I was going to go to Madrid truly without a clue. Just get off the plane, get to the city, start wandering around looking for Arthur's recommended hotels.
It was going to be the perfect kicker. I'd finally do what I'd intended all along: arrive in a city with truly no information or reservations or a single clue other than the yellowed pages of my book. Of course, I've been almost doing that this whole time, with the rather glaring exception of hotels. I prefer not to spend the night under a bridge, thanks, so it has seemed prudent to try to get the accommodation situation squared away at least a day before arrival.
But I think that my kicker is being vetoed by my dwindling bank account. I just checked it online and I nearly cried, no lie. I might actually have to limit myself to five dollars a day for the remaining week. This could be . . . interesting.
I'm a budget traveler, but the nature of this journey is such that I'm in the tourist (read: pricey) areas and I'm eating at restaurants that have been around for a while (again: pricey). Arriving in Madrid without any kind of plan or clue seems like a recipe for me (a) breaking my back lugging my backpack all over town, guided only by a crappy hand-drawn, outdated map, and (b) finally giving in at midnight and booking a room in someplace way too expensive.
Quirkiness has its limits.