October 2022 · 7 days · Age 21

There are some trips you remember for the places you visited, and others you remember for the person you were when you went.

Barcelona will always be the latter for me.

The beginning of something

In October 2022, at 21 years old, I took my first solo trip. It was also the first time I had ever been on a plane, unless you count that one flight I apparently took when I was four and obviously have absolutely no memory of.

I was in university, trying to balance classes, assignments, and the general chaos of figuring out what I wanted my life to look like. But I had this growing feeling that I wanted to see more of the world. Not someday, when I had more money or more time or someone to go with. I wanted to go then.

So, naturally, I booked a flight to Barcelona.

There was one small issue: a midterm.

When I first found out the dates of my trip, I realized it would conflict with an exam. In a moment of questionable academic decision-making, I told my professor that my brother was getting married and that I wouldn’t be able to write it on the scheduled date. Somehow, the professor ended up moving the exam to an entirely different day anyway, so things worked out in my favour. I still laugh about how that all unfolded.

I planned the trip right before reading week so I could have a little extra time away and still make it back in time to catch up on studying. Very responsible of me, all things considered.

I was also convinced that a personal item on a flight had to be a tiny little bag, so I showed up with a tote bag containing my laptop. This was, as I would soon discover, a terrible decision. But you live and you learn.

The morning of my flight, my mom dropped me off at the airport. I remember how worried she was, and how excited I was, but also how guilty and sad I felt that I couldn’t take her with me. I wanted to experience this for myself, but I also wanted to share it with her. Those feelings somehow existed together.

And then the plane took off.

I remember feeling so overwhelmed. There was so much joy, a little sadness, and this strange feeling that something in my life had just shifted. It sounds dramatic now, but at the time, it felt like such a huge milestone. I was finally doing one of those things I had always thought people only dreamed about.

For the first time, I was going to be in another country, navigating a completely unfamiliar place, and I was going to do it all by myself.

I have travelled to many places since then, but this trip will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the beginning of something. Not just travelling, but realizing that I could actually do the things I wanted to do, even if I was scared, even if I didn’t have everything figured out, and even if I showed up with a tote bag full of unnecessary weight.

And so, Barcelona.

Day 1: Getting lost, on purpose (sort of)

I had just landed. I was hungry, I desperately needed a shower, and I needed a SIM card.

Looking back, I could have saved myself so much time by buying an eSIM before leaving. But then again, finding a SIM card became an adventure of its own.

I wanted a good deal. And by a good deal, I mean I was willing to walk an unreasonable distance to save a few euros.

So I walked. And walked. And walked some more.

In the process, I accidentally explored parts of Barcelona that I had originally planned to visit on completely different days. I wandered through the Gothic Quarter, with its narrow medieval streets, historic buildings, and traces of the city’s Roman past. I made my way along La Ramblas, the famous tree-lined boulevard that runs through the heart of the city towards the waterfront. I passed beautiful buildings, including Casa Batlló, and stumbled across streets and little corners that I probably wouldn’t have found if I had stuck to a strict itinerary.

I think I averaged around 16–17 kilometres of walking a day on this trip. Oops.

There’s something quite nice about having absolutely no idea where you’re going. At home, I’m usually trying to get somewhere, trying to be on time, or trying to make the most of my day. But there, walking became the activity itself. I didn’t always need to know what was around the next corner. Sometimes I just needed to get there.

By the end of the day, I had explored more of Barcelona than I expected, and I had learned my first lesson of solo travel: sometimes the things that don’t go according to plan end up being the best parts.

Also, an important lesson for future me: just buy the eSIM.

Day 2: Gaudí, a €1 adapter, and the kindness of strangers

I woke up and discovered that I had forgotten something rather important.

A European charger adapter.

My phone was going to die, and I had no way to charge it. Thankfully, a girl staying at my hostel was kind enough to lend me hers for the day. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

She also asked if she could join me for the day’s activities.

For some reason, even though I was staying in a hostel, I had gone into this trip expecting to spend most of it alone. I imagined myself walking around, seeing the sights, eating by myself, and figuring everything out independently.

But that wasn’t quite how things unfolded.

She was from the States, had South American roots, and spoke fluent Spanish, which was especially helpful as we made our way around the city. We decided to spend the day together, starting with the Basílica de la Sagrada Família.

And wow.

I had seen pictures of the Sagrada Família before, of course, but nothing could have prepared me for what it felt like to actually be inside. The light pouring through the stained glass, the towering columns, the colours, the sheer scale of everything. It felt almost magical. I remember looking around and thinking that I had never seen anything quite like it.

From there, we made our way towards Park Güell, another of Antoni Gaudí’s incredible creations. The park felt like something out of a fairytale, with colourful mosaics, winding paths, beautiful gardens, and views overlooking the city. There were parrots singing from the trees, and everywhere we turned, there was something new to look at.

And then there was the famous lizard statue.

Apparently, rubbing its head is supposed to bring you good luck. Naturally, we both had to give it a rub.

In fact, so many of the souvenirs I brought home revolved around that little lizard. I bought keychains for my friends and family, hoping to pass a little Barcelona luck along to everyone back home.

We stopped for lunch at a small restaurant, had some tinto de verano, and spent the afternoon chatting, wandering, and enjoying the day. It was one of those lovely, uncomplicated afternoons where you’re with someone you’ve only just met, but the conversation flows so easily that it feels like you’ve known them much longer.

She eventually headed off, and I went back to my original mission: finding a charger adapter.

After an hour or two of walking into various bazars — essentially the dollar stores of Spain — and attempting to practise my very questionable Spanish, I finally found one.

For €1.

One euro!

I was ridiculously pleased with myself. It was genuinely one of the biggest wins of the trip.

After a little rest at the hostel, I met up with the girl again for dinner, and we headed to a bar to watch a Real Madrid versus Barcelona football match. The atmosphere was wild. I quickly realized that this rivalry was about much more than football. There was a real cultural and regional pride behind it, and everyone seemed to have very strong feelings about which side they were on.

We met a few exchange students who recommended a club for us to check out.

A club I wasn’t particularly planning on going to.

A club that, as it turned out, would become a very memorable part of my trip the following night.

Day 3: Tapas, new friends, and a night I didn’t plan on having

We started the day at Mercat de la Boqueria, the famous food market just off La Rambla.

I love visiting markets when I travel. There’s something about seeing all the fresh produce, colourful displays, local ingredients, and little food stalls that makes a place feel so alive. We tried some great food, had fresh fruit and drinks, and spent the morning taking everything in.

The rest of the day was pretty relaxed. More walking, more exploring, and, of course, ice cream.

Eventually, I returned to the hostel to rest and started chatting with some of the other people in my dorm. They were figuring out what to do that evening, and we got talking about going out.

I mentioned Razzmatazz, the club the exchange students had recommended the night before.

I wasn’t actually planning on going myself.

But one of the guys in the dorm was very insistent that I had to come along. And somehow, I was convinced.

I’m so glad I went.

Razzmatazz was enormous, with different rooms playing different kinds of music, and the entire place felt like its own little world. I met some lovely girls, danced, laughed, and even tried a cigarette for the first time.

I absolutely hated it, for the record.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that I was 21, in Barcelona, surrounded by people I had met only hours earlier, making memories in a place I had never imagined myself being.

I hadn’t planned any of this. I hadn’t known who I would meet, where I would end up, or how the night would unfold. I had just shown up.

And that was becoming a bit of a theme.

I went to Barcelona thinking I would have to figure everything out by myself. Instead, I kept finding myself surrounded by people who made the experience feel shared.

It was a good reminder that travelling alone doesn’t necessarily mean being lonely. Sometimes it just means you have the freedom to say yes to things you might otherwise have missed.

Day 4: Montserrat and the kindness I’ll never forget

The next morning, I was exhausted, but thankfully not hungover. I hadn’t drunk much the night before, which was probably one of the better decisions I’d made that week.

I picked up some yoghurt and snacks from a grocery store and set off for Montserrat.

Getting there involved a subway ride, a train, and then a funicular up the mountain. It was a bit of a journey, but the moment I started taking in the landscape, I knew it had been worth it.

Montserrat was, without a doubt, one of the most breathtaking parts of my trip.

I don’t know what it is about mountains, but they always make my jaw drop. They make me feel both incredibly small and incredibly grateful to be alive. Maybe it’s the reminder that the world is so much bigger than whatever happens to be occupying my mind at that moment. Whatever problems I had brought with me seemed to shrink a little in the presence of something so vast and beautiful.

I spent the day exploring the monastery, walking along the mountain paths, admiring the views, and taking approximately a million pictures.

On the funicular ride up, I had met a couple of lovely older women who were surprised and impressed that I was travelling by myself. They were so sweet that they even offered me their phone numbers in case I ever felt unsafe or needed someone to call.

I thought that was such a lovely gesture. Here were two complete strangers, looking out for a young woman they had only just met, simply because they wanted her to be safe.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was only the beginning of a day full of reminders that people can be so kind.

After taking what felt like every possible photograph of the landscape, my phone finally died.

No problem, I thought. I had brought a portable charger.

Except, of course, my portable charger wasn’t working properly.

So there I was, in the mountains, with a dead phone and no way of looking up directions. Thankfully, I had paid enough attention on the way there to remember which trains and subway stops I needed to take to get back to my hostel.

I was feeling pretty confident about this until I accidentally got off at the wrong stop.

I had somehow managed to end up in a town that wasn’t near the train station I needed, and to make matters worse, it was the last funicular down.

At this point, I should probably have panicked. Instead, I found two women at the station and went over to ask for help.

As it turned out, they had made the exact same mistake.

And so, the three of us stood there, strangers with no working plan, trying to figure out how on earth we were going to get back.

We asked some locals for directions, and they pointed us towards a train station that was within walking distance. What followed was an unexpected walk through one of the most beautiful little towns, with the mountains surrounding us.

Honestly, I couldn’t have planned it better.

The two women stuck with me until we reached the subway and even made sure I got onto the correct line before we parted ways.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget them.

I think about that day sometimes because it taught me something I have carried into every trip since: you can do your best to plan ahead, but things will still go wrong. Your phone will die, you’ll take the wrong train, you’ll end up somewhere you didn’t mean to be.

And sometimes, the best thing you can do is ask for help.

More often than you might expect, someone will be willing to give it.

Day 5: The best tapas and a question I’ll always remember

After the adventure that was Montserrat, I spent the next day exploring some museums and visiting the Olympic Stadium.

Later, I met up for lunch with a girl I had met at the hostel before our night out at Razzmatazz. She took me to a little tapas spot called La Tasca del Blai.

I swear, this was one of the best meals I had in Barcelona.

Now, I was travelling on a student budget, so I’m sure there were plenty of incredible restaurants at higher price points that I can’t speak to. But for what I paid, this place was fantastic. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was great, and it was the kind of meal that makes you want to return to a city just to eat it again.

I still think about it to this day.

That evening, a few of us from the hostel picked up some cheap tinto de verano and snacks from the supermercado and made our way up to Bunkers del Carmel to watch the sunset.

If you ever find yourself in Barcelona, this is a place I’d highly recommend making time for. The viewpoint looks out over the city’s rooftops, the Sagrada Família, and the Mediterranean Sea. As the sun started to set, the city seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction.

We sat together, watched the sky change colours, and talked about all sorts of things.

At some point, one of the guys asked me a question that has stayed with me ever since:

What’s something that isn’t normalized that you wish was?

I said hugs.

Which is funny, considering that only a year earlier, I used to hate hugs. But something about that moment made me realize how nice it is to be able to hug someone goodbye, even if you’ve only known them for a few days.

There’s something comforting about that small gesture. It says, I’m glad I met you. I’m glad our paths crossed. Take care.

The guy answered that he wished chatting with strangers were more normalized.

And I couldn’t agree more.

Think about how often we’re surrounded by people and yet remain completely disconnected from them. We stand in elevators, sit on buses, wait in grocery store lines, and walk past hundreds of people every day without saying a word.

Of course, there are times when people want to be left alone, and that’s perfectly okay. But I sometimes wonder how many lovely conversations, friendships, and little moments of connection we miss because we’ve become so accustomed to keeping to ourselves.

I think we’re all looking for connection in one way or another. Sometimes we just need someone to take the first step.

That evening, sitting on a hill overlooking a city I’d only arrived in a few days earlier, surrounded by people who had been strangers not long ago, I felt so grateful.

We had all come from different places, had different lives, and were going to go our separate ways in a matter of days. But for that little stretch of time, our paths had crossed.

And that felt pretty special.

Day 6: A beach day, coffee, and finding my own rhythm

Finally, a beach day.

Some of the people from the hostel and I headed down to the beach, and the water was SO warm. After days of walking around the city, it was nice to slow down a little, sit by the water, and enjoy having nowhere particularly urgent to be.

That morning, I had also tried café con leche.

Literally, coffee with milk. Nothing particularly revolutionary about the name, but somehow, it tasted so much better than I expected. I don’t know what they do differently in Spain, but I was sold.

I spent some time walking around the neighbourhoods, journaling, and taking in the city at my own pace before meeting up with everyone at the beach.

At one point, I even randomly spotted JYP watching a dance mob, which was so unexpected that I had to do a double take.

Barcelona really did keep finding ways to surprise me.

For dinner, we returned to La Tasca del Blai.

Yes, again.

I don’t regret it one bit.

By this point in the trip, I was beginning to settle into a rhythm. I was getting more comfortable navigating the city, finding my way around, and making plans as I went. I no longer felt like I needed to fill every moment with something new or make sure I had seen every major attraction.

I could just exist there for a while.

Walk around. Get a coffee. Sit somewhere and write. Meet up with people. Eat something delicious. Go to the beach.

It was a lovely feeling, and one I think I was looking for without even realizing it.

Day 7: One last morning in Barcelona

On my final morning, I went for a run up to Bunkers del Carmel.

I love running in a new place. There’s something about seeing a city wake up that makes you feel like you’re getting a glimpse of a side of it that most visitors miss.

It was around 6 a.m., and I watched shopkeepers begin opening their doors, people getting ready for work, and children heading off to school. The streets were slowly coming to life after the weekend.

For the first time, I wasn’t just looking at Barcelona as a tourist. I was watching people go about their everyday lives.

And I loved that.

It’s something I’ve come to appreciate more and more when I travel. I love the famous landmarks and the beautiful views, but I also love the ordinary things. The neighbourhoods just outside the city centre. The little cafés people stop at on their way to work. The grocery stores, the bakeries, the shops that aren’t necessarily on anyone’s itinerary.

I like seeing what a place looks like when it’s simply being itself.

Later that day, I went looking for a cheap backpack in a local neighbourhood. My tote bag situation had finally caught up with me, and I needed something a little more practical.

I attempted to bargain, or at least what I considered bargaining with my limited confidence and even more limited Spanish.

Eventually, I found a backpack for €10. I thought I’d scored an incredible deal.

Until the strap ripped at the airport.

But honestly, what would this trip have been without a little bit of chaos?

Before leaving, I also stopped at a supermercado to pick up treats for my friends and family back home.

This is one of my favourite things to do when I travel. I could spend ages wandering through grocery stores in another country, looking at the snacks, fruit, drinks, and ingredients that are different from what I’m used to at home.

Food tells you so much about a place. You get to discover new things, recognize familiar ones, and notice all the little differences that make a country unique.

I will never skip a grocery store when travelling. Ever.

And just like that, it was time to leave.

Seven days, countless kilometres walked, new friendships made, beautiful places explored, and more memories than I could have imagined when I first booked that flight.

I had originally planned to use my long layover in Dublin to explore the city for a few hours. But with my backpack strap already falling apart, I decided it was probably wiser to stay put rather than risk having my bag give up on me entirely.

So I stayed at the airport, a little disappointed, but happy to have all my souvenirs safely packed away for the people I loved.

And then I was home.

My first solo trip. My first real time outside the country. My first time navigating a new place entirely on my own.

Over.

But not really.

Because I came home with so much more than souvenirs and photographs. I came home with stories, new friendships, a little more confidence, and the realization that the world wasn’t quite as intimidating as I had imagined.

I had learned that I could figure things out as I went. That I could ask strangers for help. That people could be kind in ways I didn’t expect. That plans could fall apart and the day could still turn out beautifully.

Most importantly, I learned that doing something alone didn’t mean I had to experience it alone.

I went to Barcelona thinking the biggest part of the trip would be seeing a new country. And while the city was beautiful, what I remember most are the people: the girl who lent me her adapter, the two women who helped me find my way back from Montserrat, the people I watched the sunset with, and all the strangers who made an unfamiliar place feel a little more like home.

I was 21, and I think I was just beginning to understand how big the world really was, and how much of it I wanted to see.

I’ve been on many trips since then, but Barcelona will always be different.

It was the first time I took a chance on myself. The first time I realized that some of the things I dreamed about doing weren’t just distant possibilities. They were things I could actually go out and do.

Even if I didn’t have the right charger.

Even if I got on the wrong train.

Even if my €10 backpack ripped at the airport.

Especially then, maybe.

Because if there’s one thing Barcelona taught me, it’s that life doesn’t always need to go according to plan to turn into something beautiful.

And sometimes, all you really need to do is book the flight.

Hasta luego, Barcelona. ❤️