Grey morning, moving towards the big city

Grey morning, moving towards the big city

olaf
Beach, City, Roadtrip
0 Comments

The sunrise never really showed up. It stayed hidden behind clouds, leaving the morning grey, damp, and slightly unfinished. Not what we had imagined the night before. When the sneezing started, we took it as a hint. We packed up and moved into the car. The angler nearby hadn’t caught anything either, which felt oddly reassuring. Still, the night had been good. Restful. Full of decent energy. In my dream, my beard was gone. Clean-shaven. Disturbing, but fortunately dreams are not binding contracts.

We set off toward Barcelona, first via secondary roads, then the motorway, and finally along the coastal road. One tourist town followed the next, cold, functional, and strangely uninviting despite their proximity to the sea. The Catalan coast can be beautiful, but this stretch felt more like infrastructure than invitation. Housing blocks appeared, then cranes and abstract shapes in the sky, and suddenly the city announced itself.

Chaos followed quickly. Road confusion, missed turns, one-way streets with opinions, scooters everywhere, bikes with momentum, cars with impatience. Stress arrived uninvited but confident. We gave up on clever driving, parked the car, and continued on foot. An immediate improvement.

On foot, Barcelona made more sense. We drifted through narrow streets, past hostels and hotels, recalibrating. After an hour, we felt properly shaken down, city-ready. Somewhere between wrong turns and casual wandering, we found a place to stay for the next few days. Practical relief followed by the quiet satisfaction of having solved something.

We retrieved the car, exiled it to a parking garage, and returned to the hotel for good. It was already early afternoon. The moment when travel shifts into being somewhere. In the evening, we went back out and wandered through the Barri Gòtic. Medieval alleys, heavy stone, dense history, now fused with tourism and noise, but still convincing. A place where getting lost feels encouraged rather than accidental.

Right in front of the hotel was an organic restaurant. We took that as a sign and stayed. Later, we walked further, following the pull of movement, down La Rambla toward the harbor. Everywhere, people. Street vendors, tourists, locals, everyone overlapping. Day and night seemed interchangeable here. In every second street, it smelled like weed. I joined in. It felt oddly appropriate.

At the harbor, we stopped for a freshly tapped beer and watched the flow continue without us for a moment. Eventually, we returned to our room. The balcony was barely big enough for two people, but that was sufficient. Below us, Barcelona kept going. Above us, nothing needed to happen anymore.