Jean and I made a trade: she accompanied me through Madrid's Museo Naval and I tolerated a visit to the Museo Nacional de Artes Decorativas. Cheerfully.

Afterward, exhausted from all that mutual indulgence, we sought out the nearest place for a cup of coffee. The Ritz Hotel.

It was built by King Alfonso XIII in 1910 for his wedding reception. He was marrying Queen Victoria's granddaughter, and at that time Madrid had no other building that was... uh... suitable for housing British royalty.

It is a grandly excessive neoclassical pile of granite; not as posh as, say, the Waldorf-Astoria, but pretty darn elegant nonetheless. It has the best location in Madrid: right next door to the Prado.

We took our seats in the lobby bar and a waiter in tails hustled over to see what we wanted. Dos cafés Americanos, por favor. While a mediocre pianist attempted arpeggios beyond his reach, the waiter brought us our order.

Jean checks the quality of Ritz Hotel coffee.

Well, it was just the break we needed. Footsore, we were pampered with: china and silverplate service, linen napkins, our very own anthurium blossom, two coffees and eight small cookies on a paper doily. Twenty minutes of just sitting, far away from sirens and unmuffled motorcycles and crowds of tourists.

Cost: €18.70. That's $25. Before tip.

It was worth it.