Beginning in the middle is a strange way to start a story of my life, but it makes sense if the middle is the beginning.

I can’t remember precisely when my low-key obsession with traveling to Barcelona started, maybe in high school after four years of Spanish (I took another in college). I've always wanted to visit Spain, and Barcelona felt like a city I could have a hard time leaving. Turns out, it was.

I landed at Josep Tarradellas Barcelona-El Prat in Barcelona at 7:30 a.m. on Wednesday, October 16, 2019, after two overnight flights ($368 RT!). Delirious from travel, I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac more energized than I had been in years.

All packed and ready to go! — Packed and ready to go on an adventure!

In the year and a half before I touched down in Barcelona, I got divorced, deceived, injured, and laid off. While not entirely awful, 2018 had been a pretty shitty year. I was likely suffering from depression, stuck in an unusual-for-me cycle of self-pity and asking, “Why me?” So much in my life had gone off the rails, and I was desperate to regain some sense of normalcy. I’d lost some of my spirit, my light, during those challenging times, and I’d lost my courage. What better way to regain it than to fly solo across the world and wander around Barcelona, Montserrat, and Girona, Spain, for 10 days?

The city was waking up when I arrived at the flat where I was staying, the growing sunlight illuminating my awake dream of being in Barcelona. The narrow labyrinth of streets that defines Barri Gotic (The Gothic District) were consistently marked, and I found it pretty easy to navigate. I showered, changed, and went to find food among the smells of the cafe (coffee) and panderia (bakery), and the sounds of the street washer and carts being pulled across the cobblestone.

My first picture in Spain, turn off of Las Ramblas at the KFC and you’re in *Barrí Gotic!*

Barcelona truly comes alive with its vibrant colors and abundant art, both indoors and outdoors. It provided a wonderful setting for strolling, reflection, and healing. I was able to untangle the mental knots, work through the difficult years behind me, and find a sense of peace, forgiving myself and others along the way.

I was in awe of Gaudí’s otherworldly La Sagrada Família Cathedral, which made me feel as though I was visiting heaven itself. I ate olives at every meal and devoured my own dish of paella. I lingered in La Boqueria (public market with bars), savoring remnants of jamón ibérico (IYKYK) on my tongue and enjoying a pan dulce treat.

La Sagrada Familia at sunset, west-facing windows

I took a day trip by train to Montserrat, nestled high in the hills north of Barcelona, which made the train ride up quite an adventure. Touching the hand of the Black Madonna at the Catedral de Montserrat unexpectedly touched my heart. I dipped churros in chocolate, enjoyed some tasty charcuterie from a paper cone, strolled through the sculpture garden, snapped some photos, and watched people go by — all while feeling incredibly proud of myself. I felt brave and courageous, and I was beginning to feel more myself.

As much as I love Barcelona, I dream of returning to Girona. A 90-minute train ride from Barcelona, Girona has long been a strategic point of interest between Europe and Africa. The Romans originally built the wall surrounding the eastern flank of the city in the 1st century, and most of it still stands. I walked along the entire length and had it all to myself. My eyes feasted on the Gothic, Jewish, and Moorish-influenced architecture. I found the absolute beauty quite fantastical. I had one of my favorite meals ever at the foot of the Basilica de Sant Feliu (Saint Felix) cathedral, in a restaurant that played only Bruce Springsteen.

Girona skyline as seen from 1st century Roman wall

Over the course of the week, I experienced a variety of adventures, both big and small, including a protest on Las Ramblas, freshly sliced jamon iberico, and a Tinder date. I walked an average of 9-10 miles each day, alone with my thoughts, having conversations with myself, and recognizing the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be in life. I lingered at the beach watching hands/head-only volleyball and drank an Aperol Spritz on the boardwalk. I avoided having my backpack stolen (thanks gut brain!) and wandered through Gaudi’s Park Güell for hours, admiring the curves, tiles, archways, and staircases of his masterpiece.

On my last day in Barcelona, I bought a poster in a little shop in the Barri Gòtic after getting my souvenir tattoo. The woman in the store rolled it up and put it in a long, skinny cardboard box, and I carried it out of the store.

The box made packing a challenge, but I did my best. Since I had to check the backpack out of Barcelona, I wasn’t surprised that the box arrived in Spokane smashed and open. Some souvenirs I had stashed inside were also gone. But my poster was rolled up safely. A little squished, a permanent dent in the circle, a folded-up corner, but OK. Kinda like me.

The poster and I are both fine, and it hangs in my living room as a reminder of this trip.

“I am my own muse. I am the subject I know best. The subject I want to better.”
~Frida Kahlo

The full quote captures a vulnerability that isn’t in the first five words. I am the subject I know best, and I am a better version of myself every day.

Becoming My Own Muse

Crow wisdom