Dawns in Barcelona

A couple of weeks before moving back from Barcelona last month, I made a to-do list: everything I wanted to experience before leaving the city. Two of the things on this list were to see the dawn; once at the beach and once at the Carmel Bunkers, to watch the sun rise over the entire city. I’ve been up before the sun many times, but had never had the time to go and appreciate it from a picturesque location. I waited until my mother came over to help me pack (I am shockingly bad at packing suitcases), knowing she is the only person in my life who wakes up earlier than I do.

Sea, sand and the rising sun

The first sunrise on the list was at the Barceloneta beach. We were prepared: according to the internet, the sun was set to rise (pun not intended) at exactly 6. 38am. Rising at 5, we were out of the door by quarter to six, thinking it would give us ample time to find the ideal spot. Through the Gothic Quarter we trekked. In the darkest hour, it was blindingly obvious why it had been named as such. The normally photogenic winding alleys stretched into inky black shadows, puddles of unidentified liquids glinting reflections of what few streetlights there were. The front doors of shops and bakeries, which were bustling in daylight hours, were transformed into cages and prisons by the iron bars protecting them. We picked up the pace. Eventually (well, it was less than ten minutes later, but it felt longer), we hit the sea front; the road was totally silent, which rendered it slightly unsettling – the Passeig de Colom is normally one of the busiest roads I come across in day-to-day life – and very photogenic. Finally, there were streetlights, and lots of them, lighting the way all the way down to the end of the Ramblas. Montjuic glittered atop its hill in the background.

(Pre-dawn silence)

The intensity of the darkness was just starting to fade by the time we found a space on the beach. On the promenade, groups of people were just starting to make their homes from the nightclubs further up the beach. How they achieve that, I will never understand. It was when day started to break, in the minutes before the sun began to rise over the horizon, that we noticed an impediment to the plan: storm clouds. Vast, dark, dramatic storm clouds lurking just above the point where the sun was supposed to ascend and stretching all the way back to my mother and me huddled on a blanket on the sand. And then it started to rain. But we were determined and held fast as the patches of clear sky to our left turned red, pink, tangerine. Finally, the sun began to glow over the dark line of the sea. Ignoring the fine mist of rain, I alternated between appreciating the dawn directly and through the lens of my camera until the crimson sun floated up into the low-hanging clouds and disappeared.

(See what I meant about the clouds? )

(My beachfront sunrise, photobombed by the seagull marching back and forth in front of us)

Between the clouds and drizzle, it wasn’t necessarily what I had had in mind when I said I wanted to see the sunrise on the beach, but you know what - we did it. I'm still pleased that we did in fact see the sun rise (even if only a little bit), we got the photo, and afterwards we found one of few open cafés in the area and enjoyed a café con leche at the bar.

View from a height - the Carmel Bunkers

This trip was somewhat more successful in the traditional sense of the word. The day after having visited the beach, again we rose earlier than the sun. This view required a little bit of effort. The map had said it was a twenty-minute walk uphill from Alfons X metro station. So, we packed up our rolls from the bakery down the road and a bottle of water, and hopped on the metro from Jaume I (luckily less than two minutes walking from my front door) to Alfons X. From there, we began our ascent.

Now, from the photographs one sees on Google Images, it is easy to infer that the Carmel Bunkers are fairly high up. That didn’t stop us from underestimating quite how steep the hill was going to be. It did indeed take about twenty minutes at a decent pace, and about halfway up, the roads turned into pathways winding up the hill. Then the pathways stopped being concrete and became earth and rocks, slightly worn from use but still rugged enough to make me feel like a mountain goat. Each time we looked up, the bunkers seemed higher and higher, the two or three individuals who had beaten us there still tiny figures set against the gradually-lightening sky. More than once I thought my mother was going to push me off the edge for making her trek and scrabble up the incline before even eating breakfast, but eventually we made it. And it was worth every second.

(The sun lighting up the sea and melting the shadows away)

It’s true, there appeared to have been some party overnight, with several lager cans and bags spilling over with rubbish scattered across the site. But other than my mum and myself, there were just four other people on the ruins: three were the tiny figures I had seen from the hill, another was a guy who had brought his laptop, set himself up in a spot with a good view, and was quietly playing trance music. Whether he does this every day or just wanted a soundtrack for his experience, I’m not sure.

From the edge, I could see the whole of Barcelona laid out before me; from the other side, Tibidabo was visible above the verdant mountain. Today, the sky was perfectly clear and the sun broke over the sea unhindered. The shadows of the city began to dissipate as everything took on new colours. It was exactly the peaceful, awe-inspiring experience I had hoped it would be. We took photographs of the city, the sun and sea, the mountains – and of course each other, including a few selfies (it had to be done). Then, creativity satiated, we settled down with our breakfast to enjoy the early morning sun on our faces and watch the new day begin.

(Holding the day in my hands)

(Loads of credit to my mum for climbing up with me. ¡Gracias!)

Watching the dawn break over a lovely view is an experience I never tire of. Primarily because it is timelessly beautiful, but also because when the sun has risen, I still have a whole day ahead of me. I also feel like I have a sneaky head start on other people; by 10 am on the day of the Carmel Bunkers, we had climbed up and down the hill, eaten breakfast, taken photographs, swam in the sea before the tourists hit the beach, and were rewarding our exercise by eating Tres Leches in a Latin American café.

You can fit a lot into a morning.

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