barcelona, te adoro

It’s really hard to be ripped away from something you’ve just realized you fell in love with. I’m sitting in my smaller-than-a-twin-sized bed on the MV Explorer, eyes low from lack of sleep, physical and emotional exhaustion. And I can’t go up to the top deck to watch the ship pull away from Barcelona; it’s just too sad to handle. Four days and I fell hard for this city. The fact that we have to leave is making my heart wrench. I can barely even fathom the fact that we’re about to spend a week in Italy; my mind keeps replaying the reel of Barca in my head.

After a journey across the Atlantic that at times seemed like it would never end, we finally reached Barcelona’s rugged coast, adorned with palm trees snug against a mountain range. The feeling of racing from my cabin to the outside deck with my roommate Mackenzie and getting our first glimpse of Barca was no less than euphoric. It remains the only day thus far on the trip that we’ve woken up for breakfast (7-8:30); our excitement was bigger than sleep. It felt like waking up at 4AM the day I was leaving for Disney World when I was five years old. Thinking somehow that waking hours would make our flight come faster.

First thing after the announcement was made that we could disembark, we grabbed a cab and shuttled up to the top of the city to explore our first taste of the genius that is the modernismo artist synonymous with Barcelona itself, Antoni Gaudi. And El Parc Guell is Gaudi’s real-life CandyLand: the artist’s vision of achieving the impossible, expanded to acres and acres of meandering paths and enchanted nooks. You are greeted first by a massive stone building, sprinkled with ornate tile and built in the quintessential Gaudi style: organic curves and whimsical shapes and colors. Proceed further and the depth of the park appears. A large open meeting space with vendors, musicians of all genres around each winding corner, seemingly endless green space for jogging, wandering or mere relaxation.

After the park we continued our Gaudi tour with one of the most recognizable landmarks of Barcelona – La Sagrada Familia. The church could very well be the most fascinating structure I’ve ever seen, perpetually under construction for the past century. It’s dual-sided, one half modern and strikingly Gaudi, with the same geometric curves and whimsical feel as his other famous works. The older side is a souring monstrosity with turrets and steeples reaching to the heavens yet fragile-looking as melting candles. I like to think that Gaudi wanted us to be forever perplexed by his religious masterpiece, yet struck by the symbolism of its construction. The church is a work in progress, possibly forever for the genius left no tangible blueprint. Couldn’t the same be said of “the church” meaning Christianity as a whole? My fascination with Gaudi continued as we toured La Pedrera, one of his famously designed apartment buildings with its wonderland roof overlooking the city.

The rest of my stay in Barcelona exists in my mind as a blur. Granted, that could be due to the gallons of sangria consumed and absurdly late nights. (I’m talking LATE – dinner crowds file in around 11 and club-goers keep trucking through till 6AM closing).

The food here is as expected, lots of paella (delicious), Iberian hams and tapas. Although admittedly, the same menu items are commonplace at almost every restaurant and the repetition gets a bit tedious after a few days. So much so that myself and one other SAS traveler whose name will be withheld for anonymity committed the primary mortal sin of travel.

We ate a Big Mac.

There they were, gleaming yellow arches after a grueling morning of walking around Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s charming shopping hub, lined with vendors and sidewalk artists. My stomach had just about reached its capacity of tapas for the trip and then suddenly that all-too-familiar insatiable craving came back. Something so undeniably American it made me want to shoot myself. Halfway around the world, and we sheepishly snuck into McDonalds, ordered one Big Mac between us, ate it, and got the hell out of there. Interesting side note: McDonald’s are so much nicer in Europe and have more selection, like Kit-Kat McFlurries! I’m a little peeved my post-Grove snacking isn’t that diverse in Miami.

However, not the staggering La Sagrada or the equally reverent Big Mac could prepare me for what would happen one fateful day in Barcelona’s shockingly perfect Gothic Quarter. Ecstasy was achieved. And no, I don’t mean chemically induced. I think I found heaven. Or at least what I hope my heaven looks like one day.

A tiny hole in the wall restaurant tucked in a little quad off one of the main streets in the Gothic Quarter. The setting was too flawless to not be the makings of a postcard. The inspiration travel book writers must turn to when describing this neighborhood. The weather was more perfect than words, sun shining through the canopy of trees above our heads onto our tiny antique wooden table in the quad outside the restaurant. Happy people strolled by, either with adorable dogs (pup-friendly, another highlight of Barcelona for me) or hand-in-hand. Blissful Spanish cuisine spilled onto our plates, sangria flowing maybe a touch too heavy-handedly. Periodically, tiny orange blossoms from the trees above us would gently cascade down and land in our hair and café con leches. A Spanish guitarist meandered over to our table and started playing Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” Our friend Nicki was so taken by the scene mixed with the music that she started crying. And then he asked for a suggestion from me, and without even pressing my music taste began playing “Paranoid Android” by Radiohead. Completely and utterly shocking. If this isn’t what heaven is like I don’t think I want to go. And honestly, devoted readers, the innumerable photos I took and words that are flowing from my fingers right now will never do it justice. I will remember those hours and their perfection, our laughs filling the air and rising high above Barcelona, for the rest of my life.

It was in those moments that I fell in love with Barcelona. We stayed out until 9 in the morning after hitting all of the necessary clubs on our last night here (Razzmatazz which is overrated, Shoko which is underrated, and Opium which is perfection). After stumbling out the doors of Opium at 6AM closing time, arm-and-arm, we watched the sun rise over the ocean and savored our last breathless moments in this enchanted city.

The memories we created here could fill volumes. Crashing a French guy’s bachelor party in the VIP section of a club and instead of getting kicked out, getting fed Dom Perignon gratis for the rest of the night (and the night after). Viva La France! Embarking on our own “DIY Barcelona Bar Crawl,” sampling a local chupito at each establishment. Reuniting with a Miami friend in the most unlikely of cities. Our friend Shea attempting to smuggle a contraband ham sandwich onto the boat in his pants. Plunging in the freezing Mediterranean hours before we had to be back on the ship just because. Friendships were solidified, days seemingly like years.

Barcelona, I will be back. And next time, it will be for more than four days. There are enough beautiful medieval alleyways in the Gothic Quarter; it could take me a lifetime to photograph all of them. Doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan.