04/12/2025 – Arrival: Speed, Scams, and Suspicion
A swift three-hour ride on the Renfe whisked us across 626 kilometres from Madrid to Barcelona. Efficient, comfortable, and promising. Unfortunately, the optimism lasted exactly until the taxi ride from the station to the Pulitzer Hotel on Carrer de Bergara. The driver doubled the meter reading with impressive confidence and insisted the fare was absolutely correct. A rip-off. Our official welcome to Barcelona. A bad beginning, indeed.
As if on cue, the hotel staff subtly warned us about the city’s unsavoury elements, lurking in crowded places and alleyways. So, stepping out to revisit Las Ramblas after nine years, we zipped up bags, clutched valuables, and walked with the alertness of seasoned travellers who had learned the hard way, two hours earlier.
Renovations were underway on the iconic boulevard, reducing walking space and patience levels alike. The Mercado de la Boqueria, however, looked much the same. Only louder, fuller, and far more aromatic. Countless stalls had mushroomed, bars served drinks at all hours, and live counters cooked seafood to individual preference. The mingled smells of fish, vegetables, fruit, and frying oil hit us with such force that we felt mildly anaesthetised by food. Energised rather than exhausted, we walked back to the hotel, already convinced Barcelona was warming up to us. Just not gently.
05/12/2025 – From Indecision to Devotion
The day began in a wishy-washy haze of indecision: laundry first, or leave it for later? Responsibility won, and so we trotted off to the nearest laundromat, lugging two bulging bags and looking every bit the stereotypical tourists—minus the camera around the neck, plus the mild panic.
Operating the washing machines turned out to be a surprisingly rigorous intellectual exercise, made more challenging by the fact that all instructions were in Spanish. After squinting, guessing, and pressing a few buttons that did absolutely nothing, I admitted defeat and crossed the pavement to a souvenir shop opposite, wearing what I can only assume was the universal expression for help me, I am lost in translation.
The lady behind the counter took one look at my distressed face and immediately sprang into action, barking instructions to her partner to take over while she came to our rescue. At least, that’s what I gathered from the rapid-fire exchange. Bingo! By the time I returned, Hubby had been playing a successful game of laundromat tic-tac-toe and somehow got it right. The clothes were in, spinning happily, clearly far more confident than we were.
I thanked the kind lady—Filipino by appearance, angel by deed—and accepted that this had been a gloriously unproductive hour by tourist standards. Still, some things simply cannot be postponed, not even in Barcelona.
With clean clothes on the horizon, we decided to revisit familiar places rather than chase new ones. First stop: Barcelona’s main cathedral—Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia, more commonly known as La Seu—standing proudly in the heart of the Gothic Quarter. A tall, beautifully decorated Christmas tree graced the entrance, adding a festive flourish and presenting the perfect photo opportunity.
Of course, perfection requires patience. So, we waited our turn for that ideal Kodak moment, smiling dutifully while silently judging the framing skills of those ahead of us. Some tourist rituals, it seems, are universal—and unavoidable.
A masterpiece of Catalan Gothic architecture from the 13th to 15th centuries, it houses thirteen geese in its cloister (symbolising Saint Eulalia’s age at martyrdom), a Romanesque baptistery, and a neo-Gothic façade added centuries later. Importantly, it must not be confused with the Sagrada Familia, which, despite its fame, is technically a basilica.
Post-lunch, we embarked on what can only be described as a mild urban treasure hunt in search of the ISKCON temple of Barcelona. This involved walking up and down the same street multiple times, peering hopefully into doorways, and consulting shopkeepers who looked at us with complete sincerity—and equal confusion—because they had absolutely no idea such a place existed.
Just when we were beginning to suspect the temple was more a spiritual concept than a physical structure, we found it. Tucked discreetly inside an ancient building, with no signage whatsoever, it clearly believed in being discovered only by the truly determined (or thoroughly lost).
The moment we stepped inside, all irritation evaporated. Sitting before the deities brought an immediate sense of calm and completeness, as if the entire scavenger hunt had been part of the design. Nearby, an elderly couple were hand-rolling ladoos (Indian sweet), the unmistakable aroma of ghee (clarified butter) filling the space and doing wonders for both the soul and the appetite. Soon enough, we were offered prasadam (food for the gods), and very much for us too.
Slightly sugar-high and spiritually buoyant, we moved on to the Basilica of Our Lady of Mercy (La Mercè) for the annual Four Seasons concert by the Barcelona Gala Orchestra. Candlelight, golden décor, baroque beauty, and timeless music, Silent Night, Ave Maria, Bolero, and Beethoven’s Fifth, came together to create an unforgettable evening. A small practical note from seasoned travellers: book early, especially if you want front-row seats. Seniors get a discount, and yes, it is absolutely worth every euro.
By the time we clocked 15,000 steps, our feet formally declared mutiny, though our spirits remained gloriously undefeated. A complimentary bottle of sparkling wine from the hotel arrived as the perfect nightcap, sealing the day with bubbles, bliss, and the firm resolve to do absolutely nothing strenuous the next morning.
06/12/2025 – Montserrat: Where Mountains Breathe Back
A bright, sunny morning greeted us, with temperatures hovering around 10°C. Wrapped in layers that made us resemble well-insulated parcels, we set off for Montserrat—an omission from our last trip that had clearly been sulking in the background, waiting for redemption. Two train rides and a 20-minute funicular ascent later, we were quite literally on top of the world, lungs negotiating terms with the altitude. From the station, the fish–finger–like mountains jutted skyward, jagged and unapologetic, as if nature had experimented freely and decided this dramatic shape was non-negotiable.
A composite ticket (€50) covered the metro, train, cogwheel ride, and entry to the Museum of the Black Madonna. Money well spent. Somewhere between transport changes and mountain air, clarity descended.
Montserrat’s serrated mountain landscape is dramatic and otherworldly. Nestled within it is a nearly 1,000-year-old Benedictine monastery, complete with an art museum, library, and a community of monks. But its soul lies in La Moreneta, the Black Madonna—patron saint of Catalonia.
Believed to have been carved in Jerusalem, the wooden statue darkened over the centuries due to candle smoke and varnish. Visitors may touch the orb Mary holds, said to bring good luck. For us, it was a fortuitous moment—seeking blessings while celebrating fifty years of marriage. Some coincidences feel divinely timed.
Even a slow mountain walk revived our energy. The alveoli of both lungs and soul opened wide, absorbing the crisp air and spiritual calm. A must-visit, regardless of age or agility. For the handicapped and mobility-challenged, there is a blue bus running every thirty minutes to take you around. Been there, seen it, holds good only when a visit to this place is included.
07/12/2025 – Tarragona: Rome by the Sea
An early start took us to Tarragona, a UNESCO World Heritage Site rich in Roman history. Just forty minutes from Barcelona, the coastal train ride, with white villages and Mediterranean views, fought off the sleep taking over.
The uphill walk from the station tested our knees, but discomfort vanished once we stepped into history: the amphitheatre, circus, city walls, and forum, all seamlessly woven into modern life. Tarragona’s charm lies in this coexistence. Add to it a seaside setting, the Old Town (Part Alta), cobbled streets, a Gothic cathedral, and beaches, and you have a destination that rewards every step. All so fairy-like in appearance as depicted in the children illustrated History Atlas.
Sunday crowds thronged Rambla Nova, lined with restaurants and souvenir shops. Most eateries were full, taxis scarce, and we resigned ourselves to a self-guided walking tour. A car, or better yet, an overnight stay, would do Tarragona greater justice, even though GetYourGuide recommends it as a day tour. That would be appropriate for the young and sprightly.
08/12/2025 – Girona: Red Carpets and Dragons
Battling a cold and cough, we travelled to Girona, 100 kilometres from Barcelona and ideal for a day trip. Our guide, Miquel Roger, awaited us at the station. Being a public holiday on account of celebrating the Virgin Mary, the city was mercifully less crowded.
The walk into the Old City began along a red-carpeted alley, mysterious at first, but extremely helpful when retracing our steps later. Crossing the Pont de Pedra over the Onyar River, we entered the historic Barri Vell. The river, choked with weeds, flows south to north and is crossed by several bridges—the best was left for the last, the iconic Eiffel Bridge, built in 1877 by Gustave Eiffel’s company. Bright red, lattice-iron, and utterly photogenic. I think Miquel did this for a particular reason. Ending the tour with a dramatic flourish.
We explored the city walls, Jewish Quarter, and Girona Cathedral, arriving just in time for Mass. Descending the 91 stone steps embedded with seashells—famous as the Game of Thrones “Walk of Atonement”—we were giddy with cinematic excitement.
The tour ended at Rambla de la Llibertat, Girona’s historic market street. Miquel recommended Txots, his son’s favourite restaurant, and it proved spot on. Catalan food, standout potatoes, autumnal trees glowing gold and vermilion—it was perfect. We foolishly opted for an earlier train home, spending most of the journey underground in tunnels. Lesson learned.
09/12/2025 – Misses, Regrets, and Seagulls
We saved shopping for the last day. A strategic error. Two precious sightseeing hours disappeared into shops, yielding absolutely nothing. Worse, we missed Park Güell, despite having secured free entry in advance.
Instead, we walked the 1.2-kilometre stretch of Las Ramblas—from Plaça de Catalunya to the waterfront. Renovations dulled its former vibrancy, unlike our 2016 visit, when street performers and flower stalls ruled the promenade.
Beyond the Columbus Monument, Port Vell opened up—its bridge, Maremagnum mall, and ever-present seagulls. Loud, demanding, and persistent, they hovered menacingly as we enjoyed chocolate crêpes. We refused to share. After all, their food supply rivals an Indian unlimited thali.
Exhausted, we took the metro back to Catalunya. This final day felt more like a return than a discovery. A few regrets, many memories, and ample reason to return.
Barcelona, after all, never loses its charm—an all-weather destination for discerning travellers.
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