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Letters From the Terrace

It’s hard to comprehend that we’ve lived in Barcelona for two full years. Not once—not for a single second—have Gina and I regretted this move. It remains one of the best decisions of our lives.

When people ask us when we’re going back to America, we tell them: probably never. They’re always surprised. But why would we leave? We’ve discovered something here that was missing in our American suburban existence—a way of being human that feels more authentic, more embodied, more alive.

The Rhythm of Life

 The first thing that strikes you about Barcelona is the pace. Tranquilo, they call it. Peaceful. Unhurried. Life unfolds in sidewalk cafes and tapas bars where friends gather from 8 PM until midnight, talking and laughing in that beautiful Spanish ritual of sobremesa—lingering at the table long after the meal is finished. You rarely see people using cell phones when they are dining. Television as evening entertainment is practically scorned. This isn’t passive consumption; this is active living.

We walk everywhere now. Coming from American suburbs where you drive to check the mailbox, this alone has revolutionized our health. For 22 euros a month, we have unlimited access to the metro, trams, buses, and funiculars—the most efficient public transit system we’ve ever experienced. Our bodies have never felt better. The Mediterranean breeze, the magical quality of light, the air itself—it smells different here, fresh and healing. After decades in Florida’s oppressive humidity, Barcelona’s 40-60% feels like heaven. And the sunshine—there’s rarely a day without it, that extraordinary Mediterranean light that painters have been chasing for centuries.

Food as Religion

The food alone justifies our emigration. The Mediterranean diet isn’t a wellness trend here; it’s a way of life, passed down through generations. Fresh seafood from the port, seasonal fruits and vegetables from historic Mercat Galvany, bread that makes you understand why people write poetry about carbs. And the coffee—the coffee. I am converted! Even at sports concession stands, you get professionally brewed espresso from elaborate machines. No Keurigs. No instant coffee. No compromise. We invested in a fancy De’Longhi espresso machine with all the bells and whistles, because we can no longer do a Keurig. 

We didn’t realize we were moving into one of the world’s greatest wine regions. La Rioja, Priorat, Penedès, Catalunya—the best bottles cost 5 to 10 euros. Cava flows at celebrations like water. We could never exhaust the Michelin-starred restaurants here, let alone the countless extraordinary neighborhood places where locals eat. And everything—groceries, restaurants, wine—costs 20-30% less than in America. We’re eating better than we ever have, spending less, and our health markers have never been stronger.

A Cultural Feast

The cultural richness constantly astonishes us. We’ve experienced Bocelli and Loreena McKennitt concerts, the magnificent Liceu Opera House, world premieres at the breathtaking Palau de la Música Catalana. The Library of Tomorrow—a virtual reality experience that transported us inside books and wonderlands—remains our favorite event. It felt like we’d been absorbed into literature itself, an experience so profound we’re still processing it.

The museums alone could occupy us for years. MEAM—my favorite, showcasing contemporary figurative art. Picasso, Miró, MNAC, MOCO, MACBA, the Museum of Forbidden Art, the Erotic Museum, the Museu de la Música, the extraordinary CosmoCaixa science museum. We’ve traveled to the mystical Montserrat and Poblet Monasteries. We’ve explored the amusement park and automaton museum at Mount Tibidabo. I visit the #1 library in the world regularly—Gabriel García Márquez Library and I’m proud to be a member at the historic Biblioteca Pública Arús and the magnificent La Biblioteca de Catalunya—and we’ve had drinks at Paradiso, when it was ranked the #1 bar in the world. We’ve attended burlesque shows and experienced nightlife that feels sophisticated rather than desperate.

Perhaps most surreal was staying at 32 Avenida del Tibidabo—the actual address that inspired the Aldaya mansion in Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s The Shadow of the Wind, one of my favorite novels. We discovered at checkout that Zafón wrote the entire book in Suite 32 Tibidabo, the very room where we’d just slept. When fiction becomes reality, when you can walk inside a story you love—that’s the kind of magic that happens in Barcelona.

The intellectual life here is different too. So many people are avid readers, thinkers, linguists—conversant in philosophy and literature in ways that would seem pretentious in America but here is simply normal conversation. People actually read here, and they talk about what they read with the same passion Americans reserve for sports.

Bodies and Freedom

The sensuality of Barcelona culture deserves its own meditation. Here, the body and sexuality are celebrated, not pathologized. Our favorite nude beach, Platja de la Mar Bella, represents a kind of freedom Americans can barely imagine through their Puritan fog. Topless bathing at our pool club isn’t scandalous; it’s normal. Tantric massage studios operate openly. The Spanish don’t view pleasure with suspicion or treat the body as something shameful. Coming from a culture that simultaneously obsesses over and demonizes sexuality, this healthy integration feels revolutionary and incredibly freeing.

The Spanish people themselves are kind, gracious, welcoming, and stunningly beautiful. They’re especially aware and protective of older people—a respect for elders that’s been lost in America’s youth-worshipping culture. Many times we’re embarrassed when young people stand to offer us their Metro seats. It’s humbling and touching every time.

Safety and Sanity

Personal safety is profound. We’ve been out at all hours, day and night, and never felt unsafe—no mass shootings. No political rage is poisoning daily life. I feel completely at peace with Gina taking public transport alone at night—something I could never say in America. When Trump, Putin, and Netanyahu dominate the news here, it’s with appropriate contempt. The intense hatred for these leaders is palpable, yet we’ve never felt unwelcome. Europeans are savvy enough to know Trump doesn’t reflect the views of most Americans, especially those who’ve chosen to live here.

Our socialist government aligns far better with our values—universal healthcare, pro-immigration (thankfully, since we’re immigrants ourselves), social justice, and Palestinian solidarity. We’ve marched in No Dictators (Kings) rallies protesting authoritarianism. We’ve stood in pro-Palestine demonstrations. We finally feel politically at home in ways we never did in America.

An International Life

We worried about leaving our American friends, but we now have far more close friends here than we ever had back home. They’re from China, Lebanon, Croatia, Ukraine, Italy, Uzbekistan, Iran—a genuine diversity that enriches our understanding of the world in ways the suburban Tampa Bay area and Nashville never could. We’re learning about cultures and foods firsthand, trying dishes and having conversations that would have been impossible in our previous lives.

And then there’s Europe itself. Spain has the most high-speed trains in the world after China. We’re hours from anywhere. We’ve visited Vienna and Salzburg, Dubrovnik, Paris, London, and our beloved San Sebastián—the most beautiful place we’ve ever seen. The proximity to so many countries, so many cultures, keeps life endlessly fascinating.

The Challenges

Of course, it’s not perfect. Learning two languages simultaneously—Castilian Spanish and Catalan—at 67 is genuinely herculean. We were shocked to discover that all the markets, supermarkets, and our neighbors speak Catalan, a completely different language from Spanish. After 50 years since we studied grammar, our brains resist. The Latin Spanish we learned on Duolingo bears little resemblance to what’s spoken here, in either language.

The bureaucracy is real—red tape and requirements that require patience and persistence. It takes time to learn the system and navigate civil servants who have guaranteed jobs and sometimes genuinely don’t care whether you’re helped. Most have been helpful, but the four or five unhappy people we’ve encountered created real stress and frustration.

Sometimes we miss having a car to explore the extraordinary regions just a few hours away that aren’t accessible by train. But we don’t miss the insurance payments, the repairs, the fuel costs, the constant maintenance. The freedom from car ownership far outweighs the occasional inconvenience.

Home

These are minor inconveniences in a life that feels fundamentally right. In two more years, we will be eligible for permanent residency, and we intend to apply. We consider ourselves Spaniards now. When Americans ask where we’re from, we’re reluctant to claim the United States—a country that feels increasingly foreign to us with each passing month.

Nosotros nos encanta Barcelona. We love it here. We’re not visiting. We’re not on an extended vacation. We live here indefinitely. This is home. And we’re staying. ¡Vivimos en Barcelona!