24 hours in Barcelona

This is not a guide on how to spend 24 hours in Barcelona. There are plenty of those on the internet written by folk far more qualified than I, several of which I used myself. This is simply what I happened to do with 24 hours in the Catalan capital.

From Valencia, to the Costa Brava, there was just time for one night in Barcelona. Having driven down from Llafranc, and arriving over an hour before the hotel’s check-in time, I figured I’d just 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. 

His magnum opus, the Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, otherwise known as Sagrada Família, is famously still under construction, despite work having begun as long ago as 1882. Gaudi himself died in 1926 – doubtless fed up with the lack of progress – when less than a quarter of the project was complete, and the work has continued ever since. Scheduled for completion in 2026, I wonder if its completion will diminish its allure?

Probably not because it really is a remarkable building. The 18 spires are instantly recognisable – although they now seem to have Christmas decorations on them. And the detail on the facades is quite staggering. There is almost too much going on up there. You’d need to be some kind of religious zealot to make sense of it all. It took me a while just to work out that the building does actually follow the basic basilica shape of a cathedral, and is not merely an elaborate wedding cake in the hands of someone who just can’t stop tweaking. 

The length of the queues at Sagrada Familia have near mythological status. So much so that I never had any intention of going inside. But there didn’t actually appear to be any queues. People were still going in but they were definitely not queueing. I even sought confirmation from a security guard that there were indeed no queues. The Tourist Information office however 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 very sticky.

Hotel Lloret Ramblas was chosen largely on the strength of its location, which cannot be faulted. As its name suggests, it is right on the world famous La Rambla, close to Plaça de Catalunya (and therefore convenient for metro and airport bus) and La Boqueria food market. And despite being on a busy street, it was quiet throughout the night, and the blackout curtains worked a treat. It had a nice wee balcony on which to sit and watch the world go by on La Rambla below. 

But aside from that, it was rather disappointing. There may have been no noise from outside but there was plenty of noise from inside. I could have virtually joined in the conversation with the two ladies in the adjacent room. And when they used their bathroom, I actually had to go and check that they weren’t in mine. The room was small and outdated, and it all felt a bit gloomy. It desperately needed a lick of paint and some modernisation. No fridge and no coffee-making facilities – which I should of course have checked beforehand. But there you go. You get what you pay for.

A short walk down La Rambla from the hotel is La Boqueria Food Market, which is a slice of heaven here on earth. There are 200 stalls brimming with the best of Catalan food. Any worries about where to eat that evening disappeared as I just browsed and nibbled, browsed and nibbled, browsed and nibbled. Iberico ham and serrano ham, stuffed olives, various Catalan sausages, empanadas, grilled squid, cheese and more cheese. All washed down with an Estrella or two. And then a bag full of goodies to take home.

Then continue on to walk the length of the 1.2 kilometre tree-lined pedestrian street of La Rambla. Federico García Lorca described La Rambla as “the only street in the world which I wish would never end”. Hmm, perhaps. It is interesting, busy, lively. But I didn’t mind when I reached the Christopher Columbus Monument at Port Vell, turned around and walked back up again.

It’s when you go off La Rambla that it becomes more interesting. The sidestreets of the Gothic Quarter on one side, and El Raval on the other, are narrow, winding, broken up by frequent squares, and packed with tapas bars and restaurants. Some of the streets are a little, er, earthy, and you wonder whether you really should be wandering around so aimlessly, but no harm came.

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).” So that’s nice.

Barcelona has a bad reputation for crime. Several people warned me to keep an eye on my camera, wallet and phone. It took me a while to stop thinking that everyone in Barcelona is a criminal. It also has a bad reputation for over-crowding and over-tourism. There have been recent reports of locals squirting tourists with water pistols in protest at their presence. You can see their point but how much money does tourism generate for the economy? How much is too much? Like all things in life, a balance needs to be struck.

Placa Reial is a gorgeous square surrounded by 3 to 4-storey 19th-century neoclassical houses, and planted with huge palm trees. It has a typically Spanish feel and a very special 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 probably 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 warrants having a square named after him.

Everything Barcelona is Gaudi-this and Gaudi-that, and while his style is obviously very unique and something the Catalans are rightly proud of, it is not for everyone. And one of those everyones is me. The elaborate, ostentatious and whimsical style is quite simply not my bag. I can appreciate it, but not necessarily like it. Barcelona Cathedral, or the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia, on the other hand, is far more elegant. Apparently in the architectural style of Catalan Gothic, in the early evening sun, it is simply gorgeous. I’ll take the classical style over your gaudy Gaudi any day.

I took a few beverages in a dive bar playing a terrific selection of punk music. But I was keen to see as much as possible. So I traded it for another bar with a local Spanish dude strumming his guitar, before calling it all a day. I should have stayed in the first place for more Peter & The Test Tube Babies and Flogging Molly.

In the 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 so-called ‘Block of Discord’ is a single block that showcases three of Barcelona’s best architects in one: starting with the Casa Lleo i Morera by Luis Domenech i Montaner, then the Casa Amatller by Puig y Cadalfach, and finishing with Casa Batllo, by Antoni Gaudi. 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. The front of the house looks like solid rock, with a bit of wrought-iron metalwork here and there. It looked to me like something out of the Flintstones with a bit of HR Giger’s Alien sculptures 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. Pick up my bags, and grab the 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.