It is ten o'clock in the morning. Two blocks from Plaza del Sol, on Old Madrid's main thoroughfare, Gran Via, cars and pedestrian gently ease back to life. The city groans awake like a teenage boy roused by his mom. Tourists are the first to flow out of the hotels -- sneakers white and jeans tight -- eager to maximize their vacation euros. City workers, taxi drivers and shopkeepers soon follow. With time, dark-skinned businessmen in suits begin to trot out of the subway pipes too.

Just off the Gran Via, in a mouse-sized bedroom on the fifth floor of an aging hotel, two Americans are curled in their beds. Both are dreaming, though neither of them remember what about. The covers are warm and the window shades do a sufficient job at blocking the light. So, the sleepy sun continues to rise, the sleepy city continues to waken, and the sleepy Americans continue to sleep.

When we finally did get up, neither Jason nor I would believe we had slept for almost 12 hours. The day was half gone! We shrug it off easily enough though. Here in Spain lunch is eaten from 2PM-4PM and dinner after 9PM. Therefore, it is still "morning."

On the agenda for today is a planned walking tour of Old Madrid, followed by fresh seafood Paella for lunch. (This European trip is as much about the food as it is about the sights. In retrospect, both of us agree that we spent too much on meals, but I don't think either of us regrets that. We sat on the train today speaking with twinkles in our eyes about our favourite meals and courses.)

The walking tour confirmed what the map of Madrid implied: the most popular pedestrian tool here is the plaza. If all roads lead to Rome, in Madrid they all spill into plazas first. Each one, from the famous Plaza del Sol to the insignificant Plaza San Fernandino, are dressed with cathedrals, fountains, department stores and old hotels. Diesel trucks barrel down the narrow, cobblestone streets daring pedestrians to slow their progress. Young Spaniards lounge in the plazas absorbing the sun and eachother's attention. They seem to define chic -- hair slicked back with grease, slim jeans, Gucci sunglasses, belts studded with metal and shoes made of scale with pointy tips.

We wove in and out of the plazas, deftly avoiding the trucks and casting occasional glances at the Spaniards enjoying their two hour afternoon siesta. Old Madrid really is beautiful. The century-old buildings and stone streets add to the nostalgia. At one point, we ducked into a cafe with yellow walls. It was how I would imagine Havana, perhaps. A molded wooden bar at the back. Sturdy old men in dusty tweed suits smoking over their morning coffee, the top two buttons on their shirts unfastened. I heard some women talking and laughing from a loft enclosed above us by a carved bannister.

Eventually, we wound our way through the streets to the Reina Sofia museum. Here, works from Picasso and Dali decorated the walls as haplessly as the modern art itself. It is rewarding to see the life-size version of art you have studied in books. Picasso's Guernica, for example, seemed to become more meaningful -- although not necessarily less strange -- when I saw it hanging by itself on a wall at the Reina Sofia. I even snapped an "illegal" photo of the work while the guard was looking the other way. Don't tell.

In an hour, we need to head back to our hotel and catch a flight to Paris. Two days in Old Madrid was sufficient to get an understanding for the town, its people and its food. I'm looking forward to familiar territory in Paris.