Pause and Wander

Dates: November 12-16, 2025

Places: Madrid, Spain

Madrid didn’t greet us quietly. It rarely does. It greeted us with misdirection, weather that couldn’t make up its mind, tangled Metro lines, sudden street music, crowds flowing like rivers, and small moments so unexpected and rich that they outshone the larger plans. But as our days unfolded — from illusions to zoos, walking tours to escape rooms, gardens to flamenco in the open air — something steadier emerged beneath the surface.

We kept finding connection in the unplanned moments and the chaotic ones: the things that go wrong, the surprises we didn’t ask for, the rainstorms, the wrong terminals, the sudden music, the shared glances of Here we go again.

And woven into that connection was Shaina’s mom, Missi, known endearingly to our kids as “Nana” — not a bystander, not a savior, but a fully present member of the adventure, bringing her curiosity, humor, and quiet warmth into every corner of Madrid alongside the four of us.

Nana’s Arrival Started It All

We had barely finished breakfast on our first full Madrid morning when Shaina launched herself into an hour-long Metro adventure to surprise her mom at the airport. Of course, classic Shaina: heart wide open, plan fueled by pure good intentions… and clearly not enough communication with the person she hoped to surprise.

The result was nearly two hours of accidental airport hide-and-seek across multiple terminals, no phone data, and a level of stress that only international-travel misfires can produce. But chaos has a funny way of shaping the best stories. Shaina eventually spotted Missi — not in the Barajas airport, but back in a tiny coffee shop in our neighborhood just outside the Metro stop.

And then everything shifted.

Missi walked in to squeals, long hugs, and smiles so big they bordered on ridiculous. The girls had been missing home in that small, aching way that kids carry quietly, and her arrival felt like someone cracked open a window and let in warm air.

From that moment on, Madrid became a group-of-five city. Missi folded into everything naturally — not demanding, not deferring, just present, curious, game for whatever came next.

Illusions, Gardens, and the First Rhythms of Madrid

Not to be held back by a sleepless red eye flight or jet lag, Nana was ready to hit the streets. We kicked things off at the Museum of Illusions, where tilted rooms, warped mirrors, and strange perspective tricks turned all of us into giggling, confused explorers. The girls dove right in. So did Missi. It was the kind of space where age mean nothing — just wonder and camera angles and “Wait, how is that happening?”

Lunch in a tiny Asian food hall followed, then a long wander through the Royal Botanical Garden — a place full of late-season quiet and slow-falling leaves. The girls spent half the time chasing them. Missi walked beside us, noticing the small things, offering up observations that blended her Nevada roots with the novelty of watching foreign plants drop their last leaves of the year.

Evening brought us to the Prado Museum for its free-entry window, where we turned the museum into a scavenger hunt playground. Goya, Velázquez, El Greco — and then Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights, where all attempts at solemn museum behavior failed. We pointed out the strangest, wildest details, laughed, debated, and played iSpy in front of a 500-year-old fever dream. Missi was right there with us, taking in both the art and the chaos of our reactions.

Rain, Wolves, and the Strange Comfort of Shared Discomfort

The next day settled into a steady gray drizzle — the kind of rain that doesn’t fight for attention but refuses to leave. Naturally, this was our day to walk seven kilometers through the Madrid Zoo.

The animals were wildly awake in the cool weather. Tigers pacing like rust-colored ghosts. Penguins trotting around in their tuxedos. Wolves watching us with unsettling calm, at an eerily close proximity unseen in American zoos. And a special treat from Nana: a joint VR experience thrown into the mix, because why not?

And through it all, Missi stayed step for step with us — laughing, observing, sharing moments with the girls, fully part of the experience rather than watching from afar. She made the day warmer without trying to. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

We ended our soggy adventure with a miracle of a menu del día — course after course of unexpectedly excellent food for a wildly low price — then trekked to El Chino for umbrellas. Back at the Airbnb, wine, warmth, and the comforting creak of radiators closed out the night.

History Comes Alive: Walking Madrid With Lexi

Our walking tour with Lexi became one of the true highlights of our days in Madrid.

Lexi is a 32 year old Brit who studied Spanish and Portuguese history at university. Her passion comes through with almost palpable force, and it is wonderfully infectious. She does not want to list dates or point at buildings. She wants to tell a story. She layers facts within the larger sweep of the region, pulls in the key personalities, and weaves together a tapestry that makes you understand why you are standing in a crowded square staring at a brick tower that, on any other day, would fade entirely into the background. Today, because of Lexi, we suddenly understood the soap opera of sixteenth century politics, the rivalries between Habsburgs and Bourbons, and the wartime machinations that shaped Madrid. It was fantastic.

We left the tour buzzing — genuinely buzzing — with that rare feeling that a city has shifted inside you.

And then, obviously, it was time for churros and thick hot chocolate at Chocolatería Valor. A ritual in its own right.

The rest of the day spun out in all directions: wandering the old town, a surprisingly incredible gyoza bar, the beautiful chaos of Mercado de San Miguel, and a Harry Potter–themed escape room where all five of us — Missi included — worked through puzzles, mixed potions, solved ciphers, and navigated a magnet-and-string coin maze that felt like something straight out of wizard training.

It was mayhem of the best kind.

Retiro Park, Renovation, and Rain That Wouldn’t Quit

Retiro Park should have been grand. Instead, the coldest, wettest day yet in Madrid arrived to greet us there. The Crystal Palace — something we were excited to see — was completely under renovation, half its glass missing and the rest cloaked in scaffolding and protective coverings. Everything was wet, slick, quiet.

And yet, in the midst of shivering and squelching shoes, we still found ourselves glad to be there together. Missi’s quick humor and steady presence helped, but so did the simple fact that we knew we’d eventually tell this story with an odd fondness.

We surrendered to the rain, ate warm Italian food, and then curled up at the Airbnb to watch The Great British Baking Show. The girls nestled against Missi, playing number games on her iPad. Home woven into travel.

Flamenco in the Sunlight: Madrid’s Farewell Gift

Our final Madrid morning didn’t ease us into anything — it surprised us immediately.

Just as we exited the Metro, we were greeted by the deep, mournful tones of a flamenco singer, joined by the sharp claps and stamping footwork of dancers and the quick, expressive strumming of a guitarist. One of our biggest regrets up to this point had been not having the time or budget for a flamenco performance. And yet here we were, standing in a sunlit square, watching two dancers, a singer, and a guitarist performing their hearts out for whoever happened to walk by.

Why were they there? Because it was World Flamenco Day, of course. We had no idea until they announced it, but who were we to question such good fortune?

They played four or five songs while we were there. I hoisted Finlee onto my shoulders, and Arya wiggled her way to the front. All of us were mesmerized. Finlee kept whispering, “He sounds so sad but it’s also beautiful,” and she was right. Even without understanding every lyric, the singer’s voice communicated the ache of love lost. The dancers moved in perfect dialogue with the guitar, setting the rhythm with their palms and heels. Their slow turns, lifted arms, and delicate fingerwork felt almost hypnotic.

For a completely impromptu concert, it was deeply moving. Their set ended far too soon, but they thanked the crowd warmly and hurried off to their next performance.

It felt like Madrid’s own farewell gift.

El Rastro, a Typewriter Poet, and a 300-Year-Old Table

El Rastro stretched out before us — a kilometer of vendors and color, jewelry and incense, honey and artwork. The girls chose treasures for themselves and friends back home. We drifted, unhurried, pulled along by the steady flow of thousands of people. 

Then we met the typewriter poet — a young man with a mechanical typewriter and a sign promising poems in exchange for a donation. We shared our story. He listened with his eyes closed, breathed, and began typing. What he handed back was a small distillation of our year so far — family, motion, wonder — captured in a handful of lines, typed in beautiful Spanish script. 

And then came Botín.

For our final meal in Spain, we headed to the oldest restaurant in the world: Restaurante Sobrino de Botín. Founded in 1725, Botín holds the Guinness World Record for continuous operation. It is famous for its wood fired oven, which—according to legend—has never gone out in nearly 300 years. Whether apocryphal or not, the romance of it adds to the charm. I arrived fully prepared for it to be a tourist trap, but I was happy to be wrong.

The food was traditional Castilian fare that feels unchanged from centuries past. We ordered roasted suckling pig, roasted lamb, and baked chicken, along with artichoke hearts with jamón, green beans, and a plate of white asparagus with mayonnaise. The waiters wore crisp white coats, and the restaurant felt alive with its own history — tiled walls, old windows, wooden chairs, and exposed ceiling joists that seemed to whisper stories from the eighteenth century.

It was the perfect way to end our time in Madrid — and in Spain as a whole. A closing note built from warmth, tradition, and the sense of continuity that defines so much of Spanish culture.

Goodbye, Spain

Madrid wasn’t linear. It wasn’t calm. It wasn’t predictable.

But inside the chaos — the rain, the crowds, the wrong terminals, the scaffolding, the soaked shoes, the wild artwork, the sudden music, the criss-crossed network of streets with no rhyme or reason — we found connection.

Not in spite of the disorder. Because of it.

Spain has given us color, story, flavor, movement, warmth, mistakes, surprises, and memories that already feel deeply stitched into us.

Now we look toward Turkiye and the world that waits beyond — carrying forward the reminder that chaos isn’t something to overcome, but something to move through together.

And that’s where the connection lives.