Madrid has this strange ability to make you feel small and grand at the same time. I arrived at the Plaza de la Armería without knowing what to expect, and what I found was one of those scenes that stops you cold: the Royal Palace with its full main facade staring you down — imposing, baroque, excessive in the best possible way. Facing it, the Cathedral of Santa María la Real de la Almudena closing the frame from the south. Two monuments that have been looking at each other for centuries, and you standing in the middle like a tourist who showed up late to a conversation that's been going on for four hundred years. The plaza has history going back to the 17th century, when the old Alcázar still stood and this was just an open esplanade. Today it's one of the most visited spots in Madrid, and you can see why.

The Teatro Real is also on this stretch, right there, as if Madrid decided to pile everything important into a few blocks so you'd have no excuse not to see it. And it works. You walk and suddenly you're surrounded by architecture that doesn't ask permission to impress you.

Now. Not everything was history and pretty facades.

Something happened at a tavern that left a more bitter taste than the Bacardí lemon can I drank afterward. I walked in, and the people inside looked at me like I'd come to collect the rent. One of them stepped forward and asked flat out: "What do you want here?" With that tone. That tone you know exactly what it means even when it doesn't say it out loud. I, very calmly, answered: "to eat." They pointed outside: "the menu's out there." I walked out and didn't go back.

Empathy, people. A good chunk of the season's income comes from exactly this — tourists who travel far and want to spend their money in your city. It's not complicated. I'm not asking you to love me, I'm asking you to sell me some meatballs.

The meatballs, for the record, I ended up eating at some other place I can't remember the name of, and they were delicious. So the universe did deliver the meatballs — just not where I expected.

And the Bacardí lemon can: way too acidic. Hello, gastritis. Welcome to the trip — I didn't invite you but here you are.

What I will say is that Madrid from this specific corner — the Plaza de la Armería — is one of the best postcards the city has to offer. The Royal Palace carries the energy of "decisions that changed continents were made here," and even though it's a museum and tourist attraction today, some of that weight still hangs in the air when you're standing in front of the main facade.

I didn't come to Madrid to stay. It's a layover. Tomorrow there's a flight to Ibiza, and what's coming there has nothing to do with historic plazas or cathedrals.

But I'm glad I passed through here. Even if the tavern hated me.

Next stop: Ibiza. Cocoon at 528, and a week that's going to have nothing historic or quiet about it.

Me at Plaza de la Armería

Me with my meatballs in Madrid