Casa Enric Laplana/casa Estapé

Walk down Passeig de Sant Joan and you’ll see the usual Barcelona shuffle: commuters on electric scooters, tourists looking lost with paper maps, and the general hum of a city that never quite sleeps. But look up at number six. There, perched like a silent, emerald-scaled sentinel, is the cupola of Casa Enric Laplana—also known as Casa Estapé. It’s a hallucinatory explosion of green and white trencadís tile work that makes the surrounding apartment blocks look like cardboard boxes. This isn’t the Disney-fied, ticket-timed version of Barcelona. This is the real deal, a piece of living history that doesn't care if you notice it or not.

Designed in 1907 by Bernardí Martorell i Puig, a man who breathed the same feverish air as Gaudí, this building is a masterclass in Catalan Modernisme. Martorell wasn’t just an architect; he was a guy who understood that if you’re going to build a residential block in the Eixample, you might as well make it scream. The facade is a riot of stone carvings, floral motifs that look like they’re trying to reclaim the sidewalk, and wrought iron balconies that curve with a grace most modern architects have forgotten. It’s the kind of craftsmanship that required sweat, calloused hands, and a level of obsession that’s increasingly rare in our world of glass and steel.

The building sits in a quiet pocket of the Dreta de l'Eixample, barely a two-minute walk from the Arc de Triomf. While the masses are busy elbowing each other for a selfie under the arch, you can stand across the street from Casa Estapé and actually breathe. You’re looking at a building that has survived the Civil War, the transition, and the relentless march of gentrification. It’s a private residence, which means you can’t go poking around the hallways or bothering the people who live there, but that’s part of the charm. It’s not a museum; it’s a home. People cook dinner, argue about politics, and sleep under that defiant green dome.

If you’re doing a DIY Barcelona architecture tour, this is an essential chapter. It represents that era when Barcelona was reinventing itself, throwing off the shackles of the old city walls and exploding into the grid of the Eixample with a sense of wild, unbridled creativity. The detail on the upper floors—the way the stone seems to melt into the ceramic—is something you need to see with your own eyes. It’s a reminder that even in a city as heavily touristed as this one, there are still corners of genuine, raw artistry that haven't been ruined by gift shops and audio guides.

Is Casa Enric Laplana worth it? If you give a damn about the soul of a city, yes. It’s a five-minute detour that rewards you with a glimpse into the mind of a genius who worked in the shadow of giants. It’s honest, it’s beautiful, and it’s free to look at. Just stand there, look up, and appreciate the fact that someone once thought a regular apartment building deserved a dome that looks like the back of a dragon. That’s the Barcelona I care about. The one that’s still a little bit weird, a little bit grand, and entirely unapologetic about its own brilliance.