Category: Madrid

I did not set out with a destination in mind. Some walks are like that. You step outside, turn a corner, and let the city decide where you end up. That afternoon, Madrid led me through Chueca and then gently nudged me towards Malasaña, as if reminding me how easily it shifts its mood without ever losing itself.

Chueca has a way of always feeling awake. Even when the day is slowing down, the neighbourhood hums quietly in the background. Terraces spill onto pavements. Music escapes through open windows. Conversations overlap and dissolve into one another. I passed rainbow flags hanging from balconies, a little faded by the sun, but still carrying their brightness with confidence. There was something comforting about how unbothered it all felt. Life happening openly, without explanation.

On a corner terrace, a couple shared a plate of croquetas, leaning in close as if the rest of the street had temporarily disappeared. A few tables down, a group of friends laughed loudly, the kind of laughter that draws attention but never feels intrusive. Somewhere nearby, a saxophone played. I could not see the musician, but the sound threaded itself through the narrow streets effortlessly, turning the walk into something almost cinematic.

Chueca always feels expressive to me. Not performative, just honest. A place where people take up space as they are. Walking there usually slows me down. It reminds me that cities can be soft as well as loud.

A short walk later, the energy shifts. Malasaña announces itself differently. The streets feel tighter, more crowded, more restless. Graffiti layers itself over walls like a conversation that has been going on for decades. Bars are darker, louder, less concerned with appearances. Young crowds gather on pavements, cheap beers in hand, stories being told and retold with the kind of urgency that belongs only to the present moment.

There is a roughness to Malasaña that I have always liked. It feels less polished, more impulsive. Like the city letting its hair down and refusing to tidy up before company arrives. It carries a sense of rebellion, not the loud kind, but the everyday refusal to be neat or predictable.

What I love about walking between these two neighbourhoods is how naturally Madrid holds both energies. Colour and grit. Celebration and chaos. Tender moments and loud ones. Neither Chueca nor Malasaña feels complete on its own. Together, they remind me that cities, like people, are made up of contradictions that somehow coexist.

Walking through them always leaves me feeling lighter. As if, for a while, I am not just passing through the city, but moving with it. Borrowing a little of its rhythm. Letting it carry me without asking anything in return.

— Raulito

There are cities that teach you how to leave. Madrid taught me how to stay.

I don’t mean stay in the literal sense, although I have. I mean stay present. Stay grounded. Stay connected to myself even when life feels noisy or demanding. Madrid has a way of doing that without trying. It doesn’t rush you. It doesn’t perform for you. It just exists, confidently, unapologetically, inviting you to find your own rhythm inside it.

I notice it most when I’m walking without a destination. No plan, no urgency, just letting the streets decide for me. The same streets I’ve walked a thousand times still manage to surprise me. A familiar corner suddenly looks different depending on the light. A café feels warmer in winter. A bench becomes a place to sit and think instead of just a place to pass by. Madrid rewards slowness if you let it.

Being born here but shaped by other worlds has given me a particular relationship with this city. Madrid is home, but it is also something I continually rediscover. It holds my everyday life, while quietly making room for everything else I carry with me. Other languages. Other memories. Other ways of being. It never asks me to choose between them.

There is something deeply comforting about that. About belonging without explanation. About being able to exist in a place without having to constantly define yourself. Madrid lets me be complex in a very simple way. It gives me space to think, to observe, to sit with my thoughts without needing to turn them into something productive immediately.

I think that’s why I write so easily here. The city mirrors the way I want to live and write. Slowly. Honestly. Attentive to small details. Open to change without demanding it. Madrid doesn’t push me forward, but it doesn’t hold me back either. It just walks alongside me.

Some cities push you to become someone new. Madrid reminds me of who I already am.

And for now, that feels like exactly what I need.

— Raulito