Have you noticed that Spain is having a moment of cultural ascendancy? It won the World Cup, giving away just a single goal in the entire tournament. It had the prettiest boat in the tall ship parade up the Hudson River on the Fourth of July. Or is it just that I’ve become completely enchanted by the country?
It started a few summers back in the Balearics, Menorca and then Ibiza, when I was overcome by the feeling that I was from there. Everyone looked like me: tan skin, unabashed wild, dark curls. Everyone liked doing the same things as me: languorously sunbathing topless on the beach, swimming in the sea, throwing on a wrap for dinner at a beach shack at 10 p.m. in the gloaming. Everyone looked effortlessly chic, the way you would look if you knew you’d discovered the secret to the good life long ago, that pleasure takes no effort; it’s just sunscreen, the ocean, friends, a late sunset and sangria. I decided my affinity must have something to do with memories of my Southern California childhood mixed with a mystical connection to my ancient Sephardic roots. Whatever it was, I knew the Balearics were for me.
I had been to Spain before, but that was 15 years ago when I spent a month traveling through the country for the first time. Last fall, I returned to Bilbao and Madrid and fell even harder. Pintxos and art and tapas and vermut, old world gentility, funny old and young men, sherry and jamón Iberico and croquetas, wide avenues and pretty parks and rolling green hills, pretending I was Ernest Hemingway.
So this summer, when my European travels came together, Barcelona was a top priority. I wanted to trance out with Gaudí and see the Sagrada Família again now that it was practically finished and on the 100th anniversary of his death.
Check-in: El Palace
I’m a sucker for a historic European luxury hotel with palace in the name. (I’ve recently stayed at the Electra Palace in Athens and The Palace in Madrid, where the final scene of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises takes place, and loved them both. I also lived in the Roney Palace in South Beach.) El Palace in Barcelona opened in 1919 as the fourth Ritzever built and the last before visionary hotelier César Ritz’s death. Situated on a graceful corner in Eixample with a Belle Époque façade and red awnings, the rooftop pool and garden, with panoramic views of Barcelona, was a true highlight; the perfect arrival and departure cushion on travel days.
My friend and I were upgraded to a big, white, gilt-laden suite, one of the only to retain its original Roman bath—and boy, were those showers spectacular with beautiful bath products that smelled of honey and orange blossom by The Today Project. The big king bed was comfy and the hotel was the perfect perch to explore Barcelona. Full review coming… eventually, y’all.
To Do
Sagrada Família
The Sagrada Família is one of man’s most incredible creations. Conceived by Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí, it’s the tallest cathedral in the world, hovering over the Barcelona skyline like a spacecraft at 566-feet tall, and it’s been a work-in-progress for over 140 years. The experience of being inside is awesome. I found myself overcome with emotion over man’s ingenuity and capacity for beauty. Unlike the dark, sometimes suffocating, Gothic cathedrals of Europe, the Sagrada Família is bright and light, awash in pastels and raw concrete. Forms are inspired by nature and sometimes feel extraterrestrial. As a Jewish person, it feels nondenominational, humanist and welcoming to all, which is by design. Along with Notre-Dame in Paris, it’s my favorite cathedral in the world; utterly remarkable.
Tip: Book your tix well in advance (like, two months out). I almost got aced out, but managed to secure tix from a secondary vendor, Get Your Guide.
To go full Gaudí, you should also visit Park Guell (at top) and Casa Batlló.
Museu Picasso
Born in Málaga, Picasso spent his formative years in Barcelona, studying at the Llotja School of Fine Arts, before moving to Paris in 1904 at age 23. After winding through the Museu Picasso’s temporary exhibit, exploring the artist’s ceramics in dialogue with ancient Cyprus (through Sept. 27), and then the permanent collection, a survey spanning his entire career and one of the largest holdings of his early works, it became abundantly clear that Picasso is GOAT and I would have gladly been seduced by him.
Bogatelle Beach
One of my favorite things about Barcelona is that it’s a city on the beach. We spent a late afternoon into evening at Bogatelle Beach on the advice of a local friend, enjoying a late lunch of paella and sangria at Xiringuito Escribá. The beach, itself, was magnificent: crystal clear, cool water, with sexy people, and men selling beer on the sand. Afterwards, we cruised the marina along the Port Olympic, had gelato and talked to a sailor about the full moon.
Passeig de Gràcia
Passeig de Gràcia is the Eixample’s elegant shopping boulevard, where popping into the Spanish fashion house, Casa Loewe, amongst other luxury flagships, is de rigueur. I was so tempted to buy the Cala mini bag (and, Christ, I probably just should have; doing the math now, I would have saved ~ $500), but I thought better of it.
Instead, I bought an inexpensive, but chic raffia tote from the very sweet shop owner and designer at Soul Lady in El Born.
Food & Drink
Bar Mut
The NYT recommended Bar Mut for post-Park Guell sustenance, although, on the edge of Eixample, it’s not exactly nearby and best reached by cab in about 15 minutes. We arrived 10 minutes before the kitchen closed, but the hostess graciously offered to feed us (a kindness the people of Marseilles refused me for an entire day). We had the lovely, eclectic little dining room practically to ourselves. Every bite was a symphony, from spinach and pine nut croquetas to steak tartare tarts, a gooey Spanish tortilla laced with hake, octopus wontons, and hangar steak, but what I can’t stop thinking about is the outrageously sharp and creamy Spanish cheesecake with a lightly torched exterior, and how nice everyone was.
Bar Cañete
Bar Cañete, for modern tapas just off La Rambla, was the most consistently recommended, and it did not disappoint. We feasted on croquetas, fried aubergine chips, fried anchovy pa amb tomàquet, a heavenly poularde cannelloni in duck foie bechamel and more.
At one point, I responded to the host with a “Sí, señor,” and he replied, stricken: “Don’t call me sir.”
I said, “But what should I call you?”
He said, “Babe.”
No problemo, babe.
Batea
Our newly expatriated Barcelona friend brought us to Batea, a hip little spot in Eixample specializing in seafood and cocktails. It was my favorite Spanish omelet of the trip and everything else was delicious, too.
Villa Bakery
One of my favorite memories of my first time in Barcelona was enjoying a late breakfast of croissants and cafe con leche at sidewalk cafes. Directly across the street from El Palace, Villa Bakery became our go-to on this trip for adorable jamón sandwiches, chocolate croissants and the foamiest cappuccinos, all served by the most gracious señora.
How I’m Coping Now That I’m Back in America
- I went straight to Zabar’s where I bought Spanish olives, Manchego cheese, imported salchichon and chorizo Ibérico bellota, Torres truffle potato chips and Vichy Catalan water.
- Dinner at the window at Cervo’s on Canal Street, where a series of existential questions crossed my mind, including, you call these croquetas?
- Pumping iron at Equinox.
- Wearing my friendship scarf that I bought at Souleiado in Paris so people know I don’t really belong here.
- Finishing Hemingway’s For Whom The Bell Tolls, his masterpiece set during the Spanish Civil War that I’ve been slowly rereading.
- Planning my next escape in less than a week.
