I’m not qualified to say that Barcelona is one of the most bad-ass cities in Europe simply because I haven’t actually been to every city in Europe. With that said, Barcelona is one of the most bad-ass cities in Europe. It’s a cobblestone labyrinth, where ancient chapels and renown surrealist museums are tucked in so tightly amongst the butcher shops and postcard vendors that you might miss them altogether, instead getting sucked into a sprawling vegetable market to buy ice-cold coconut milk that tastes just like heaven.







I visited this grand, festive city a few winters ago on the tail end of a snowboard trip to the Pyrenees, and my mind was blown. I’ve included a few pics from my stay, but believe me when I tell you that they don’t do the other senses—the smells and sounds of Spain—any justice.

First thing we did in Barcelona was sit down Spanish-style in an old stone square for a feast of fragrant paella (Spain’s luscious garble of rice, sausage, seafood, and spices), followed by hours of wandering around old town. Every time you started to feel a little parched, a street vendor carrying a six pack emerged from the shadows to quench your thirst. Creatures of the night would fall into step with us and whisper secretive offers in our ear … “Hashish, lady, you like to smoke marijuana?” and so on and so forth. Not until all hours of the early morning did we straggle back into our hotel rooms to sleep the sleep of the dead.







The great thing about Barcelona is how accessible everything is. Whatever you want to do or see is within walking distance—modern art museums, skate spots, the beach, Gaudi’s art nouveau architectural explosions, and outdoor cafes. Just ramble around and soak it all in alongside about a thousand other people doing the same thing.