We weren’t lost exactly. We had no specific destination and no place to be—and didn’t really care.
Meandering the Markets
We hit the pavement in search of tapas along that big boulevard, and stop where flaming patio heaters along the sidewalk draws us to a table. Across the boulevard, Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí’s Casa Batlló phases through the colors of the rainbow like a dream, one of his seven UNESCO World Heritage constructions in Barcelona. Sated, we stroll another several blocks to the end of the boulevard: Catalunya Plaza, Barcelona’s central square surrounded by stately edifices of early 20th-century Neoclassical buildings.But it’s here that the Gothic Quarter begins, sending us back in time down ever-narrowing, labyrinthine streets. Along its edge is La Rambla, the city’s most famous promenade. Known for its flower vendors, theaters, and cafés, it stretches three-quarters of a mile from the square to the port. In early December, its open-air restaurants are half full, hosts standing in wait as we pass, hoping to entice us to sit for some seafood. In summer, this whole street bustles with tourists.
We wander into La Boqueria Market and, other than a few other cellphone photographers, the patrons here are locals picking up food for home. A 15-minute wandering takes us back past the cathedral to the wavy-roofed Santa Caterina Market, which is also only modestly busy—which is great, as we don’t have the pressure of a dozen others waiting at our heels as we compose a veritable sampler of Things That Look Good at a deli counter (“What’s this? Oh. What’s that? Can we get 200 grams of it? No wait, 400?”).
Toast of the Town
The next day, we take a bus up to Park Güell for the panoramic view and then walk back downhill toward the hotel. We find a tiny random square, not in any guidebook, and stop at a tavern offering toasted sandwiches. But first, we order a round of drinks. France has Champagne, and Italy prosecco, but Catalonia pops bottles of cava. While we intended to follow conventional wisdom to find a good cava bar, we end up falling in love with another regional sipper: vermouth. Served over ice and garnished with a slice of orange and an olive, vermouth is popular in Spain. But in Catalonia something is different about it; the botanical notes are more pronounced, perhaps. As the server takes our food order, I inquire. It’s the house vermouth, he tells me, a vermut negre—not red, but “black”—made from the regional macabeu grapes, one of the varieties used in cava. The server points back at a barrel behind the bar. Some places make their own mix and age it in a barrel. And I want to try every one of them. But it’s not bottled, so I may never have this one again.
Like moths to a light, we return to the Gothic Quarter and head off into smaller streets looking for the Palau de la Música, a beautiful Art Nouveau-style concert hall also on the UNESCO Heritage list. But we are turned around and are drawn into the open door of a corner tapas bar. A woman in her 70s comes around the bar to take our order. She brings out a plate of Spanish ham croquettes with our vermouths, and I ask about the practice of topping it off with seltzer.
She disappears and returns with a canister with a down-angled spout, the prop of vaudeville comedy made for spraying unsuspecting faces to comic effect. She squirts some into my glass and tells me, “It makes it softer. Some people find the flavor of vermouth too bold.”
She makes a face and shakes her head. “I don’t drink it this way.”
And after a sip of the diluted drink, neither will I. We purchase a bottle of the house vermut to take home.
Glowing Creations
Evening falls early as our footsteps echo along the shadowy cobblestone lanes, the smallest only wide enough for pedestrians. We stumble upon Empremtes de Catalunya, a boutique shop populated by traditional handicrafts from Catalonia. Like a cultural museum, the collection is curated to bring in truly local creations from towns and villages, artisan work that demands preservation. A half-hour later, we find an archway at the side of the street we’re on and follow the passage into a square lined with porticoes and outdoor café seating.Two rows of palm trees stretch up from the paving stones, their fronds lit from below. A fountain, its waters alight with blue, shows three bronze figures in the middle: the Graces. We’ve found the 19th-century Plaça Reial (Royal Square), and pause to enjoy a refueling of tapas before leaving out the other side to find ourselves back at La Rambla.
We save the Sagrada Família for the last day. A city pass fast-tracks us inside and, despite all the things to see in the enormous place, we spent a long meditative moment simply seated in the nave beneath towering tree-like columns, awestruck by the morning sun lighting up the stained glass windows and infusing the space with color. A perfect moment in an unrushed Barcelona experience.
And this is what I love the most about being here: the relaxed, convivial spaces. Snugs in a side street, warm light spilling onto the paving stones, patrons lingering. A bottle of vermouth or cava. And tapas, of course, a parade of little items like a meandering conversation that leaves you sated and buzzing.
