Day 9: Speechless at Sagrada, Spiraling at Güell

Nov 19, 2024

We couldn’t leave Barcelona without one more round of the amazing drinking chocolate we’d discovered earlier in the trip. So before diving into Gaudí’s world, we stopped at a local café for breakfast—croissants paired with mugs of that impossibly thick, rich chocolate. It was just as good the second time, and worth every last sip.

Fueled by sugar and happiness, we headed to Barcelona’s masterpiece-in-progress: Gaudí’s Sagrada Família. With audio headsets in hand, we stepped inside and instantly went quiet—no script, just awe. The light-shower of stained glass in every hue, the cathedral columns branching skyward like living trees, and the sheer scale of it all was breathtaking.

The audio guide deepened the moment, walking us through the symbolic façades—the exuberant Nativity, the austere Passion, and the yet-to-be-completed Glory—each weaving a dramatic biblical narrative. Gaudí designed 18 spires representing apostles, evangelists, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus, with the Jesus Tower set to crown the basilica at 172.5 m. As of mid-2025, that tower already makes the Sagrada the tallest building in Barcelona.

We even took the elevator up the Passion Tower, and the dizzying views of the city unfolding beneath us—Sagrada’s other spires, the Eixample grid, the Mediterranean—were worth the tight spiral staircase descent.

After emerging from Gaudí’s dreamscape, we grabbed lunch in the fresh air—sitting outside on a parkway while locals read newspapers, walked their dogs, and laughed in sunbeams. It felt like we were extras in a Barcelona postcard.

Next, we made our way to Park Güell, where a guided tour was required (and a blessing in disguise). Built between 1900 and 1914 as a luxury housing project that flopped, the park morphed into one of Barcelona’s most whimsical public spaces. Today it stretches across 17 hectares, filled with mosaic lizards, serpentine benches, Doric-style “tree” columns, and winding paths that blend seamlessly into the hillside. From the Hill of the Three Crosses, we got sweeping views across the city, with Sagrada piercing the skyline. 

Leaving the park, we shuffled downhill forever, wondering if the walk down would ever actually end.

From there, we hailed a taxi to the airport to collect our bags. Evan’s Spanish skills came to the rescue—he explained to the driver that we were just running inside to grab luggage and then needed a ride onward to the airport. (Safe to say his high school foreign language experience was much more useful than mine.) Unfortunately, when we got to the airport the lounge was full, so we grabbed sandwiches from a kiosk and powered on.

That evening we flew to Portugal for our overnight layover, arriving close to 11 p.m.—too late to explore. We also made the rookie mistake of assuming Spanish would fly in Lisbon. Spoiler: it did not. When Evan tried to speak Spanish to our driver, it went over about as well as cava on an empty stomach. The man was not amused, and to top it off, he majorly overcharged us for the ride to our hotel.

Not the smoothest travel day, but it made for a memorable one.

Day 8: Cava Redemption and Caganer Repeats

Nov 18, 2024

We took the morning train from Madrid back to Barcelona and checked into our hotel, the Sunotel Junior—a perfectly fine home base for the last leg of the trip.

The afternoon was dedicated to shopping. Naturally, we circled back to the caganer shop (because nothing says “Barcelona souvenir” quite like a tiny figurine of a pooping celebrity), browsed a few jewelry stores for gifts, and stumbled into an incredible stationery and card shop that made me wish I had a reason to send handwritten letters on a weekly basis.

For dinner, we followed a recommendation from one of Evan’s friends and lined up outside El Xampanyet well before it opened—good thing, too, because when the doors swung open it was instantly standing room only at the bar. We were tucked into a cozy corner next to a Canadian therapist with bright blue hair who was traveling solo, and we ended up chatting with her for most of the evening.

We shared spiced olives, octopus, and for Evan, a glass (or two) of cava that redeemed the bubbly letdown from the previous night’s food tour. The food was enjoyable for a lively, packed tapas bar.

After dinner, we made our way to the big outdoor market off La Rambla—only to find it closed. So instead, we wandered to the cathedral and sat outside listening to street performers sing and dance under the glowing lights.

We ended the night at Craft, the Pittsburgh-themed bar we’d visited earlier in the trip, where a folk band was playing. It was the perfect low-key finish to the day.

Day 7: The Day We Almost Ate at the World's Oldest Restaurant

Nov, 17, 2024

We kicked off the day walking from the Akeah Hotel Grand straight into a café that felt more like an art installation than a breakfast spot. Think walls covered in surreal murals, quirky sculptural lamps, and a vibe that blended a science lab, greenhouse, and painter’s studio.

After our trippy breakfast (coffee and snacks that felt calm in the chaos), we made our way to Plaza Mayor, where they’d already begun constructing the Christmas market stalls. While waiting for our walking tour guide, we sipped coffee and soaked in the transformation—it felt like holiday magic in progress.

Our guide arrived—she was originally from California, but had been in Spain eight years, having come for love and stayed for the paella. She led us on a 2.5-hour walking tour packed with local lore. First stop: Restaurante Botín, the world’s oldest continually operating restaurant. Founded in 1725, it boasts a wood‑fired oven that has literally never been extinguished, reportedly burning since it opened.

Then we wove through Mercado de San Miguel, which was so crowded it felt like a culinary mosh pit. Amid the chaos, our guide dropped this gem: the windows on Madrid’s old buildings are uneven because the tax assessor used to walk the alleys, measuring building height by counting windows. Buildings responded by giving themselves fewer symmetrical windows so as not to reveal floor counts. Sneaky.

We passed a convent on Calle del Ángulo (“elbow” street in Spanish) where nuns traditionally hand out cookies—but sadly, none were available that day. Next up: Plaza de la Villa, where each house towers more impressively than the next, and you’ll find the statue of Álvaro de Bazán. Tourists rub his butt for good luck—because why not? 

Rather than just viewing the palace at ground level, we climbed up to a viewpoint and got a sweeping look at the Royal Palace. There, we learned about the dramatic fire that destroyed the original Alcázar on Christmas Eve 1734—reportedly set by King Philip V himself. Legend says he threw a grand party, had all his precious artworks removed, then let the palace burn so he could build a new, grander one. Seriously?!

Post-tour, we sat outside by a public fountain, watching Madrid’s DIY hydration scene unfold—people refilling all sorts of bottles from the fountain spouts. It was oddly mesmerizing and relaxing.

We circled back toward Botín but were put off by how heavy the food looked (massive roasted meats—tempting but too much). We wandered down what used to be Madrid’s old city border street—the one historically nicknamed after… sewage. Public latrines used to line one side, and the waste drained down the other side, giving the street its well-earned “poop name.” Visitors were reportedly relieved it’s now just a tile‑lined pedestrian street.

Still hungry but wary, we passed by two more tempting midday food spots that looked equally heavy, until we finally found a pizza place and we both sighed in relief. It was simple and perfect.

That night we joined a food tour with Sergio. We started at a tiny, standing‑room‑only tapas joint where the garlic shrimp was still sizzling when served—you dipped your bread in it, and it was perfect. There was a couple from New York in our group who seemed impossible to please, and became more annoying each place we went.

We moved on to a cozy meat-and-cheese spot and nearly lost one guest—she kept stopping to take photos of the street tile lettering, insisted on decoding each plaque and then took a wrong turn. Evan heroically sprinted after her. At that stop we had quesa tetilla (“titty cheese,” a soft, mild Spanish cheese shaped like—you guessed it), quesa almogrote (a spread made of aged cheese and peppers from the Canary Islands), and cecina, a smoky cured beef. Evan very much enjoyed the white wine—Juan Gil—two rounds, because I was skipping alcohol. 

Next was an unexpected bite of shark—not the kind you see on animal documentaries—but instead prepared locally.

Our final stop was Las Gallayos, an atmospheric historic spot where we had croquetas stuffed with tender shredded pork cheek cheesecake and cava—I had a sip of the cava and was happy to pass it off to Evan- it was VERY bubbly- but I was happy to keep the croquetas and cheesecake for myself. 

On our way back, we walked through Plaza Mayor and grabbed churros con chocolate from the famous place everyone talks about in Madrid (Chocolatería San Ginés). We sat outside while Evan delighted in the sugary dunking extravaganza.