Mas que solamente un Ciudad. How we did not go to La Sagrada Familia

 

We were both up before the crack of dawn - the kind of early that even the roosters are still considering their options. Since sleep clearly wasn’t on the agenda, we decided to make good use of the time and go for a run. Scott stayed around Gran Via, while I headed down to the sea for some salty morning air and sunrise vibes.

By brunch time, we were more than ready to eat. We picked Bellini, just a couple of blocks away, and by 11 a.m. we were completely stuffed - in the best way possible.

Our grand plan for the day was to finally visit La Sagrada Familia, Gaudí’s world-famous cathedral. Of course, being spontaneous tourists, we hadn’t bought tickets in advance. “We’ll just grab them on the spot,” we thought. Famous last words. Turns out, no tickets are sold on-site anymore. Not a single one.

So, plan B it was - Casa Batlló. One of Gaudí’s most beautiful residential masterpieces. Funny enough, despite having been to Barcelona around 15 times over the last 20-something years, I had never actually gone inside. And wow, it did not disappoint! The flowing lines, the vibrant colors, the dreamy architecture - it was all simply stunning. We left totally impressed. And with a touristy photo of us.

On the way back to the hotel, we grabbed a few empanadas - because, well, when in Spain - and then took a well-deserved nap before dinner and the concert.

Dinner was at Angus Grill, because I had a serious craving for steak. Things started promisingly - the tartar was chunky, flavorful, and absolutely delicious. But then… halfway through Scott still working on his tartar, a young waiter appeared out of nowhere, holding our next course, the medium rare steaks in hand. “Oh, sorry, I’ll take it back to the kitchen then…” Um, sure, let’s just… cook it a bit more then? Moments later, as soon as the last bite hit Scott’s fork, another server reappeared and plopped the plates back down in front of us - slightly overdone now, but still delicious.

To release the meat coma, we decided to walk to the concert venue - and to my absolute joy, I discovered that you can actually take escalators up Montjuïc hill. No endless stairs, no sweaty misery. Just a smooth glide up to culture and entertainment.

The concert was scheduled to start at 9 p.m. By 8:58, maybe 15% of the seats in the sold-out arena were filled. Classic Spain. At 9:20, the star finally took the stage - and suddenly, everything snapped into gear. The vibe transformed instantly. The music was incredible - just as expected - and the sound in that 17,000-seat basketball arena regretfully as well.

Afterward, we walked back to the hotel under the warm night sky. The air was soft and the city was very much alive.

Where Mountains meet Magic. Above the Clouds in Pyrenees

When we rented the car, the grand plan was simple enough: pick it up in Nice, drive through the mountains to Andorra, then head to Barcelona and drop it off there. Easy, right? Except that returning the car in Barcelona apparently costs a casual €600. (for that price, I’d expect the car to drive itself home, maybe stop for a croissant on the way).

So, we revised the plan. The new drop-off point became Perpignan, the nearest French city to the Spanish border. The only catch? We had to be there by 9am, or face a late fee. The plan was to leave at six, meaning most of the drive would be in the dark. But then, last night, a thought struck: if we leave before sunrise, we’ll miss it—the mountains, the clouds, the first light of the day. When would we get this moment again? So we agreed: if it costs us an extra hour or two, so be it. Some things are worth more than punctuality.

At seven sharp, we hit the road. Around half past seven, the first hints of dawn began to stretch across the sky. A soft pink glow rose behind the mountains, and the valleys below filled with drifting white clouds - like a giant sea of cotton. The air was crisp, the silence broken only by the hum of the tires, and for a while it felt like driving through a dream. The peaks turned golden as the sun climbed higher, the whole landscape bathed in warm light. And then, as quickly as it appeared, the magic faded. By eight-thirty, we were back in the real world - sunshine, traffic, and Gaili, ever the mapreader telling us to take the next exit.

We dropped off the car in Perpignan, planning to stroll around, grab breakfast, and maybe explore a bit before catching a ride to Barcelona. But travel plans have a mind of their own - apparently, only a couple of buses and trains leave Perpignan each day. So, after handing over the keys, we went straight to the bus station, grabbed something to eat, and waited for our fashionably late bus.

By three o’clock, we were in Barcelona. We checked into our hotel, dropped our bags, and immediately went hunting for something sweet. The first cookie café we found was good enough - huge cookies, cold milk, and the satisfaction of being back in Barcelona.

The rest of the day was pleasantly uneventful: a bit of wandering, a dinner of arepas, and an early night. After all, we’d already had the best part of the day long before breakfast - somewhere up in the mountains, chasing the sunrise and driving above the clouds.