Archives for posts with tag: Barcelona

A mere glance will do you in. On every corner, there they are. In every cafe and restaurant , at all hours of the day their temptation never ceases. They expose themselves in full view of anyone who dares make eye contact; daily commuters, wandering tourists, weekend lollygaggers. They are shameless, and we are weak. No use fighting it, might as well give in.

Beneath clear glass domes they taunt, with their velvety chocolate frosting or custard filling just begging to be devoured alongside a café con leche.

Whether you’re attempting to crawl back home after an enormous menu del día or are on the hunt for the first meal of the day, they do not care. They pay absolutely no mind to your calorie-counting, low-carb, no-sugar, salad-eating ways.

They are shameless, and we are weak. No use fighting it, might as well give in.

TCP_Brunch and Cake BCN


In the Gràcia neighborhood one mid-week afternoon, we salivated over the selection of cakes and pies at A Casa Portuguesa. Coconut cake with a custard filling pleased, a balanced maracuya meringue pie with reminded me of Hawaii’s Liliko’i pies back home, cheesecake with chocolate and berries comforted.

TCP_Casa Portuguesa BCN


On another occasion, we wandered into the flamingo-print walls, charming mismatched chairs and china bruncherie of Ugot. From what I recall, a quick coffee before returning to the flat to work was the original intent, or in my British companion’s case, a cup of tea.

We sauntered up to the counter, admired the decor and nearly stayed true to our original plan, until our eyes made contact with those orbs of heaven that gazed longingly at us from beneath their glass cake covers. Give in we did, regret we did not.



From the depths of my dreams, the insistent chime of my iPhone alarm signaled that it was way too early to function. A quick look at my messages suggested that it would be easy to deviate from my the mission.

“I don’t know if we’ll make it before then. Should we just go another day?” the proposition tempted.

The plan was to make it to Park Güell before 8 a.m. An insider tip recommended an early call time to beat the crowds and slip into the park free of charge before ticketing opened. With those benefits in mind I cursed the heavy pressure behind my eyes, summoned my willpower and shoved a banana and my water bottle in my tote and stepped out into the quiet streets in San Antoni. This is happening.

I entered the park through a side entrance and meandered around a path while more energetic early birds walked their dogs, jogged and did push-ups on park benches. Gaudi’s wavy, kaleidoscopic bench came into view and aside from two young girls taking selfies and a few others with serious camera equipment, I was able to snap a few iPhone photos myself; no jostling for the best angle, or waiting for other tourists to get out of my frame.

Higher I climbed to one of the viewpoints that gave me a panoramic view from the Sagrada Familia, out toward the Mediterranean and Montjuic. Planes glided over the city’s super blocks toward El Prat. Birds gossiped, pigeons cooed. Pollen tickled my nose as I tapped notes into my phone and snapped more photos.

In my periphery, elderly locals prattled away on park benches while their dogs played. The sun drenched the city in morning warmth, clouds nowhere in sight. A cool breeze brushed through the park like the final resting pose in yoga; welcome relief.

“Sube Miko, sube…Miko, adonde vas? Adonde vas Miko?” one of the men mildly threatened as he patted the bench. Miko, the most mischievous and stubborn of the pack did what he wanted. A few weeks ago, I didn’t want to get out of bed, though I’m glad I did.

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