Amanecer #1: My Ten Quiet Minutes Every Morning

Every morning I open my green shutters and Madrid is still half asleep.

That’s it. That’s the ritual. But I promised myself I’d write about it properly, because those ten minutes have become my favourite part of the day, and a few of you asked what “amanecer” is about.

The shutters

My apartment is tiny, and the best thing about it is the window. Tall, old, with wooden shutters painted a green that has faded in the sun in a very pretty way, and a little iron balcony just big enough for me, a mug and one plant that is surviving on hope.

At night I close the shutters, partly for the light, partly because Madrid is loud until late. So in the morning, opening them feels like a small ceremony. The latch sticks a little. I push, they swing out, and the light comes in across the terracotta floor tiles. Every single time, I say “buenos días” out loud. To who? To the rooftops. To the pigeons. To nobody. Mai pen rai, it feels nice.

The coffee

Strong. Very strong. Papá taught me to like coffee that could wake up a whole building, and I’m loyal to that. Some mornings it’s a moka pot on the stove, some mornings just whatever is quickest. The rule is only that I drink it standing on the balcony, in the first light, holding the mug with both hands.

The rooftops

From my balcony I can see a sea of terracotta roofs, antennas, a few church towers, someone’s laundry that has been hanging there for a week, and far away, the shapes of the city waking up. Early in the morning the light is soft and golden and it hits the tops of the buildings first, then slowly slides down the walls.

The street below is quiet except for small sounds. A shop shutter rolling up. Someone sweeping. A delivery van. A neighbour on another balcony watering her geraniums, who I wave at every day and have never actually spoken to. Maybe one day.

The no-phone part

This is the important part, and the hardest. For those ten minutes, the phone stays inside. Face down, on the table, far away.

I’m not going to pretend it was easy. The first week I kept reaching for my pocket like it was a reflex. But I noticed that when I checked my phone first thing, my day started in everybody else’s world. Messages, news, other people’s mornings. When I didn’t, my day started in mine. The light, the coffee, the street, me.

It’s only ten minutes. I’m not a monk, the phone comes back right after. But those ten minutes are mine.

If you want to try it

You don’t need a balcony or a view. You need a window and a few minutes.

Open the window before you open anything else. Make your coffee or tea or hot water with lemon, whatever you like. Stand or sit somewhere with some light. Leave the phone in another room. And just look. Notice three things: a sound, a colour, a smell. That’s it. No journaling, no goals, no “productive morning routine”. Just a pause before the world starts.

Why “amanecer”

Amanecer means sunrise, dawn, but it’s also a verb, to wake up with the day. I love that it’s both. I’m starting a little series with that name, just short moments from my mornings in Madrid. Some will be sunny, some will be grey, some will have terrible hair. All of them will have coffee.

Buenos días, from my balcony to yours. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?