This post is part of the travel series
Barcelona Family Trip – A Day-by-Day Travel Diary,where the entire journey is told as a story from the first to the last day.
Buying the Tickets
That day actually started two months earlier, on October 18, when I booked a guided tour. It might sound way too early, but since it was the last day of the year, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.
Today, January 17, when I checked availability again, it turned out that booking just a few days ahead would’ve been more than enough. The price difference between a regular ticket and a guided tour was only a few euros, so we went with the tour. I also added access to one of the towers, which later proved to be a pretty big mistake.
Two Parks
The taxi dropped us near Plaça de la Sagrada Família. We got there early, so we had the park mostly to ourselves, aside from a handful of visitors, mostly from Asia.
I’ve done this before. Heading out at dawn to photograph a landmark. When the sun starts pushing up over the horizon, it’s usually just me, maybe one overly enthusiastic photographer, and almost always a small group of Asian tourists.
From this park, the view opens up instantly. The massive church stands right in front of you, recently crowned the tallest church in the world.
Once we’d taken it all in and that first wave of excitement settled a bit, we walked past the basilica to the park on the opposite side, Plaça de Gaudí.
If you want a truly great photo, this is the spot. There’s a small pond in the park where the Sagrada Família reflects in the water, and that reflection takes the shot to another level.
Three Façades: Nativity, Passion, and Glory
The Sagrada Família is built around three monumental façades, each facing a different point of the compass, each with its own meaning and story. Together, they tell a single narrative: from birth, through suffering, to glorification.
The Nativity Façade, facing the rising sun, was created under Gaudí’s direct influence. It’s overflowing with natural forms, animals, and biblical scenes. Everything feels alive, in motion, packed with detail.
On the opposite side stands the Passion Façade. Cold, stripped down, carved with sharp, severe lines and dramatic figures that show the final hours of Christ’s life without softening the blow.
The third one, the Glory Façade, is still under construction and will be the largest of them all. It’s meant to represent humanity’s path toward God, from death and judgment to light, and it will eventually become the basilica’s main entrance.
When you look at the church from both sides, it’s easy to fall into quick labels: one is “the beautiful one,” the other “the ugly one.” Logically, you’d think the ugly one would be the Passion Façade, right? Turns out, no. The one we thought was ugly, the side by the park with the pond, is actually the Nativity. We only realized that later, back home, while writing this post. Apparently, our sense of beauty is a little… off.
It’s not like some deep mental shift suddenly happened while we were standing there, staring at a façade filled with the Holy Family, the Three Kings, and an explosion of animals and life. That’s birth symbolism, not suffering. Obviously. And yet, the realization never clicked. Not even when the guide clearly, and correctly, referred to it as the Nativity Façade for the umpteenth time. It just didn’t sink in.
Maybe it was the cold morning. Maybe it was the lack of coffee. Maybe it was the wind, and the way her Spanish-accented English struggled to make it cleanly through the headphones. Any excuse will do. The truth is just a little less flattering.
Now we know. The “ugly” one is actually the beautiful one, the Nativity Façade. And the “beautiful” one is the ugly one, the Passion Façade. Probably a good thing the third façade wasn’t finished when we visited, or the confusion would’ve been complete.
The one mildly comforting detail? Our daughters feel the exact opposite about it.
The Interior
Since we still had some time before the guided tour, we entered through the Nativity side, the one that symbolizes love.
The first thing that hits you are the massive columns. They instantly bring to mind giant tree trunks, rising up and holding the entire structure in place with their branching forms.
Only then do you start to register the cross-shaped floor plan. As you walk toward the far end of the nave, the colors come into play: stained glass in cool blues and greens on the left, deep reds on the opposite side. At least here, color makes it immediately clear which side stands for birth and which one represents suffering.
When you stand in the middle, it’s almost impossible not to crane your neck and stare straight up. The nave rises to an astonishing height, all the way to 75 meters. Above the altar floats a sculpture of Jesus Christ, triumphant over suffering, lifting upward toward the sky.
All of this was explained far more clearly by our guide, though I’ll admit I only half listened. I was too busy taking photos.
We exited through the Passion side. This façade feels heavier, emptier, more restrained, with stark depictions of Christ at the moment of death. What caught Naro’s attention most was the mysterious number square, an ideogram with 310 different combinations, all of them adding up to 33, Christ’s age at his death.
The Passion Tower
The elevator takes you partway up the tower, to about 60 meters. From there, you climb a bit more on foot, crossing a short open passage where the city opens up on both sides. The bridge is packed with people, so we squeeze through and step into the neighboring tower. That’s where the suffering begins.
The descent. Nearly 400 steps down. The corridor is narrow, barely a meter wide. It’s dark, with only thin slits of light every few meters. The stairs are steep, winding downward in tight spirals. If you ever want a hands-on definition of “claustrophobic,” this is it.
Nia isn’t feeling well. She starts shaking, and it’s immediately clear that the only goal now is to get down as fast as possible. At first, it’s manageable. Walls on both sides, unpleasant but at least you know there’s nowhere to fall. Then, just when you think it can’t get any worse, about a hundred steps in, you hit a narrow spiral staircase with a hole in the middle that drops all the way to the ground.
We’re moving down in a line. I go first, my right arm stretched back so Nia doesn’t accidentally step into the center. Behind her is Nara, with Anja bringing up the rear. The stairs keep twisting, the sense of height never really fading. You stare into that hole and just wish you were already at the bottom. Through the narrow slits, you can tell you’re still high up. More than 300 steps in this section alone.
At least there are other people ahead of us. It helps, knowing you’re not alone. Nia is holding on, we try to distract her, but the tension is building for all of us. I honestly don’t know how long we were walking. To me, it felt like a full hour.
And then, finally, solid ground. Relief. We step out through the Passion Façade exit and just stand there for a while, letting things settle. Once we’ve caught our breath, we leave the Sagrada with mixed feelings and a quick, unanimous decision: no more towers in the future.
On the corner, we find a café. We sit down, order coffee, and just… breathe.
Sant Pau Modernist Complex
After everything we’d just been through inside the Sagrada, we needed ground under our feet, open space, and air. So we walked along Avinguda de Gaudí toward the former hospital complex of Sant Pau, a place that feels like the complete opposite of the heavy, overwhelming basilica.
Even from the outside, it looked beautiful. The only regret is that we didn’t go in. Judging by the photos, the interior is even more impressive and would’ve been the perfect balm after what we’d just been through. A true counterweight to the Sagrada. Anja even said she liked Sant Pau more.
Park Güell
From here, we were closest to another of Gaudí’s creations, one he designed for the Güell family, one of Barcelona’s wealthiest and most influential families at the start of the last century. The project was originally meant to be an exclusive garden neighborhood, but it never took off. The land later became public property and was turned into a public park.
Since the park sits on a hill, we opted for a taxi, easily the most practical choice. There’s no nearby metro, unless you’re in the mood for a roughly twenty-minute uphill walk. Our plan was to enter from the top, near Carretera del Carmel, and then slowly work our way down, avoiding the ticketed section of the park. At least, that was the idea. When we arrived, we ran into lines and quickly realized that the area was paid entry today. Even if we’d wanted tickets, it wouldn’t have mattered. They were sold out for the day.
Still, we didn’t give up. After walking uphill a few minutes from the entrance, we turned off the road toward the park and kept going until we hit a fence. Right in front of it was a bench, and there we sat, completely alone for over half an hour, soaking in the view over Barcelona. Our only company were the green parrots that seem to be everywhere up there.
Casa Milà (La Pedrera)
We still had one more Gaudí landmark left to see: Casa Milà, better known as La Pedrera. When it first opened, it was so unconventional that locals mockingly called it “the quarry.” Its wavy stone façade, without a single straight line, completely baffled them. Today, that same irregularity is considered one of its greatest strengths, and the reason the building is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
It was time to head back to the hotel. The big finale was still ahead of us. Entering the new year.
Entering 2026
The plan to climb Montjuïc on New Year’s Eve had already fallen apart a few days earlier. So did the idea of watching the fireworks from the hotel terrace. The front desk warned us that with the surrounding buildings and the hill itself, we’d almost certainly see nothing.
That left one option: Plaça d’Espanya. Entering the new year together with more than a hundred thousand people. Our only real concern was safety, which later turned out to be completely unfounded.
Around ten in the evening, we left the hotel and walked the short kilometer toward the square. The moment we stepped onto the main avenue, crowds were flowing on both sides of the street. Before long, the road was closed off with police barricades. We found a spot by the railing of the roundabout and waited. At first, not much was happening, just music playing in the background. Every now and then, a vendor passed by selling glowing trinkets, while the police presence was constant.
The area between the Venetian Towers and the Magic Fountain was already packed by the time we arrived.
The roundabout filled up minute by minute, families with strollers included. The whole celebration stayed calm and orderly. There was no sense of danger, barely any alcohol to be seen, though every now and then the smell of weed drifted through the air.
The waiting dragged on. Nia was getting sleepier by the minute. And then…
Ten minutes before midnight, it began. First came the drone show, something we were seeing for the first time. In the final moments, the drones formed ten circles, and one disappeared every second. Then, exactly at midnight, the fireworks launched. For a good fifteen minutes, the sky over Montjuïc lit up.
And that’s how we entered 2026.
🧭 Useful Links
- ⛪ Sagrada Família official website and tickets
- 🏛️ La Pedrera Casa Milà – visit and information
- 🏥 Sant Pau modernist complex
- 🌿 Park Güell information and tickets
- 🎆 Plaça d’Espanya New Year celebration in Barcelona
A family travel blog written day by day, just as we truly experience our journeys.
Our current, completed, and upcoming trips, written day by day.
