Flotando en el Verano Catalán

Barcelona in the summer feels like a fever dream, golden and endless. Mornings are slow, thick with heat, the air already humming with the sound of cicadas. I start most days at Café Gloria, where the fans spin lazily overhead, and the espresso is strong enough to shake off the last remnants of sleep. The city moves at its own rhythm, tourists weaving through the Gothic Quarter while locals linger over cortados, unbothered. The days stretch long and sun-soaked, slipping into that hypnotic, weightless feeling of July, where time is measured in the shade shifting across the streets and the sound of the sea pulling in and out.

When the heat grows unbearable, I take the train north, pressing my forehead against the window as the coastline unspools beside me. Costa Brava always feels like a secret, even when it isn't, but Sant Pol de Mar has that quiet, untamed beauty that makes me exhale deeper. The quiet cobblestone streets and white washed buildings. The church atop the hill, the bells ringing lazily. I walk alongside the tracks, cicadas screaming in the dry, still air, the scent of salt and sun-warmed pine stretching ahead of me. It takes time to reach the more secluded coves, but it’s worth it—crystal-clear water, deep enough to dive into, and the kind of silence that makes you forget about everything else. I tan topless, salt drying on my skin, the sun burning me into something golden, and for a few perfect hours, there is nothing but the sea and the sky.

The train back into the city always feels like waking up from a dream. I sit there, half-dazed, skin still damp, sand clinging to the inside of my bag. Barcelona is alive when I step off at Passeig de Gràcia, the air thick with jasmine and the last heat of the day, the streets glowing under the weight of golden-hour light. The sun won’t set until almost ten, the sky bleeding pink and orange above the rooftops, stretching the evening out like it never wants to end.

This summer is a break from everything, a chance to just float—no schedules, no responsibilities beyond choosing where to go next. I wander aimlessly, sip cava on the balcony, it’s movies on the projector in the evenings or late night gelato dates sitting by the Sagrada down the way.

I have let the heat sink into my bones, knowing that these are the kinds of days that will come back to me in flashes years from now. This city, this season—it’s all sun-drenched and fleeting, and I want to stay in it for as long as I can.