24 hours in Barcelona

This isn’t a definitive guide to conquering Barcelona in a day – there are plenty of those, written by people with far more expertise than I (and many of which I consulted myself). Instead, this is simply how I spent 24 hours in the Catalan capital.

After traveling from Valencia to the Costa Brava, there was just time for one night in Barcelona. Arriving from Llafranc well before hotel check-in, I figured I’d take a walk around Placa de Catalunya. But having completed that in a matter of minutes and being not very impressed – much of it was under construction or development or hidden behind advertising hoardings – I figured I’d head off to see a bit of Gaudi instead. 

The Sagrada Família, Gaudí’s magnum opus, remains famously unfinished despite construction beginning in 1882. Gaudí himself died in 1926 – doubtless fed up with the lack of progress – with less than a quarter completed. The project is now slated for completion in 2026, but its allure hardly depends on its finished state. The 18 spires are instantly recognisable, though they now seem to be festooned with festive decorations. The facades are so intricate, it’s almost overwhelming – deciphering their symbolism would require a theologian’s dedication. It took me a while to realise the building does, in fact, follow the basic basilica shape, rather than resembling an extravagant wedding cake in the hands of someone who just can’t stop tweaking.

The queues at Sagrada Família are legendary, so I never intended to go inside. But I was then baffled by the apparent absence of queues. People entered freely, and a security guard confirmed there was no queue. However, the Tourist Information office displayed a ‘sold out’ sign, which quashed any thoughts of going inside. Can’t say I was that fussed. 

Then it was back to the hotel to check in and have a shower. It was a very sticky July day.

Hotel Lloret Ramblas was chosen for its unbeatable location right on La Rambla, near Plaça de Catalunya and the La Boqueria food market. The hotel was quiet despite the bustling street below, and the blackout curtains ensured a good night’s sleep. The small balcony was perfect for people-watching. However, the room itself was underwhelming – small, outdated, and noisy from within. I could have joined in the conversation with the two ladies in the adjacent room. No fridge, no coffee-making facilities, and in desperate need of a refresh. But there you go. You get what you pay for.

A short stroll down La Rambla brought me to La Boqueria Market – a true slice of heaven. With 200 stalls overflowing with Catalan delicacies, any dinner plans were instantly solved. I grazed on Iberico and serrano ham, stuffed olives, Catalan sausages, empanadas, grilled squid, and more cheese than I care to admit, all washed down with an Estrella or two. And a bag full of goodies to take home.

La Rambla itself is a 1.2-kilometre tree-lined promenade, famously described by Federico García Lorca as “the only street in the world which I wish would never end”. Hmm, perhaps. It’s lively and fascinating, but I didn’t mind reaching the Christopher Columbus Monument at Port Vell and turning back.

According to barcelona-tourist-guide.com “Las Ramblas can be roughly divided into seedy and non-seedy areas. This distinction becomes a lot clearer during the night time when the Southern most end of the Ramblas becomes something of a red light district and is frequented by night women (prostitutes).” Maybe it’s the translation but I was tickled by the term night women.

The real charm lies in the side streets: the Gothic Quarter and El Raval, with their narrow, winding lanes, hidden squares, and countless tapas bars. Some areas felt a bit rough around the edges, but I wandered without incident.

Barcelona’s reputation for petty crime is well-known, and several people warned me to keep a close eye on my belongings. It took a while to stop suspecting everyone of being a criminal. The city also struggles with over-tourism – recent reports mentioned locals squirting tourists with water pistols in protest. It’s a delicate balance: tourism brings prosperity, but at what cost?

Plaça Reial is a gorgeous square, ringed by neoclassical buildings and shaded by towering palms – a quintessentially Spanish scene with Mediterranean flair. Placa George Orwell is not quite as ornate. It’s a rather shabby, down-at-heel square, and quite unremarkable, all of which would doubtless appeal to the great egalitarian that he was. I assume it was his (albeit rather limited) contribution to the Spanish Civil War and the penning of Homage To Catalonia that earned him the honour.

Barcelona is synonymous with Gaudí, but his flamboyant, whimsical style isn’t for everyone. And one of those everyones is me. I can appreciate the artistry, but I prefer the elegance of Barcelona Cathedral (Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia). In the evening sun, its Catalan Gothic architecture is simply stunning – a classical counterpoint to Gaudí’s exuberance. I’ll take the classical style over your gaudy Gaudi any day.

In the evening, I sampled a few beers in a grungy wee bar with an excellent selection of punk tunes, then moved on to another spot where a local guitarist strummed Spanish tunes. In hindsight, I should have stayed for more Peter & The Test Tube Babies and Flogging Molly.

The next morning there was just time for a little more Gaudi on the grand thoroughfare of Passeig de Gracia. Whether I’m a fan or not it would be churlish not to at least have a look. The “Block of Discord” showcases three architectural gems: Casa Lleó i Morera by Domènech i Montaner, Casa Amatller by Puig i Cadafalch, and Gaudí’s Casa Batlló. The latter is a residential and commercial building and considered one of the city’s architectural highlights – if balconies resembling gaping shark jaws is a highlight. (Apparently it is now owned by the Bernat family, the founders of Chupa Chups. Sweet.)

And just a few yards up the same street is another Gaudi marvel, Casa Mila. Gaudi designed it for the Milà family between 1906 and 1912. To my untrained eye, its undulating stone facade is reminiscent of the Flintstones with a dash of H.R. Giger’s Aliens thrown in for good measure. With more time, it might have been interesting to go inside one or the other, but with only 24 hours in Barcelona, time was not on my side.

And that was that. I picked up my bags, and grabbed a bus from Plaça de Catalunya to the airport.

I managed to achieve quite a lot in 24 hours – not least walking 26,000 steps on Friday alone – but it really is not sufficient time to do the city justice. I guess I’ll just have to return another time.