librería Desnivel, a travel bookshop tucked away from the crowds. As I browse shelves lined with mountaineering triumphs and distant adventures, I half expect a Sorting Hat to appear, ready to assign me one of Spain’s regions – each with its own character – as if it were a Hogwarts house. Inspired, we keep walking.

Inspiration, however, quickly gives way to urgency. Two coffees deep, I am in desperate need of a toilet. Thankfully, the Prado Museum is nearby and free for students. Unfortunately, the sky opens just as we arrive, rain pouring down as security moves at an agonisingly slow pace. In my effort to avoid obvious tourist mistakes, I have somehow forgotten the most basic human necessity. I race past Caravaggio and Titian to the first floor, where relief finally arrives. Emerging calmer, I develop a brief but sincere fondness for Velázquez before abandoning my pretence of understanding the paintings and stepping back into the rain in search of something sweet.

A starter arrives alongside a beautifully intimidating menu, my eyes settling quickly on a traditional rice dish that sounds irresistible and sits just outside my usual student budget

We cut through Retiro hastily as the rain sets in, paths slick and glistening, glimpses of unsurprisingly busy pádel courts still buzzing beneath umbrellas, the park unmistakably beautiful despite our unwillingness to linger. After a long loop, we drift into Salamanca, Madrid’s affluent district, the kind of place I would usually insist I had “wandered into”, despite having walked there very deliberately.

Drawn inside La Mejor Tarta de Chocolate del Mundo, I am hit with the same excitement I felt visiting the local chocolate factory with my mum as a child. Inside, the café feels like a hidden chalet in the city: warm wooden interiors, low lighting, and a sense of retreat from the rain outside. The walls are dotted with strange bits and bobs that only add to its charm, watched over by a small giraffe statue perched on a shelf, hands resting politely on its knees. Visitors sip tea with chocolate-lined smiles, and my eyes linger on the secret recipe book displayed on the wall, tempting me to sacrifice my dinner money just to know.

Dessert finished, we attempt the high life at Marco Carboni’s Her, “a modern eatery in the heart of Salamanca”. A starter arrives alongside a beautifully intimidating menu, my eyes settling quickly on a traditional rice dish that sounds irresistible and sits just outside my usual student budget.

My partner half-guides me through prehistory, half-revising for an upcoming exam, though not much revision is achieved. Eventually, fatigue sets in and we walk home, carefully avoiding the busiest roads

Later, under twilight skies, we visit the Archaeological Museum, free again for students. I am naively shocked by the sheer number of bones and unsettling ancient practices on display. My partner half-guides me through prehistory, half-revising for an upcoming exam, though not much revision is achieved. Eventually, fatigue sets in and we walk home, carefully avoiding the busiest roads.

Back at the flat, we sink into a late siesta, drifting off with anticipation for the evening ahead. An evening that would end on a reggaeton-fuelled dance floor at F*cking Monday, where Madrid proves it has little interest in what day of the week it is.