Touring Barcelona can often feel akin to being the rejected party in a condemned love affair. Despite your enamourment with its casual charm fused with a hint of defiance, the city fluctuates between utter disregard and sheer contempt for you.
I can’t confirm, but this romantic rapport seems to have grown more asymmetric over the years.
I first laid my eyes on Catalonia’s crown and Spain’s second city during the harsh winter of the 90s. I found myself lost and alone in the heart of the European bastion of rebellion without even a hotel reservation or a travel guidebook.
I spent countless hours meandering through the Gothic Quarter’s cryptic alleyways, marvelling at the audacity of scammers cheating tourists out of their money on La Rambla. The literal culmination of this journey befell on a solitary excursion to the towering Nou Camp, the storied sanctuary of the city’s esteemed football club, where I left a lucky penny secreted under a seat in the upper tier. I like to believe that my lucky charm contributed, in some small measure, to the Manchester Miracle that unfolded months later featuring Teddy Sheringham and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.
Despite the growing indifference, my adoration for Barcelona has only amplified with each subsequent visit – alone, grouped, and with a partner, my juvenile children, and even my teens. I was present in the city a mere few hours after the horrifying 2004 terror attacks in Madrid, which compelled Barcelona’s denizens to pour into the streets, clanging pots and pans in vehement protest against the atrocious affront. Again, I was there in the wake of the gruesome 2017 attack on La Rambla and the nearby beach town of Cambrils, encountering the unwavering resolve of a people who refused to be intimidated by terror.
However, it’s disheartening to admit that my affection is not reciprocated; instead, the city’s once tepid disinterest has morphed into an outright disenchantment.
The evidence is there for all to see – spray painted all over the walls leading up to Parc Guell, and plastered on lampposts, stating the disdain the city, much like the Guadí-designed park, has for tourists like myself.
With each few strides, various drawings and signs urge visiting strangers to vacate, and candidly, bearing my six-year-old child on my shoulders as we climb, I am inclined to heed them. Having just left the chilly gloom of Dublin in February, I am inappropriately dressed for the sort of weather that could easily be mistaken for a radiant Irish summer day, and I am perspiring profusely while we proceed.
But, like a guide hauling a wealthy adventurer up the peak of Everest, I persist with resilience. Understandably, we are without entry passes because I’ve reassured my family there’s no need for such foresight in a carefree setting such as Barcelona. Moreover, even if we are unable to access the park’s monumental sections requiring tickets, there will surely be an abundance to explore in the unrestricted areas.
I discover I’m incorrect on both counts.
The notices at the entrance proclaim that all visit times for the day are filled, while the unfriendly staff managing the entrance snarl like sun-kissed rock stars when I poorly inquire in Spanish how to find the free areas.
Retreating under their scornful looks, I consult Google for answers, only to learn that the requirements changed just before the global health crisis, and now a ticket is essential to enter any part of the park.
Thus, we about-face and retrace our steps, descending the hill past all the signs advising us to retreat home.
But before being let down in this manner, there’s a silent squabble.
Our Airbnb, located in the upscale district of Gracia, is delightful, and we reach it via a brief taxi journey from the airport on a Friday evening. After exploring for a short while, first the kids, then the adults retire to sleep, all by no later than 11 pm.
On a Friday evening. In Spain.
Upon venturing out the following morning for pastries, I discover an irritated note taped to our door by a disgruntled neighbour, protesting about the previous evening’s noise. Suddenly, the reverberating sounds from our floor while we undertook our dental hygiene routine begin to make sense. The message in Spanish reads, “You made excessive noise, have some respect.”
We commence our exploration but not before my spouse procures some chocolates and leaves them, along with a note expressing regret, on the irate neighbour’s welcome mat.
As we meander along Passeig de Gracia, we are surrounded by upscale fashion boutiques, eventually reaching Placa de Catalunya, the vibrant nucleus of Barcelona. Amidst the dodging of pigeons and suspect drug vendors, we head toward La Rambla, and subsequently, the Boqueria.
Currrently, the bustling food market has been updated, still retaining an unpretentious charm. Its visitors are a blend of tourists and locals hunting for homely seafood, raw cuts of meat and vibrant veggies, all offered at prices that could cause an Irish budget retailer to turn red with embarrassment.
To sustain our energies, a local stall owner convinces us to try what he firmly believes is the “finest pizza in Barcelona”. While its authenticity could be debated, quality and affordability aren’t.
Our journey continues down the city’s main thoroughfare, lined with establishments offering overpriced paellas, and bizarre-looking cocktails served in overstated glasses. We proceed towards the bay, bracing itself for the forthcoming summertime America’s Cup event.
As the warm Mediterranean breeze caresses us, we set out in search of hot chocolate. The city is brimming with cafes and stands offering chocolate con churros – a steaming, hearty chocolate concoction with sugary fried doughy treats on the side. However, one street reigns supreme, known to many as the ‘Street of Chocolate’, but officially named Carrer Petritxol. We line up at Granja Dulcinea, the street’s reputedly oldest chocolatería and soon find ourselves delighting in some of the most sublime sweet indulgences.
That evening, we retreat to the quiet sanctuary of our Airbnb, engaging in a delicate dance of quiet manoeuvering around the unit. Despite our efforts, we seem to annoy our neighbours. They leave a note the following morning, accusing us of sounding like “a stampede of elephants,” and issuing an ominous warning to involve law enforcement. Although momentarily tempted to retaliate in kind, I am convinced otherwise. With introspection, it is likely our neighbours are merely weary of the continuous disruption caused by inconsiderate tourists, and their exacerbation is understandable.
Barcelona isn’t the only city facing the burden of excessive and poorly-managed tourism, an issue that residents of the Canary Islands have also started protesting about. The problem in Barcelona is amplified by more than three million cruise ship tourists who visit each year, keeping the city on the brink of being inundated.
As for me, despite considering myself superior to the ports of call tourists, I must confess to having been one of them, albeit reluctantly. It’s a secret I hope doesn’t make it back to the citizens of Barcelona.
Our trip included a visit to the Sagrada Família after brunch near our Airbnb. A quick metro journey took us to this either impressive or atrocious – depending on who you ask – architectural wonder. George Orwell, for example, in his memoir “Homage to Catalonia” critiqued it ruthlessly and expressed disappointment that the anarchists during the Spanish Civil War missed the opportunity to blow it up for its ostensible “artistic value”.
Despite this harsh appraisal, the completion of this unique and unrestricted place of worship won’t be until 2026, nearly 150 years after construction began.
Regardless of its incomplete state, the church is teeming with tourists, a far cry from the expected serene spiritual atmosphere. This adds another reason to the locals’ list of grievances against tourists.
Later, we walked down Passeig de Gracia, admiring more of Gaudi’s architectural creations – the UNESCO World Heritage site, La Pedrera, and Casa Batlló.
An entire day has been dedicated to shopping, encompassing a budget-busting detour to Sephora. If you aren’t aware of what Sephora offers, I can assure you it provides every product conceivable for the creation of even the most complex skincare routines.
I’ve had the chance to explore several Sephoras around Europe, however, the Barcelona branch boasts a unique charm with its spiral slide entrance, favoured by Instagram influencers. This feature had me riding it multiple times, perhaps more than what would be considered dignified for someone of my seniority, although being accompanied by a six-year-old avidly screaming for an encore did provide a certain discretion.
Our shopping spree further led us through the refreshing boutique stores and second-hand shops in El Born, an intricate network of avenues, surprisingly devoid of throngs of tourists, although it’s just a short distance away from the popular La Rambla via the Gothic Quarter.
But shopping is not the city’s only allure, it boasts culture too. The Picasso museum is undeniably worth dedicating a few hours for any visitors, moreover if they time it correctly, they can bypass the long queues while avoiding disapproving looks from residents. The Moko Gallery, although less frequented, presents an array of contemporary art pieces from artists like Banksy, Warhol, Basquiat and Keith Haring plus features “digital immersive art” and even non-fungible tokens – NFTs, which to someone less versed in art culture, can seem somewhat nonsense.
The city’s sight-seeing bus tour can provide mild amusement, yet besides Gaudí, Barcelona seems to lack the immediately identifiable must-see landmarks of cities like Paris, London or Rome.
Retreating from the popular tourist attractions reveals a delightful world of satisfying and reasonably priced meals. I have to give a particular shout-out to La Pepita located on Calle Cargego, just off Passeig de Gracia. This petite, tile-covered tapas bar, where patrons are welcome to autograph the walls (pack a marker ahead of time), with its delectable menu and remarkable pricing, is constantly bustling from opening time, thus booking ahead is a necessity. We dined there thrice and I continuously found myself reflecting on how it encapsulates the spirit of Barcelona – small yet ideal, contemporary yet ageless, chic yet affordable.
Despite the .general attitude towards tourists in Barcelona, La Pepita always extends a warm welcome, a trait that is much appreciated.