Madrid is a 625 kilometer drive from Barcelona and the trip can be faster than that sounds, especially if you do not anticipate receiving multiple (3) speeding tickets a few weeks later from Hertz, due to clandestine radar technology (no living/breathing highway patrol). Still, the trip was worthwhile in our manual transmission Opel sedan, and I moved down to single digits during the 3-day weekend, in terms of number of stalls at stoplights.
Through our new favorite website, sleeps5.com, Evelyn had quite a find. The Petit Palace Art Gallery on Calle de Jorge Juan is a nice hotel with a great breakfast buffet and an amazing room for 5, with a queen and 3 single beds, a fine bathroom and a large hot tub actually in the room. I can understand that a single room for the whole family is not suitable for many, but it still works well for us, particularly at the price we were offered.
As for sightseeing, we toured the old city, visited the Royal Palace, the Prado, and the Reina Sofia Museum (only to see Guernica). In Plaza Mayor, the historic center of Madrid dating back to early 17th century (for bull fights, executions—see above relief, celebrations), our guide explained the interesting history of the statue of Felipe III on a horse, placed in the center of the square in 1848. For decades, a smell pervaded the square, and was strongest closer to the statue. In 1936, at the beginning of Franco’s reign, many statues, including this one, were smashed. Apparently, when it was damaged (eventually repaired to its current state), hundreds of little bones fell out and were identified as being bird skeletons. A small hole was found at the mouth of the horse, where birds flew in but not out for years, due to darkness and the location of the hole, thus explaining the lingering smell.
A restaurant recommendation: Saturday lunch was at Pandelujo, right across the street from our hotel on Jorge Juan, with delicious food and a fairly roomy space, modern décor and well lit. Particularly delicious were the meatballs, chicken wings, croquettes, linguini with clam sauce, and varieties of bread, as well as the sangria.
On Saturday afternoon, we joined our friends from San Francisco, the Headricks, who are living in Madrid, on a walk/scooter around beautiful Retiro Park. Bringing scooters (“patinetas”) on the roadtrip was a solid move, and someone should offer scooter tours for kids/families in Europe, or at least in Madrid. Scootering does take some amount of physical effort, yet it is certainly easier than a long walk and fun for them at the same time. We all know that exploring European cities or any city requires extensive walking, and you may say, “Will, your kids are lazy, make them walk.” But when you are demanding museums, palaces and other sightseeing, it makes for a much better experience when kids arrive fresh and not in need of a break before the first Velazquez. 
Speaking of Spanish art, they rode their scooters to the Prado on Sunday, and had no trouble checking them there along with more normal items. I would definitely recommend our guide, Pablo (Pablosas@live.com 667 423 370), who gave us the perfect one hour tour at a reasonable price, focusing on only about 10 paintings, including Tintoretto’s “Christ Washing the Disciples’ Feet” and Velazquez’s “Las Meninas”. Pablo told interesting stories and showed us unique vantage points for each (look at Las Meninas through a tube of rolled up brochure to enhance painting/light); yawns and complaints were truly maintained at a minimum.
The Headricks introduced us to the Mercado de San Miguel, where we tested sliders, oysters, paella, and beer. While it is nice to sample restaurants when visiting a grand city, San Miguel should not be missed for the atmosphere and the tasty tapas.
And, we visited Evelyn’s friend Fiona Maharg, her husband Luis and family at their house, just outside the city. First I fouled up on the attire. Americans learn fairly quickly that Spanish men do not wear shorts, particularly at dinner. It was a nice warm evening and of course I wanted to wear shorts; I longed for that comfort but knew the right call was pants, and my nicer jeans would do. So what happened? I didn’t take into account that this family had spent the past year in Marin County; so, they knew how we Americans dressed for a casual dinner on a warm night. Yes, I wore jeans, and Luis sported shorts, perhaps kindly dressing down with the expectation that I would do the same, knowing our customs. In retrospect, after receiving additional information (see below), I certainly would not have altered my apparel or that of Max, whom we forced to wear a collared shirt (their children wore t-shirts). Why not? Check out Fiona’s article (she is a journalist) about life in Madrid, which I did not read until after our dinner: “Spanish children are as impeccably dressed as their parents.” Fiona and Luis were superb hosts, and they and their children spoke perfect English to us all night. And, of course the meal was certainly tasty, an American barbecue, which was pleasant as we had yet to enjoy a really good burger in Spain; these were wonderful.
