The trip we’ve been waiting for is finally here—Rick Steves’ Best of Spain in 14 Days! Bob and Barb, along with Kathy and Paul, had just debarked from a repositioning cruise and were already adjusted to the time zone. Kathy and Paul were staying in Barcelona for a few days before heading off to Paris. I had flown in from Paris, so I was feeling good. Poor Tim flew in from Savannah and was still trying to figure out what time zone he was in.
Meanwhile Mom & I left our hotel at a painful 530am, but saw an amazing sunrise together!
It’s time to say goodbye, after a magical mother daughter trip. I get dropped off first at 2F and mom has to go to 2E. It’s officially time for me to switch gears to Spain. These two gates were miles apart.
As I waited for my flight I got to enjoy the Air France lounge!
Now it’s time to board the plane and I upgrade to first class! Same seats just no one in the middle seat.
I arrived at the Barcelona airport and was instantly impressed. I honestly could’ve just stayed there to eat and shop—it was that nice.
Then came the taxi, which went super smooth. Everyone in the WhatsApp thread was saying they had to drag their luggage for blocks to get to the hotel, and I was just not in the mood. I was feeling like the princess who did not want to haul suitcases.
Barb had been coaching me for months on packing light—capsule wardrobe, layering, doing laundry on the go. And I had the added challenge of kicking things off in Paris with my mom, where things were just a little dressier. So yes, I had to make one suitcase work for a fancy mother-daughter trip and a backpack-friendly Rick Steves tour. We were told to expect great hotels right in the heart of each city—but not necessarily accessible by bus. That meant being ready to roll our bags through busy streets, cobblestone alleys, or wherever the tour bus couldn’t go. I was trying to be prepared… but I still wasn’t dragging my luggage unless absolutely necessary.
Barb had warned me—“That’s what you signed up for with a Rick Steves tour”—but in this case, it wasn’t just that. The heart of Barcelona is under massive construction. They’ve had a big infusion of money to finish a ton of projects all at once, so the whole center of the city is torn up. Lucky for me, my taxi driver didn’t care. He drove straight around barricades and dropped me off literally at the hotel door. Total win.
We were staying at Hotel Catalonia Portal de l’Àngel, a beautifully restored 19th-century building right between Plaça de Catalunya and the Gothic Quarter. The moment those glass doors opened, it smelled so fresh and clean. The staff spoke English and couldn’t have been more welcoming—even as I kept accidentally saying “bonjour” and “merci” from my Paris brain. I was so impressed with this hotel.
Tim had just hopped out of the shower when I arrived, and we hit the ground running. We were starving and ready to meet up with the crew for lunch.
Tim had Google Maps open and led us straight to a Tapas Tapas—which sounded familiar from the WhatsApp chat. But it turns out it was just a chain restaurant, and our friends were nowhere nearby. We took a right when we should’ve taken a left. I dropped in Barb’s pin and rerouted us toward Plaça Reial.
We finally spotted them in the square—Bob, Barb, Kathy, and Paul had already grabbed drinks and were scoping out lunch spots.
Plaça Reial was buzzing with energy, surrounded by palm trees and grand arcades. It was built in the mid-1800s to bring some Parisian charm to Barcelona, and the streetlights in the square were actually designed by a young Gaudí.
We found a place that could seat all six of us and dug into our first Spanish meal—tapas, sangria, laughter, and catching up. And then… I dropped guacamole all over my white capri pants. Naturally. I thought they were toast, but as soon as we got back to the hotel, I handed them off to the front desk and crossed my fingers. (Spoiler: they came back spotless.)
The roads in medieval Barcelona are so narrow because they were built long before cars—designed for foot traffic, horses, and carts. Buildings were packed closely for protection, shade, and to fit more people within the city walls. It helped keep things cool and defensible.
Font de Sant Just is one of Barcelona’s oldest fountains. Built in the 14th century and rebuilt in the 1500s, it once served locals with fresh water. The colorful tiles and lion-head spouts were added later, blending medieval function with artistic flair.
After talking to the front desk about my white capris, I ran up to the room to prepare y laundry bag and hand them off to the professionals. Before heading up, I stopped into Druni, a pharmacy next door, hoping to grab a few things. Everything was in Spanish, sorted by brand, and with no internet signal to help translate, I gave up quickly and walked out. I headed back to the room.
Tim has always coached us on how to handle jet lag: power through, stay busy, and absolutely NO NAPS. I never follow this rule—and neither does my mom—but he truly believes it’s the way to go.
So when I opened the door and found him completely passed out on the bed, I had to laugh. I snapped a photo and sent it to the my parents. Day one, and he broke his own rule. Hilarious
We had a few hours to rest before the official kickoff meeting with our Rick Steves group—and things were just getting started.
Happiness is Possible 