Laundry, British Lads & Naps

Laundry day is one of those things you can never escape as an adult. On the road—or in the air—for a few weeks and eventually you’re going to run out of clean stuff. So this morning was a quiet one. I started my wash cycle at a local laundromat, then set up shop in the café across the street for a fresh breakfast: smoothie, toastie, and a croissant for later.

Laundry day is also kind of forced downtime, which I appreciated today. A week into the trip, it was time to stop, sit, and not worry about sightseeing for a while. I’ve actually done laundromat visits as a mindfulness exercise before—they’re usually quiet places, with the constant drone of the dryer and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the washing machine doing its thing. A surprisingly calming background track.

I wrote some blog posts while the laundry did its thing. At €13 for a wash and dry, it’s one of the more expensive loads I’ve ever done—but detergent was auto-included, and my clothes came out smelling great. Laundry done, breakfast eaten, and blogs written, it was time for a late-morning nap.

Passing the time, I chat with a few local guys on Grindr - when in Rome ;) It’s funny how, when we talk to strangers in a foreign language, we end up kind of bastardising English to make it easier to understand. And yet, the Spaniards still talk at a million miles a second. Very few local suggestions obtained, I nap instead.

Feeling refreshed—but still a little tired—post nap, I decided to check out the hotel’s rooftop pool. I thought about sitting in or beside the water and relaxing before meeting Peta later tonight for some sightseeing.

Arriving at the rooftop, I found it packed like a club: topless British guys showing off their whitest of white bodies, a few bikini-clad women clearly having their pick of the crowd. The idea of relaxing beside a bunch of drunk straight British lads on their Spanish holiday wasn’t exactly my vibe—even if some of the eye candy was, well, awright.

Not to be that guy — the “I’m not a tourist, you are” type — but I can’t help wondering if it’s these packs of drunk British lads who’ve made Barcelona’s locals so anti-tourist. I get that Airbnb is pushing up rents and pricing locals out, which is a huge part of the frustration, and yeah, they’re over the rowdy drinking crowds. But are quiet, gallery-wandering, in-bed-by-9pm tourists really the problem? My TikTok reel even got a few “GO HOME” comments, and there’s a protest planned this Sunday where locals will drench tourists with water pistols — alright, that last one honestly sounds kind of refreshing.

So instead of joining the pasty white (and okay, some ripped) British lads, I retreated to the slightly warm room and had another nap. Recharging the batteries before heading out again for more art tonight.Læs mere