Barcelona

On March 3rd, 2026, I arrived in Barcelona aboard a tiny little boat called the Carnival Vista. Just a modest, 130,000-ton floating city that had carried us across the Atlantic from Galveston, Texas, for the past two weeks.

The Barcelona wind greeted me before I had much time to process that, after two weeks at sea, I was finally standing on solid ground with my luggage in hand. The day was windy and chilly, and my first destination was a hostel.

This was going to be my first time staying in an actual shared room. I had stayed in hostels before, but I always had my own room and only shared the restroom and kitchen. This was different.

Walking in, I was greeted by the fresh scent of a clean floor and the sound of a group of friends laughing as they left. I had arrived early, so they were only able to check me in and let me rent a storage locker for my luggage. With some time to kill, I walked around and looked at the building. I had watched enough YouTube videos beforehand to have realistic expectations, but knowing what to expect and actually being there were two very different things.

My anxiety started to kick in.

Then my ultra-sensitive ears started coming out of their shells. I began noticing everything around me.

People laughing and talking. The sound of shoes scraping against the floor as people walked by. Cars rushing through the busy intersection outside. Noise coming from the kitchen. Conversations happening all around me.

Suddenly, I could hear everything.

I needed fresh air.

I stepped out onto the lobby balcony, hoping a few minutes outside would calm me down and bring me back to Earth. The balcony itself was small, but when I looked at my surroundings, it was the final straw.

There were people everywhere. Buildings stacked against buildings, windows facing windows, balconies overlooking balconies. Behind each one, I could imagine people simply living their lives.

Normally, I love that. Watching from a distance and imagining the lives happening around me is one of my favorite hobbies. Who lives behind that window? What are they doing? Where are they going? There is something beautiful about seeing little glimpses of other people's lives and imagining the stories behind them.

But after spending two weeks on a cruise ship surrounded by thousands of people, I didn't want to imagine anyone else's life.

I just wanted a little space.

So, I booked another hotel.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions I made in Barcelona.

The hotel was in the center of the Gothic Quarter. Normally, I like to plan my visits, know where I'm going, and have some idea of what I'm doing next. But for this part of the trip, I decided to let loose and go wherever the wind took me.

My Uber driver dropped me off a couple of blocks away from the hotel. He told me it would be easier for me to walk from there because getting the car back out of the narrow streets would be difficult. I agreed, opened Google Maps, grabbed my luggage, and started walking.

At first, I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings. I was focused on not getting lost while listening to the wheels of my suitcase roll and bounce over the old, bumpy streets.

Then I started looking around.

And, with complete honesty, my first thought was: I understand why the Black Plague happened.

The streets were incredibly narrow and, well, not exactly the cleanest. They were also surprisingly quiet, which made walking through them with my suitcase feel even stranger.

Eventually, I found my hotel, the Hotel Catalonia Avinyó. Once I checked in, settled into my room, and finally put my luggage down, I went upstairs to see the view.

It was beautiful.

But I only had three days in Barcelona, and I had no time to waste. So I started walking.

No real destination. No carefully planned route. Just me wandering through the streets.

My first mission, however, was slightly less romantic: I needed a restroom.

That search somehow led me into a market filled with all kinds of food. It was also where I learned an important lesson very quickly: some public restrooms require payment, much like in Mexico, and coins are important. Breaking a bill when you have the chance can suddenly become a very valuable life skill.

Once that little emergency was handled, I could actually start paying attention to where I was.

Walking among the medieval architecture was an incredible feeling. At times, it felt like I was walking through a picture rather than a real place. I kept looking at the stones around me and thinking about how many of them had been sitting in the same place for centuries.

If those stones could talk, what stories would they tell?

My first official tourist stop was the Cathedral of Barcelona.

I walked through with the audio tour playing in my ears, listening to the history of the building while trying to take everything in. For some reason, it kept reminding me of the church where Lord Farquaad was going to marry Fiona in Shrek. I knew that church was somewhere else in Europe, but my brain had apparently made its decision.

The ceiling seemed impossibly tall. Standing underneath it made me feel like a tiny ant.

I wandered through each section, learning about its purpose and history. Eventually, I noticed a small stand and asked where it led.

The rooftop.

And apparently, I was allowed to go up there.

From the top, Barcelona opened up around me. After spending so much time looking upward at buildings from narrow streets, I was suddenly above them, looking across the city.

Later, a friend I had met on the cruise sent me a message. He was also in Barcelona, but only for the day, and asked if I wanted to explore together.

I agreed.

We basically gave ourselves a speed tour of Barcelona. Our first stop was the Arc de Triomf, followed by Parc de la Ciutadella. Eventually, we decided it was time for a break—and, more importantly, food.

I finally tried an authentic paella.

It was delicious.

Our final major stop was La Sagrada Família. That day, we only admired it from the outside. I stood there looking at all the details and wondering what each one meant. I already knew I would be coming back the next day to see the inside, but even from the street, there was almost too much to look at at once.

On the way back toward my hotel, we wandered through the Gothic Quarter and decided to stop at a bar for one last drink together.

There was a promoter standing outside whom we had been politely ignoring.

Turns out, she worked for the bar.

And she had coupons.

Suddenly, we were interested.

The place was called Craft Barcelona, and I immediately liked that the building didn't seem to have been stripped of its personality in favor of some fancy minimalist renovation. It had character. Exposed brick. Stained and scratched wood. Old copper vents. It felt like the building had been allowed to age instead of being forced to pretend it was new.

I asked the bartender for my usual drink.

They didn't have liquor.

Only beer.

There was one small problem with that: I didn't like beer. I had never liked the yeasty flavor.

While I was talking to the bartender, he offered me a few samples. I figured I was in another country, so why not?

We headed downstairs, where a live band was playing. I believe they were performing a Queen song. The instrumentals were beautiful.

The vocalist?

Let's just say a few words could have used better articulation.

As my friend and I continued talking, I suddenly looked down and realized something.

I had finished my first beer.

Granted, it was a sampler glass, but whatever. It still counts.

We explored more of the building and eventually headed up to the third floor. It clearly looked like it had once been the kitchen of a house. We sat at what felt like an old dining table and continued talking about life.

We were the same age. We were both from Texas. Yet somehow we had met while crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

I love hearing people's stories and learning about their goals. Eventually, though, I started getting sleepy. We decided to part ways and hoped that maybe the universe would bring us together again on another cruise.

Of course, we could also just visit each other. We live three hours apart.

The next morning, I woke up with sunlight shining through a small crack between the curtains.

I could feel the fluffy pillows around me and the warmth of the thick blanket.

And then I noticed the best part.

Silence.

I could wake up on my own time, in my own space.

I got ready because I had something special planned that morning: La Sagrada Família.

It was chilly and rainy, but I decided to walk. It was about 3.2 kilometers, or two miles, from my hotel. Eventually, I arrived, waited for my turn, put on the audio tour, and started listening.

Wow.

There were details everywhere.

The more I listened, the more I realized that seemingly every inch of the building had a purpose. The exterior tells stories through architecture. The Holy Family, the doors, the towers, the shapes—nothing seemed accidental. According to the tour, part of the structure had even been completed only weeks before my visit.

Then I stepped inside.

The interior felt even more massive than the cathedral I had visited the previous day.

The building was designed to evoke a forest, and once I was inside, I understood it. Massive columns stretched upward like trees.

But the light is what I remember most.

Sunlight passed through enormous stained-glass windows and filled the interior with color. Different shades collided across the columns, walls, and floor. It didn't feel like simply looking at stained glass. I was standing inside the colors it created.

Words don't really describe it.

After finishing the main tour, I visited the museum underneath, where I learned more about Gaudí, his designs, and the history of the project. Seeing modern technology being used alongside a structure that began more than a century ago was fascinating. Somehow, it made the project feel both ancient and completely modern at the same time.

Afterward, I continued my personal, lonely walking tour of Barcelona.

I returned to a park I had passed earlier and visited a greenhouse where plants were displayed alongside a series of drawings. Eventually, though, it was time for a break—and probably time to find some cover. The weather wasn't looking particularly friendly.

I decided to buy a ticket for one of the tourist buses so I could see more of the city without having to walk through the rain.

While I waited at the bus stop, the rain started coming down harder.

I still chose the upper deck.

Naturally.

I plugged in the headphones they provided and started listening to the tour while the bus moved through the city. The wind picked up, and I got colder and colder.

Eventually, we reached the coast.

The sky was gray, and waves crashed hard against each other. The wind carried the ocean directly toward us. I could taste the salt blowing through the air and smell that strong saltwater scent.

Not the pretty ocean smell.

The fishy one.

The tour lasted longer than I expected. Eventually, I moved downstairs for two reasons: I was freezing, and a large family had sat directly behind me and was very loud.

At one of the stops, I noticed a small ramen shop on the corner.

That was all the convincing I needed.

I ordered a bowl of warm chicken ramen, which was exactly what I needed after being hit with wind and rain. I could feel the warmth of the broth as it went down, slowly warming me from the inside.

Afterward, I hopped onto another bus and headed back toward my hotel.

That was enough sightseeing for one day.

But it was my final night in Barcelona.

And apparently, I wasn't finished yet.

I searched for a drag show and decided to head that way. I took the subway because it wasn't particularly close, and I also wanted to experience Barcelona's public transportation for myself.

Seeing the infrastructure made me think about how differently governments can prioritize public transportation and the ability of people to move around their cities.

I arrived at the bar somewhat early—even by my standards.

At first, there was just a couple, the bartenders, and me.

Then people started arriving.

Apparently, there was going to be bingo.

They handed out cards, and with my incredible luck, I did not win a single round.

The drag performer was funny, charismatic, and incredibly nice. I clearly stood out as someone who wasn't local, and at some point, I ended up showing her how to take a proper tequila shot.

Because that is what a good Mexican does.

Let's just say I may have had a little too much to drink that night.

When it was time to leave, there was only one small issue.

I couldn't remember where the subway entrance was.

So I walked back.

After experiencing Barcelona in a more personal way, rather than through the scheduled experience of the stops we had made before, I almost felt like I was home. Time was moving all around me, but I was simply there, living in the moment, taking it all in, and appreciating every second.

Not having to worry about a schedule or where I needed to be next, and being able to move whenever and wherever I wanted, made me feel free. Maybe something like how a pigeon—or any other bird, really—must feel. No itinerary. No appointment. It just decides where it wants to go next and goes.

Barcelona was only the beginning of this part of my trip. I still had two more stops ahead of me, but those three days gave me my first taste of traveling differently—slowing down, wandering, and letting the experience happen around me instead of trying to control every minute of it.

I felt safe. I felt comfortable. I felt welcomed.

Heading to the airport for my next stop after such a beautiful experience made me wonder if it had all just been a dream, and if somehow I had simply woken up and landed back in Galveston.