We arrive in Castelldefels at the end of September—just south of Barcelona, with a stretch of sandy beach that seems to go on forever, and our Hotel Bel Air just a few steps from the water. It’s the week when summer in Catalonia takes a brief breather: 28 degrees during the day, and in the evening that dry wind that comes down from the mountains and rustles the palm trees.
We quickly find our rhythm. In the morning, we head to the beach; at noon, we grab tapas at one of the chiringuitos—Garota and Ancla become our regular spots, with plastic chairs in the sand, cold caña, patatas, and grilled fish right in front of us. In the evenings, we sit at Solraig by Tibu-Ron with a view of the sea, and at Yamasato, we treat ourselves to a sushi night for a change from all the paellas.
During the day, we take the train into the city center. The interior of the Sagrada Família blows us away—the columns reaching toward the sky like stone trees, the light streaming through the stained-glass windows in bands of red and blue onto the floor. We stay longer than we planned. We walk down La Rambla to the harbor, letting ourselves drift with the crowds, buying the occasional little something to take home. And at the wax museum, we stumble through dark corridors and laugh at the figures staring at us from the corners.
Back to Castelldefels in the evening. At the Woods Social Club, we have another round of cocktails before heading back to our room. Five nights where we have it all: beach, city, way too much good food—and the feeling that this mix of pace and slowing down is just right.