Barcelona, Spain

I had a gut feeling.

Since before I moved to Germany, I knew I needed to visit Barcelona. To be honest, it was mostly because of this Enrique Iglesias music video called Bailando which I have probably listened to 200+ times on repeat.

Sometimes you can’t explain why you have an attraction to a certain place or thing, but I knew I had to go dancing in Barcelona, and I had to go alone.

***

The first thing I noticed about the city was the music. On the train from the airport itself, a duo playing the trumpet and tambourine paraded down the aisles with sexy jazz I recognized.

The pattern continued wherever I wandered (for hours). The city and the beach had a constant beat.

With no plan in place, aka the best plan in place, I reached my Airbnb, and asked my host where I could take salsa dancing lessons (after all, I came to make that gut feeling a reality). I was impressed by his knowledge of the city and found it funny that he knew places not by their names, but instead by “how to get there” — the ultimate telltale of a local.

After a delicious paella and a lot more walking near the Sagrada Familia and other Barcelona landmarks, I finally arrived at the salsa dancing bar my host suggested.

My first impression was that the place was very empty and blue (literally a lot of blue lights). I asked the bartender when the “classes” start, at this point realizing they were more likely to be informal follow-along lessons than structured educational classes, and he mentioned that dancing goes until very late (aka ~12am — 5am). It was “only 10:30 pm.”

In the meantime though, I noticed in a corner two older women and a man exuberantly practicing some moves, and I walked over with my beer. I’m shameless when it comes to meeting new people, and as usual with a smile, I complimented what they were doing, and they asked me to join in.

Thus, my first salsa dancing lesson was with a 60-year-old woman who looked 40 and had the energy of a 10-year-old. I couldn’t believe how she could move (aka how her hips did not lie), and after spending 20 minutes dancing with her, my face physically hurt from smiling so much. I vividly remember thinking, “When I’m 60, I want to be like this woman.” With how much she openly laughed and included others, she had an aura of positivity and life-enjoyment that was unparalleled.

I also chatted with her younger sister in Spanish and was surprised at how expressive she was considering we had known each other for a total of 10 minutes. We talked about love, and how she had met her Norwegian husband (the only one at the place who could not dance), and the life advice she had acquired — “Love takes time. Sometimes you have to wait a lot. Don’t rush it.” And she went on to detail the vividly memorable day she met her current husband at work, and how they were friends for 12 years before they finally teamed up.

At last, the dance lessons began, and the experience wasn’t too different from that Enrique video. On the eve of my birthday, I remembered why I love to dance so much. The way I saw it — dance is one of the most primitive forms of human expression and also one of the greatest paradoxes — it’s a place where revealing your vulnerability is a strength, where you can add your own flare and be in sync with others simultaneously, and where the down beats are as important as the up beats (all good lessons in life). All night long, I moved, I grooved, and I practiced my Spanish with strangers, now friends.

Maybe it was the dancing or the energy of a Saturday night, but I got the impression that people in Barcelona weren’t afraid to feel. Strangers were affectionate — kindly calling me “guapa” in passing, or doing 2-cheek kisses (my first reaction being stunned immobility), or small-talking while waiting for elevators. Most of the city seemed to already be friends with one another.

Even later when I went to a flamenco show, I noticed “the feels.” Dancers put intense emotion into every move. I’ve seen artists keep the beat with their hands before in other parts of the world, but the way the flamenco performers would slide one hand across the palm of their other even on the down beats was one of the sexiest things I’ve discerned. Their passion was the kind that usually comes from deep pain or deep happiness, and they weren’t afraid of communicating it.

All in all, people give a place its character, and the people I met in Barcelona loved openly. Being around those unafraid to express emotion was freeing, and coming from Germany, I hadn’t realized how serious of an environment I had been operating in for several months.

As many Americans may be able to relate, “Europe” has been one vast, mystical term in my life. Through this trip though, I finally began to see that large notion for its distinctions. The continent isn’t one storybook place in my mind anymore, but rather contains unique, charming pieces. Barcelona’s contribution to Europe is very different from that of Germany’s. Barcelona’s is about the soul…

***

One last note on traveling alone — I’ve been enjoying spending time with myself. I’ve realized that in journeying alone, I surprise myself whenever I want without any social inhibitions. There’s no need to carry any boundaries from the past or future if I’m in a new place surrounded only by unknown people. I can genuinely be in the present, in a way that’s not possible when traveling with people who already have a defined concept of me.

And when strangers ask who you came with and you smile and tell them you came on your own, they may call you “powerful” or “valiente,” an empowering feeling that reminds you what you’re capable of independently.

Looking back, acting on that gut feeling was one of the best self-explorations I’ve had, and I look forward to investigating other gut adventures that have been simmering.

And more of my travels will definitely be alone.

Until next time. -N