Archives

Sundays are sacred to me. Not because of religion, tradition, or some deeply philosophical reason — but because I’ve turned them into a soft cocoon of solitude. My Solo Sundays are the one day a week I don’t answer to anyone. I don’t dress up. I don’t make plans. I don’t even check my phone …

Barcelona has many hearts — but mine beats loudest at night, under the open sky, with music in my bones and strangers becoming dance partners. If the Gothic Quarter is my sanctuary by day, Plaça Reial is my playground by night. Tucked just off La Rambla, this square feels like a movie set — palm …

There are few things in this world that make me feel as alive as watching the sun melt into the Barcelona skyline. It’s not just the colors — though they are spectacular. It’s the way time seems to pause. The way the city exhales. The way people — strangers — stop and look up together, …

Weekends in Barcelona move at their own rhythm. Slower. Lighter. Almost like the city exhales after a long week, letting its shoulders drop and its heart open up. For me, weekends are about indulgence — not in the material sense, but in the soulful one. I don’t follow a strict plan, but I do follow …

There’s something magical about waking up in the heart of the Gothic Quarter. The sun slips in through my balcony shutters, painting golden stripes on the old tiled floor. The city hasn’t quite woken up yet — just the distant rumble of a delivery truck and the soft sweep of a street cleaner brushing last …