Madrid At Dawn Could Still Surprise Me

In a city that was always familiar, it was the new experiences and the surprises that made Spain feel more like home.

The Sierra de Guadarrama mountain range stretched out into the horizon as I peered out of the airplane window. The cloud cover had created a bit of turbulence on our descent. While turbulence was never frightening for me, I still attempted to find a moment of Zen when it happened. I wrapped my hands around my elbow rests, leaned my head back into the seat, closed my eyes, and traveled to my happy place. Flying into Adolfo Suárez Madrid–Barajas Airport was always an experience to be savored and enjoyed. The flight over the Atlantic was thankfully peaceful and without incident. The descent into Madrid, however, always provided a breakfast, lunch or dinner with a view. Depending, of course, on the time of day you fly in. In my case, I was enjoying a beautiful omelette that was paired with a view of the Sierra de Guadarrama just coming in focus under the light of a full moon.

The plane touched down with a jolt and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the kind of bump that reminded me to exhale and relax, to take a breath and blink my eyes. Even though flying was safer than driving, there is still some anxiety, even after hours spent suspended in the air. The airport was a blur of fluorescent lights and weary travelers. Some had managed to sleep on the plane while others had not. We were bused to the terminal, squeezed tightly into a small rocking vehicle, as we were escorted to international arrivals and passport control. The long line seemed endless, but with a bang and a fold, the passport security agent handed me back my documents and welcomed me into Spain. I smiled and thanked him in Spanish, he nodded and moved on to the next person behind me without another thought. The entire exchange seemed automatic, hazy and quickly forgotten as though I have done this so many times before. My mind was already somewhere else, miles away from here. I was already dreaming of the empty highway that would lead me into the heart of Madrid.

I walked into the chilly early morning air and shuffled through the taxi line. as my car pulled up, I threw my bag into the trunk as the taxi driver asked me for my address. I directed him into the heart of Madrid, and we were off. As there is a standard rate from the airport, there was no need for a meter. The taxi driver barely spoke with me as we glided onto the deserted asphalt, the hum of tires against pavement the only sound in the world outside that I could hear. The sun had not yet peaked above the horizon this early morning. Thankfully, Madrid’s highways at this hour were an echo chamber, vast and empty. It was as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for the morning rush and the commotion to begin. The skyline began to emerge in the distance, faint outlines against an early morning sky that hadn’t yet decided whether it wanted to be night or day. I asked my taxi driver to drop me off near Plaza Mayor, and he nodded. After a long, nonstop flight over the United States and the Atlantic Ocean, walking felt like the only way to reconnect with solid ground. And to really absorb the feeling of being back in Madrid.

Madrid at dawn was a city caught between dreams and waking life. It was a place where the ghosts of yesterday lingered in the quiet streets, and the old dark alleys. These specters waiting patiently for the sun to rise, for the orange and red break of day that would chase them away until sunset. My taxi driver pulled up to the edge of Plaza Mayor and came to a stop. I handed him €30, the standard rate, retrieved my bag slinging it over my shoulder, and thanked him for the ride. Madrid in the early morning was a stunning revelation. It was empty. Completely and utterly deserted. It was such a juxtaposition from seeing it packed with tourists, all struggling to weave through the crowded streets. Not a soul wandered Plaza Mayor’s cobblestones. Not a single café table was cluttered around its edges. The ancient square felt like a stage that was just waiting for its actors to arrive. Every archway and lamppost was frozen in baited anticipation. I just stood there for a moment. A instant of enjoyment. I let the silence wash over and wrap around me. The view was breathtaking. This was Madrid stripped bare. This was a city without the chatter of tourists or the clinking of glasses. It was a city with barely one or two cars passing behind me on one side street or another. Here, there was just architecture. Just the history and stone that surrounded me on all sides with beauty and centuries of culture.

I tightened the shoulder strap of my travel bag, and started walking down Calle Mayor. Every step that I planted on the old cobblestone streets reverberating in the stillness of this city like a heartbeat. The old street stretched out ahead of me like an open vein that pulled me right into the heart of Madrid, leading directly into Puerta del Sol. This ancient plaza sneaks up on you. The streets that lead here are both wide and narrow. But when you arrive, you are instantly greeted with vastness. Typically, Puerta del Sol was packed with crowds of people. Tour groups and performers all created an atmosphere of chaos that was both inviting and harrowing. Occasionally, pickpockets took advantage of the noise and the crowds, but being vigilant generally kept them at bay. Here too in this gargantuan plaza, emptiness reigned supreme. The grand plaza seemed almost surreal without its usual chaos of shoppers and street performers. I paused and took in the massive complex. For decades, Puerta del Sol has been illuminated by a giant, guitar-wielding bottle of sherry. The Sol metro stop had undergone several years of construction and revitalization, but still blended with the architecture. I did manage a smirk however as the plaza’s continuing eyesore of the T-Mobile store, and even worse, the Apple Store, ripped some of the enjoyment from me. Even still, panning around the circular plaza, it was as if time had paused. Just for a brief moment in the hours before daybreak. Just for me. Just to say “buenas dias mi hermano” and offered up this iconic space in its purest, and most serene form.

I crossed Puerta del Sol, hands tucked deep into the pockets of my leather jacket. The early morning air was chilly, even with the approaching summer. My footsteps echoed across the plaza as my heels connected with the layered cobblestones. There was something so intoxicating about experiencing a city before it woke up. Before the morning rituals began. Before the storefronts swung open for business. Before the sounds of the cafes sent sounds of hissing espresso machines and morning chatter drifting out into the bustling streets. But the absence of people this early didn’t make it feel lifeless. There was a different sensation here. I noticed new details on my stroll that I had never paid attention to before. The curve of an iron balcony, hanging over a narrow alley. The faded paint on an old storefront sign, a famous sweets shop that has been open for over a century. The way light began to creep over the rooftops like an artist’s brushstroke as the sun slowly peeked out between buildings, clawing its way across the city from the east.

I adjusted the strap on my travel bag, tighten it, shifted its weight, and continued the stroll down Carrera de San Jerónimo as dawn just began to break across the city. I was drawn by some invisible thread that seemed to pull me deeper into Madrid’s quiet neighborhood of Barrio de las Letras. By now, I was awake for at least a couple of hours and remained uncaffeinated—an act of sheer blasphemy in my book during any stretch of the morning. I must have strolled through the streets on instinct or perhaps on autopilot. It was the sure sign of someone who has spent a great deal of time in this city, learning its streets and alleys until I could navigate them practically blindfolded. Before I could even orient myself, before I even had a chance to glance over my shoulder at the sign on the side of the wall, I was standing in front of ACID Café, a small but amazing coffee shop located right along Calle de la Verónica. Opened in 2018 by Luis Gil who had moved to Madrid from Los Angeles, Luis managed to turn a one-location, one-man operation, into a business of three coffee shops in Madrid and one in Berlin. As I peered inside, Luis recognized me immediately. He was getting ready for the day—wiping down countertops, setting up chairs, and preparing baked goods. He smiled, shuffled over to the front, turned the lock, and opened the door. “You look beat! Did you just get in,” he asked. I nodded. “Drag yourself inside,” he laughed, “we’re not open yet, but let’s get some coffee into you.”

“Long flight,” he asked. I nodded and took a seat near the window as he worked his magic behind the counter. I met Luis years ago when he was still that one-man show with no business plan and a dream to be his own boss. Moving to another city or another state is one thing. Picking up from Los Angeles, California and moving to Madrid, Spain, that took a lot more that guts. That took nerve. That took courage. And let’s be honest, that required some big cojones. He handed me two hot cups. A pair of velvety cappuccinos that were steaming and rich, their aroma instantly cutting through my jet lag like a knife through butter. We talked and caught up as I took sip after sip, slowly coming to my senses and beginning to feel like a normal human being again. Luis told me that he could barely believe that ACID is turning 7 years old. He reminisced on opening this first store right here on Calle Verónica. It was a bold venture on a small historic and tucked-away street in Madrid. What began with a single location and a lot of crazy ideas turned into a thriving business for him. He struggled at first, trying to find stability and be his own boss. He also reminded me that he had a baby that was just about to be born when he first opened, adding to the uncertainty of becoming a first time father as well. He took a vision, and he executed on it, adding to his staff as he started baking some of the best pastries in the city. “You know,” I laughed, “one pastry in the morning here meant that I had to get in six thousand extra steps each day. But, it was completely worth it.”

I finished sipping my coffee slowly. I took that extra moment of silence with pleasure as Luis took care of something in the back room. It was a rare moment of solitude in one of Europe’s busiest capitals. I glanced over my shoulder. Outside, the streets were still quiet, but I could sense Madrid was slowly starting to stir. A few cars passing by here and there along the street outside. I could hear shutters being rolled up on storefronts. And there was that unmistakable chatter that could be heard from the morning deliveries. I shook Luis’ hand and thanked him for his warm hospitality. “Thank you for my morning sanity,” I smiled. "No hay de qué,” he responded. “Come back any time! It was good to see you.”

Mornings like these are fleeting but unforgettable. Soon enough, within the coming hour, the city would be awake, its plazas filled with laughter and commotion. The streets bustling with hurried footsteps and honking horns. The never ending flow of commuters coming into the city for work and tourists running around, heading to their next sightseeing destination. But for now, Madrid felt like it belonged to me alone. I stepped back onto Carrera de San Jerónimo and felt a little lighter in some way. Perhaps I had absorbed some of this Madrid’s calm before the chaos inevitably erupted. Madrid at dawn was an experience that seeped into your bones and stayed there long after you’ve left its streets behind. I walked back towards my hotel to drop off my bag and to check in. Come to think of it, I could use shower as well. The sun had finally emerged from behind the horizon, striking the rooftops and casting long shadows where there had been none before. People finally began to emerge from their homes, their voices broke through the silence of the cobblestone streets and echoed down the alleys and side streets. Madrid at dawn amazed me. In a city that was always familiar, it was the new experiences and the surprises that made Spain feel more like home.