Wednesday, September 2, 2026
We’re in Barcelona, baby!
So, after leaving home at 7am yesterday our time, and travelling for goodness knows how many hours, we’ve finally made it to Barcelona.
Grant was awake at 3.30 am yesterday morning, so I was too. That means, other than a few twenty minute dozes, I’ve now been awake for (uses fingers to count) almost 48 hours. Ouch. No wonder I’m knackered. Sarah is much the same. Grant, however, slept on both flights.
It’s his superpower.
We hate him for it.
He was even asleep before we took off from Singapore last night – or was that this morning? – and missed the aborted take-off, so couldn’t understand why we were late to land in Barcelona.
Whatever.
Speaking of landing in Barcelona, it took us almost four hours to get out of immigration.
Even though our Australian passports permitted us to use the fast-track self-serve biometric EU kiosks, Barcelona airport had chosen (on that day – apparently it’s different on other days) to enforce all passengers arriving on flights that had originated in Asia or the Middle East to be manually processed. Even if they’d previously completed the EU biometrics. And there were just two counters open.
So we queued while everyone arriving from the US and Europe were able to sail through. And to think we didn’t fly Qantas and come via Heathrow because it would have added a couple of hours to our travel time. Right now, it would have saved that amount of time.
Eventually, they allowed Australian passport holders through to the self-service lane, but while Sarah and Grant were waved through, I was returned to the manual queue – beside some American women who were loudly complaining that they’d just flown for eight hours and had now been queuing for a whole thirty minutes. Somehow I resisted the temptation to tell them we’d been in the air for twenty-four hours and queuing for over three. But only just.
My back was aching from all the standing so Grant had taken my handbag from me at some point in the process, so there was I on the wrong side of immigration with a dying phone and a passport, while he and Sarah – along with my handbag and power pack – were on the other side.
All my anxieties kicked in and I could feel myself beginning to spiral. Sarah must have known and texted to say she had eyes on me. And she did. The whole time.
Eventually, though, I was through, by which stage the transfer we’d paid for had long gone and our bags had been removed from the carousel and taken to goodness knows where.
I ended up finding them by following the airtags.
Another queue for taxis and we were finally away from the airport almost five hours after landing.
What a nightmare.
On the bright side, this meant that one of our rooms was ready so we could at least dump our bags and freshen up. For Grant, this meant a shower, for Sarah and me, it was a dunk in the pool.
By now it was close to 1pm and as none of us had eaten much of the airline breakfast, we were all hungry. Luckily, just a few doors up from our hotel is Mendizabal, the most Spanish looking tapas bar you could imagine.
We sit outside in the Plaça del Canonge Colom and order beers (Pinta Damm €6 each), while we contemplate the Spanish menu …
… finally deciding on potatoes bravas (€7), tomato bread (€4), Andalucian calamari (€11) and pork belly bits (€8.50).
Fanflippingtastic.
And not just because we’re hungry.
Sarah, who has never been as much of a tomato fan as I am, now gets my love of tomato bread. Interestingly, both her and my Instagram feeds are now food of Spanish grating plates and things to make in them. Hey ho. I’ll now be using the one I have at home for more than garlic and ginger.
Anticipating the heat, our levels of exhaustion, and a need to stay upright and awake until at least 8 pm tonight, I’d booked a two-day pass on the hop-on-hop-off sightseeing bus. Although we’d now lost a half day, we walked up Las Rambla to catch it, calling in at a church on the way. There’s something about European churches that instantly bring my blood pressure down. Plus, they’re beautiful.
While we remained on the bus for the entirety of the route – and got our first glimpse of what Sarah is calling the Sangria building, but everyone else knows as Sagrada Familia.
We’re all fading fast – a mix of exhaustion, heat and dehydration – so stop at Carrefours on the way back to stock up on sparkling water.
Dinner tonight is back at Mendizabal – partly because we don’t have the energy to walk any further and partly because we enjoyed it so much earlier.
We share:
- A burrata salad. The tomatoes, oh, the tomatoes. Also, the burrata is creamier than it is at home, but not as liquidy… if that makes sense. And every single leaf on the salad is dressed perfectly. €12
- Escalivada – roasted peppers with anchovies, black olives and aioli au gratin on toast. €10
- Daus de presa Iberica – diced Iberian pork sauteed with truffle sauce and glazed onions. It tasted like French onion soup without the soup and with porky bits. €14
- A bottle of house red €20
To finish, Sarah ordered dark chocolate ice cream with olive oil and sea salt. When the smile spread across her face, we called for more spoons. A revelation. €6
Our hotel, Leonardo Barcelona Las Ramblas, is perfectly situated. A few blocks back from Las Rambla, and two back from Mercat de la Bouqueria – the main food market – we’re in what is known as the Ciutat Vella district, or the old city.
There are four neighbourhoods that make up the Ciutat Vella, and being west of Las Ramblas, we’re in El Raval.
It’s a tad gritty (which I love), is quite multicultural and has some great food options. It also has narrow alleyways which are fine during the day, but we’ll be keeping our eyes open and wits about us at night.
The hotel itself is super-quiet, which is, tonight, more important than anything.
This series of posts are direct transcripts from my travel journals …
