Sundays in Madrid

I lived in Madrid for two years in my early twenties, working four days a week at an elementary school as an English language and culture assistant. That first year, I rented a room in an apartment with 5 other girls that became known to us as “el piso paraíso.”

The other girls were there on Erasmus, Europe’s study abroad program, completing a year of either their bachelor’s or master’s degrees. We were new to Madrid and excited to explore all it had to offer.

And Sundays were the best.

Usually nursing a resaca from a fun night out, we’d slowly greet the day in the kitchen with an espresso and some eggs or cereal. Then we’d shower, get dressed, and get ready for a slow walk through el Rastro, Madrid’s huge open-air flea market in the La Latina barrio.

We’d grab a tapa and a caña (a little hair of the dog always helped) from Calle Cava Baja, then stroll down the hill of the main street of the market. El Rastro had everything — from cheap sunglasses and leather belts, to vintage dresses and Levi’s jeans. We’d walk the side streets and find shops with antique trinkets and used books. A few times, we’d wander into Mercado San Fernando for lunch, some groceries, and a little bit of salsa. Other times we’d find a plaza and sit in the sun for a while.

Sun-kissed and tired after an afternoon of walking and shopping, we’d eventually meander home, where we would spend hours in the kitchen talking as we cooked and ate dinner, until finally it was time for us each to go to bed.

“Buenas noches, chicas,” my friend Giada would call out before she FaceTimed her mom and sister back home.

I’d fall into bed full and warm without a care in the world, catch the moon glinting off the window of my balcony, and drift swiftly off to sleep.