Let's meet in Spain
Coming from Iceland into the heat of Spain was like stepping out of a dream and straight into a film. One day, I was in the wilderness, wrapped in silence and midnight sun, and the next, I was on Santa Ana off the Ramblas in Barcelona, where the air pulsed with warmth, with chatter, with life. My backpack didn’t make it to Spain with me, my knees ached from long travel days, but none of it mattered—my heart was full, and my skin was ready to melt into the golden embrace of a Spanish summer. And there was my mama, waving her arms by the hotel’s entrance.
My mum and I met in Barcelona, two worlds colliding after our separate journeys—hers, a retreat in Thailand, mine, a solo adventure through the ice and fire of the north. We wandered through the Gothic Quarter, where the past lingered in the walls, where each narrow street told a different story, where every plaza was a stage for musicians who played as if the city itself was singing with them. Our time in Barcelona was a whirlwind of beach walks, vintage markets, cool glasses of tinto de verano, and the scent of oranges and churros drifting through the air.
To note:
La Sagrada Familia – Gaudí’s masterpiece, still unfinished but breathtaking in its scale and detail.
Park Güell – A surreal garden of mosaics and winding pathways overlooking the city.
Santa Maria del Mar – A stunning Gothic cathedral that holds centuries of Catalan history.
La Boqueria Market – A feast for the senses, overflowing with fresh fruit, Iberian ham, and endless flavors.
Costa Brava — A beautiful slice of coastline that if you have the time to see, definitely do
Park Güell — Make sure to arrive early, the surrounding neighbourhoods are beautiful
Casa Milà & Caso Batlló
But Spain is a country meant to be seen in motion, so we packed our bags (mine, when it finally arrived) and boarded a train to Madrid. The journey unraveled in slow, golden miles—rolling hills, olive groves stretching toward the horizon, small towns built into the earth like they had always been there. The train rocked gently, the hum of quiet conversations around us blending into the steady rhythm of wheels on tracks.
Where Barcelona was bold and rebellious, Madrid was grand and stately, its heart beating through the wide avenues and sprawling gardens. The Catalans and Madrileños, so different, yet both carrying the same pride for their piece of Spain. We spent slow afternoons wandering Retiro Park, its lake dotted with rowboats, and exploring the Prado Museum, where Goya’s dark masterpieces seemed to hold something unspoken in their painted depths.
Plaza de España – The grand square where visitors can rent rowboats and glide through the waters, surrounded by Spanish history.
The Royal Palace – A testament to Spanish royalty, with opulent rooms and sweeping views.
El Rastro Market – One of the oldest flea markets in Europe, where treasures are hidden among the chaos.
The Moorish Influence – Traces of Andalusi architecture can be found throughout Madrid, a reminder of the Islamic rule that once shaped Spain’s design and culture.
Then, another train—this time to Valencia, where the air felt softer, the pace a little slower. Valencia felt like a poem, very romantic. The landscape flickered past in shades of sunburnt earth and coastal blue, the Mediterranean pulling closer with every mile. Marble courtyards and endless fountains awaited us, but also walls splashed with bursts of creative graffiti, art taking over the streets as much as it lived in museums. The city hummed with a different kind of energy, one where the old and new danced together, where paella was more than just a dish but a legacy.
The City of Arts and Sciences – A futuristic architectural wonder, blending nature and innovation.
The Silk Exchange (La Lonja de la Seda) – A UNESCO-listed site showcasing Valencia’s golden age.
Turia Gardens – A lush green space stretching through the city, once a diverted riverbed.
And then, Seville. My favourite! The train ride south was a study in shifting tones—dry fields, the occasional burst of deep green, then the sudden arrival of palm trees and a sky so blue it felt unreal. The air there was thick with heat, the kind that clings to the skin, the kind that slows time itself. 45 degrees, the cobblestone streets shimmering under the weight of the sun, the scent of jasmine thick in the night air. Seville wasn’t just beautiful—it was intoxicating. Flamenco was more than a performance here; it was a language of movement, of heartbreak and fire, of something ancient living in the present.
The Alcázar Gardens – A lush Moorish paradise, where fountains trickle under arched courtyards and history is woven into every tile.
Plaza de España – A grand semicircle of tiled bridges and canals, built for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929.
The Giralda Tower – A former minaret turned bell tower, offering the best views of the city.
One day, we got on a train with no plan but to chase the ocean, ending up in Cádiz on a whim. The kind of day that was so simple—just sun, just sea, just salt on skin—but somehow became one of the most perfect of all. The train ride back was quiet, the kind of silence that comes not from tiredness but from the contentment of a day well spent.
Cádiz, one of the oldest cities in Western Europe, carries the echoes of Phoenician sailors, Moorish rule, and Spanish explorers who set out to conquer the world. Its coastline is rugged and golden, its plazas lined with history, its air thick with the scent of salt and fried fish. The city whispers its past through every cobblestone, through every sun-faded facade.
Our last stop: Málaga. The train carried us along the coast this time, the sea reappearing in flashes between hills, the air shifting once again. A city with its own kind of pulse, where cathedrals stood as quiet giants, where Picasso’s art lived in the walls, where we wandered through the port at sunset, linen dresses fluttering like something out of a dream. The markets there smelled of citrus and sea breeze, and we left with treasures—things small but precious, reminders of a summer lived well. I even got a haircut on a whim, because why not?
Alcazaba and Gibralfaro Castle: Perched on a hill overlooking Málaga, the Alcazaba is a Moorish fortress from the 11th century, showcasing beautiful gardens and historic architecture. Nearby, the Gibralfaro Castle offers panoramic views of the city and the Mediterranean Sea.
Málaga Cathedral: Known as "La Manquita" or "The One-Armed Lady" due to its unfinished second tower, this Renaissance cathedral stands as a testament to the city's rich religious heritage.
Museo Picasso Málaga: Celebrate the legacy of Málaga's most famous son, Pablo Picasso, at this museum housing an extensive collection of his works, offering insight into his artistic evolution.
Roman Theatre: Discovered in 1951, this 1st-century BC Roman theatre sits at the foot of the Alcazaba, offering a glimpse into ancient entertainment venues.
La Concepción Botanical Garden: Escape the city's hustle and immerse yourself in a lush 19th-century garden featuring a diverse collection of tropical and subtropical plants.
For an authentic seafood dining experience, El Tintero is a must-visit. Located in the fishing district of El Palo, this lively beachfront restaurant is renowned for its unique auction-style service, where waiters announce freshly prepared dishes, and diners signal their interest. The atmosphere is vibrant, and the seafood is as fresh as it gets — take our word for it!
Now I’m hungry… I write this from Iceland—back in the north, for a brief moment before returning to Australia for the winter semester. How can I even think of university when I now know all this world is out here? Two adventures, two different worlds, both beautiful, both unforgettable. And the best part? That I’d meet my mum anywhere, anywhere in the world, because it’s always more special with her by my side.
