They have the coolest airport ever.
We stayed in an apartment just north of Puerto del Sol (pretty much the heart of the city). The apartment manager, Juan, doesn't speak a lick of English. Miraculously I understood everything he said (from living in south Florida? Because mom used Spanish when she didn't want me to understand what was going on?) Juan advises us to eat next door at Gloria de Montera, but they don't open until 8:30. Oh, Spain. To kill time, we head to Puerto del Sol where the streetlife is exotic. And contagious.
Dinner is good (roast lamb and pork, what Madrid is known for) and very cheap; 7 Euros for a bottle of wine. After, we wander with the crowds down Grand Via, along radiating streets and back to Puerto del Sol.
On Saturday morning we start with churros, chocolate, and coffee at Valor. Then we shop. Street stalls, hipster rags, shoe shops. Madrid kicks Paris' butt in the leather boot department, and we take full advantage. Shoes are one of two primary themes (the other is of course food).
In the afternoon, our self-guided walking tour kicks off in Puerto del Sol (hosting the requisite morning protest) and meanders to Plaza Mayor. We stop for a satisfying street lunch - Bocata de Calamares - at Casa Rua. Then it's Mercado San Miguel for sangria, vermut rojo, cafe con leche and pastries. Along back streets to Plaza de la Villa, on to the Royal Palace, past Plaza Espana (yes, Madrid has a lot of plazas), and back along Grand Via to the apartment.
In the evening we do a satisfying tapas/pub crawl - though we only hit two (the Museo de Jambon and El Buscon) of about a thousand potential spots because we eat too much too soon. Then we wander to Santa Ana Plaza before hopping the metro to Chueca. And here's where we experience the one black spot on our weekend. It's infuriating to recount! As we get on the very crowded metro - Amanda and I first, Kim just behind us - three (possibly four) young guys start to jostle Kim. At first it seems normal considering the crowd, but then it starts to dawn on me. I've read about this. Amanda and I are looking right at them but we are unable to; a) formulate coherent thoughts; b) react to the thoughts we are formulating. Kim finally reaches us and I say, "check your bag" (which is strapped tightly across her chest to avoid exactly this). Her wallet is missing. She says it loudly. "My wallet is missing!" We look at the jostlers. Someone picks something up off the floor and hands it to Kim. It's her wallet. Our stop is announced. We exit in confusion as Kim checks inside the wallet. Yep, the money is gone (though all cards/i.d. remain). Between the three of us we cover the appropriate range of emotional responses - angry/vengeful, frustrated/mopey, thankful/optimistic.
We finally file it away as a 70 lesson in street smarts and head for a night cap. Strangely, it's at the decidedly... flamboyant establishment we select that a drunk man tries to "charm" us with escalating frequency and irksomeness.When we rise to depart the man makes his final bid. Amanda raises a hand in his face and bellows the only Spanish she knows; "ADIOS, amigo!" Followed by sweeping exit (stage left).
On Sunday we visit the Prado. We see some masterpieces. Diego Velazquez, Goya, Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights (Kim digs this the most). I like Boticelli's Story of Nastagio degli Onesti. 
We stroll back to the apartment, stopping for a tapas lunch (more smoked meat and cheese). Then we take the metro back to the coolest airport ever. We have time to thoroughly admire its coolness, as our flight is delayed. If you're ever stuck in the airport in Madrid, don't buy tapas; €40 for plastic wrapped cold cuts and soggy fried unknowns.Need I say "return to Madrid" has been added to the list? At this rate we'll be here 'till 2020...
