A Holiday Season Abroad

December in Barcelona has this way of sneaking up on you. One minute the city feels normal, and the next it is glowing. Not in a dramatic way, more like the city took a small breath and everything felt slightly different. The weather gets cooler but never actually cold, and somehow it still feels like the holidays even though everyone is still walking around in light jackets.

The moment things really changed for me happened on a totally random morning. I had just walked out of the Verdaguer metro stop when this tiny poster on the wall caught my eye. It showed a Catalan family around their dining table, nothing fancy at all. Someone’s sleeve was blurry like they moved at the wrong time, the kid on the side looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, and the whole picture gave off that vibe of a photo that shows up in your camera roll and you almost delete but don’t. At the bottom it said El Nadal és per compartir. Christmas is for sharing.

It was so ordinary that I stopped walking. Maybe because it felt familiar in a way I couldn’t quite place. Or maybe because it didn’t look like an ad at all. It looked like a moment someone accidentally printed.

After that, I started noticing everything more. The lights on Passeig de Gràcia turned on that weekend and the whole street looked like someone had wrapped it in gold ribbon. People were stopping in the middle of the sidewalk just to stare up at the lights. I did the same. For a moment the traffic noise faded into the background and the city felt softer than usual. 

Walking through Gràcia at night became one of my favorite things. Tiny lights draped over balconies, random little Santa figures climbing pretend ropes, like the whole neighborhood was trying to participate in its own quirky way. El Corte Inglés went completely dramatic with decorations that felt almost too big for the building, but somehow Barcelona pulls it off. And then there is the smell around Plaça Catalunya. Roasted chestnuts drifting through the air every afternoon. You can smell them before you even spot the stand. Someone is always selling churros covered in chocolate and yes, I stop for them all the time.

And then there is the Tió de Nadal, which I genuinely did not understand until I saw it in person. The famous Catalan log. I had heard about it before but seeing a whole table of them lined up in the Christmas markets is something else entirely. Little wooden faces staring back at you with painted smiles and tiny red hats. The first time I came across a stand full of them I actually laughed out loud. Kids were running around with their Tiós tucked under their arms like new pets. Vendors stacked them in crates like produce. The whole scene was cute and also a little chaotic, and I loved it immediately.

Once you know the tradition, it gets even better. Feeding the log throughout December, tucking it under a blanket, and then on Christmas the kids give it a few taps and it miraculously produces presents. Only in Catalonia would this make complete sense, and that is exactly why it works.

One afternoon I wandered into the Fira de Santa Llúcia market by the Cathedral. It was packed and people were constantly sidestepping someone or bumping shoulders, but nobody really seemed annoyed. People were holding ornaments they didn’t plan on buying, musicians were playing off in random corners like they were just practicing in public, and families were trying to navigate aisles that clearly were not designed for crowds. It felt old in the best way. Like something that had existed long before any of us were born. I didn’t buy anything, but I stayed there for almost an hour just watching everyone else.

The moment that stayed with me the most didn’t even happen here. Later that night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw a story from a friend back home. Her family was decorating their Christmas tree and the whole thing looked wonderfully chaotic. Half the lights weren’t working, ornaments were scattered everywhere, and their dog kept knocking into the tree like it was part of the tradition. It reminded me of my family decorating.

And for some reason, that tiny, messy video made me feel everything at once. A mix of homesickness and gratitude and joy, all layered together.

It made me realize that the moments we remember the most are rarely the polished ones. They are the blurry ones. The imperfect ones. The ones that don’t try to be anything special.

Like a crooked family photo taped to a metro wall.

A street lighting up all at once.

A wooden log wearing a bright red hat.

A Christmas tree disaster filmed on a phone.

I walked past the Verdaguer poster again the other day. Same family. Same messy energy. Same message. But it hit me differently this time. Instead of feeling emotional, I felt grounded. Like this whole season in Barcelona taught me how to pay attention in a way I never did before.

I’ll bring home photos and souvenirs, sure, but the real things coming with me are the small moments I almost walked past.