Running Into Barcelona

Daily miles: 34.16 | Total miles: 14,196.63

I got up a bit late, had a cold coffee, got ready, and stepped outside into the cool morning air. I felt ready for a good day—running into Barcelona. Thinking about that stirred up different feelings. On one side, joy and excitement. On the other, a sense of overwhelm and heaviness. Oh well—just get into a rhythm and enjoy being out here. Having the chance to run into Barcelona… that’s incredible.

Soon I found myself in the middle of morning traffic. By now, I feel incredibly confident navigating and maneuvering within this system of organized movement on the road. Of course, there are still moments that require extra attention, moments that throw me off, moments that are new—but mostly, I move with agility and confidence. And when the weather is good, it actually feels wonderful.

There are still so many cyclists, ever since Italy. Some ride alone, others in groups. Some seem annoyed by me, but many greet me, cheer me on, make supportive gestures, call out my name. It’s nice to share this endurance effort with others.

The sun soon started to warm things up. I stopped to hydrate, put my hat on, and kept going. Around mile 11, I passed through a town and stopped at a grocery store for more water. On the way, I asked for directions—what would be the best way for me and the buggy to get into Barcelona.

I met Joan, who works for the post. We had a short, lively conversation. He likes punk music and even knows some German. He pointed me in the right direction. I continued with a smile, enjoying the spirit of the day.

A bit later, I passed a café where cyclists were sitting—some with beer, some with coffee. I thought, why not ask them as well? They will know exactly. So I stopped and started a conversation. Oscar and his friends did indeed know the best route. They offered me a coffee, but I had to keep moving. There was still distance to cover, and I never quite know what the day will bring.

The road was great—windy and relatively narrow—but full of cyclists, which meant cars and trucks were already used to slowing down and passing carefully. A beautiful spring atmosphere surrounded me. Bright red poppies scattered across fields of green, yellow flowers, pink and white blossoms on trees, fresh green leaves, all under a deep blue sky.

The sun was strong now. Sweat ran down my face, and every now and then I wiped it away while running. It felt amazing. I made sure to hydrate and take small bites along the way.

About six miles before entering the city, I came down a hill and passed a long stretch of makeshift housing—shacks, tarps, improvised structures. It looked rough, dirty, and difficult. People were walking along the road, likely without other means of transport. The sight, the smell, the feeling—it put me into a quiet, thoughtful mood. Once again, I found myself wondering how it can be that some people have so much, and others so little.

I kept running, the sun still strong, my body still moving well. Soon I reached a bicycle path along a river. There was a lot of construction, so it wasn’t the most beautiful stretch, but the running felt good. And the thought kept returning: I’m running into Barcelona.

About six miles before where I thought I would stay, I stopped for a coffee and called ahead to make sure I could get a bed. €23 for a four-bed mixed dorm—perfect. I booked it and continued.

Running through the city felt intense—stop and go at traffic lights, people everywhere, so much movement. Big cities still intimidate me a bit. Maybe because they bring up so many different feelings at once. But at the same time, I loved it.

At one point, I passed a large crowd gathered in front of a building. What is this now? I thought. Antoni Gaudí—another name I felt I should probably know more about. But I kept moving.

Two miles to go. Heat, traffic, energy. Then I arrived.

I rang the bell, the door opened, and the people inside the hostel were warm and welcoming. That always makes such a difference. I had chosen this place somewhat randomly—but it turned out to be a good one.

I checked in with Louisa from Brazil, and later Ahmed from Mauritania cooked dinner for everyone. I had a salad and rice earlier, but at 8pm we all gathered, and Ahmed gave me a big plate of pasta with vegetables and cheese—delicious.

I sat next to a young historian from Turkey and an Englishman who lives in Spain and is flying to Taipei tomorrow. When I went to wash my dishes, someone had already done them for me. Quite the service here.

Now it’s time to wrap up. The younger ones are out partying—a good reminder of earlier times.

It’s amazing. I’m in Barcelona.

Take care and see you tomorrow,

Andrea